The Day of the Dolphin

The Day of the Dolphin (Mike Nichols, 1973) After a series of films in which each one is a bit of an accomplishment in things artistic, cultural and societal (Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, The Graduate, Catch-22, Carnal Knowledge) Mike Nichols lightened up on the weltschmerz--slightly--to present a relatively frothy entertainment, but in a downbeat kind of way. Robert Merle's best-seller was a thick book that delved more into the philosophical and moral issues of teaching dolphins to express themselves in English. But that probably wouldn't do for the movies, so Buck Henry devised a cloak-and-dagger story about operatives training the mammals to blow up the President...something subtle like that.

The implications of ESL for dolphins takes a back-seat for conspiracy and makes one wonder why one would waste such a top-heavy cast of George C. Scott, Trish VanDevere, Paul Sorvino, Edward Herrmann, and Fritz Weaver and talking dolphins on just another spy movie. But waste it, they do.*

Despite Scott's presence (and he's operating on relatively low gear here), the stars are the dolphins, named "Alpha" and "Beta" (or, as they squeak, "Fa" and Bee") In fact, every audience I saw this film with cooed audibly when the first dolphin popped out of the water and breathed "Pah!" in a baby voice at Scott. Like the rudimentary language signed by chimps, the dolphins' grasp of concepts is basic--they know "love," "Ma," "Pa," "Ball," and "Not"—that last one covering a lot of ground from negativity to death.

It all feels a bit gooey and icky, and when Nichols and Henry crank up the melodrama in the final act, one has a tough time taking it with any of the gravity of, say, a "Lassie" movie, probably not what the director intended, making it all for "not."

I do remember one interesting story from the time of the film, from an interview with Nichols at the time the film was made. It has nothing to do with the movie, but is more of a backstage story about the making of it. Nichols found that no matter how well-trained the dolphins were, they were not the most disciplined of performers. Oh, they understood what they had to do, they just didn't really feel like doing it. They were constantly blowing scenes, goofing around, playing—probably stealing donuts from the craft-services table—until tempers got short, and then, they'd do everything on cue--not unlike Peter Bogdanovich's story about directing Tatum O'Neal.

Anyway, on the last day of filming, on the last take the plan was to release the dolphins back into the wild. The crew gets ready. The dolphins swim out and perform their bit perfectly—it's a "Take." Then, as if knowing they weren't needed anymore, they simply left and swam out to sea. "We're outta here." They just swam away. It left Nichols wondering at the creatures he'd been working with, and wondering if he'd done right by them.**

Maybe they decided to quit "The Biz" before the movie was released.

There's a lot of talent behind it, though--production design by Richard Sylbert, cinematography from William A. Fraker and a too-good score by Georges Delerue. But it was all for "Not."

When one considers the possibilities, The Day of the Dolphin was a day wasted.

* The New Yorker's Pauline Kael suggested that if all Nichols and Henry could come up with for a movie was talking dolphins, they should probably retire from movies. Kael was on the right idea, but off the mark (as she could be)—if all Nichols and Henry could come up with for talking dolphins was a plot to blow up the President (even if it was Nixon) then they should have probably made another movie.

**I will always remember a PBS special on dolphins, hosted by Robin Williams. His first encounter with dolphins in open water, he was enthusiastic to bond, and reached out to one of them, only to get thumped by the other, protective dolphin. He went to a research institute where dolphin behavior was studied, and as he was walking around the tank with a rep, a dolphin poked his head out of the water and watched Williams, who went into "perform" mode and became quite manic, which delighted the dolphin. The scene went on for some time, with Williams and the dolphin playing at each other on a basic level, Williams running from one part of the tank to the other, the dolphin following--the two spinning in place, both fascinated with their play-mate. Finally, Williams was told "we're going to another location," and regretfully left, leaving the dolphin leaning its head out of the tank watching him leave, practically love-sick at his new "friend."

The Rocketeer

The Rocketeer (Joe Johnston, 1991) Graphic artist Dave Stevens was handed an assignment for a new comic book*—he'd get to create an eight-page second feature of his own devising and do anything he wanted with it. For Stevens, that meant it had to have a pulp-fiction atmosphere, a late 1930's Los Angeles locale, an art-deco look, and characters with which he was familiar enough to draw. He based the hero on himself, his mechanical engineer Peavey on Doug Wildey (who'd created "Jonny Quest") and for the hero's girlfriend, a forgotten pin-up girl of the 40's and 50's, "Bettie" Page.**

That second feature, "The Rocketeer," quickly eclipsed the comic's title character, and moved to its own publication that, due to Stevens' fastidious attention to artistic detail, came out only infrequently. But the elements were there to attract Disney, looking for a comic-book hero that could economically catch the wave of the recent burgeoning comic-book movie trend and match the box office returns of the "Batman" series.

Even though "The Rocketeer" didn't have the Caped Crusader's cache of cultural iconography (That's Adam West-speak for recognition by the general public), the cult-status of the comic and the script's deep-dish banquet of 30's flotsam (Rocket-packs, Flying Gee-Bee's, Nazi's, gangsters, ugly goons, "good" girls, Howard Hughes, zeppelins, Erroll Flynn swinishness, and the Griffith observatory and an art-deco finish) looked like it was going to be 1991's "sure thing" at the box-office. So confident that it would soar on plumes of flame into the stratosphere, Disney honcho's put out a "memo" saying that this was "the way" they were going to make movies: good properties, well-cast with cheap stars—they were going to put all the money up there on the screen. 

That would have been a good plan if only The Rocketeer hadn't flamed out and fallen to Earth. The Rocketeer under-performed badly at the time of its release.

It became popular on the rental circuit, but the damage was done. No sequels (a trilogy was planned), the other studios chortled about Disney's memo hubris, and went back to paying stars (and their agents) $20 million for a movie (and Disney took to raiding already established franchises to create pre-fabricated tent-poles for their releases—first, The Muppets, then Marvel, then Lucasfilm, and even re-making live-action versions of their own animated features).

Too bad. The Rocketeer is a flawed adaptation of a wonderful property, but if it had inspired similar "value" films, it would have been worth it. The thing is, its heart is in the right place, it's sweet and affectionate about the period it's in, the romance is chaste and makes no concessions to modern audiences, the players are adept—Billy Campbell was born to play "The Rocketeer," he looks just like Dave Stevens—and any movie with Alan Arkin and Paul Sorvino, AND Terry O'Quinn, it goes without saying that they're always enjoyable...plus, Timothy Dalton got to bust up his Bond image a bit.

It is 1938. A down-on-his-heels "fly-boy" Cliff Secord (Campbell) has just managed to screw up his flying career by crashing his stunt-plane at an aerodrome just outside of Los Angeles. Luck falls in his lap when he discovers a rocket-powered jet-pack (recently stolen by mafia gangsters from engineers at Hughes Aircraft at the behest of the Nazi's). With the help of his mechanic-mentor Peavey (Arkin), Cliff is able to get the pack working and even enhancing some features so he becomes his own one-man airplane. Howard Hughes (O'Quinn), however, thinking the prototype destroyed in the attempt, scraps the project now knowing that it is of interest to Germany for their war effort.

Complicating matters is "Jennie" Blake, a hopelessly aspiring actress (she was an "art-photo" model in the comics, but...Disney), who happens to be Cliff's somewhat-serious-if-he'd-get-serious-girl-friend. As long as Cliff is gainfully employed, she takes him seriously, so he lies to her about crashing his plane. Visiting her on the set where she's working as an extra, he tells her about finding the rocket-pack, a conversation that is overheard by the film's star Neville Sinclair (Dalton), who is a secret Nazi agent and who engineered the stealing of the jet-pack at the behest of Hitler's regime as a possible tool for invading America.*** 

Sinclair, being a talented, but no-good-snake and now knowing the prototype exists, takes an interest in Miss Blake (which she mistakes for a career opportunity). This does two things: it makes Jennie an innocent victim of the plot of the movie and an unsuspecting damsel-in-distress; it makes Cliff insanely jealous of a much more privileged rival who might take his girl away. Neither one suspects that both of them are at the center of a much wider conspiracy that would have world-wide complications if they come about. Actually, it's kind of neat how it comes about, like a superhero-Hitchcock film.  

The movie only really takes off, logically enough, when the rocket-pack fires, then things zip, zoom, loop-dee-loop and go slightly out-of-control in a giddy display of pyrotechnics. The rest of the time the film stays firmly rooted to Earth, refusing to soar. Oh, Dalton has fun with his role—he was always better suited playing bad-guys, anyway—And Jennifer Connelly adds some brief spark to her role as "Jennie," Cliff's naively ambitious actress girl-friend. 

That's the problem. Sweet as it is, The Rocketeer could use some spice, which Disney was just too timid to provide. "Jennie" was "Bettie" in the comics, specifically "Bettie" Page, who was far more world-wise and ambitious than the screen incarnation could capture. There was a bit of the real Page's persona in the original character, all too aware that she was the type of girl "men like," and all too willing to exploit her looks to be exploited. That was way too hot for Disney, who gussied Connelly up from head to toe, effectively neutering her character. That the real "Bettie" Page was still alive at the time, and fully capable of contacting lawyers, probably influenced Disney's decision, as well.

Plus...Disney.

And that's too bad. The Rocketeer takes chances, but it still feels "safe," something the comic was having too good a time to worry about. Perhaps the difficulties the filmmakers were having trying to get the story onto the screen half-way resembling Stevens' vision of things (they wanted it contemporary, they wanted Cliff to wear a space helmet (toy potential, merchandising...blah blah blah), made them thankful for small victories along the way to devote more energy to the project.

It was The Rocketeer, however, that convinced Marvel to give the challenging role of directing the first Captain America story for the screen to director Joe Johnson, a job he pulled off with flying red, white and blue colors. 

And, supposedly, Disney is working on a re-boot, called The Rocketeers. We'll see. 

Dave Stevens, died after a long fight with leukemia, at the too-young age of 52.

Page, Stevens and Wildey

(Stevens' models for "Bettie", Cliff, and Peavey)

* Mike Grell's "Starslayer" #2 featured the first appearance of "The Rocketeer"

** She wouldn't stay forgotten for long. The Rocketeer re-generated interest in her long career as a photographer's model, and "nudie" dancer, and she was able to see some money from the marketing of her image.  The Notorious Bettie Page is based on her life.  She didn't like it much, reportedly. An old review of it will be up in the future.

*** Amusingly, there is a Disney-animated "propaganda film" that is shown at one point in the movie, and in its "live" footage, the hapless German test-pilot who gets scorched in their pack's first attempt is played by "Rocketeer" creator Dave Stevens.

I "met" Dave Stevens (actually I was one of zillions at a comic-con he was appearing at) and he signed a promotional poster he had done for the film. He was as fastidious about the signature as he was about his work: "Now...make sure you wait a little bit because the paper has a high gloss finish and you should allow the ink to dry before it touches anything  because it's kind of nappy right now and it'll smudge..."

Thanks, Dave.