The Slipper and the Rose: The Story of Cinderella (1976)

          First the good news. This lavishly produced British musical is gorgeous to behold, with elaborate costumes and grand locations and luminous photography. Simple effects are used to put across the supernatural elements of the iconic fable that provides the film’s storyline, and there’s a certain Masterpiece Theatre polish to the whole enterprise. Additionally, the supporting performances are solid, with reliable UK character actor Michael Hordern’s droll work as an uptight monarch worthy of special mention. Now the bad news. Gemma Craven is appealing but forgettable as Cinderella; Richard Chamberlain is miscast as Prince Charming (actually, “Prince Edward”) because the role demands greater dancing and singing abilities than he can muster; and the film’s original songs, by Disney stalwarts Richard Sherman and Robert Sherman, are bland at best, insipid at worst.

          Yet the worst fault of The Slipper and the Rose is bloat. The movie sprawls across 143 endless minutes, and more than an hour of nonsense transpires before Cinderella makes her legendary entrance to the Prince’s grand ballroom. Considering that nothing in the film elevates the characters above the usual one-dimensional archetypes, the only reasons for the picture’s absurd length are the songs, which don’t earn their keep. To be clear, there’s nothing outrageously bad about this take on the famous story, and it’s possible to imagine some viewers falling under the piece’s gentle spell. That said, nothing here truly excites the imagination.

          Set in a mythical realm patterned after Europe circa the Romantic Era, the picture explores Prince Edward’s ambivalence about entering into an arranged marriage. Meanwhile, Cinderella endures indignities at the hands of her cruel stepmother and stepsister, until a fairy godmother intervenes to dress Cinderella in regal finery for a royal “bride-finding ball.” Though he’s expected to form a politically advantageous union, Prince Edward falls for mysterious stranger Cinderella, then uses the shoe that she accidentally leaves behind to track her down. You know the drill. The filmmakers, including executive producer David Frost (of TV-hosting fame) and director Bryan Forbes, demonstrate some resourcefulness—as in the scene of dancers in mice costumes pirouetting across the screen—and the gag about the king proposing a tax on snobbery approaches wit. Still, it’s all just glossy, nonthreatening pap, and the only lasting image is the questionable sight of Chamberlain’s character doing gymnastics in the royal family crypt during a musical number.

The Slipper and the Rose: The Story of Cinderella: FUNKY

1980 Week: Hopscotch

          So dry that it’s barely a comedy, and yet so irreverent that it’s most definitely not a drama, the winning Hopscotch offers a wry depiction of Cold War-era spycraft. In fact, the most delightful aspect of the movie is the way it treats international espionage as a big business rife with the same sort of bureaucratic inefficiency, professional jealousy, and small-minded vendettas that plague every other industry. Walter Matthau, showcasing the loveable-scamp aspect of his screen persona instead of the rumpled-grouch aspect, plays Miles Kendig, a CIA operative whom we meet on the job in Europe. An old pro who sees all the angles and casually makes deals with his KGB counterpart, Yaskov (Herbert Lom), Kendig has become a relic from the era of gentleman spies. Returning to Washington, he’s belittled and demoted by his crude but politically connected superior, Myerson (Ned Beatty). The idea of taking a desk job doesn’t work for Kendig, however, so he discreetly shreds his personnel file, slips out of CIA headquarters, and returns to Europe so he can be with his on-again/off-again girlfriend, Isobel von Schonenberg (Glenda Jackson), and plot his playful revenge against Myerson.

          Kendig starts writing a tell-all book about his life as a secret agent, sending copies of early chapters to prominent figures in the global intelligence community. As intended, the book makes Kendig a wanted man, so he commences a merry chase around the globe with the goal of humiliating Myerson as utterly as possible. Employing arcane knowledge, fake passports, and old spy-community contacts, Kendig “hops” back and forth between various locations in America and Europe, leaving clues that mock Myerson and other agents for their inability to catch up with a seasoned veteran. Meanwhile, Kendig keeps sending chapters of the book, with new secrets revealed on each page and the threat of the explosive final chapter lingering over everyone involved.

          Deftly written by Bryan Forbes and Bryan Garfield (based on a novel by Garfield), Hopscotch is the sort of lighthearted romp that’s designed to generate perpetual amusement, rather than laugh-out-loud hilarity, so viewers expecting slapstick or verbal fireworks will be disappointed. Similarly, anyone hoping for a replay of the bickering-lovers sparks that Jackson and Matthau struck in House Calls (1978) is due for a letdown, since the actors play characters who are cheerfully conjoined from the beginning of the story to the end. Yet within these diminished expectations, Hopscotch provides a thoroughly pleasurable viewing experience. Director Ronald Neame shoots locations beautifully, the story provides innumerable twists stemming from Kendig’s incredible resourcefulness, and the acting is terrific. Beatty strikes the right balance between buffoonery and competence, Jackson comes across as clever and worldly, Lom is appealingly urbane, Matthau is appropriately rascally, and costar Sam Waterston (as Kendig’s protégé/pursuer) lends a charming quality of conflicted compassion.

Hopscotch: GROOVY

The Stepford Wives (1975)

           Novelist Ira Levin had a great knack for taking outrageous premises to their fullest extreme, so his books were adapted into the classic shocker Rosemary’s Baby (1968) and the campy but entertaining thriller The Boys From Brazil (1978). Released between those pictures was the Levin adaptation The Stepford Wives (1975), which explores a scheme by suburban men to transform their brides into compliant automatons. Featuring a zippy screenplay by William Goldman and several memorable scenes, The Stepford Wives should be a terrific little shocker, but it’s held back by an inert leading performance and lackluster direction. Nonetheless, the film’s slow-burn narrative is fun, and the conspiracy at the center of the picture is so creepy that problems of execution can’t fully diminish the project’s appeal.

          Katharine Ross stars as Joanna Eberhart, a beautiful young wife living in New York City with her attorney husband, Walter (Peter Masterson), and their two young kids. Much to Joanna’s chagrin, Walter abruptly relocates the family to the squeaky-clean suburb of Stepford, where the wives are all beautiful women preoccupied with housework and the sexual needs of their husbands. Joanna goes stir-crazy fast, bonding with fellow newcomer Bobbie (Paula Prentiss) and searching for signs of intelligent life in the Stepford universe. Meanwhile, Walter joins the mysterious Stepford Men’s Association, so Joanna and Bobbie investigate whether the association is behind the strange behavior of the Stepford wives. The story moves along at a good clip, with creepy hints of the truth peeking out through the shiny surfaces of Stepford life, and Joanna’s descent into desperation is believable.

          Some supporting characters, including sexy housewife Charmaine (Tina Louise), could have benefited from greater development, but the way the movie withholds details about enigmatic Stepford power-broker Dale Coba (Patrick O’Neal) adds intrigue. Still, the middle of the movie lags simply because the performances aren’t engaging. Ross, the delicate beauty of The Graduate (1967) and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969), delivers competent work but never gets under the skin of her character, while Masterson is forgettable and Prentiss is overbearing (though, in her defense, that’s a key trait of her character). Since the leads are  wash, the best performance in the picture is given by Nanette Newman, who plays the most weirdly submissive of the Stepford wives, Carol. Van Sant.

          Compensating significantly for the bland acting is the grainy cinematography by Owen Roizman, whose images give the plastic surfaces of Stepford a dark edge, and the tense score by Michael Small. Ultimately, the blame for The Stepford Wives’ failure to achieve its full potential must fall on director Bryan Forbes, a versatile Englishman who made a number of tasteful but unexceptional pictures; he presents the story clearly but without any panache or urgency. FYI, three sequels to The Stepford Wives were made for television—Revenge of the Stepford Wives (1980), The Stepford Children (1987), and The Stepford Husbands (1996)—before the original picture was remade in 2004, with Nicole Kidman starring.

The Stepford Wives: FUNKY

International Velvet (1978)

          International Velvet is an oddity. The picture is an elaborate sequel to National Velvet (1944), the movie that transformed 12-year-old Elizabeth Taylor into a movie star—she played Velvet Brown, a precocious equestrian who wins a major contest, becoming a heroine in her native England, only to be disqualified due to her age. Produced 34 years later, without Taylor reprising her role, International Velvet dramatizes a new adventure in Velvet’s life. Now settled into quiet, rural domesticity with her husband, successful author John Seaton (Christopher Plummer), Velvet (Nanette Newman) becomes the guardian of her recently orphaned niece, Sarah Brown (Tatum O’Neal). After some initial trouble adjusting to life in England, Sarah follows in her aunt’s footsteps by becoming a world-class rider, entering the Olympics atop the son of the horse Velvet rode in the first picture.

          Sequels arriving decades after their predecessors rarely work, and the absence of Taylor in the Velvet role makes International Velvet feel particularly unnecessary. Therefore, since the movie is primarily a vehicle for O’Neal—who, by the late ’70s, was a top child star with an Oscar to her credit—wouldn’t it have made more sense to simply remake the original film instead of awkwardly contriving a follow-up? Alas, one can only guess at the machinations of producer/director/co-writer Bryan Forbes, whose eclectic career includes several intelligent but unremarkable movies. And, unfortunately for Forbes, the biggest draw of International Velvet—O’Neal’s performance—is a letdown. Caught at an awkward age, O’Neal is an attractive teenager but neither a fascinating child nor a fully formed adult, and her acting is so mannered that she’s outclassed by her costars.

          In the early scenes, depicting Sarah’s integration into her aunt’s country estate, Plummer’s suave demeanor and wry line deliveries dominate. Later, when Sarah joins the British Olympic team, Anthony Hopkins takes over the movie with his funny turn as a witheringly sarcastic coach. (As for Newman, the director’s real-life spouse, she’s elegant but forgettable.) Forbes mounts an impressive production, with extensive location photography, glamorous lighting, and vivid sports sequences. Additionally, some of his dialogue is quite tasty, particularly the bitchy monologues issued by Hopkins. However, the lack of real suspense in the movie, save for a harrowing plane trip during which a horse’s life is endangered, makes International Velvet feel as deep as a postcard.

International Velvet: FUNKY