1980 Week: The Changeling

          This restrained ghost story blends psychological terror with sharp visual jolts, resulting in an enjoyably old-fashioned picture. George C. Scott stars as John Russell, a noted classical composer who lives on the East Coast with his wife and young daughter. One terrible day, he witnesses their deaths when a truck spins out of control on an icy road and hits the family car. John relocates to Seattle for a teaching job, and he rents a vacant mansion from Claire Norman (Trish Van Devere), a representative of the local historical society. While struggling through his grief and trying to generate new music, John starts hearing and seeing apparitions throughout the rented house. (A bouncing rubber ball has never been more menacing.) Afraid he’s going insane, John enlists Claire’s help to investigate the history of the mansion, eventually discovering a decades-old mystery with tragic connections to Joseph Carmichael (Melvyn Douglas), a powerful U.S senator.

          Giving away more of the plot (or even the meaning of the title) would spoil the fun, but suffice to say that the storyline—credited to Russell Hunter—is about the notion that souls unable to reach their final resting places can communicate with the living. Director Peter Medak and cinematographer John Coquillon make strong visual choices throughout The Changeling, employing muscular compositions and wide lenses to emphasize the power that places have over people. Even with his bearish physique, Scott seems dwarfed by the dark hallways and endless stairwells of the mansion, and when the tortured spirits get active—causing objects to stir and noises to emanate from mysterious places—it’s easy to understand why Scott’s character feels so unnerved.

          To its detriment, The Changeling suffers from a common malady, the old conundrum of “Why not just leave?” The more he becomes convinced his temporary house is haunted, the more obsessed John becomes with resolving a ghost’s unfinished business—but the filmmakers never persuasively explain why the task is so important to Russell. Similarly, the quasi-love story that develops between John and Claire feels perfunctory. Nonetheless, the best stuff in The Changeling is terrific. Rick Wilkins’ score is elegantly moody, Douglas gives an effectively twitchy supporting performance, and Medak does a great job of gradually increasing the size of the movie’s scares all the way from the slow-burn beginning to the cataclysmic finale.

The Changeling: FUNKY

The Last Run (1971)

          The intrigue that unfolded behind the scenes of this turgid thriller is more interesting than anything that actually happens onscreen. Not only was an iconic director replaced with a filmmaker of considerably less distinction, but the leading man left his wife for another woman—and both ladies are featured in the cast. Had any of this tension seeped into the movie’s scenes, The Last Run could have been edgy and exciting. Instead, it’s a slow movie about a man who spends his life driving fast. Make what you will of the irony. In any event, George C. Scott plays Harry Garmes, an American wheelman who spent most of his career driving cars for mobsters in Chicago. Because of some unnamed existential crisis, which was exacerbated by the death of his young son the infidelity of his now ex-wife, Harry lives in Portugal, drinking and smoking his way through days full of nothing. When he gets hired to drive an escaped convict and the convict’s girlfriend across Europe, Harry embraces the opportunity to see if he still has what it takes. Predictably, this simple scenario gets complicated, thanks to double-crosses, secret agendas, and Harry’s burgeoning romantic interest in the convict’s girlfriend.

          There’s a certain poetry to some of the dialogue in Alan Sharp’s script, and it’s fun to imagine what The Last Run might might have become if John Huston, the project’s original director, had remained involved. Alas, he bailed partway through production, apparently because of friction with the notoriously difficult Scott, and his successor was Richard Fleischer, whose filmmographry includes several enjoyable films but also a number of genuine embarrassments. The Last Run falls somewhere between those extremes; while it’s a disappointment that often gets stuck in the mud of pointless and/or repetitious scenes, it’s never overtly bad. Rather, it’s drab and lifeless and uninspired. Although Huston was at a weird stage in his career, he was an old pro at telling stories about self-destructive men, so it’s tempting to believe he would have elevated the material more than Fleischer did. After all, the story is a quintessential ’70s downer, and Huston rebounded from a creative slump with the grim Fat City a year later.

          That said, the characterizations in The Last Run are so thin, and the narrative events so trite, that perhaps the picture was destined for mediocrity. Scott strikes a spark every so often with his signature blend of anger and ennui, but costars Tony Musante and Trish Van Devere barely register while playing pure clichés—the hotheaded crook and the opportunistic moll. Behind-the-scenes talents do what they can, with composer Jerry Goldsmith’s jaunty score complementing cinematographer Sven Nykvist’s moody imagery. As for that other aspect of behind-the-scenes drama, Scott began production married to actress Colleen Dewhurst, who appears in one scene as a prostitute, and by the end of production, Scott was with Van Devere, whom he subsequently married.

The Last Run: FUNKY

The Savage Is Loose (1974)

          Depicting the travails of three (fictional) people marooned on a tropical island during the early years of the 20th century, this strange melodrama combines the basic DNA of the Adam and Eve story with Oedipal angst. Even though it’s made with restraint, the film follows its psychosexual premise all the way to the logical conclusion, so the vibe is deeply creepy. Therefore, it’s fascinating to ponder what might have attracted George C. Scott to such outré material. After all, this is unmistakably Scott’s film from top to bottom: Although he did not write the script, Scott produced, directed, played the leading role, cast his real-life wife as his costar, and released the film through his own company. Alas, The Savage Is Loose coincided with, and presumably contributed to, the decline of Scott’s star power. It was also the last of the two theatrical films he directed.

          The Savage Is Loose starts on a false note, because Scott depicts the shipwreck that triggers the story by showing close-ups of a painting of a shipwreck. Weak. Then, during the first live-action scene, several minutes of interaction suggest that John (Scott) is alone on an island with his preteen son David (played as a boy by Lee Montgomery). Thus, it’s jarring when John’s sexy wife, Maida (Trish Van Devere), arrives on the scene. Eventually, however, The Savage Is Loose locks into a Robinson Crusoe­­-type groove by portraying people from civilized society learning to survive in nature.

          The best part of the film is roughly the second quarter of the running time, during which John and Maida clash about priorities while raising David. John trains David to be a hunter so the boy will be able to fend for himself after John and Maida die, but Maida schools John in the ways of the outside world, hoping against hope for rescue. About halfway through the movie, things get kinky when David sees his parents having sex and asks Maida whether she and David will marry once he reaches adulthood. Then the movie cuts to David as a strapping young man (played by John David Carson). Grown-up David quickly becomes estranged from his parents, because David’s youthful affection for Mom was just a precursor. Now ruled by hormones, he’s blinded with lust whenever he’s around her. Conflict over which man gets to be with Maida ensues.

          Among other colossal problems, Scott’s direction becomes amateurish whenever he tries to film sexualized scenes. One bit featuring furtive glances around a dinner table includes more extreme close-ups of eyes than a Sergio Leone movie. A vignette of Maida humping John includes Van Devere grinding and growling with the ferocity of a porn star. And the “shocking” revelation of David’s sex cave—where he’s built an anatomically correct effigy of his mother out of animal parts—is borderline comical. Screenwriters Frank De Felitta and Max Ehrlich (who previously collaborated on 1972’s Z.P.G.) try to play the outrageous story straight, even integrating text from the Bible, but it would have required a far more delicate touch than Scott or the screenwriters could muster to steer The Savage Is Loose clear of camp. Further, Scott’s leaden pacing kills any chance of viewers simply going along for the transgressive ride. In sum, whatever intellectual or social significance Scott perceived in this unpleasant fable is not visible onscreen.

The Savage Is Loose: FREAKY

One Is a Lonely Number (1972)

         Several years before Paul Mazurzky made An Unmarried Woman (1979), now generally considered one of the definitive studies of how females experienced the ’70s divorce spike, MGM released this competent but vapid drama about a woman in her twenties whose ordered world is rocked when her husband abruptly quits their marriage. Over the course of the story, the heroine attempts to find herself in romance and work, all the while convinced her husband will take her back. In principle, there’s nothing wrong with this subject matter, and the screenplay by David Seltzter—though unrelentingly trite in many important regards—approaches the heroine’s crisis with respect. Unfortunately, there’s so little substance to this journey that One Is a Lonely Number disappears from the memory at the same moment it’s unfolding. This ephemeral quality is exacerbated by Trish Van Devere’s stiff performance in the leading role. Although Van Devere is lovely in an understated, East Coast blueblood sort of way, she delivers all of her dialogue with such formality that she botches this shot at an iconic performance.

          Van Devere plays Amy, the housewife of a San Francisco college professor. After the professor dumps Amy in the opening scene, she finds work as a lifeguard at a public pool, and the position comes complete with a lecherous employment-office staffer who makes passes at her. Amy consoles herself with the company of friends including elderly grocer Joseph (Melvyn Douglas), and eventually she meets gentle-mannered stud Howard (Monte Markham) at a party. While enjoying her new romance with Howard, Amy contrives with her lawyer to force her husband into returning to San Francisco from Reno, where he’s establishing residency for divorce. She also commiserates with gal pals Madge (Jane Elliot) and Gert (Janet Leigh), the latter of whom runs a support group for divorced women. (The movie would have benefited from a lot more Leigh, who plays her character as a likably saucy broad.) Director Mel Stuart shoots One Is a Lonely Number smoothly, employing the loping hills of San Francisco for atmosphere, and the picture captures a fashion moment with its cavalcade of awful polyester clothes. Alas, the only real emotion in the picture stems from Douglas’ poignant turn, especially since the main character is a doormat for most of the story. By the time Amy grows a spine in the movie’s final scenes, it’s hard to care much what happens, even though her plight should be highly relatable. FYI, MGM made a pathetic attempt at re-releasing this middling movie after its initial box-office nonperformance by reconfiguring the title as Two Is a Happy Number.

One Is a Lonely Number: FUNKY

Where’s Poppa? (1970)

          With its barrage of surrealistic plot developments and tasteless jokes, Where’s Poppa? would be a weird movie under any circumstances—yet it’s doubly strange when viewed as part of its director’s overall career. Carl Reiner, one of the most likable comedians America has ever produced, is best known for gentle humor of the family-friendly variety, since his professional highlights include creating the beloved ’60s sitcom The Dick Van Dyke Show and helming such inoffensive comedy features as Oh, God! (1977) and All of Me (1984). Excepting this bizarre movie, the most offensive thing Reiner ever made was probably the Steve Martin vehicle The Jerk (1979), which is incredibly tame by comparison with Where’s Poppa?

          Adapted by Robert Klane from his own novel, Where’s Poppa? depicts the travails of New York attorney Gordon Hocheiser (George Segal), who lives with his senile mother, Mrs. Hocheiser (Ruth Gordon), in a cramped apartment. Momma’s a dottering nut who keeps asking “Where’s Poppa?” because she can’t grasp the fact that her husband is dead, and she smothers Gordon with constant nagging and with inappropriately physical affection. Over the course of the movie, Gordon faces three predicaments: 1) He wants to dump Momma in a nursing home but can’t break a deathbed promise to his father that obligates him to care for his insufferable mother; 2) He wants to marry Louise (Trish Van Devere), the pretty nurse he just hired to care for Momma, but there’s no way the three of them can live together; and 3) Gordon’s high-strung brother, Sidney (Ron Leibman) keeps getting into trouble.

          The tone of Where’s Poppa? is all over the place, so it’s hard to know when the movie is going for absurdist humor, black comedy, nasty satire, or surrealistic farce. One scene might involve a gentle joke like Momma using cola in her cereal instead of milk, and the next scene might involve Sidney committing rape in Central Park while wearing a gorilla suit. Yes, you read that right—the “comedy” centerpiece of the movie is a rape scene, which is as gruesomely unfunny as it sounds. So, too, is the icky sequence in which Momma yanks down Gordon’s pants and chews on his ass while a shocked Louise watches. Underlying all of this is the distasteful central premise: The “hero” of the story wants to break a blood oath and dump his mentally ill mother so he can get laid.

          Segal does what he can, providing a few almost-amusing moments of exasperation, but his character is so ugly it’s hard to find anything Segal does funny. Similarly, Gordon drops the crazy-like-a-fox bit that distinguished most of her late-career roles and hits the same note of annoying senility again and again; her characterization is alternately boring and pathetic, neither of which is much fun to watch. Leibman’s performance is grotesque, and Van Devere seems lost amid the repulsive situations. Where’s Poppa? has a minor cult following, so clearly some people find the picture amusing, and it’s worth noting that a handful of familiar actors—Vincent Gardenia, Barnard Hughes, Garrett Morris, Rob Reiner, Paul Sorvino—make appearances. Yet it’s telling that after making this picture, Carl Reiner mostly left the realm of bad-taste humor behind, gravitating toward stories that reflect the sweetness one associates with his persona.

Where’s Poppa?: FREAKY

Harry in Your Pocket (1973)

          Nimble ensemble acting and sprightly direction give the character-driven crime picture Harry in Your Pocket humanity and vitality. Exploring the dynamics dividing and uniting a quartet of thieves who roam the U.S. and Canada, picking pockets and living in high style wherever they travel, Harry in Your Pocket is the only movie that Mission: Impossible creator Bruce Geller ever directed, and it’s a shame he never built upon the film’s promise. Particularly when he’s orchestrating tricky scenes, Geller displays great confidence with camerawork, performance, and storytelling. As a result, he creates a cohesive vibe in which every major character presents a surface of self-serving pragmatism in order to hide that greatest of weaknesses in criminal enterprise—compassion.

          Michael Sarrazin, his gangly masculinity as oddly appealing as ever, plays Ray, a small-time pickpocket plying his trade in a Seattle train station. His would-be victim, Sandy (Trish Van Devere), realizes he lifted her watch and then confronts him, but in so doing leaves her purse and suitcase unattended. When those items are stolen (by someone else), Ray feels responsible and offers to pay for her passage out of Seattle—just as soon as he fences loot for the necessary cash. So begins an offbeat romance, with Ray discovering vulnerability through his affection for Sandy and Sandy discovering a rebellious streak through her affection for Ray.

          Eventually, these two learn that a veteran thief named Harry (James Coburn) is looking for assistants, so they meet with Harry and his older associate, Casey (Walter Pidgeon). Harry’s a cocky crook prone to dictatorial declarations, but Ray accepts the humiliating work circumstances because he’s eager to learn from a master. Thus, Ray and Sandy become “stalls” responsible for distracting victims while Harry—the crew’s “cannon”—makes the “dip” (theft) and immediately deposits the “poke” (loot) into Casey’s hands. Because, you see, “Harry doesn’t hold,” and never keeping stolen goods in his hands for more than a few seconds explains why he’s never been arrested.

          Revealing the mechanics of a covert crew plays to Geller’s strengths, so he accentuates the effervescent rhythms of the movie’s script, which was written Ronald Austin and James Buchanan. Plus, the storyline ends up having a smidgen of emotional heft, because while Ray and Sandy grow into their new roles as first-class robbers, Harry’s icy professionalism is compromised by the development of personal connections. The pefectly cast actors dramatize these nuances well, because Coburn exudes macho standoffishness while Pidgeon radiates elegant likeability, with Sarrazin representing hotheaded youth and Van Devere adding grown-up sexiness. One could quibble that Harry in Your Pocket lacks the climactic payoff of a big heist sequence—the denouement is as understated as the rest of the picture—but the movie has abundant charms nonetheless, however humble they may be. (Available as part of the MGM Limited Collection on Amazon.com)

Harry in Your Pocket: GROOVY

Movie Movie (1978)

          A gently satirical tribute to the corny double-features of Hollywood’s Golden Age, Movie Movie begins with a short introduction from George Burns, continues into a boxing picture called Dynamite Hands, shifts gears for a fake trailer, and concludes with a showbiz-themed musical called Baxter’s Beauties of 1933. Replicating the way contract players were rotated through interchangeable roles during the studio era, many actors appear in both features (and the fake trailer), with George C. Scott playing all the lead roles. As written by comedy pros Larry Gelbart and Sheldon Keller, Movie Movie cleverly spoofs every contrivance common to movies that were cranked out a weekly basis, from plots predicated on absurd coincidences to completely implausible happy endings.

          Many of the subtler jokes, like the gimmick of having the same actor (Art Carney) open both features by giving a dour medical prognosis that triggers the plot, may be lost on viewers who aren’t steeped in old-school Hollywood cinema. However, the very funny dialogue, which riffs on the way studio hacks used to jumble clichés and metaphors into a stew of verbal nonsense, is terrific even without knowing the context. One example: “It’s funny, isn’t it, how many times your guts can get slapped in the face.” Or: “With the woman you love at your side to stand behind your back, a man can move mountains with his bare heart.” One gets the impression Gelbart and Keller spent their youths groaning through lines like these every Saturday at the local movie palace, only to hurry back for more the next week; whereas some cinematic satires falter because contempt for the subject matter makes the comedy seem mean-spirited, Movie Movie shines because its humor stems from nostalgic affection. So, with venerable director Stanley Donen playing to his strong suit of smoothly choreographed light comedy, Movie Movie becomes first-rate escapist silliness.

          Of the two features, Dynamite Hands is marginally better because the focus is on delivering verbal gags and spoofing clichéd storytelling. However, Baxter’s Beauties of 1933 has song-and-dance numbers that Donen stages with his signature effervescence. Appearing in both features, Carney, Red Buttons, Trish Van Devere, and Eli Wallach have a blast sending up the mannered acting of studio-era hams. Scott manages to be sweetly affecting in his dual roles, as a gruff boxing trainer in the first picture and as a Broadway impresario in the second. Kathleen Beller, Harry Hamlin, and real-life Broadway hoofer Ann Reinking are featured in Dynamite Hands, while Rebecca York costars with Bostwick in Baxter’s Beauties. They all get into the spirit of the thing, investing their performances with golly-gee-whiz enthusiasm. Also working in Movie Movie’s favor is zippy pacing—two features, a trailer, an introduction, and credits get crammed into 105 fast-moving minutes.

Movie Movie: GROOVY