Only now does it occur to me... HARPER (1966)

Only now does it occur to me... that I'd like to take (yet another) moment to celebrate Shelley Winters, whose latter-day career was often defined by playing "women unaware they are in a sham romance with the protagonist" (LOLITA, NIGHT OF THE HUNTER) and yet she rose above this by making exuberant and affirming and actualizing choices on screen. 

 Here, in HARPER––William Goldman's attempt at a mid-60s BIG SLEEP–– Winters plays a "wilted starlet" whom Paul Newman's private eye Lew Harper seduces (while pretending to be a superfan with a Texas accent). In relation to the other characters she is meant to be kooky and astrology-crazed. The film does its best to present her as comically undesirable, going as far as to show Paul Newman suffering fatigue while attempting to be nice to her. Shelley's revenge, however, has to be this dance montage where she tries out everything she learned from Debbie Reynolds (don't get me started on Shelley's legendary appearance in the Reynolds workout VHS called "DO IT DEBBIE'S WAY" where she does her best to sabotage the whole affair) and does a frantic Frug which culminates in her spilling her drink on Paul Newman.Well, just watch it:

A+!

Only now does it occur to me... THE LONG HOT SUMMER (1958)

Only now does it occur to me... that when weather this stifling comes around, the only solution is to watch some Southern Fried Sleaze-O-Rama! (As previously documented in my reviews of THE BIG EASY, TIGHTROPE, and THE PAPERBOY.) Today, that meant watching THE LONG, HOT SUMMER, a lurid, golden age melodrama based on three works by William Faulker ("Spotted Horses," "Barn Burning," and THE HAMLET) and featuring sweaty Paul Newman:

well-oiled n' corpulent Orson Welles:

steamy Angela Lansbury (chuggin' all the beers):

moist Joanne Woodward:

clammy Tony Franciosa (best known to me from Argento's TENEBRE!):

and damp Lee Remick:

(among other perspiring members of the Actors Studio).

Directed by Martin Ritt (HUD, HOMBRE, THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD) and set to a sensationalized score by Alex North (SPARTACUS, CLEOPATRA, THE MISFITS), this is a film about handsome strange-uhs and busyin' youh-self with the vapours and the juleps and the pink lemonade, and it contains more Faulknerian sexual entrendres than you can shake a swampy, Bayou-drippin' stick at. In short, I enjoyed it quite a bit. 

Also worth mentioning is the DVD cover, which features a pull-quote from a VARIETY review:

"...Strikingly Directed...Steamy With Sex." 

Apparently confused by the review's lack of attribution (it's from an uncredited "staff" review) the DVD producers decided to go with the first name they saw: Martin Ritt. And thusly, THE LONG, HOT SUMMER's DVD cover came to feature a rave recommendation seemingly uttered from the lips of its own director!

(And if you dig Faulknerian wordplay, might I direct you toward a piece I wrote for McSweeney's last year called "Winners of the Yoknapatawpha County Spelling Bee, 1929-1940.")

Only now does it occur to me... THE MACKINTOSH MAN

Only now does it occur to me...  that wonderfully pompous acting genius James Mason has admitted said pomposity, on camera.

It occurs during the final five minutes of John Huston's mostly-phoned-in, Paul-Newman-starring spy thriller THE MACKINTOSH MAN (with a screenplay adapted by Walter Hill!?), and I have to admit that the lines would work just as well, if not better, if he had said them immediately upon wrapping the shoot for his infamous Thunderbird commercial. 

Film Review: WINNING (1969, James Goldstone)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 104 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Paul Newman, Joanne Woodward, Robert Wagner, Clu Gulager.
Tag-line: "Winning is...EVERYTHING."
Best one-liner: "I don't need any sugar in his gas tank 'cause I'm gonna beat that son-of-a-bitch anyway! "

I'm not going to go as far as to call this a 'lost masterpiece,' but this is a surprisingly solid little forgotten film. WINNING is dripping with avant-garde late 60's style; the racing scenes in particular are somehow reminiscent of John Frankenheimer's SECONDS, the unorthodox editing and visuals bring to mind the works of John Boorman (1968's POINT BLANK) or Nicolas Roeg (1970's PERFORMANCE). And as it turns out, surprisingly, this isn't really a racing movie. That's just the backdrop and our point of entry for a family/relationship drama (with a touch of the Cassavetes influence) centering around real-life couple Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. While I can't say I was sold 100% on the script, the volatile combination of Newman and Woodward's acting abilities and their natural chemistry carry it rather far, way further than the material has any right to go.

Then we also get the ever-mind-blowing Clu Gulager in a supporting role as Newman's hearing-impaired mechanic.

Clu is pretty understated here, but he does quite a lot with a pretty much throwaway role, in terms of exuding pathos, wearing a hearing aid, and making bizarre facial expressions when he works on car engines. In all, this is a three-star movie that gains it's fourth from being visually impressive, possessing some unexpected weight, and having the soothing presence of film legend Clu Gulager.

-Sean Gill