Only now does it occur to me... FALLING IN LOVE (1984)

Only now does it occur to me... that I must say a few words about the romantic drama FALLING IN LOVE (1984), which, despite being generally forgotten today, seems to have maintained a small but fierce cult following. 

I could tell you that it stars Meryl Streep and Robert De Niro, and that they have been occasionally celebrated for their chemistry here despite De Niro coming across as brooding and sinister even in moments like their Christmas meet-cute, whereupon they accidentally collide with heaping bags of Christmas presents including the clichéd "pair of skis with a bow on it," which, I would wager, is gifted far more often in Hallmark movies than in real life.

I could tell you that it's inspired mostly by David Lean and Noel Coward's seminal BRIEF ENCOUNTER (1945),

 

which means that the two are already married, and their long-suffering spouses are played by, respectively, MALCOLM IN THE MIDDLE's Jane Kaczmarek

and David Clennon ("Palmer" from John Carpenter's THE THING).

 

I could tell you that it features bit parts by Victor Argo (KING OF NEW YORK, THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST), Frances Conroy (SIX FEET UNDER, THE AVIATOR), and Kenneth Welsh ("Windom Earle" on TWIN PEAKS), but in larger supporting roles, it manages to completely waste both multi-Oscar winner Dianne Wiest (HANNAH AND HER SISTERS, EDWARD SCISSORHANDS) 

 and Harvey Keitel (TAXI DRIVER, RESERVOIR DOGS).

They languish in rote The Best Friend™ roles, dramaturgically existing only when they're on screen, to be used as nothing more than generic sounding boards for the protagonists.

But what I want to tell you about FALLING IN LOVE is that one of Streep and De Niro's first dates takes place in Manhattan's iconic Chinatown.

And that said date leads them to a peculiar 1970s arcade, where they are able to place coins in a machine to... play tic-tac-toe against a live chicken.

 

This was clearly a real, found location (the Chinatown Fair on Mott Street), featuring this incredible bit of bizarro entertainment. I love that the chicken makes its moves from a "Thinkin' Booth."

 

 

 

 

 

I love that De Niro gets in an argument with the chicken because it keeps winning.

 

 

 

 

I love that the prize it pays out is supposedly "a large bag of fortune cookies if you beat the chicken."

 

 

I love that when the chicken defeats you, there's a light-up sign announcing, "BIRD WINS."

 

This feels like something out of Werner Herzog's STROZEK (1978), which features the absurdist closing image of a coin-operated "dancing chicken" machine. 

 

This is the unequivocal high point of FALLING IN LOVE, and on this subject, I'm afraid I cannot be swayed.

See also: my thoughts on the animatronic bar fixture "Dirty Gertie" in Robert Altman's THREE WOMEN (1977).

Film Review: NEW YORK STORIES (1989, Martin Scorsese, Francis Ford Coppola, & Woody Allen)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 124 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Nick Nolte, Rosanna Arquette, Steve Buscemi, Peter Gabriel, Woody Allen, Mia Farrow, Ira Wheeler, Larry David, Talia Shire, Giancarlo Giannini, Adrien Brody, Chris Elliot, Debbie Harry, Victor Argo, Illeana Douglas, Kirsten Dunst. Shot by Néstor Almendros, Sven Nykvist, and Vittorio Storaro.
Tag-line: "One City. Three Stories Tall."
Best one-liner: "I just wanted to kiss your foot. Sorry, nothing personal."

Omnibus projects are never quite as good as they ought to be, yet in the midst of a lot of general dislike for NEW YORK STORIES, I found myself enjoying it quite a bit (obviously, some parts more than others). Now we know there's a great lineup of directors: Scorsese, Coppola, and Allen; but the cinematographic talent on display is equally staggering: Néstor Almendros (DAYS OF HEAVEN, CLAIRE'S KNEE, KRAMER VS. KRAMER), Vittorio Storaro (THE CONFORMIST, APOCALYPSE NOW, THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE), and Sven Nykvist (FANNY AND ALEXANDER, THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY, PRETTY BABY, Tarkovsky's OFFRET). So despite all else, know that this film is visually immaculate. But on to the films:

Scorsese's LIFE LESSONS is a near masterpiece. Written by Bronx novelist Richard Price (THE WANDERERS), it's sort of a 'portrait of the artist as a bitter, middle-aged egoist.'

Nick Nolte is electrifying as a painter who lives his life on the crest of each wild brush stroke. He lumps together his talent, frustration, and self-doubt as one, non-negotiable 'artistic passion,' which, of course, is above the reproach of mere mortals.

Such as his indentured servant/roommate/apprentice/pseudo-girlfriend, Rosanna Arquette-


–or even his 'talk of the town' performance art rival, Steve Buscemi.

A lifelong VERTIGO fanatic, Scorsese builds a world of dangerous obsession (and no I'm not talking about Eszterhas-ian flavors of the month) and ever-shifting artistic/sexual power dynamics that has rarely been equaled.

Nolte plunges into the depths of compulsion and the mania of creativity (the man himself was on a frenzied hot streak which would continue with Milius' FAREWELL TO THE KING and Lumet's Q&A the next year) and Scorsese presents it all as a flurry of exquisite visuals, crisp edits and rockin' tunes, and the denouement hits just the right note of melancholy and cynicism.

The next segment, Coppola's LIFE WITHOUT ZOE, is the most misunderstood of the bunch. Seen by some as a saccharine bore fit for children's TV, they fail to take into account that it is a satire. It clearly shows the naive viewpoint of a trust fund brat who knows no other life; where homelessness and international intrigue can be solved with Hershey's Kisses and precocious scheming.

After spending much of the 80's telling the stories of children (literally) born on the wrong side of the tracks, I don't understand why everyone seems to think Coppola would sell his ideals up the river to glorify a rich little shit.

Allen's OEDIPUS WRECKS closes the film, and, despite a very clever and original premise which I shan't exactly spoil–

begins to lose steam around the halfway point, and never quite recovers. In all, a solid film, but see it for the Scorsese. Four stars.

-Sean Gill