Matchless (1966)

The opening credits of Alberto Lattuada’s Matchless (aka Mission Top Secret) consist of shots (mostly closeups) of various beakers, flasks, and so forth churning with all manner of colored “chemicals.”  It’s a setup straight out of the Mad Scientists’ Playbook, though at the time this film was made, it would probably be more familiar from Jerry Lewis’s The Nutty Professor to the younger viewers in the audience (and Lattuada would most likely be more familiar to cinephiles of the time for something like his adaptation of Nikolai Gogol’s The Overcoat).  But I thought of neither of those during the film’s start.  My first thought was of Professor Julius Sumner Miller.  In my youth, our local PBS station, WVIA, would show a program called Science Demonstrations, and it was hosted by Miller.  On the program, he would wander around his low-rent lab set and give short lectures and demonstrations on physics (one of the first things he would say on each episode was, “…and physics is my business”).  The shows were informal and fairly crude, and most people who remember Miller at all probably do so because he had a distinctive look about him which was topped (quite literally) by a scraggly head of hair that would have made Mark Blankfield in Jekyll And Hyde…Together Again weep. 

However, my fondness for Miller goes a bit beyond the real-world trappings which most people view with a sense of kitsch or irony.  I truly admire Miller, because he was enthusiastic.  Here was a man who thrilled at the concepts of Newton’s Third Law of Physics, who delighted in the idea that water behaves as much like a lens as it does a hydrating element (The Professor appeared on the Canadian program Hilarious House Of Frightenstein, as well).  More than that, he was delighted to share his insights with people.  His desire was to inspire learning, to actively engage young minds and stimulate them to see the world through a new set of eyes, and he dismayed at the failures of our educational system.  “We are approaching a darkness in the land. Boys and girls are emerging from every level of school with certificates and degrees, but they can't read, write or calculate. We don't have academic honesty or intellectual rigor. Schools have abandoned integrity and rigor."  Now, I’m sure there those who would take the preceding statement as corny or archaic, but as Euripides wrote in The Bacchae, “Talk sense to a fool, and he calls you foolish.”   Frankly, I think Miller was right back then and even more so today.  But I also think that, if there were more teachers like Julius Sumner Miller, this would likely not be the case.  There is a difference between hearing and listening, and Miller was one of those people who got you to listen and thus to learn.

Journalist Perry Liston (Patrick O’Neal) is being tortured by the Communist Chinese for information as to why he is in their country (evidently not much).  Liston proves resilient, and the Reds chuck him back into his cell, which he shares with actual spy Hank (Henry Silva) and an elderly, moribund Chinese peasant who Hank wishes would die more quietly.  Perry shows the old man compassion, and in return the peasant gifts Perry with a very ugly ring.  However, the ring has the unique ability of making its wearer (but not his/her clothes) completely invisible for twenty minutes once every ten hours.  Perry effects his escape back to America (kind of involuntarily) and is enlisted by the military (including Boss Hogg himself, Sorrell Booke as Colonel Coolpepper) to steal a vial-stuffed briefcase from one Gregori Andreanu (Donald Pleasance).  But even with the help of artist-cum-spy Arabella (Ira von Fürstenberg) and his own distinct advantages, the job may not be as easy as it seems.

There is an interesting juxtaposition going on in Matchless, and it is one of sides; not sides as in planes which make up an object but sides as in “whose side are you on?”  We are introduced to the Red Menace villains of the piece as they torture Perry on a centrifugal motion device.  We then see they have given four soldiers plastic surgery to appear as WASPs for a Battle of the Bulge sort of infiltration of America.  After Perry is drugged by O-Lan (the gorgeous Elisabetta Wu), the film cuts to the same opening shot from Perry’s POV, and we assume he is on the same centrifugal motion device, about to be interrogated again by the Chinese.  Well, he is on the same device, but he is now in America, and he is being tortured and interrogated by the American military.  Coincidentally, the Americans also have four soldiers who have been given plastic surgery and are ready to be sent to infiltrate China.  This equation of the Chinese and Americans sets up a question of trust (and of brains, since neither side can come up with any ideas better than their enemy’s).  Both sides think and act exactly the same, and they distrust anything outside their basic purview. 

Even the agents working for America cannot be trusted by Perry as is setup in his encounter with O-Lan, and this will shade the relationship with Arabella to some degree (though her being an artist separates her in the viewer’s mind from the regulation-oriented military somewhat).  Hank is a venal opportunist who will betray his sworn allegiance for some money and a chance to save his own skin.  The Americans refuse to tell Perry what’s in the vials he is supposed to snatch (turning the case into a MacGuffin a la Kiss Me Deadly, Repo Man, etcetera, though we do see the vials rather than just an enigmatic glow), baldly displaying their distrust of a man they are entrusting to carry out an extraordinarily important mission.  Unlike so many other films in the Superspy genre, there is a cynical, antiauthoritarian streak going on in the film.  There is no beneficent government looking out for “the good side’s” best interest, just the same as there is no evil empire intent on dominating the world.  The two are one and the same; the only real difference being their map coordinates.  Essentially, all governments are bent, and the only person Perry (read: common folk) can truly trust is Perry. 

Perry’s invisibility schtick is also meaningful outside of its narrative function.  Whenever he uses the ring, he must be completely unclothed.  Thus, he is both well-defended as well as completely defenseless.  He is literally stripped bare, and this fits with O’Neal’s casual attitude toward everything that happens in the film, funny enough.  The invisibility also provides a counterpoint to the villainous Gregori’s outlook on the world.  Andreanu believes “in science and accuracy,” his estate populated by serving robots with clocks for heads (a play both on the idea of clockwork men and Gregori’s obsession with precision).  Also, when Gregori gets upset (despite his deep belief that he leads a “Zen” lifestyle), he insists on putting on a pair of sunglasses to make his eyes invisible to anyone who happens to be looking.  Perry, by contrast, takes everything off and goes with the flow of things, embodying more of the Zen philosophy than Gregori could ever buy or build.  The two symbolize the opposites of everything versus nothing, technology versus primitive, intellect versus instinct.  Perry wants to blend in, Gregori wants to stand out.

The film’s sense of humor is broad but never egregiously so (Hank watches The Man From AUNTIE on television, just to give you a taste).  Lattuada’s direction is solid, and his shot choices provide for interesting viewing, by and large (and there are healthy doses of tastefully enticing T&A throughout).  The Superspy elements are handled rather well, and the action elements (with the exception of a dull-as-shit car chase at the end) are tense and exciting (especially the central set piece at the bank).  At times, the film dips from the realm of Superspy/Super-Science into almost pure fantasy, but it never feels disconcerting.  In fact, I would argue that the film would have benefited by going just a step or two further down that road.  The visual effects, especially those involving invisibility, are surprisingly accomplished, and there are only a few times when an object appears to be just suspended on fishing line.  Matchless is a light adventure, nonetheless.  No one’s life will be changed by watching it for either good or ill, and as an entertainment I wouldn’t necessarily agree with the film’s title, but I would go so far as to say it isn’t joyless.

MVT:  Superspy films of this era have a certain flavor, whether they like it or not, and that Swingin’ 60s aesthetic is the thing I liked most about this movie.  The “Space Age” technology, the hiphugger fashions, the “everything’s a happening” attitude all add up into a decent little ambience package that fits the film nicely.

Make Or Break:  The Make for me was the first scene with Silva in the Chinese prison.  Here’s a guy who is so self-centered, he cannot bear having to listen to another man quietly drawing his final breaths because they’re keeping him awake.  It’s pure Silva doing what Silva does best, and it fits the odd-yet-blithe timbre of the picture.

Score:  6.25/10 

Wrong Is Right (1982)

Let’s discuss the idea of shaky cam, and let’s start with a definition (or at least my definition).  Shaky cam is the technique of filming with a handheld device in such a way as to make any action (and even inaction) onscreen completely incoherent or just to induce nausea in the viewer.  This is accomplished by shaking the camera (or i-device or whatever) violently during a take, whether it is warranted in the scene or not.  Now, if we go back in time, the practice of employing handheld cameras goes back quite a ways, but it is most associated in history with documentaries or on-site news reportage.  In those situations, though, unless there is some type of sudden violence which both attracts attention and also causes the cameraman to beat a hasty retreat, you’ll notice that the shots caught on film and video were remarkably steady.  That’s because being a cameraman was something of an art form, requiring attention and discipline.  I defy you to watch something like, say, Harlan County, USA and tell me you don’t understand everything you see onscreen at all times. 

 

Since this isn’t a treatise (yet), let’s skip ahead to today.  There are still filmmakers who understand and know how to utilize handheld cinematography in their films (aided greatly by the invention of the steadicam in the mid-1970s), but there has also been a massive rise in a style of filmmaking which (from my own ignorant perspective) feels wholly concerned with expediency over purpose and a mistaken notion that the more the camera moves, the more immediate a film will feel.  To be fair, it can work to a degree and can even be artfully done, but what these folks don’t seem to realize is that the truly talented among them are lumping themselves in with those simply interested in grinding product out (and there’s a whole conversation to be had there, the answers to which I’m sure would prove most elusive) and defeating the purpose (in my eyes) of making an action film.  Compare, if you will, a film like The Eight Diagram Pole Fighter with something like A Quantum Of Solace (a film that I like, but we’re not here for that argument, either).  The latter may be flashier than the former, benefiting as it does from nearly a quarter of a century of sophistication in stuntwork techniques and special effects, but the former is simply a better depiction of cinematic action.  Don’t believe me?  Go ahead and watch the two back to back and get back to me.  I’ll be around here, somewhere.  

Patrick Hale (Sean Connery) is a globetrotting reporter who meets with fellow journalist Sally Blake (Katharine Ross) while doing a story about his friend King Awad (Ron Moody) in some Middle Eastern country.  Chancing upon terroristic arms dealer Helmut Unger (Hardy Krüger), who is delivering two suitcase nukes to Awad, Hale soon finds himself embroiled in a scenario as frightening as it is credible, with ties to everyone from loony Presidential hopeful Mallory (Leslie Nielsen) to loony Arab terrorist Rafeeq ( the chillingly humorous Henry Silva) to loony current President/health nut Lockwood (George Grizzard) .  And it’s kind of funny, too.

Wrong Is Right (aka The Man With The Deadly Lens) is Richard Brooks’ (who hails from my home state and has turned out some great films, including The Professionals and Blackboard Jungle) adaptation of the novel The Better Angels by Charles McCarry.  The film is a satire of the time in which it was made, when it felt like everything was topsy-turvy (hence the title), and it was entirely within the realm of possibility that a large portion of seemingly insanely-run factions would want to possess and/or detonate a nuclear device.  What’s really compelling about the film and its characters is that this could almost have been produced yesterday.  There are still deranged religious zealots who want to annihilate their enemies in order to gain power for themselves.  There are still self-involved morons at the very highest levels of power making decisions without thought of the people they swore to serve.  There are still violent programs inundating people in this country via the church of the cathode ray (apologies and thanks to Mr. Cronenberg).  In fact, there are probably even more now, since television is now a twenty-four-hour-a-day business festooned with hundreds of channels that still insist on running epic marathons of a single program for days on end (surely, not out of laziness?).  Its prescience notwithstanding, the film’s satire is far more subtle than it could have been, and for my money, that’s not only more difficult to achieve but also more malleable as an entertainment.  Not being saddled with hamfisted, pass-or-fail jokes a ten-year-old would likely scrawl in a lavatory stall, the quality of the humor is dependent on the viewer to get it and encourages a slightly more engaged viewing experience.  That’s not to say there aren’t more undisguised jokes going on (which also work by and large and are seemingly centered on Robert Conrad’s character of General Wombat [get it?]), but for the most part, the writing herein doesn’t “mug” for the camera, and I for one appreciate that sort of style.   

As long as we’re on the subject of writing, though, we do need to discuss the film’s biggest problem, and it is rooted in the script’s structure.  Adapting a novel is a difficult task for even the most straightforward story, I’m sure.  When you add in a lengthy cast of characters and a plot which spans multiple continents over a short time period, things can get a little muddy, and such is the case here.  One of the “commandments” of screenwriting has long been “get into a scene late and get out early,” and the screenwriter here (Brooks) obeys this tenant religiously.  Unfortunately, he also seems to be trying to follow the structure of the novel (I cannot be sure of this, not having read the source material), and consequently, the film feels like it is hopscotching (if you don’t know what hopscotch is, there’s probably an app that will play it for you) around, breaking the story up and making a complicated plot into a labyrinthine one.  It is also disconcerting, because many of the same characters appear in multiple scenes back-to-back in settings which either they shouldn’t have been able to get to so swiftly or which doesn’t account for the short time frame in which the plot takes place.  It’s no deal breaker, but it is demerit-worthy.

What most intrigues me in the film, however, is its view on violence in society.  In the opening of the film, Hale reports on a company (dubbed “The Happy Farm,” and not to be confused with the “funny” variety, surely) where people can simulate murdering the people in their lives who irritate them.  Interestingly, a very young Jennifer Jason Leigh sums up the facility with which violence has become a solution stating that she doesn’t hate her parents; “they’re just useless.”  I am by no means the sort of person who feels that media are solely to blame for the actions of mentally unbalanced folks, but I do accept that said media has sensationalized violence to nigh-pornographic levels and de-sensitized many of us to its very real impact.  But that’s entertainment, for better or worse.  At some point, we, as individuals, have to take the responsibility for how our families process that violence and draw the lines of demarcation.  It’s not a perfect answer (if it’s an answer at all), and I don’t mean to go off on a screed here (I think we can all agree I did enough of that in my introduction), but violent media are not going anywhere anytime soon.  If society is to regain that essence which allows it to be called “civilized,” let’s face it, it begins with us.  You can write my name in on the next election ballot, thanks.

MVT:  Without the level of writing at work in this film, it truly would fall apart.  Granted, it does indeed threaten to at multiple points, but it never totally does.  And the lead is never buried in the minutiae or sacrificed for the sake of a laugh, and that takes a deal of integrity rarely seen these days.

Make Or Break:  The opening with “The Happy Farm” draws you into the film handily.  It’s also effectively creepy and verisimilitudinous at the same time, and it’s this scene and its significance which remains with you after all the nuclear shenanigans have been sorted, and Connery’s toupee has flipped (yeah, a fellow bald guy went for the bald joke).

Score:  6.5/10

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Smile (1975)

I hate reality TV shows.  Wait.  Let me try to be more specific.  I hate modern reality TV shows.  Oh, I didn’t always.  I admit I actually liked the first few seasons of The Real World.  Never mind that MTV had been in danger of being irrelevant as early as 1984 (feel free to debate the merits of that statement).  The idea of bringing together a microcosm of young adults and giving the viewer access to some of the most personal moments (or at least what we assumed were the most personal moments, since the majority of drama on the show was, if not manufactured, certainly not entirely truthful) was a good one; Come to understand people different from yourself by observing a representative (black, Latino, gay, Irish, white, whatever) go through their daily life.    It was never going to be as groundbreaking as 1973’s An American Family nor as honest, and in short order the whole affair became about celebrity rather than comprehension.  It became more important to be a spotlight-hogging jerkoff than a bona fide member of the human race (and the question of whether they’re one and the same should keep you up at night).  

So, naturally, reality TV (a misnomer in the extreme) became more and more prevalent.  Why?  Well, in my mind, there are two reasons.  One, producers realized that for much less money than a scripted show, they could make huge profits (and it’s called “show business” not “show charity”).  Two, they appeal to human beings’ morbid curiosity to gawk at others’ misfortunes, like rubbernecking at a car accident.  The problem is what does this say about us as a society?  More people know about Beard Wars than they do about the war in Afghanistan.  More people give a bigger shit about who will win American Idol than they do about who will win the next presidential election.  More people can name the “cast members” of Hardcore Pawn than can name the countries which made up the Axis in World War Two.   It now seems that absolutely everyone in the world, regardless of how inconsequential they are (perceived or otherwise) can have a reality TV show.  When Andy Warhol stated that, “in the future, everyone will be world-famous for fifteen minutes” in 1968, it’s arguable whether or not he foresaw the reign of reality TV off on the horizon.  His quote rings more of a curse than it does a prophecy, from this vantage point at least.  It’s rare for me to not consider other viewpoints when thinking about these sorts of things, but it bears repeating: I hate reality TV.  You should, too.  It lowers not only those on display but those watching it.  It’s the modern equivalent of the geek show.  And when’s the last time they were thought of as acceptable entertainment?  Now, you can argue the other side until you’re blue in the face.  And you would be wrong.  I feel dirty just discussing it for this length of time, and I can certainly go on, but we’re here to talk about Michael Ritchie’s Smile (you got the screed for free; you’re welcome).

The Young American Miss pageant is underway, and the event in Santa Rosa, California will choose who goes on to the National contest from that state.  The film centers on several of the teen girls, including Robin (Joan Prather), Doria (Annette O’Toole), and Connie (Colleen Camp).  Running the pageant is Wilson (Geoffrey Lewis), and he is assisted by Brenda (Barbara Feldon), and head judge Big Bob (Bruce Dern).  But as the competition draws nearer, the personal lives of the entrants and the officials complicate things.

As a satire of pageant mentality, the film succeeds marvelously.  By basing the structure on duality, screenwriter Jerry Belson is able to focus on surfaces, both in our fascination with them as well as the way they mask truth.  For every scene of teen girls smiling, dancing, or answering inane questions, we get scenes of the tribulations of the girls and pageant officials.  Brenda’s husband Andy (Nicholas Pryor) is the suicidal town drunk.  Big Bob’s son, Little Bob (Eric Shea), and his pals have a pervy scheme going to make money off nude Polaroids of the girls.  Big-shot choreographer Tony French (Michael Kidd) is on the skids and desperate for work.  Newcomer Robin doesn’t understand how pageants work but gets an education from roommate Doria.  The point is, most of these characters are absolutely miserable when they’re not “on.”  As Brenda tells the girls early on, “just be yourselves, and keep smiling.”  This is not simply advice for aspiring contestants, this is how these characters cope with their lives.  It’s better to put on a happy face and be tormented inside than to let anyone ever think that everything is absolutely honky dory.  

Big Bob sums it up to Andy best: “I just learned a long time ago to accept a little less from life, that’s all.”  This is why Big Bob is the happiest person in the film, alone or in public.  He has trained himself to be happy being unhappy.  This is why he espouses the traditional values professed in the pageant “manifesto.”  He does believe in them, because he needs to believe in them.  To confront that life is anything less than perfect based on what you’re given is to confront his entire life as a lie and to admit that he is dissatisfied. 

Conversely, it is Andy who sums up Big Bob perfectly: “You’re a goddamned Young American Miss.”   

The absurdity of the goings-on make up the core of the film’s humor, but it’s entirely plausible.  The girls are interviewed by the judges and given generally slow pitch questions, and almost to a person, they answer the questions with some version of the good they want to do with their life, the charity they want to contribute to, and the succor they want to give to their fellow man.  Of course, Robin then gets asked about her views on abortion (by the priest on the panel).  But after floundering for a bit, she comes back with the “pageant-ready” statement that she’s glad she isn’t young enough to vote.  What’s interesting here is twofold.  One, Robin resists becoming like the more aggressive, exploitive girls, but we see instances where she begins to bare her teeth.  It’s subtle, never arch, and very effective both in writing and in performance.  Two, the filmmakers understand that beauty pageants are purposeless displays of hot flesh masquerading as substantive showcases for truly talented young people.  Yet, they never rub the viewers face in this.  They know what’s going on and they give the audience credit for knowing, as well and not patronizing them by taking easy shots.  

This is also part of the film’s biggest problem which is its pacing.  While it starts off at a breakneck pace, flipping between characters, the film soon finds itself getting mired down in trying to be equable to too many of its characters.  It gives us long scenes which have nothing at all to do with the contest, and it kills the frenetic momentum built up in those scenes.  But it must also be stated that the filmmakers’ care and investment in the characters shows through.  These are not strictly one-dimensional people, and the lengthy sketching out of their individual foibles goes a long way in illustrating the point that this truly is a microcosm in the film, not in what we see but in what we don’t.  In summation, then, the film is highly entertaining, hysterically funny at times, and thoughtfully conceived so you get more than a great Comedy.  But it’s a great Comedy, too.

MVT:  The script by Belson is razor sharp in its dialogue and the interplay between the characters.  We do feel bad for these people in as much as we enjoy laughing at the ridiculousness of their lives.  It’s a difficult trick to pull off, and while it doesn’t pull it off without a few bumps, it does pull it off.

Make Or Break:  The talent portions of the pageant Make the film.  They are not a single scene, and more often than not, are snippets rather than whole acts, but they are believably ludicrous, and I personally almost did spit takes at several points.  Ah, comedy.

Score:  7/10

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