Andrew_Eskridge

I saw this movie the first night it opened in Las Vegas in 1981. The large theater was packed, SRO. What may come as a surprise today, the film was received seriously by the audience, who sat transfixed throughout. I don't recall inappropriate laughter (well, maybe a muted laugh or two when little Christina muttered "Jesus Christ" at the end of the wire hanger scene), and I remember hearing favorable comments from people around me, although many were horrified by the depictions of child abuse.

Unfortunately, the movie did not live up to the high expectations at the box office. After all, it was based on a best-selling book that sold 4 million copies.

A few weeks later, Mommie Dearest was re-released and was being advertised as a campfest in the vein of Rocky Horror, and patrons were urged to bring wire hangers to the theater. The studio turned against its own movie in order to milk more money out of it. That's a shame, because Faye Dunaway gave the performance of her life and deserved an Academy Award nomination, if not the award.

Former sex goddess Gina Lollobrigida is a gorgeous 40ish redhead in this fast-paced comedy filmed on location in Italy in 1968.

La Lollo plays the mother of the lovely Janet Margolin, whose American soldier father was supposedly killed during World War II. The thing is, Gina isn't sure who the father was, since she was friendly with three soldiers at the time, (played by Peter Lawford, Phil Silvers and Telly Savalas), and all are very much alive. Each of the three thinks he is the father and has been financially supporting the girl in secret for over 20 years. Trouble and hilarity ensue when the three men and their wives return to the Italian village for an Army reunion, and Gina has to juggle all six of them while keeping her daughter from finding out the truth.

It's a funny script that hearkens back to Hollywood's great screwball comedies, with especially good jobs from Silvers and Savalas and Shelley Winters and Lee Grant as their wives. But it's Gina who steals the show with her glamorous mugging.

Bob Hope plays a worldly writer whose specialty is the sexual mores of European women. He is called back to the U.S. from his home on the French Riviera after his business manager takes off with his money, leaving him with back taxes to pay. His editor (played by the delightfully droll John McGiver) assigns him to write a book about the sexual mores of American suburbanites and places him in a tract house in a new Southern California subdivision. There, Hope meets the glamorous Realtor Lana Turner, who has given up on men, and the wacky pre-feminist wives and mothers who are his neighbors. Romance and troubles follow to a predictable ending.

This is escapist humor at its purest, produced at a time when Americans faced a world seemingly on the brink of nuclear war. Filmed on location, it also provides a fascinating look at the culture of the time, making you wish you were living then amid the Atomic Age architecture. Dig those compact tract homes painted in California coral and aqua, that far-out supermarket with the giant windows in front, that snappy diner with the carhops, that chic barbecue restaurant where they serve shrimp cocktails, ribs and gibsons al fresco! (I wish I knew where it was filmed).

The first hour is great, with quirky comic turns by Paula Prentiss as the excitable young housewife next door, Janis Paige as the sexy soon-to-be divorcée on the make and Reta Shaw as the overbearing neighborhood snoop. Unfortunately, the second half drags a bit as the farce grows thin, Hope grows more grating and most of the action moves inside to studio sets.

Still, it's a nice trip back to 1961.

This fast and wild James Bond spoof is not the usual Doris Day bedroom comedy of the 60s. It's different in that it has a bevy of talented comic actors in supporting roles, who all have their moments to shine.

Paul Lynde in drag is sublime. He looks spectacular in a red bouffant wig and aqua satin gown, and looks even more glamorous than Doris. They have a "powder room" scene together that is hilarious slapstick.

Alice Pearce recreates her Gladys Kravitz-type character from "Bewitched" and is wonderful as usual. It's her last movie role, unfortunately, as she died too young.

A young Dom DeLuise has a couple of funny scenes that he does mostly in pantomime. Dick Martin shows up with good reaction takes, and the great character actor Edward Andrews is in fine blustering form.

The stars, Doris and Rod Taylor, are quite appealing, although looking a bit too mature for their fluffy romance.

Faded Southern belle Charlotte Hollis lives in depression and loneliness in her family's Louisiana plantation house, still distraught over the axe murder of her married lover 40 years earlier, a bloody killing that she was accused of doing. When the state condemns her home to put in a new highway, she defiantly refuses to leave, with a shotgun. When her long-lost Yankee cousin Miriam arrives to help, heads start to roll, literally.

Although not a sequel to Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, it was conceived as a vehicle to reteam Bette Davis and Joan Crawford. And the story is similar in that the parts were written as Crazy Bette and Phony Joan (as Davis put it). Too bad Davis drove Crawford off the picture. It would've been great to see them do battle again, this time with Crawford having the upper hand. And the scene when Joan slaps Bette would've made cinematic history.

Still, I enjoy "Charlotte" more than "Jane." For one thing, it has the delightfully grotesque Agnes Moorehead acting like Quasimodo as Charlotte's screwy ally/servant Velma. She steals every scene she's in (and an Oscar nomination).

It's also nice to see sweet-faced Olivia DeHavilland cast against type as Miriam. She handles herself quite well, and god knows it couldn't have been easy for her. When Crawford heard that she was out and DeHavilland was in, she ranted against Davis and director Robert Aldrich in the press, but cooed, "I'm happy for Olivia, she needs a good movie role." Ouch. And after the picture was completed, Queen Bette said Olivia "was good at keeping the audience's attention while I'm off screen." With friends like her....

By the way, there is a shot of Crawford still in the movie. At 28 minutes and 30 seconds the taxi carrying Miriam pulls up in front of the mansion and for two seconds Crawford can be seen peering out from the backseat window wearing dark sunglasses and dark clothes.

As a young actress still in her 20s, Norma Shearer was hailed as the First Lady of MGM, and she reigned as queen of the studio throughout the 1930s. For about two decades after early retiring in 1942, she was fondly remembered by fans and critics, but slowly she was mostly forgotten. Then in the early 70s, antagonistic film critic Pauline Kael, grudge-holding MGM rival Joan Crawford and others took delight in trashing her, usually with the implication that Norma's greatest talent was finding a powerful husband (Irving Thalberg). Unfortunately, those unfair remarks carried great weight since Shearer's movies were unavailable on video and rarely shown on TV.

We're now able to see her talent for ourselves, thanks largely to Turner Classic Movies, and Norma Shearer's star is rising again.

If you've never seen a Shearer movie, Marie Antoinette is a good beginning. It is one of Hollywood's great epics of the 1930s, with lavish costumes and scenery, and its historic setting holds up well. Shearer plays the doomed French queen from teenager to the Guillotine, and the final scenes as she awaits death in prison are among the finest of her career.

In recent years, Shearer has gained new respect for her silent and pre-code films, in which she was one of the most accomplished young actresses of the era. She often played sexually sophisticated women with a sly wit. She was not a typical ingénue, and you can see why audiences of the time were enchanted by her.

A tour de force for Hayley Mills, the most gifted juvenile actress of her generation. She makes the contrived material about adolescent escapades in a Catholic girls' boarding school look believable. It's a rarity for a Hollywood comedy to show a teenage girl who is intelligent and sensitive, and director Ida Lupino should be applauded for it.

Mills is ably assisted in her antics by her comrade-in-arms played by June Harding, who shows how to put the awkwardness in adolescence. They also have a truly touching scene together near the end.

The movie is also notable for the best latter-career work of high-strung movie star Rosalind Russell, who gives a restrained performance for a change as the Mother Superior. She uses quite a few arched eyebrows, however.

Watch for a rare cameo by the great Burlesque queen Gypsy Rose Lee, who plays a dotty instructor of dance and ladylike comportment.

Bob Gunton's performance as Richard Nixon is astounding. He gives a humorous characterization of the man, yet shows the sadness of a personality racked with deep-rooted demons. His body twists and turns with emotional pain and paranoia.

Rick Peters is good but not great as Elvis, mainly because he's unable to capture the Elvis magnetism. But Peters is able to capture Elvis' naive, childlike quality: Just an ignorant country boy lost in the world.

Although not historically accurate, the satire is based on a real-life meeting between Elvis and Nixon at the White House. The script is first rate and captures the times well. It provides keen insights into Elvis' entourage, father, Priscilla and the chaotic life at Graceland, and Nixon's corrupt White House run by Bob Haldeman. It's perhaps the most entertaining movie about Elvis ever made, and the only one I'd sit through again.

Nothing in this movie makes sense, and it really doesn't matter. It succeeds with its self-assured anarchy and the charm of its stars.

Cary Grant, Ralph Bellamy and especially Irene Dunne are in top form. Dunne has been often overlooked for her comic talents. The contrast of her well-bred demeanor and inner wickedness is a delight -- such as when she does a burlesque dance for a parlor of society snobs. She always appears to be on the edge of laughter at the antics of Grant and the buffoonery of Bellamy. A wonderful nonsensical scene is of the musically skilled Dunne at the piano trying to sing "Home on the Range" with the hopelessly off-key Bellamy.

Grant is in the period of his career where he's not afraid of self-parody. He's at his best when he takes nobody and nothing seriously, and he's especially funny at tormenting the slow-witted Bellamy. And Bellamy is so good at playing dumb, you have to wonder if perhaps he's not really in on the joke. (Grant and Bellamy basically repeat their roles, with the same success, in "His Girl Friday," another first-rate comedy).

"The Awful Truth" is the masterpiece of Leo McCarey. There's really nothing else quite like it.

I saw Mother in a theater and came away only partially impressed. Although I appreciated the witty script, I thought director/writer Albert Brooks missed making his point about the complicated relationships between mothers and sons. However, I've warmed to this film after seeing it over and over on cable. The dialogue is great, and the perpetually whining Brooks and a surprisingly droll Debbie Reynolds are a sharp comedy team. For example, I love the way Brooks wags a banana at Reynolds when she questions why women leave him. And when Brooks and his brother fight over Reynolds like she was their mistress. The ending is a little too pat -- I don't think sons ever resolve their conflicts with their mothers, or even understand them. But it's Brooks' best film after Lost in America. And that ain't bad.

There's a lot of good things to say about this obscure mystery from the 80s. The best thing is Debra Winger, who never looked better. She is beautiful and sexy, earthy and smoldering, yet she possesses an approachable, naive quality.

The story is intriguing, with a different way of looking at the drug underworld in Los Angeles. This is not about cops, gangsters and car chases. It's about an innocent woman who accidentally becomes involved in a drug-related murder. It's really all about Winger's character, although Paul Winfield stands out in a small role as a gay music producer.

The mood is low-key and dreamlike with a subtle erotic undertone. It also has a nice score that stays with you. Give it a chance.

The fact that Norma Shearer and Joan Crawford would consent to appear in a movie together is amazing. Shearer in 1939 was the queen of MGM, being the widow of studio production chief Irving Thalberg, and had her choice of material and co-stars. Crawford, although a power in her own right, didn't have Shearer's pull and complained bitterly about it. Crawford fought to take the somewhat supporting, albeit juicy, role because she needed an A picture after a string of flops. So she had to suck it up to work with Shearer.

The two stars had only one scene alone together, and there were no reported problems while filming, except one. Director George Cukor sent Crawford home early when she caused a distraction by loudly clicking her knitting needles off camera as Shearer tried to do her close-ups.

Crawford was proved right in taking the movie, it's one of her most memorable and, finally for once, villainous roles. As Crystal Allen, the scheming homewrecker who is out to sleep her way to a Park Avenue penthouse, she was ideally cast. It was her life.

Rosalind Russell, previously not known as a comedienne, surprised everyone with her rapid-fire sarcastic delivery. She would continue to perfect the biting style for 20 years until she reached the pinnacle with Auntie Mame. Roz gives the strongest performance of the film as the spitefully catty Sylvia Fowler, and I don't think Shearer and Crawford knew what hit them.

As for the long-suffering, hair-clutching, heavy-sighing Norma Shearer, even she was able to make the thankless role of noble Mary Haines memorable. One of her best moments is when she raises her nails and growls "I've had two years to grow claws, Mother, and they're Jungle Red!," and then goes to take her husband back from Crawford. Shearer has a few Silent Screen moments that look out of place, such as collapsing and weeping at her mother's knee. But she makes the character warm and likable and we root for her to win.

There are many gems in the all-female supporting cast. Most spectacular is Mary Boland as the heavy-drinking, high-living Countess De Lave. "L'amour L'amour" she wails as she's about to divorce her fourth studly husband -- for trying to kill her.

Paulette Goddard, the most beautiful member of the cast, is the best I've seen her, as the streetwise Miriam Aarons. Like Crawford, she plays a role she understands, the chorus girl who snags a millionaire. But unlike Crystal, Miriam has a heart -- and Goddard is great at doling out straight-shooting advice and rolling out put-downs under her breath.

Marjorie Main gives a preview of the persona she would later use as Ma Kettle. It was the first time she was able to step out and create the character, and she used it the rest of her career. I never tired of her raucous horse laugh.

I hope Hollywood has the good sense not to update this classic with another misguided remake. It is a priceless diamond in a golden setting.