FEMALE ON THE BEACH (1955)

Confession time: Universal’s FEMALE ON THE BEACH directed by Joseph Pevney and starring the ever so intense Joan Crawford had been sitting on my shelf unwatched for years—FOR YEARS. And people call me call a trash guru. Unforgivable, if you ask me. But seriously, the main reason for this faux pas has been that I own so many titles—whether they are movies, miniseries, TV shows or books—that I hardly know where to look or, more importantly, when to focus on them. Well, now seems like a good idea for this 1955 black and white film also starring then-hottie Jeff Chandler. I took a look at it over the Holidays and indeed found it quite endearing in a so bad it’s so good manner.

Crawford plays a middle-aged rich widow who moves into a beach house owned by her late husband. Cynical to the core but always dressed to the nines, she has no time for romantic liaisons, or so she thinks. In comes gigolo neighbour Chandler for whom she eventually falls deeply. What a girl to do? Well, drink heavily when he doesn’t call, for once. Then when he does show up, drop everything (except your heels to walk on the beach) just so to be near him, which of course may lead to a proposal of marriage if you play your cards right. 

As if all this wasn’t crazy enough, Crawford also ends up discovering in the house a hidden diary in which a former tenant’s description of her romantic attachments to Chandler led her to her death from the balcony. Was she pushed? Was it accidental? I bet it wasn’t. But more importantly, will Crawford be next and still look stunning? 

As mentioned in other posts, a lot more is going on in this campy little number but I always chose to keep zilch as much as I can so anyone interested in catching the film can happily simmer in the swing of things—and this one does not disappoint, trust me. From the many mood swings of our star heroine to the crazy turn of events, to the amazing shot of our gigolo running into the ocean in a slightly girlish way, I’d say that FEMALE ON THE BEACH is indeed unintentionally funny. And thank heaven for that, for I wouldn’t have it in any other way. Sadly, this pure cinematic bonbon was to be Crawford’s last glamorous film. What followed before the actress made it big again with Baby Jane was a slew of desperate housewives vehicles that are tamer in the looks department but no less cuckoo. I’m talking about QUEEN BEE, AUTUMN LEAVES, THE STORY OF ESTHER COSTELLO. You should check them out as you should FEMALE ON THE BEACH. It has been a while since TCM aired this gem. I hope they put it on their schedule very soon.

Until next post—Martin 

BAD GIRLS CLUB: JOAN CRAWFORD IN ‘PAID’ (1930)

After gushing over WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE on-set rivalry in Shaun Considine’s BETTE AND JOAN: THE DIVINE FEUD in one of my last posts I found myself catching one of Crawford's early projects called PAID, which, come to think of it, is exactly what the audience should have gotten sitting through this hammy of a film. Indeed, released in 1930, this pre-code revenge flick is far from being Crawford’s silver screen glory but has just the right amount of craziness to render it quite tolerable if not delectable in a sordid campy way. Now, before you devoted Crawford fans go suddenly cray-cray on me, let me just quote a knife-wielding Nomi Malone on her way to Vegas in SHOWGIRLS: chill! It’s just a movie, a very silly movie.   

In it, Crawford plays Mary Turner, a down on her luck department store clerk who, after being accused of wrongly theft, is put in jail for three whole years. Her time there is presented, or should I say, represented, by a soapy doo-doo floating on the shower floor. Crawford, as the viewers, is disgusted by it, despite the nonchalance of a fellow black inmate who turns her way and says, ‘Don’t fret, honey, it all goes down the drain’. With revenge still on her mind, Crawford finally gets out and, with the help of a former fellow convict, schemes her way to the accuser’s turf and marries the man’s wealthy son. Of course, falling in love is never in her plans but she does, big time. You can see it just by the way she looks at actor Douglass Montgomery (Kent Montgomery for this film). Her big beautiful eyes are always sad and teary—or are they as such because she knows she is trapped in a mess of a film? Either way, she seems always tormented and oh-so torn.    

Cut to a major heist at the house of her tormentor that goes awry and the viewer is left again with a teary Crawford in a final confrontation at the DA’s office. It all plays out like a mediocre dinner theater where everyone howlers and screams, and unless you’re very attentive you will find yourself lost in the scene. One thing is certain, though, Crawford is spared the slammer this time and, still teary-eyed, is hurt and devastated by all that she had to endure. We would be too if we had to sit through this turkey once again. 

PAID is directed by Sam Wood who went on to helm 1939 GOODBYE MR CHIPS which earned him his first of many Academy Award nominations. He even wound up being uncredited for his work on the troubled GONE WITH THE WIND which ultimately went to Victor Fleming (though many were used). Judging by talent alone, it’s fair to say that he made a big leap after the release of PAID.  Yes, I may be a tad too harsh on this one, for I have seen worse films, but I expected more from what I’ve got. As you all know I’m a serious cinephile now. Oh, who am I kidding, I just wanted to see the supposedly Crawford’s five minute fight scene in the shower that was supposed to be a riot but shamelessly cut by the studio. Now, THAT would have elevated the film to an all-time high campfest. As is, I can only recommend it to die-hard Crawford fans.

Until next post—Martin

'MOMMIE DEAREST' OR THE POSSESSION OF FAYE DUNAWAY

What to add to this high camp gem that has not been said before… My two cents, of course, but where do I begin? What can I tell you that would completely hook you? That I was an extra on the film? That I know the star personally? Or better yet, that I heard through the rumor mill that a sequel is at the planning stage? Oh, how I wish it was all true, but one thing’s for sure: you’ll end up having a ball reading this post anyway, for if you’re still here, it means you’re as hooked on this film as I am. So sit back, unwind and be prepared to be taken back in time. Here it goes:

I actually went to the movie theater to catch MOMMIE DEAREST. I was there when the film opened wide in North America on September 18th, 1981. The same year that my mid-teen angst went into overdrive. You know, when I was so sure I had it all figured out. Suffice to say I knew zilch about life, just as I knew nothing about the film star. Not La Faye; I had seen her before in the wonderful gangster flick BONNIE AND CLYDE and in that other bad but so chic-looking movie THE EYES OF LAURA MARS. I mean the other one, that Joan person. I had never heard of Joan Crawford before. In fact, my friend and I thought she was actually an ice skater queen, on account that MOMMIE DEAREST begins with her getting her skates laced up by some bit player. Of course, it was all for the benefit of a film being shot within a film. It had nothing to do with Olympic legends. Oh, she was a queen all right, but a different kind of a queen, one that I would soon learn could rival any foul-tempered diva on and off screen.

You have to understand something here. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. All of that Christina Crawford rant over mom’s lack of maternal skills was unknown to us at the time, as was the book on which the film was based. Call us clueless, but we were just a couple of pimply-faced kids out on a Friday night, nothing more nothing less. The only thing we were sure of, besides being familiar with the film star Dunaway, was that MOMMIE DEAREST had all the right ingredients to be very dark, horror like dark. I mean look at that poster sheet alone. Dunaway in a scary getup looking like the ice queen that she is, and with that torn corner signed pic … It’s enough to hail it as one of the scariest teasers of all time. Sure, it’s hardly FRIDAY THE 13TH with that shadow defined killer roaming a campsite. But, in some ways, it is far worse. To me that poster represented the real deal. The day-to-day sicko who could probably handle anyone, including Pamela Voorhees.

As it turned out, I was right on target. ‘Cause we all know how MOMMIE DEAREST fared. It is one of the most terrifying, unintentionally funny, jaw-droppingly bad but visually stunning piece of work to ever showcase a villain. It literally destroyed Faye Dunaway’s career (though with what’s been rumored about her throughout the years, it’s no wonder). Even after all this time she still refuses to discuss the film, which is really a bummer, for you feel like saying: “Hey Faye, get a grip. Have a sense of humor and embrace the love. It’s just a movie, for crying out loud!” And what about those pivotal moments of violence in the film? How can anyone keep a straight face at all the atrocities going around? So over-the-top they are that you even expect dead Joan to snap open her eyes and jump at Christina’s throat à la EVIL DEAD during that infamous funeral parlor scene.

OK, now that I got everything off my chest, let me just say that my life has never been the same since seeing MOMMIE DEAREST for the first time in ‘81. I don’t know about you guys (nor about my childhood friend, for that matter), but rarely do I forget to watch the film at least once a year. I know, I know, call me crazy, but to me MOMMIE DEAREST is the epitome of horror perfectness. It genuinely makes me want to hide my face behind my hands every time Joan gets irritated. And I would forever be grateful to La Faye if she ever agrees to star in my proposed sequel aptly named MOMMIE DEAREST: THE HIDDEN YEARS. I’d even agree to be touched by her wire hanger just to get the project off the ground (though she’ll probably think I’m too old; or worse, not worthy). In the meantime get yourself the Hollywood Royalty Edition of MOMMIE DEAREST on DVD and enjoy the film and the John Waters commentary.

 Until next post—Martin