THE OTHER SIDE OF MIDNIGHT (1977)

 

On a scale of one to ten how delectably bad is the screen adaptation of Sidney Sheldon’s mega-bestseller THE OTHER SIDE OF MIDNIGHT? I’d say an eleven. Nothing can surpass this over-the-top, over produced, over-acted piece of drivel that just keeps getting wackier with every viewing. It’s as if everything’s thrown in but the kitchen sink, but I’m sure that if you look more closely you’d even see that taking place somewhere. I have no idea why it took me so long to blog about this title since it’s one of my favorite films EVER but I can honestly say that I’m just as excited as the time I wrote about another delectably bad film called THE LONELY LADY. 

 

The fun starts just before the outbreak of WWII in France when poor innocent-looking French gal Marie-France Pisier declares “Papa, I do love you” to her eager dad who, unbeknownst to her, has sold her to THE DUKES OF HAZZARD Sorrell Booke for a radio and some other goodies. After surrendering herself to Booke she packs up her bag and heads off to a plush hotel lobby in Paris where she is mistaken for a whore. She is saved from embarrassment by TV’s FLAMINGO ROAD John Beck who she thinks is all that but really isn’t. Before you can say here we go, a long lovey-dovey montage of the two in the City of Light is accompanied by a Michel Legrand score that is just as syrupy as the whole sequence.

When Beck is shipped elsewhere (who cares where) he promises Pisier that he will be back to marry her. But like the bastard that he really is he never returns and Pisier is left with a double P: pregnant and pissed. She aborts with a wire-hanger before sleeping her way to the top to become a renowned European actress (yeah right). Filthy rich and the mistress of a Greek tycoon with connections (in other words a bad rich guy), she then hires a private detective to keep tabs on Beck and sets a course of action to make him pay before rekindling their passionate romance (uh-huh).

Now married to a young and—thank heavens—effective Susan Sarandon (yes, she is in this as well) who we witness passing from a career gal to a lush wife during the course of the film, Beck has no idea what he is about to get into when he becomes Pisier’s private pilot in Greece. When the job also involves getting into her pants for old time’s sake, she wants him all for herself. When he refuses to get a divorce she swears she’ll tell everything to her tycoon of a boyfriend no matter the consequences. What a man or a gal to do? Get rid of Sarandon of course.  

It all comes down to Sarandon overhearing their plan to kill her, hiding away in a docked rowboat during a thunderstorm (wise move) then getting swallowed by the wild sea as if we didn’t anticipate it. Cut to Pisier and Beck getting executed for the death of Sarandon, and the shocker of all shockers, finding out that Sarandon isn’t dead after all, just an amnesia victim found on the shore near a nuns’ convent.

 

Oh yes, my sweet little high-camp gems devotees, THE OTHER SIDE OF MIDNIGHT is a must for all the wrong reasons. It is the apogee of bad cinema making. This 2 hour and 45 minute fiasco, which BTW ended up being just a modest hit, has it all: sex, money, power, greed... It is directed by the same guy who later on gave us another Sheldon adapted treat: A STRANGER IN THE MIRROR. Sheldon subsequently wrote and produced a sequel to MIDNIGHT which of course will eventually see the light of day on this blog. Oh, and I almost forgot, THE OTHER SIDE OF MIDNIGHT was a packaged deal upon its theatrical release in ‘77, to help a little film the industry thought was going to bomb: STAR WARS. Imagine that.

 

 

Until next post—Martin
 

 

 

SIDNEY SHELDON’S BODY OF WORK & SCREEN ADAPTATIONS

 

 

“Oh papa, I do love you”.  This line taken from the big-screen adaptation of Sidney Sheldon’s second novel THE OTHER SIDE OF MIDNIGHT somehow stuck with me throughout the years.  Whenever I think of the movie or its stars, I always blurt out the line, which ultimately became a catch phrase in my entourage (meaning my boyfriend).   It certainly sets the tone for the film ridiculous but so addictive story of love gone wrong.  In fact, most of Sheldon’s adaptations are about bad relationships.  Whether set in WWII (THE OTHER SIDE OF MIDNIGHT) or in Hollywood (A STRANGER IN THE MIRROR) or in Romania behind the Iron-Curtain (WINDMILLS OF THE GODS) no one is left unfazed, which to trash connoisseurs like you and I is pure joy. 

 

The first time I ever laid eyes on a Sheldon book was when RAGE OF ANGELS was topping the paperback best-seller lists, which was around 1981 if I remember correctly.  I was in my late teens, having spent my youth reading solely horror.  But I had a friend who introduced me to the author swearing I was going to have as much of a swell time.  At first I was a bit hesitant.  How could he ever top the likes of King, Koontz or Saul (yes, Saul)?  But ultimately he did.  That’s how I came to know about fast-paced, sexually-charged roman à clefs that could literary blow my mind.  Strange that it occurred during my tumultuous bouts of my own sexuality, but it did, in a big way.   From then on I was a Sheldon man, grabbing any work of his I could get my hands on.  When I finished with him, I switched to Jackie Collins, then after her, Harold Robbins.   I mean, I was on a roll. 

 

In 1983 I became even more ecstatic when I found out there was to be a mini-series adaptation of RAGE OF ANGELS on NBC, and it was going to star my fave Charlie’s angel, Jaclyn Smith.  Suffice to say I had the greatest time watching her in it.  The TV event was such a rating success that it spawned a sequel (the only one not based on a Sheldon novel) and many other adaptations like MASTER OF THE GAME in ’84, IF TOMORROW COMES in ’86, MEMORIES OF MIDNIGHT in ’91…   Speaking of MEMORIES OF MIDNIGHT, this one is the sequel to the megahit THE OTHER SIDE OF MIDNIGHT released on the big screen in 1977.   I saw it on TV some late night in the mid-80s.  The late Marie-France Pisier does a fabulous job playing mega-bitch Noelle.  Her journey from the slums of Paris to the beds of the most powerful men around the globe makes for a fun trashy experience.  And no one does it better than Sheldon since he wrote the screenplay. 

 

Rumor has it that Susan Sarandon, who plays the other lead (Catherine), refuses to talk about the film, that she’s even omitted it from her filmography.  A shame, for I certainly would be interested to know of her input; however negative it may turns out to be.  As for Sheldon’s later works, though not all slam-dunks, they always brought me joy.  They still do today with author Tilly Bagshawe taking over after his death in 2007.  But one thing’s for sure:  there will never be another one like him.  He was the best in the business.  So rest in piece, dear sir.  But you are surely missed. 

 

 

Until next post—Martin

 

 

 

 

 

ABC’s 'A STRANGER IN THE MIRROR' (1993)

　

The TV adaptation of A STRANGER IN THE MIRROR by prolific author (even beyond the grave) Sidney Sheldon is produced by Aaron Spelling and stars two of the finest looking specimens to ever grace our small screen: Perry King and Lori Loughlin. Loughlin had been a permanent fixture on both THE EDGE OF NIGHT and FULL HOUSE on ABC for years. King had been strutting his stuff in TV movies and miniseries before settling in on NBC RIPTIDE. As for Spelling, well, his backlist speaks for himself: CHARLIE’S ANGELS, DYNASTY, MELROSE PLACE… Now, if you’re addicted to delicious trash like I am, you’d know from the get go that you are in for a treat with A STRANGER IN THE MIRROR. How can you not be with these long-standing folks at the helm?

It all begins with ladies man King bombing big time as a stand up comic  working the circuits. With what he’s got for material you would too. But when he sees opportunity knocking on his door in the form of a crippled Juliet Mills—a right-hand woman to a big agent—he does not just take it, he rams it for all it’s worth. And it pays off. Soon he moves up the ladder of success and ends up having his own television show. That’s where he meets good girl gone bad Loughlin (you know this because she now chews gum and wears heavy makeup), a bit-player, who plays the ingenue game just so she can land him, and does she. This does not bode well with King’s super agent Christopher Plummer, an aging bachelor who secretly has the hots for King (who wouldn’t?). But when he gets his walking papers when Loughlin becomes King’s wife, he swears revenge on the girl.　

Now that everything is as it should be, the couple is on cloud nine—until King has a heart attack from doing drugs, rendering him incapacitated permanently. Loughlin does her best taking care of him, but barely manages, especially when she sees an old beau whom she had been set to marry until his socialite mom came in the way. Things get even nuttier when King, now totally mute, starts talking to Loughlin in her mind, and it’s not to utter sweet nothings, believe me. Unable to deal with him any longer, she plans to finish him off, but he’s one step ahead as he throws his wheelchair-bound self right into the family pool. Now a widow, she sets out to sail off into the sunset with the man that got away. That’s when closeted Plummer resurfaces. He lures her rich fiancé into the ship’s theater to gleefully show him an old porno flick starring Loughlin. Plummer gets bashed up, Loughlin looses her man again, and it all ends up with her plunging fatally into the ocean after getting a siren’s call from her dead hubby. 

　

Filmed in British Columbia, A STRANGER IN THE MIRROR is directed by Charles Jarrot, who’s also  responsible for the craziness that is THE OTHER SIDE OF MIDNIGHT, another Sheldon’s adaptation. Clearly the man works well with the author since THE OTHER SIDE OF MIDNIGHT is one of the best over-the-top films ever. Is A STRANGER IN THE MIRROR in the same league? You bet. But you may not dig it as much (as I do) since it is overall shoddier. Still, see this little gem when you get the chance as it has yet to reach the DVD market.

　

　

Until next post—Martin

MIXED BAG: COLLINS, ROBBINS, SHELDON/BAGSHAWE

OK, I’ve decided to do something a little different this time around, to kick start what I think could be a real doozie if everything goes as plan. Since I don’t always review novels and films like I should, I figured why not ramble on anything connected with sleaze in between real reviews. Cool idea, huh? Soooooo… let’s start this shingding by talking about Jackie Collins.

 

Yes, the queen of sleaze is putting the finishing touches to her latest, CONFESSIONS OF A WILD CHILD (Simon & SchusterUK). If you think this one is all about Lucky Santangelo, then you’ve guessed right. The novel focuses on her earlier years, which means every important characters should make an appearance, including devilish Olympia Stanislopoplous whom I LOVED in CHANCES. The book is already set for pre-sale in the UK until its September release. No words on when the US/Canada version will hit the stands and e-readers. But based on her earlier outings, it should not be that far in between. Meanwhile, check out her sizzling short story THE ROCK STAR AND THE LIFEGUARD (originally written for Rolling Stone magazine) wherever e-books are sold.

The Mass market paperback edition of Harold Robbins THE CURSE (Forge Books) written by Junius Podrug is set for a New Year’s eve 2013 release. I must admit  that I’m way behind on my Robbins/Podrug reading, but like any former novels of theirs, this latest looks mighty tasty. All about art, fake artifacts and sex—of course. Meanwhile, if you own an e-reader, you can download most of Robbins’s back list, including his posthumous ones. Again, just visit any e-book stores for more info.

Speaking of dead authors, Sidney Sheldon also got a book out in print (hardback) and in digital by HarperCollins Publishers. It’s called THE TIDES OF MEMORY and like his former last outings, it is also written by best-selling author Tilly Bagshawe of FAME fame. Here’s the novel description:

The members of the formidable and captivating De Vere family of London live enviable lives in the world’s most powerful and desirable places, from London’s poshest neighborhoods to influential boardrooms. But when old secrets begin to unravel and threaten everything the De Veres have worked for, the ramifications are deadly.

What can I say. I’m sold already. Though I have to admit that her/his second to last novel, AFTER THE DARKNESS, didn’t do the trick for me. Too many “you've got to be kidding me” situations. But let’s hope this one delivers the goods.

 

what I'm reading:

Until next post--Martin