La Cage Aux Folles (1978)

 Welcome back to the Criterion Challenge.

As I said last time, we're doing something a little bit different today. Along with this writeup on the 1978 French-Italian comedy, La Cage Aux Folles, I'm taking part in a crossover discussion with a friend, offering a second perspective on the movie. In particular, discussing how it compares to its 1996 American remake, The Birdcage.

That discussion will be available to read here: https://theguyinthe3rdrow.blogspot.com/2021/06/la-cage-aux-folles-1978-discussion.html

There's no intended reading order here - whichever appeals to you to read first, by all means, do so.
With the majority of the comparisons in that discussion, I'm looking to focus on just the merits of La Cage on its own, but I apologize in advance if I retread ground. I say this because, honestly, the thing I keep coming back to with this movie is how relatively well it has aged.

Ordinarily, doing a movie with this subject matter, especially as a comedy, is a really iffy prospect. As Drew McWeeny arguably put it best, comedy ages faster than almost any other type of film. So much so that, on paper, the idea of a late 1970s comedy about a homosexual couple automatically sounds like a representational minefield.

To be fair, there are some aspects that haven't held up well - the racial dynamics of the movie, care of the houseboy, Jacob, come to mind  - but as far as its central couple is concerned, this holds up surprisingly well.

To clarify - Jacob is the ONLY non-white character in this
movie.
Yeeeeeeeeeeah...

A big part of where this comes from is Ugo Tognazzi and Michel Serrault as the film's central couple. I will admit there are some cliched and stereotypical aspects to the performances, most notably in Serrault's Albin, who fits a lot of the effete gay man tropes. Several of those work in the context of the film, both as a farce and as far as Albin's character as an aging drag performer.

Even with the broader cliches and comedic elements, however, the movie works because of the chemistry between the two. From their first scene together, playing as a bickering couple, to moments like the genuinely touching scene at Albin's cemetery, when Tognazzi's Renato tells him of his desire for them to share a plot together, the movie maintains the love between its two leads.

For not being explicitly presented as a romantic movie, that love is the central piece that the entire story hangs on. It's the complication that Renato's son's marriage hinges on, it's the relationship that they try to fool the conservative in-laws about, and at the end, it's the genuine love between Renato and Albin that winds up bringing the film to its entertaining conclusion.

With that as the lynchpin, this movie could have aged like milk if it hadn't been done well. Instead, it's one of the strongest parts of the movie and part of why, comparisons to its remake aside, it's still a very entertaining farce with a lot of heart at its own center.
Two down, one to go.

Catch you for the end of Pride Month next time.

Till then

La Cage Aux Folles (1978) - The Discussion

As mentioned in the other entry, this is the other piece to the discussion of La Cage Aux Folles - in which I'm joined by Jamie, a good friend of mine, to offer a queer perspective, both on this movie and its subsequent American remake, The Birdcage in terms of representation then and now.

The main writeup can be viewed here: https://theguyinthe3rdrow.blogspot.com/2021/06/la-cage-aux-folles-1978.html

and Jamie's writing can be found here: https://elessar42.medium.com/

Enjoy

---

Todd: Hello and welcome, dear readers.

This is a bit of a different approach from usual, so I will ask that you bear with us, as this discussion is going to be posted on two different sites.

So, in the interests of addressing the readers wondering 'Who the Hell is this?', let's get started with some introductions.

I'm Todd, aka TheGuyinthe3rdRow. I'm here for this as part of a long term project digging into the films of the Criterion Collection with a thematic twist per month.

And for this particular entry, I'll be doing something of a crossover event with another site, so for that, I turn the proverbial mic over to Jamie.

Jamie: Hi everyone, I'm Jamie! I also go by Elessar42 on twitter and similar stuff everywhere else. And since this month is pride month I thought I would assist my buddy Todd with his criterion project, because I figured he needed a queer perspective. You see, I'm both a trans woman AND I'm bi. A queer two-fer

Todd: Indeed!

It's a perspective I'm definitely welcoming for this one (and honestly, something will be open to doing more with in the future!)

And with that in mind, we're here to discuss a title that Jamie actually suggested (and I will admit, got me to cave and pick up the Blu Ray on) - the 1978 French-Italian farce La Cage Aux Folles

Jamie: And what better time to cover an Italian made film than 2021, the year that Italy won Eurovision.

...so I was the only one who watch-oh okay. Anyway, I picked up my own copy of La Cage Aux Folles for my birthday this year and thought that a compare and contrast between it and it's 1996 remake The Birdcage would make for good Pride Month Content. And knowing Todd is doing a similar project meant I felt we should talk about it together before we separated to write about them apart

Todd: and I'm glad you wanted to make that the main point of discussion for this, cause I was telling myself I wasn't going to try and do that for the write-up on this end (it's probably still going to happen to an extent) so this is a great way to still dig into that as its own topic.

Because watching the two in close proximity it's really striking how the movies manage to be both incredibly similar - to the point where many jokes are played with the same beats - while also having a very different feeling just in terms of context and delivery

Jamie: It is kind of fascinating to watch the points of this movie where they are, essentially, doing the exact same jokes with the exact same timing. Honestly, one of the main things that keeps this from being a Gus Van Sant's Psycho remake is that occasionally the movie just has to stop to let Robin Williams Robin Williams everywhere.

But even when they're doing the exact same lines, a lot of them land kind of different in the remake and part of that I put down to the shift in time. 1978 and 1996 are only 18 years apart, but in terms of where gay rights and representation were, they are centuries apart

Todd: Very much agreed on Williams. The dance rehearsal scene especially comes to mind there as probably his most heavily Williams-style riff.
It's a little jarring given the dynamic is supposed to be Armand/Renato as the serious, occasionally harried one while Albert/Albin gets to riff it up (and to be fair, Lane gets his moments there too) but it does work for the movie.

As far as the shift in time, I have to credit you as being one of the people who's pointed out one of the biggest differences there - Armand and Albert's longstanding relationship carries a lot more emotional heft watched in the wake of the 1980s and the AIDS crisis (it's honestly kind of jarring to remember La Cage was RIGHT on the cusp of that.)

Jamie: La Cage existed at a fascinating moment in queer history. It was right on that cusp, where queer people were starting to be treated like people in media (Boys in the Band and Private Life of Sherlock Holmes were 1970, Dog Day Afternoon and Rocky Horror were both 1975) but then right after, the AIDS crisis hit and basically completely upended what kind of movies were getting made about queer people.

And I do stand by my comment, that a line about being here for 20 years does hit very different in a post-AIDS film, and I think the movie knows it because...well the director and co-star were both queer, something the original just did not have.

Todd:  Memory serves, isn't that line exclusive to the remake? I just did a rewatch on La Cage before we started this, but I didn't catch that sentiment in there.

Jamie: There's a similar line. I don't recall the exact line so it might be slightly different, but the line happens at more or less the same moment, and it serves more or less the same purpose: To draw attention to the fact that this story is about straight people, intruding on an explicitly queer space and being asked to change to suit their needs

Todd: Fair enough. That does speak to how much that context really adds to the moment.

And as far as the intrusion aspect, one of the takeaways this time out is how, while the movie positions the in-laws as the designated antagonist, it's the character of the son that winds up coming out of this looking particularly bad.

Jamie: I think that's one of the places that the remake benefits from having Nathan Lane in the cast and Mike Nichols (who supposedly had a decades long affair with a man) directing.

The original is very sympathetic to the gay couple, but it doesn't seem to realize what a huge, selfish ask the son is making of them. The remake does get bogged down in a lot of ancillary stuff (my brain had completely deleted all the OJ jokes) but it does seem to realize the son is being a complete asshole.

Todd:  (If anything puts that movie at a set point in time...)

And Nichols definitely seems more willing to push back on the son, particularly in that last act.

La Cage ALMOST seems like it's aware of Laurent's unreasonable side, but it mostly just takes the form of scenes of the rooms being redecorated than then cut to him just looking not particularly phased by how much this is visibly affecting his parents.
No one really pushes back on him quite as much as there is in the remake.

Jamie: I'll admit, I was a baby gay when I first watched this movie (11) and while I never responded as strongly to stories about gay men as I did to stories about lesbians (gee wonder why that is) I do think the moment where both Armand and Val confirm that Albert is one of Val's parents is one that the story sorely needs and I don't think that moment lands quite as hard in the original.

I think that might be the core thing that separates the remake from the original; While both of them play Albert/Albin's overreactions for comedy, the remake is a little more willing to let some moments actually be taken seriously. The original does take Albin seriously, but not as often and not as much (although that might just be the increased runtime)

Todd: There is something to be said for the run time factor. That said, I agree as far as the remake's willingness to take some scenes more seriously. The conversation at the cemetery comes to mind as a big example of that. The scene is structurally and functionally the same in both versions, but the remake holds the scene a bit more, just giving us more time to remember that, amid all the farce and absurdity, the core of this story is these two men and the life they've built together.

Jamie: That's another reason why I think the same story, told 18 years later, is so interesting. Both of them try to take the relationship seriously, but La Cage is so much more daring at that moment in history for even trying to do that. Stonewall was only 7 years before La Cage (and only 4 years before the play came out). Hell, Lawrence v. Texas, the Supreme Court case that declared anti-sodomy laws were unconstitutional wasn't until 2003. 1976 doesn't seem THAT long ago, but in terms of gay acceptance, it feels like a million years.

Todd: In that context, it becomes that much more impressive that the film became as much of a hit as it was at the time.

Jamie: It is pretty impressive that they were both smash hits (although the remake can be at least partially attributed to the fact that Robin Williams was white hot at that point). I remember reading The Final Cut, about the making of Heaven's Gate and they get the opportunity to distribute La Cage in the US and the writer mentions that he loved it, but thought they could never release it in the US

Todd: Sidenote - holy Hell, the opportunities UA passed up in the back half of that book are painful to read.

and reading up on the impact earlier, I genuinely had a doubletake being reminded Molinaro actually got an Oscar nomination for best director.

A film about a gay couple in a foreign language getting that high an accolade would have seemed unreal here even up to five years ago

Jamie: The Academy is...very mixed on gay rights stuff. They occasionally get it Very Right (Moonlight, for example) and other times they get it Very Wrong (I still need to write a strongly worded letter to every singly member of the academy for every time they've tossed an Oscar to a cis man for playing a trans woman)

Todd: (That it's been multiple times now is...that's a whole other discussion right there.)

Jamie: Yeahhhhh. I was going over some of the Academy's queer representation and I remembered that The Crying Game got a bunch of nominations. And also remembered that that movie has its lead respond to finding out his love interest is a trans woman by throwing up. So that's uh, that's where we were in the 90s.

Todd: Oh jeez, that's right.

Again, really says something pretty impressive that this remake managed to be both a critical and box office hit

Jamie: It does, and the fact that it's worth discussing I feel shows how fast we've moved on a lot of stuff in terms of representation. I mean, in 1993 (within my lifetime) we were so starved for any even kind of positive portrayal of queer relationships that the Seinfeld episode The Outing won a GLAAD media award.

Which I guess is as good a way as any to segue into talking about the elephant in the room; The ways in which this movie has aged...awkwardly

Todd: This is the moment where I'd call for Jacob and Agadore to take a bow, but...maybe not on this one.

Jamie: Oh Agadore.

I know that Sephardic Jews are from the Spain/Portugal area but...could you not find anyone else to play a Guatemalan Gay Man than Hank Azaria?

Todd: At that point in time? Tough to say.

Then again, the role in general is kind of an awkward blind spot in both versions - what with the only non-white character being the main couple's houseboy, which is...yeah

Jamie: The African houseboy is easily the worst element of La Cage Aux Folles. Like, I understand that France and Italy don't have America's exact history of slavery but like...their history with Africa isn't much more positive. France still has a massive amount of financial and political control over its former colonies to this day

Todd: I get the sense when Nichols looked this over for adapting, that change was one of the first things on the block.
Because that definitely would come with a LOT of uncomfortable extra baggage in the US, especially with Jacob's repeatedly calling Laurent 'Little White Master'

Jamie: Yeah I dunno if I've ever been able to track down the original US translation, but I feel like even in 1978 someone knew that was a problem, and by 1996 everyone knew there was no way in hell that was gonna fly.

But on the other hand I don't think Hank Azaria's performance in The Birdcage would fly right now, so who knows

Todd: I do wonder if anyone's asked Hank how he feels about the role nowadays, especially in light of some of the Simpsons controversy over the past few years

Jamie: I feel like everyone memory holed it pretty hard, but I also recall that when the Simpsons got incredibly weird and defensive over the Apu thing, he was the one who said "Yeah this is shit, I'm sorry, I'll stop playing him" so maybe he'd feel different if someone asked him now.

Todd: Exactly why I'm wondering. He was the one who chose to step away from Apu, I wonder how he looks at Agadore nowadays in that light.

Jamie:  I think the Apu thing was, in miniature, a really good example of how lots of media, comedy in particular, can wind up insensitive. Apu wasn't originally written as Indian in his first script, he was just a convenience store clerk, and Azaria did the line in an Indian accent, it got a laugh and it stuck. No one made a conscious choice to have a white dude doing a comedy Indian accent, but that's still what happened in the end.

Todd: Now this has me really wanting to dig more into the behind the scenes on The Birdcage and see how much of what we got was always the plan and how much was just what it evolved into

Jamie: That is sort of the thing. None of these choices get made in a vacuum but the movie we get is the movie we get, and there is a lot of stuff in there that reads as...stereotypical. Albert mostly escapes because Nathan Lane is imbuing it with some authentic emotion (even if he wouldn't come out for 3 more years) but a lot of the rest of it...has aged poorly, we'll just say that

Todd: In hindsight, it's really no surprise this was Lane's live action breakout. He pulls that balancing act off altogether well.

And as for the rest...such is the drawback of cinematic progress in that way, yeah. For the time it was progress, but at the same looked back at, it also calls attention to how much things have come since then.

Jamie:  It does, but it doesn't need to be perfect forever, it just kind of needed to be...well the movie that they needed in 1996. And I guess that's kind of what they needed in 1996.

Any final thoughts?

Todd:  That's a good way to look at it. Commend the steps it took, but also realize there was still a long way to go.

And that prettywell sums up my final thoughts on this comparison in general. Yeah, some aspects of both versions are dated now, but taken in their places in history, it's fairly impressive how much ground the two takes on the same story each accomplish.

You?

Jamie: I think I summed up my last thoughts with the comment that while it's not a perfect movie, it's the movie they needed in 1996. And 1978 I guess.

And no, I'm not gonna end this on a quote from The Dark Knight.

Todd:  Fair enough.
Gotta say though, that'd be one Hell of a pivot to close on.

 ---

 Again, catch you guys soon with the next entry to close out June.

Paris is Burning (1990)

 Welcome back, readers, for another round with the Criterion Challenge.

We're getting there. Still workshopping the name some more, but we're getting there.

With that, a happy Pride Month to those celebrating it, both just as a general courtesy and as Queer Cinema will be the theme for this month.

And to start said theme, I'm firing up the one movie that was an automatic lock for this month since as soon as the theme was locked in - the 1990 documentary Paris is Burning.

I actually watched this in the back end of last month because I have more than two films lined up this time, and because I wanted some time to really turn over this one. This is in part because, honestly, I recognize I'm an outsider on this topic. I know that's at least part of the point for a documentary like this, in its exploration of drag and ball culture, but it also means I wanted to really process thoughts on it rather than just go off the cuff.

So here goes and please bear with me.

I know I've brought this up in the past, but I need to repeat it here - the older I get, the more my attitude towards film and the idea of 'could have been' has changed. In the past, it was a sticking point - a demerit when I came out of a film feeling like it could have made a better choice and didn't (it sometimes still is, but nowhere near as often.) Lately, I'm more struck by those movies where you can see how it could have gone a safer, more traditional route to its relative detriment, and didn't.

Paris is Burning definitely falls into that latter category. Part of this is thanks to how director Jennie Livingston handles the subject matter. In a different set of hands (I'm not sure I want to say less capable as much as less aware) this movie would have played more like a travelogue - a filmmaker positioning themself as an outsider to whom the world of drag and ball culture is to be explored and findings brought back to the 'normal' world. To Livingston, however, the movie is first and foremost about the people who inhabit this culture.

To that end, Livingston herself isn't really a presence we are aware of in the movie. She is the one filming and asking the questions, but she is never seen on camera, and the main reason we know the questions being asked is because her subjects clarify them before answering. The focus is framed entirely on the people - from seasoned veterans like Dorian Corey to relative up and comers like Venus Xtravaganza, for just two examples. Ultimately, the movie becomes more focused on learning about those who are competing than about the nature of the competition itself.

That is a big part of what keeps this from feeling like the cinematic work of a tourist, for lack of a better descriptor. Livingston films this aware that she is a relative outsider - while she is an out lesbian, that is still an altogether different experience from what many of her subjects go through (contrary to what some pundits will insist, the LGBTQIA+ experience is not a monolith). Further, instead of just making it perfunctory questions about the competition only, she lets her subjects open up about their lives - the homes they came from (and, sadly, in many cases were driven from) and the new family they have found in the drag community. As Livingston herself has put it best, one of the main themes of this movie is how those interview have learned to survive in a world that is, in many cases, openly hostile to them, while keeping their dignity.

If you wind up checking out only one of the movies I've picked for this month, this should arguably be it. Nothing against the other two, which are both altogether excellent movies, but in terms of this theme, this is arguably the movie that best hits the mark. It's a reminder, at different times funny, encouraging, sobering, and heartbreaking, that under all the cultural tags and debate, it's people just trying to find a place they feel they can truly be themselves in the world.

Well, with any luck I didn't just set too high a bar for the rest of the month.

Especially because next up, I'm going to be doing something a little bit different. This next entry marks a first for this project, with a guest on for a crossover discussion.

The discussion, and subsequent writeup soon to come.

Till then!

Kagemusha (1980)

Welcome back for another round of the Criterion Backlog Challenge.

I really need to come up with a better way to set these up. ANYWAY --

The exploration of the cinematic symbiosis between Akira Kurosawa and George Lucas continues this week with a movie that's both an interesting piece of cinematic history as well as a great film in its own right - 1980's Kagemusha.

 

First, the history, seeing as that's how this ties into the theme.

Even though I've been aware of it for the better part of a decade now, it still feels strange to remember that there was a time when a director like Kurosawa, generally regarded as one of the world's finest now, had a hard time getting movies funded. After his involvement with Tora! Tora! Tora!, a project that took a mental toll on him ultimately led to his being replaced, he spent the better part of the 1970s struggling to get funding in Japan for his movies.

Flash forward to 1978 - a young George Lucas, riding high on the success of Star Wars, gets to meet one of his cinematic heroes to discuss a project. During that meeting, Kurosawa pitches a story of a thief who is tapped to serve as the double for powerful warlord Shingen Takeda. Lucas is quickly enthralled with the idea and enlists Francis Ford Coppola to help him secure funding for it.

This isn't really tying into the main points for the entry,
but I do need to go on record as saying it -
Tatsuya Nakadai is phenomenal as the movie's lead and is
a big part of what makes it work so well.

With the backing of two of the superstars of the then young Hollywood era, the movie became one of two that would help revitalize Kurosawa's name and be considered among his best works (the follow-up, Ran, also had overseas funding.)

Perhaps not as intertwined as last time, but nevertheless, it ties into the theme and is a great piece of film history.

As far as the movie itself goes - I was a bit stumped how to go about picking a focus point for this until being reminded of one line that perfectly encompasses the movie on multiple levels.

To set the scene, the movie establishes early on that the plan for the thief is only temporary. Even when the idea arises of having the thief continue to play Shingen following the warlord's death, it is intended only as a stopgap. Once the clan consolidates and secures itself, the plan would be to let the real Shingen's fate become known and transition out that way.

As the movie draws to its third act, the ruse largely a success, one of the generals in the know asks the question - "When the man ceases to be, what becomes of his shadow?"

This question is at the heart of Kagemusha, both as a character study and with the protagonist's larger task of maintaining the Takeda clan.

For the character, this is why we never learn his real name. All we know of him before he becomes the new Shingen is that he was a thief who was sentenced to be crucified before being spared to be used as a double. Any details of who the man was are left in the movie's first act as irrelevant to his role for the clan. Like the title says (literally translated as 'Shadow warrior') he is there to be a shadow of the real Shingen, conveying his image to his clan as well as to his enemies. The role becomes the man - even as the thief knows his function is superficial, he comes to care deeply for the larger clan. This affection grows to the point where, when he is found out, he is heartbroken that he isn't allowed to say goodbye to Shingen's grandson himself.

That the thief is so subsumed by his role leads to part of the tragedy of the ending - as he is at the beginning of the movie, the thief would happily take his reward and go without a second thought. As we know him by the end, however, he is unwilling to leave the people that have become his world. Even as a peasant, he follows the Takeda army to battle and, ultimately, his own death.

That larger downfall is the other reason that quote sticks with me. In the context of the scene, it only refers to the thief himself, questioning what will await him once the knowledge of Shingen's death comes out. At the same time, it perfectly speaks to the Takeda clan as a whole.

The plan works for a time because the thief purely needs to just speak as coached and follow the generals' leads. He is a face to a larger body that recognizes their clan needs to regroup without their general. The problems arise as a result of Shingen's son, Katsuyori. Katsuyori is introduced to us as a man who is both stuck in, and ultimately chasing after, his father's shadow. That the movie also establishes he is to be skipped over in the line of succession only further fuels his drive for advancement and glory.

It's that desire to follow in his father's path and achieve his own glory that brings about the movie's tragic final act. First it is in his actively striking out while the generals seek to fall back and regroup. This on its own is at least turned around - partly thanks to the thief's presence on the battlefield. Once Shingen's double is revealed, however, it causes the generals to lose their ability to check Katsuyori, reluctantly following his lead as he begins a doomed campaign, arguing that it is what his father and ancestors would do.

The ending also feels fitting with the larger sort of
anti-romantic sentiment Kurosawa's period pieces often have.
Despite Katsuyori's talk of his ancestors and their past
glory, his own campaign falls prey to one of the great
dark jokes of history - "Those who live by the sword,
get shot by those who don't."

Like the thief, the larger forces of the Takeda clan are Shingen's shadow - and with his passing are ultimately doomed to soon follow him into death. In that regard, having the thief follow them to his own doom is a grimly fitting thematic conclusion. Both fates are intertwined - the man who made them what they are is gone, they can only fade with him.

This brings May to an end. As the month changes, so too does the theme.

So see you guys back here next month where, in honor of Queer History Month, we'll be looking at some standout titles in queer cinema, starting with a documentary that's been on my to do list for a while now.

Till then.

The Hidden Fortress (1958)

Welcome back for another round of the Criterion Backlog Challenge.

I was vague with my description of this month's theme last time. I was curious to see if anyone would figure it out.

If anyone did, they didn't say here, so Hell with it - in honor of May the 4th, we're looking at the cinematic symbiotic relationship between Akira Kurosawa and George Lucas. 

As such, it was only fitting to kick the month off with Kurosawa's 1958 adventure film, considered to be one of the major touchstones that inspired Star Wars, The Hidden Fortress.

Weird, but related, note about me - over the years, my fandom of Star Wars has developed an odd sub-category. That is a fascination with the malleability of the fandom's collective memory. Digging into the behind the scenes history and development is fascinating both for its own sake and for how much of what people have been told and passed along is retroactive mythology.

I bring this up because the role of The Hidden Fortress is one of those topics that gets distorted. Yes, The Hidden Fortress was an inspiration on Lucas, but it's one of many, and frankly, it's one in very broad strokes rather than a direct lift as fans and detractors have argued.

Rewatching this, I was struck less by the parallels between it and 1977's Star Wars and more about the parallels between it and Lucas's later The Phantom Menace. There's so much put into the idea of comparing A New Hope (as we've come to call it) with this movie that it's kind of caused people to miss that the film has stayed with Lucas beyond just '77.

No, seriously.
Main plot point involves a princess in hiding after her
people are defeated and their lands occupied who has
to assume the part of a commoner while traveling with an older
samurai general and some scrappy friends made along the way.
Yuki's character and plot were tapped into hard in '99.

It's not just the story beats that have stuck with Lucas, however. It's hard not to notice to see how much of Kurosawa's camera work has been influential as well. Sequences such as the opening scene of peasants Tahei and Matashichi fleeing an already lost battle can clearly be seen echoed in parts of Lucas's trilogy.

Speaking of the peasants, they make for one of the interesting shifts between Lucas and Kurosawa. Revisiting Kurosawa's films in recent years, I find myself more aware of is how his period pieces often contain aspects critical of Japan's feudal era and some of the ideology of the era. In this case, that comes from where the movie starts off - our two unlucky peasants fleeing the above mentioned lost battle they joined for fortune and glory, instead getting mixed up with several misadventures.

There has already been a great deal said comparing the ill-fated duo to Lucas's bumbling androids, R2-D2 and C-3PO. In this regard, however, they invite a comparison with a different Star Wars character. Besides the droids, the pair also serve as a less lucky Luke Skywalker, leaving their farms for adventure and instead getting into scrape after another before finally getting their reward.

There's more I could say, both for this film and Kurosawa in general as pertains to their influence on not just Star Wars, but much of modern adventure cinema, but to be honest, I'm saving that for a later entry - which I'm sure some of you have already guessed.
For now, this brings this entry to a close.

A belated May the Fourth be with you to you all, and next we jump ahead a few decades to a time when Lucas got to return the favor to Kurosawa.
 

Till then.

Female Trouble (1974)

 Welcome back for another round of the Criterion Backlog Challenge (still trying to find a better name.)

As with last entry, we're continuing to play in the delightfully filthy world of John Waters. Following up on Polyester, we're going back to the earlier years of the Dreamland players with his 1974 black comedy Female Trouble.

Once again, I repeat the disclaimer regarding Divine - Yes, in real life, Divine was a man, and as far as all reports show, was not transgender. Having said that, I am still opting to use the her pronoun, as Divine is still treated as a persona different from Glenn Milstead. Just getting that out there now.

To start - I'm still a relative neophyte where Waters is concerned. I've seen several of his movies, but not all of them. With that said, I think Female Trouble might be my favorite of those I've seen.

Rewatching this with what I know of Waters's early output and on the heels of Polyester gives interesting perspective. In many ways, this feels like a conceptual earlier link in the evolution to Polyester as a more 'mainstream' Waters movie. It has much of the weirdo, anarchic spirit of earlier films like Mondo Trasho and Pink Flamingos, but also more of a structure and thematic throughline.

Much like on Polyester, this is one where Waters' love of film really shines. This time, however, he isn't so much paying tribute to one particular director/style as he is several different genres. Over the cinematic life of Dawn Davenport (Divine, again proving there's a reason she was a regular muse to Waters), her story is told in a series of vignettes that play from high school delinquent stories to melodramas to 'women in prison' exploitation. Equally impressive is that Waters is able to make the beats serve the story/character admirably without any of the pivots feeling misplaced.

This isn't related to the particular image, but I do need
to point out - again, like last time, this movie's title theme
song is catchy as Hell.

Coming from the other side of the equation, this is a top notch showing for many of the Dreamland Players. This was far from their last appearance (in fact, many later appeared in Polyester) but it's worth pointing out because they are in top form here and I would be remiss not to give them their due. Divine, for example, is a full blown force of nature in this. I spoke last time about her ability to play the cinematic straight role (such as it is) in a movie where everyone else was playing up the weird. Here, she becomes the nucleus of crazy that many of her co-stars orbit around.

This isn't to say they're diminished by her, either. Several of the other Dreamland regulars shine in this, many in how they play off of Divine. In particular I have to give a shout-outs to Mink Stole as Dawn's daughter, Taffy - conspicuously older than written, albeit that's part of the joke.

Stole's Taffy Davenport MIGHT be the closest thing to
a 'sane' character in this movie.
Which, as you can see, is still only going just so far.

With that general praise, there is one aspect in particular I want to focus on – by now this is sort of becoming the mechanic for these entries after all. For Female Trouble, the stand aspect out for me, both that first time and now, is how the film addresses celebrity, and why it still feels eerily resonant nearly fifty years later.

Heads up, we're getting into some spoilers ahead. You've been warned.

Last chance to either turn back or jump to the ending.

As a protagonist, Dawn is, in her own paraphrased words 'a thief, a shitkicker, and she'd like to be famous.' She gets that wish in a way that plays to the theft and shitkicking care of Donald and Donna Dasher, (David Lochary and Mary Vivian Pearce, both playing batshit pretentious perfectly.) The Dashers are a preening couple who believe crime is art and see their latest muse in Dawn. The trio get on like gasoline and a blowtorch as Dawn's criminal antics gain her a following that dances between admiration and freakshow appeal. The line becomes especially blurred after Dawn is attacked and burned with acid – a cavalcade of fans are led by the Dashers into her hospital room to watch the removal of her bandages, the burns met with a wild admiration.

Dawn's fame is seemingly untouchable, as every act of violence draws more of a crowd. Even near the end of the movie when she strangles her own daughter to death, the act is met with wild applause. The crowds love all her artistic absurdity and cruelty, the illusion only breaking when she asks her infamous question “Who wants to die for art?, a question that gets enthusiastic volunteers until she opens fire. Once the audience realizes they can be effected, they quickly turn. Even the Dashers, Dawn's top enablers, are all too willing to throw her under the bus once the police arrive, getting away scot free as she's sent to the electric chair.

Again, there's something striking about watching this fifty years out and how familiar it still feels. It's not like this was unheard of at the time - the movie's opening titles include a dedication to Manson family member Charles 'Tex' Watson, after all (a choice Waters has since admitted he's not proud of). Watched in the cold light of 2021, however, after years of seeing people who have either built or attempted to build reputations for celebrity on anything from just pure shock value all the way up to involvement in criminal activities (I'm not gonna name names because we could be here for hours) it's hard not to be shocked, impressed, and even a little bit disturbed how well this holds up.

It's still a very entertaining and funny dark comedy, but damn if time hasn't made those laughs THAT much darker.

On that note, I'd say that's as good a spot as any to wrap up here.

I had hoped to get one more trip into Dreamland in before the end of the month (keep an eye out, that may be a wild card in the future!)

Time, however, marches on, and I'll be back here soon for a theme I will explain when the time comes involving not one, but two directors.

Till then!

Polyester (1981)

 French provincial
They do their best
To stay neutral
Expressionless, ah-hah,
Come on upstairs
Meet your polyester queen

What can I say? That song gets in your head and sets up shop.

Welcome back to another round of the Criterion backlog challenge.

As discussed last time, this month we're focusing in on one director – the weird, the wild, the proudly filthy John Waters. Kicking this off, we're starting with his first foray into the (relative) mainstream, Polyester.

Up top, two general notices:

First, I want to tip my hat to one of my old college film professors. I enrolled in Professor Noletti's course on film genre the year he taught melodrama. It was thanks to that course and its deep dive into Douglas Sirk that I got that much more of what Waters was going for here. So thank you, sir, wherever you may be. This may not have been the influence you intended, but damn if I'm not grateful for helping me appreciate the joke of this film more.

And for the record, I'd say Sirk's work is worth seeking out, but that's for another time.

Next, a general preface regarding the film's star, Divine. Yes, in real life, Divine was a man, and as far as all reports show, was not transgender. Having said that, I am still opting to use the her pronoun, as Divine is treated as a persona independent from Glenn Milstead. Just getting that out there now.

Or, as Waters himself has put it best:
"Divine didn't want to be a woman,
Divine wanted to be Godzilla!"

Okay. We all good? Everyone got their Odorama cards ready? Great. Let's dive on in!

Parody in film is, and always has been, a hard type of comedy to get right. For every Blazing Saddles or Airplane!, there's any number of misfires (see, just about anything else the Zuckers worked on, save for the Hot Shots! films.)

Which, ultimately, became what I wound up hinging this write-up on. Why is Polyester one of the spoofs that works where so many others don't?

I can think of a number of reasons, but two in particular stand out and go hand in hand.

The first of these, cliché as it may sound, is love. It's not a necessary requirement, but there is something to be said for riffing a genre you love for a full feature vs just trying to make a film out of something you are uninterested in or actively dislike. The latter isn't impossible, but it is more difficult, as you are less invested, and less likely to find those extra angles to play with compared to a filmmaker whose mockery is affectionate.

In Polyester's case, Waters has made a movie that is a classic Sirkian melodrama at heart – a housewife's life is beset by tragedies and finds new love. It's not any one film, but it's written in the vein of them. That classic story is then run through the filter of Waters's signature cinematic batshit. As outlandish and absurd as it gets, at no point does Waters feel like he's disdaining the trappings of the genre, or acting like he's smarter than them. At its core, this movie still looks to them as a map. Most of the silliness comes from him simply turning up the drama up to the proverbial 11.

The other reason this succeeds is Divine's performance as the film's put upon heroine, Francine Fishpaw. It's a change for Divine compared to her earlier work. When one mentions her with Waters, the first roles that come to mind tend to be the wonderfully brash, over the top characters like Babs Johnson or Dawn Davenport. Compared to those, Francine is a 180 degree shift – she brings her share of the over the top moments, but compared to everyone else, she is the grounded one. In her own words, she's a good Christian woman (and for a time, alcoholic) maneuvering a world populated with gleeful sleaze mongers, coked up old ladies, foot-stomping maniacs, and former teen heartthrob Tab Hunter as a love interest with a wild dark side.

and credit where it's due - Hunter is clearly
having a field day playing the increasingly unhinged
Todd Tomorrow.

I could keep going with outlining all the movie's delightful absurdity (all I will say besides the above - “I never wanted to use macrame to kill!”) but it all comes down to one thing – Divine's performance is a grounding force for the film. If Francine was as outlandish and crazy as everyone else, the movie would lose its plot and run completely off the rails. It could still be entertaining, but it would be untethered and likely collapse before crossing the finish line. Instead, we get a funny, bizarre movie that Divine does a titan's job of keeping together on her good Christian shoulders.

In closing, I will note (as I should have at the start) John Waters is not a filmmaker for everyone. I feel like recommending, say, Pink Flamingos to someone sight unseen MIGHT be an act of abuse.

Having said that, if you have any interest in seeing any of his films, Polyester is a great way to test the waters. A lot of his signature craziness, but also with more of the structure than his earlier Dreamland productions.

So if this sounds like it could be fun, by all means, seek it out.

And don't worry, you don't HAVE to use the Odorama card.

That's it for now. Waters month continues as next time we probe the immortal question – who wants to die for art?

Till then