Tim Burton's Dark Shadows: Did my low expectations save the day? Kind of.

"He's coming."

**BIG OL' SPOILERS HEREIN**

A few scenes came near to ruining the movie for me. But overall, Burton's consistent gothic mood that prevailed even during some of the goofier scenes, plus a few choice character changes that incorporated surprising elements from the original show, left me more satisfied than I anticipated.

I've been following this project for a while now, what with how I'm an obsessive Dark Shadows fan and all. So I was heartbroken when I saw the idiotic trailer. Then, of course, the collectively crappy reviews came out. My expectations were, well, low. I remembered seeing Sweeney Todd when my expectations were pretty high thanks to fair reviews and my own fangirlish excitement, and I was let down by the lack of humor and cuts to the source material. I think the opposite happened here.

Again, this film is far from flawless. Visually the movie's stunning, but has there ever been a Burton film that wasn't? Aside from his penchant for spirals and saturated colors that can ring a little monotonous, Burton's distinct style is what's he's known for--though often at the expense of character development.

That point can definitely be argued here, and I'd blame that on the rushed story line. Which, frankly, is to be expected in a movie that incorporates plot points from a soap opera that ran over 1,200 episodes.

And about those characterizations. With the exception of Barnabas and Angelique, they were all pretty paltry:

Jackie Earle Haley as Willie Loomis: Before watching the movie, I made the conscious decision to try--try--keeping the original show out of my mind as much as possible. I attempted putting myself in the mindset of someone who's never seen the show. I think as a newbie I'd have been mildly amused by Haley's Willie and then promptly forgotten his character existed. As a fan, I quietly mourned the downgrade of my DS crush from a tortured manservant with a conman past into a shiftless drunk who's barely memorable. Still, Haley's delivery is wry and understated, and though not very memorable, he's passable.

Jonny Lee Miller as Roger Collins: Suffers greatly from limited screen time. Hard to get a feel for Miller's acting, though I didn't really mind how he turned out to be an even bigger douchebag sleaze...bag than the original's Roger. Certainly not as lovable as Louis Edmond's snooty patriarch, but again, Miller was passable.

Gulliver McGrath as David Collins: Very effective little kid who didn't make me want to vomit; again, possibly because we don't see him that much. But when we do he's appropriately soulful and disturbed. I like the inclusion of his mother Laura's ghost, though her actual appearance at the climax feels shoehorned in and ultimately unexplained (Hoffman hints at her cyclical immortality, but no mention of being a phoenix). I wish we could have had some good scenes between he and Vicki; after all, she's the governess who gets through to him in both the original and the revival. Slowly gaining his trust is important to both their characters.

Chloe Grace Moretz as Carolyn Stoddard (has she always used that Grace in her name? I thought she used to be just plain Chloe Moretz): Her Carolyn rubbed me the wrong way. She's given some painfully awkward sullen teen lines (her little outburst during the first breakfast scene is especially clumsy). Moretz got a lot of publicity for this movie, so I was surprised she had no big scenes outside of the werewolf debacle. And that didn't amount to much of a scene. Damn, that stupid werewolf thing. Poor special effect, and too randomly thrown in to be really funny--or dramatic--I don't know what the hell they were going for. "I'm a werewolf. Get over it. Woof," belongs in a Scary Movie sequel, and doesn't gel with the climax's tone. By that point, the action seemed to veer uncomfortably toward spoof, which jarred with the tense mood.

Helena Bonham Carter as Dr. Julia Hoffman: Wins the prize as starring in the scene that almost made me throw up my hands and proclaim that I hate Tim Burton and Seth Grahame-Smith forever. This movie has problems with career women, apparently. The intelligent and crafty Julia Hoffman, who was admittedly downgraded into playing the lovesick sidekick eventually in the original, is really given an even more overt kick in the ovaries here. She may be a brilliant doctor, but really she just wants to be young and sexy again! I will not ever forgive or forget that blow-job scene. And the dispassionate way Barnabas and Willie dispose of her--Willie says, "I never liked the bitch anyways"-- combined with her clownish desperation make for an insulting and degrading turn. Bonham Carter was very good, but she had no substantial character to play outside of drunk wacko letch.

Michelle Pfeiffer as Elizabeth Collins Stoddard: Outside of Barnabas, Angelique, and arguably Vicki, Elizabeth is given the most meat to her character. And of course, Michelle Pfeiffer could just stand there blinking (which she does a great deal of the time here) and still be the classiest part of any production. There's a teasing moment during Alice Cooper's "meh" cameo where she and Carolyn appear to be connecting over things unsaid about Carolyn's father, but unfortunately, nothing comes of it.

Eva Green as Angelique: I'ma gonna go subjective here. Angelique will always be Lara Parker to me just as much as Frid is Barnabas, unfair though that might be to subsequent interpretations. It doesn't help that although Green does well, she's another insulting example of this movie's issue with driven women. Julia Hoffman only conducts scientific experiments so she can be pretty again, and Angelique's only a successful businesswoman because she's a spiteful, horny, pining witch who slinks around most of the time in sexy negligees. Because of the rushed plot, we're never given sufficient reason to understand why she, Julia, and Vicki fall all over themselves for Barnabas. Her deadly infatuation is just there, and while the literal handing of her heart to Barnabas at the end is morbidly touching, and I like that they touch on her possessiveness as being corrosive and pathetic instead of actual love, there just isn't enough sympathy for her character to rise above an offensive though well acted caricature of the ultimate woman scorned.

Bella Heathcote as Victoria Winters: I'm gonna say it loud and I'm gonna say it proud: I love, love, love the Maggie Evans twist to her character, but absolutely hate that they neglect her story for so long and keep her flashbacks so brief. But that twist alone made me upgrade my opinion of the movie from "begrudgingly acknowledging it's not terrible" to "actually sort of liking it". The hypnotically saucer-eyed Heathcote looks eerily like a ghostly Jean Shrimpton, and those Mod, early '70s good looks lend her an ethereal grace that holds your attention when the camera settles on her doll-like face. You could argue her inflections border on the wooden side, but I think they possess the proper, grave weight  Alexander Moltke's Victoria had. And yeah, I want her wardrobe like none other.

I actually gasped when she said her first line: "Hello. My name is Maggie Evans." That. Is brilliant. They took the confusion that resulted from the original's surplus of ingenues and used that to the movie's advantage, creating an effectively startling backstory. If only Vicki/Maggie's backstory were given more time to breathe onscreen besides brief snippets at disjointed moments. There's something so strangely touching about Josette's ghost following this child that I couldn't help adoring the inclusion and wanting more of it, see more of their mystical bond. Admittedly, their connection does open up some character problems: my sister took issue with how Burton and Grahame-Smith basically use Josette's ghost as an excuse to wedge in Vicki's romance with Barnabas. It's easy to make them fall in love when she's "destined" to be with him as a conduit to house Josette's spirit. No need to dwell on any scenes that, y'know, establish Vicki's actual relationship with Barnabas.

I wish ardently that in the prologue Josette had more than one line, that Burton had somehow given her a real scene with Barnabas. My ideal scenario: adding in the traditional moment when Barnabas presents her with the music box. To fit that in, they could always take out the blow-job or ceiling sex with Angelique or multiple scenes where Barnabas finds kookier and kookier places to sleep around the house before his coffin arrives. We never really get a sense of Barnabas's love for Josette, so there's no deep connection there for us to recall. He says he loves her. And that's that. While it's cool and all that Burton took the unexpected route of focusing the story on the business side of the Collins family with Barnabas and Angelique's rival canneries, this means that the integral love triangle is shoved in without much fanfare.

Burton does Victoria and Heathcote a disservice forgetting about the character in the wake of Barnabas's revival and his subsequent sexy scenes with Angelique. That said, Ghost Josette might just be my favorite character.

Johnny Depp as Barnabas Collins: I have to say, I wasn't expecting much from him this time around. From the trailer and clips circulating online, his makeup looked awful and obvious, stagey and unrealistic, the spiked bangs were greasy and distracting, and he seemed to be mugging with exaggerated gravitas. But while he didn't exactly blow me away as Barnabas, and the makeup was still terrible, he was good. He has a commanding presence, and a great romantic sensibility.

Still, we can't quite tell why so many gals suddenly want to throw themselves at him. His sex scenes with Angelique were particularly cringe-worthy, because while Green's appropriately bawdy (her words), Depp's Barnabas is too classy to buy as that overt a cassanova. A passionate kiss I would have forgiven in that office scene, but anything else was just uncomfortable instead of funny, at least to my prudish way of thinking.

And as good as Depp was, we should have seen less from his point-of-view. Burton's so attached to the notion that all his films starring Depp should be filmed from the actor's perspective, and that Depp should always be the sad-eyed misfit, that any mystery surrounding Barnabas is nonexistent here. Jonathan Frid always said that the juiciest part about playing Barnabas, and the most cunning side to his character, was "the lie". For all his bloodthirsty tendencies, Barnabas was always the suave, unfailing gentleman when in civilized society, obsessed with keeping his Vampirism secret from the remaining Collins family members. The fish-out-of-water elements in this film fall flat when Barnabas constantly ignores Elizabeth's efforts to conceal his identity; this Barnabas thinks nothing of mentioning the centuries he's been alive and that real silver would cause him to burst into flame. A little fish-out-of-water humor is fine, but when it messes with fundamental elements of Barnabas's character, it just plain doesn't jive.

So there we are where characterization is concerned. Now for that controversial mish-mashed tone. Most complaints stem from what many deem the awkward combination of gothic seriousness and juvenile humor throughout the film. I had surprisingly few complaints there. Well, not really: I've harped on already about the blow-job, the supernatural sex, and the werewolf reveal, but I also dislike the quirky montage that ineptly covers the cannery and house renovations and too-obvious visual vampire gags, and random scenes like the hippie slaughter. These was all too broad, when some of the quieter jokes (like Barnabas sneering at a Troll doll) worked far better when simply passed over quickly without comment. If they just took out the aforementioned loud jokes, however, I thought the quieter humor worked well. While not quite succeeding in comfortably lightening the tension of the moment, Depp inadvertently playing the Casio organ while bemoaning his fate was, c'mon, pretty dang funny. Subtler touches of humor worked better than broader strokes. They helped sweeten the melodrama without overwhelming the dark mood too much.

As my sister once again noted, that the movie was fast-paced was a relief compared to some epically long movies out recently, but scenes like the prologue suffered for it. I could've done without Barnabas's narration there, as it detached us from the action, and again, we only get a brief shot of Josette before the lovely thing hurls herself off Widow's Hill.

But oh, that glorious scene where Victoria rides the train on the way to Collinsport set to Moody Blues's "Nights in White Satin!" That was worth the price of admission, and the feel of the movie was right for Dark Shadows. Danny Elman also composes one of his best, most mature scores to date. Absent is his tendency to go all quirky "bomp-a-bomp-a-tingly-tingly" with his tunes, a tendency that plagues some of his other Burton scores.

If only Burton and Seth Grahame-Smith hadn't forgotten the potential in Victoria's character and her ties to Josette, if only they hadn't neglected the other characters, if they hadn't gone so broad and crude with some of the comedy, if only Christoper Lee were in it more! If they had just not let the plot get away from them and if they had put in a ton more thought into character and had better integrated the broad jokes, Burton and Depp would have had a triumph on their hands. The atmosphere is tremendous and succeeds in leaving me with a dreamy, happily nostalgic feeling, but it could have been even more. As is, we have a movie with a solid, consistently gothic mood and a sweeping romance, but a sweeping romance that's too poorly developed for this movie to be considered a high art example of the gothic camp genre. Burton's Dark Shadows is a fascinating, beautiful oddity where you can always just see the marks they missed. I liked it, but it's a high-flown mess.

If I Could Be One Fictional Character, I'd Be Mindy Simmons

 

Keep in mind this was The Simpsons at its best, Season Five's The Last Temptation of Homer. Season Five was a solid time for the series, before the creative team stretched themselves too hard trying to match the more random, manic, and less character-driven formulas that might work for such shows as South Park and occasionally Family Guy, but a recipe that often falls flat on The Simpsons. Yet conversely, the show had also been around long enough to produce episodes more confident and sophisticated than some of the very early Season One shows that, despite many golden moments of their own, had yet to really establish that classic Simpsons rhythm. Most fans agree Seasons 3-6 were probably the series at its absolute best.

It is in this perfect era we meet Mindy Simmons. She's some kind of engineer who's been brought in to put the Affirmative in the nuclear power plant's fledgling Action. Homer is immediately drawn to her, and she to him (no, this is not why I idolize her: even with my established quirky taste in men, I draw the line at Homey).

 

Why The Simpsons remains such a cultural milestone long after its run its course and is now not...very...shall I say...good, is because of the way the writers handle this dilemma. Obviously, Homer can't really err from Marge. That would take things too far. So equally obviously, Mindy can't be a permanent character. She's a one-off. So it would be easy to make her a one-dimensional floozy, good for a couple cheap laughs on account of that flooziness. 

Yet what the writers do instead, which is what helps make Mindy such a fantastic character despite her one-episode appearance, is make her just as conflicted as Homer, and just as ultimately kind-hearted, too. She doesn't want to be a homewrecker. However, as I believe showrunner Al Jean said in this episode's commentary, "these two characters just can't control their libidos around each other." In a hilarious sequence in the plant's tiny elevator, she and Homer are smashed nose-to-nose in the cramped space of the box. Instead of smirking and flirting, Mindy unknowingly imitates Homer, whispering to herself with eyes closed, "Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts." Then she smiles the same awkward, loopy grin as Homer.

Now we get to the real, mean and dirty reason I wish I could be just like her: she makes being the female equivalent of Homer attractive and charming. Like Homer, she loves hogging down donuts like a pig ("I dunno. Pigs tend to chew. I'd say he eats more like a duck"--sorry, wrong episode, but still a classic line). She enjoys sneaking in a nap before lunch. She gets excited about the prospect of free shower curtains in a hotel room. She yells "get bent" at someone criticizing their nuclear panel at a convention. She makes that same beloved gargling noise in the back of her throat when she thinks about the words "double glaze". 

She is Homer, as a foxy redhead.

Does that mean she also has his lack of intelligence? Well, that's difficult to gauge. We never really see her working at her job, though Smithers mentions as an afterthought that she has some sort of relevant degree. She's probably more competent than Homer, but we can't know that for certain: after all, Homer works at the plant. Competence is apparently not high on Burns's list of desired qualities for employees (competence might foster independent thinking). 

If Mindy is as stupid as Homer, would that make me want to be her any less? Well... "Short answer 'yes' with an 'if', long answer 'no', with a 'but'." Yeah, I'd like to emulate somebody intelligent, wouldn't we all? Least that's what my ego dictates. However, there is that small, petty, corpulent little gal called my id, who dances around in a devil costume shaking maracas, singing, "I am evil Laura! I am evil Laura!" This primitive imp wouldn't mind getting away with all that Homer gets away with, while possessing little to no intelligence. What man or woman wouldn't, at their evil, primitive core? And what man or woman wouldn't want to get away with all that Homer gets away with while being ridiculously attractive, unlike the real Homer?

So, Mindy is basically a win-win character. She's not only wish-fulfillment for fanboys, but for fangirls, too. And that's the sort of all-encompassing thinking The Simpsons writers at their best were terrific at.

Oh, but have I mentioned the absolute best reason Mindy's amazing? She has the piggish habits of Homer, has a good heart, is a smokin' hot babe, and she has the voice of Michelle Pfeiffer. Yowza.

Let's break this down:

This

Plus This

 

Equals This!

Admit it. We all want to be Mindy Simmons.

P.S. If you can get a copy of the DVD for The Last Temptation of Homer, listen to the commentary. Al Jean had it bad for Pfeiffer, and it's adorable to hear. Apparently, according to Jean, she's super, super gorgeous. One disappointing fact, though: that gargling sound? Broccoli and water. She didn't want to eat sweets. The hell? I love you dearly, Michelle, but I'd still rather be Mindy if that's what it takes to look like you and not her.

Totally Awesome Performances That Don't Get Enough Recognition, Femme Edition

Every once in a while I get hooked on a performance I see in a movie, whether it's someone in a principal role or a character actor making a brief appearance. Something about the actor--whether it's actual skill or just a distinct way of talking, emoting, or what have you--just clicks with me. Usually I find others who share my opinion, but sometimes not enough. And that makes me angry for some reason. I mean, why should I give so much of a crap? I bet the actors don't care if not everyone on the globe fawns all over their performances, so long as they get their paycheck. But, frankly, the fact exists: I think there are some performances out there so fabulous and spiffy that they should be universally acknowledged. So there.

Thusly and therefore, here's this post. Right now I'll cover the lady performances I've seen over the years, since they're the first that come to mind. I don't know, maybe it's a self-centered trait of mine that makes me focus more on the wimmin' performers, since I, like many fangirls, tend to insert myself into the female roles I see onscreen. But this sort of backward sexism is impermissible! So once I think about it some more, I'll give the guys some time to shine.

But for now, in no particular order:

Michelle Pfeiffer as Selina Kyle/Catwoman in Batman Returns (1992)

As you might remember from my previous Batman related post, I tend to favor more outlandish and cartoonish portrayals of stuff adapted from comic books, so long as it adheres to the original author's tone. That's why I'm mostly a defender of the Burton Batman movies. They're not as good as the animated series in my opinion, but they still have that gothic, stylized design combined with galumphing energy that just feels right for a Batman treatment (hell, I'm pretty sure it's Burton more than anyone else who influenced the cartoon series). However, people still tend to rag the shit out of Batman Returns, though thankfully acknowledging it's freaking Citizen Kane compared to the Schumacher nightmares. Yes, The Penguin parts sucked. I'll admit that. And a lot of the writing was...eh. But seriously? Take it for what it was going for, which is stylistic pulp, and it's a fun ride!

This negative backlash really pisses me off on Pfeiffer's behalf. Audiences are begrudgingly coming around to the fact that, "yeah, the lady's pretty and she can act, sure." But hardly anyone I know freaks out about how rad her Catwoman was. Yes, fanboys drool all over the sight of her in the stitched up shiny black pleather. And yes, audiences acknowledge it's a better portrayal than Halle Berry's. But maybe because of the campy, Danny-Elfman-whiz-bang musicality throughout, many gloss over how intense and iconic her actual performance was.

I'll admit right now that I  prefer her pre-transformation, when she's still the awkward hot mess Selina Kyle. While that part could have come across as merely another "Oh, jeez, the mousy girl is unattractive...UNTIL SHE TAKES OFF THOSE GLASSES!" bits Hollywood's oh so fond of, Pfeiffer's dorky Selina  has a distinctive and, yes, kittenish patter with an underlying edge of not-quite-rightness. We're none of us surprised when she totally loses it and transforms from nervous, scatter-brained kitten to full-blown, feral, I'm-going-to-infest-you-with-rabies-because-you-dared-shoo-me-away-with-a-broom Katzefraulein.

I realized I was watching something close to a screen miracle during her transformation scene (vid by MakingTime):



 This is  one of those scenes that requires something more than a "good actor" alone. You need a certain type, someone able to emote that special...y'know...IT factor. "Itness," if you will. And Pfeiffer, from her frizzed out white-blond hair to her thin, husky voice, embodies Catwoman's "Itness" perfectly.

Her actual Catwoman is fabulous as well, but never quite got me as the above scene and her mousy Selina did. The voice she affects might be what's troubling me, the self-conscious deep purr she adds to her voice once she's in the suit. It's a few steps away from Snagglepuss at times. Just a wee bit out of place, even in a Burton-laden, out-there atmosphere. But! She does redeem herself in her movements, eyes, expressions, and she knocked off all those mannequin heads in ONE TAKE with her whip during the mall scene. That last one by itself deserves some major props. Overall I consider it an outstanding, powerhouse performance. Audiences and critics hadn't yet decided to take comic book movies too seriously, so who knows, maybe if Batman Returns hadn't had that cache, Pfeiffer could have gotten more recognition.

Mia Kirshner as Elizabeth Short in The Black Dahlia (2006)

Brian DePalma is another director whose films get mixed feedback thanks to his unique sense of style and the way he tends to screw around with film convention, often at the expense of substance, his critics argue. I generally disagree, seeing as Carrie's pretty much the masterpiece holy grail of prom slasher flicks, and Phantom of the Paradise is one of my secret favorite movies. Well...maybe those films do lack a little substance (whatever the hell that really is), but still he works well with what he does convey up there.

Except maybe in Black Dahlia. I'm afraid to say I thought that one was a bit of a mess. Yes, it succeeded in scaring me. But that's really not hard to do. I'm still a little frightened of the scene in The Simpsons where Bart imagines Homer's skull melting (a la the Nazis in Indiana Jones) after Homer forgot to pick him up from soccer practice. So that's no huge feat scaring me, in other words. Where DePalma faltered was in trying to cram all the subculture from the 1940s into one spooky movie, subsequently leaving his audience overwhelmed by the plot machinations and underwhelmed by the outcome.

But the film has one saving grace in Mia Kirshner as the eponymous dead girl. I had never heard of her before the movie. And you know what? I still wouldn't if I hadn't watched the movie and looked her up. And that, to me, is a crying shame. Some of the other performances are good--Aaron Eckhart, Hilary Swank, and Fiona Shaw's, for example--but uniformly I felt the acting was rather bland and invisible. So a stand-out performance like Kirshner's deserves far more acclaim.

She appears only in screen tests peppered throughout the film, following her progress from a slightly unhinged but still girlishly optimistic Hollywood newcomer to an even more unhinged, fadingly sad little-girl-lost who realizes she'll probably never rise above Z-movie porno's. These brief tests are the most haunting scenes in the film. Kirshner, like Pfeiffer, has an aura about her that transcends acting talent alone. She captures that smoky, film noir setting better than in any of the other attempts DePalma makes throughout. Her Betty Short is fragile, vulnerable, and unearthly, yet somehow manages to reveal a steely resolve just barely poking through her dazed meandering. This is most blatant in her first scene, where she embarrassingly stumbles through Scarlett O'Hara's "never go hungry again" monologue. The director of the screen test (Brian DePalma hisself) is laughing at her, enjoying the view but obviously not about to hire this charming little nut. She realizes this, and starts laughing as well. She throws her hands up cutely, but the radiant smile doesn't reach her eyes. She leans over and starts rearranging the items on his desk. And she finishes the monologue. With each word, her determination slowly surfaces, not tempered by any of her usual spaced-out affectations. By the time she says her last "I'll never go hungry again," she's staring frankly into the unseen man's eyes, her smile sad but her voice warm and genuine--strangely triumphant.

Amy Acker in just about anything

The public seems to enjoy inflicting Audrey Hepburn Syndrome on any actress these days who demonstrates the least bit of class and charm. In other words, you hear a lot of "Anne Hathaway reminds me of Audrey Hepburn!" Or "Audrey Tautou is totally Audrey Hepburn come back as a short French girl!" Or "Natalie Portman is so the new Audrey!" "Nuh-uh, Keira is!" And so forth. While I like all those actresses,  to me they all bring to the table traits and qualities very different from the late Ms. H, and besides, pigeon-holing an actress as the new anything is simply unfair to an actress trying to make an individual name for herself.

Having said all that, Amy Acker comes closest.

She isn't the new Audrey Hepburn or anything like that, but she is the only actress I know of these days who affects her small but devoted audience in that same way Audrey did to an entire world. I recently discussed this on a thread on IMDb. Even when her character is written unevenly, as happened to her frequently on Angel, the viewer is drawn to her character, Winifred "Fred" Burkle, and often wants to reach out to her. She has the gamine waif thing down pat, so that you end up on her side no matter what. Period. Her classiness and intelligence are not intimidating, since she combines those traits with a lot of warm good will. 

Now granted, I haven't really seen her outside of Angel and...uh...thekidsshowWishbone. Y'know, the one with the little dog who acts out old books with human actors? Heh heh...heh? Look, I was all nostalgic one day and looked up the actors in my favorite show from when I was a kid and that's how I started watching Angel, okay? There? You happy? 

But back to Acker. Oftentimes, like I said, Angel's writing was uneven, and her hyperbolic babbling and insecurities as Fred could grate on one's nerves, but again, Acker's so innately likable that it's hard to actively dislike Fred. Just...stuff about Fred. And when Acker plays Illyria, a resurrected demon god, an Old One? Well, I hate to say it, but the wonderful Audrey never had to perform such an about face in any role she ever had. If given the chance, would she have aced it like Acker? We'll never know. All's I know is Acker's frighteningly amazing ability to clap on (Fred) and clap off (Illyria) without so much as batting an exhausted eyelid is an incredible feat for someone known primarily as a TV actress (though some of the best cinematic stuff is ironically on TV currently). Her characters transform and so does she, in voice, carriage, temperament, looks, etc. She's a great actress who can't seem to make a very big name for herself. Possibly because she really is our day's closest equivalent to Audrey Hepburn, and sadly, though we say that's what we want in actresses like Hathaway, when the real deal comes along there's no place for the Hepburn personality anymore.

Tuesday Weld in just about anything

Speaking of Audrey, in my first post I called Tuesday the naughty, evil, blond version of her. And that's true. In fact, maybe that very edge was what gave Tuesday the opportunities Audrey never had to play against type. Unlike Audrey, Tuesday got to play characters all over the moral spectrum, from bubble-headed beach bunnies (Lord Love a Duck, 1966) to cuckoo-psycho-bird cheerleaders/molls (Pretty Poison, 1968). Unfortunately, it's that very versatility that probably kept her from becoming as beloved a figure as Audrey, since "pretty poison" really is an apt description of her: she's pretty, charming, and delightful, but all those traits seem to be laced with something toxic. This bubbly and venomous quality of hers is even more obvious than Pfeiffer and Kirshner's, because from watching her performances and reading her personal interviews, you get the impression that the disturbed energy came from within. To some viewers like me (and I'm guessing The Real Tuesday Weld), that's captivating. However, I can see how her performances could come across as potentially off-putting. Plus, it doesn't help her reputation any that she was self-destructive in her life and in her career (you turned down effing Bonnie & Clyde?!) 

But for those of us who like the demonic little twinkle in her eyes and her toothy grin, Weld's performances are endless amounts of underrated fun.

Elsa Lanchester as The Bride in The Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

 I of course concede that of all the performances mentioned, Elsa Lanchester's Bride of Frankie is probably the most celebrated, with the widest fanbase, so many might not categorize it as ignored. But, darnit, she ain't celebrated enough fer my likin'! Her appearance as the bride is sadly brief, but I still believe that it should be mentioned in the same breath as other horror greats, such as Lon Chaney, Bela Lugosi, and her co-star Boris Karloff. The Bride of Frankenstein is just about tied for first place as my favorite movie of all time, maybe slightly usurped by The Big Lebowski. Just like The Dude, The Bride abides, at least in my creepy little heart. I wanted to be The Bride of Frankenstein when I was a little girl. Hell, I still want to.

Lanchester's portrayal resonates with me on a completely different level than the other horror actors I mentioned. While her character is silent, her jutting movements and expressions differ from the bombastic performances you get from silent thrillers like Nosferatu and the 1925 Phantom of the Opera. And she's not deliberately evil and seductive, like Lugosi and the vampire's sisters. Nor does she give her character a warm human edge, like Karloff.

What she does do is act precisely how you'd expect a creature jolted electrically to life to act.

Lanchester apparently studied the swans at Regent's Park in preparation for her role, and the highly alert, quick twitching she noticed transfers perfectly to The Bride. It's a realistic performance of a woman with no personality or intellect yet formed, whose character relies completely on her newborn senses and impressions. Those who have seen the performance don't forget it. You can tell how linked together my tastes are when you discover that there are quite a few discussions comparing Catwoman in Batman Returns as a nice parallel to The Bride.

I'd also like to point out that Elsa Lanchester was born October 28th, my birthday. And she died in December of 1986, not much more than a year before I was born. But it's very unfair of you to accuse me of pondering briefly as a child the possibility that I could in fact be her reincarnation. That's an unfounded accusation and I won't stand for it.

But yes, Elsa is my favorite actress, after Vivien. Oh, and speaking of whom, last but not least:

Vivien Leigh as Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)

"Now wait a second, you chucklehead," you might be saying to yourself. "Elsa Lanchester's Bride of Frankenstein unappreciated, maybe. But Vivien's Blanche? Um, hello, didn't she win a freaking Oscar, you addle-pated ninny? How is that underappreciated, exactly?" Well, first of all, no one calls anyone names like "chucklehead" and "addle-pated ninny" anymore. So get over yourself. The second is, yes, Vivien did indeed win an Oscar. Y'know, back when the movie first came out. But now almost sixty years later, what do people pretty much only remember about that film?

Brando. And that's about it.

Yes, his performance was uh-may-zing. Very innovative and method-y and with loads upon loads of animal magnetism. Incredibly effective and memorable, and it's rightly called one of the best film performances out there. So I'm cool with the recognition he gets.

What bugs me is when all those accolades come at the expense of how people receive Vivien's performance. Whenever her Oscar win is mentioned, along with Kim Hunter and Karl Malden's, it's usually framed by someone fuming about the injustice that Brando didn't win anything that year. I can understand this outrage, since he was pretty much robbed. I mean, much love to you and all, Bogie, I did love your performance in African Queen, but you yourself knew it didn't deserve to win the Oscar over Brando. You shoulda won for Treasure of the Sierra Madre instead, consarnit!

So people bitching about Brando's loss, I don't mind. What I do mind is people focusing not only solely on Brando's performance to the point where every poster you see these days has Brando in the most prominent position if he's not the only person featured, but when people start maligning Vivien's interpretation in order to build up Brando's. I've seen her called overly stagy next to Brando's apparently more natural turn, her Blanche labeled as too melodramatic and phony, too obviously of the classic acting school when the rest of her co-stars are obviously top-notch, revolutionary method actors.

And you wanna know why that sort of criticism really rankles me? Because the genius of her Blanche lies in those very qualities.

Blanche is supposed to wax phony and artificial; her whole life is a charade. She's a woman rapidly approaching middle age, striving to appear just as young and flirtatious as she was in her younger years--those younger years coinciding with the time when classical acting was all the rage, by the way. The reason I find the dynamic between Leigh's Blanche and Brando's Stanley so explosively awesome is because Leigh's classical training and Brando's method acting are perfect examples of their characters' dynamics: Stanley is brutish, modern, and exciting, while the fragile old world sensibilities Blanche cherishes are fading into the ether. Their performances work on multiple levels, until they're almost meta.

Plus, nobody could accuse Leigh of not getting into character as much as her co-stars. Oh, she did and how. Another thing that bugs me: when people do talk about her performance, it's usually to point out how Vivien's sanity starting slipping playing Blanche, and how erratic her behavior became. Not that her condition should be ignored or stifled, but that's all people start to remember her for, and without that much sensitivity a lot of the time. Oh, yeah, that crazy broad who played Scarlett O'Hara. She sure was crazy, huh? Really, her outbursts and breakdowns don't sound much different from similar stunts Method Actors have pulled on movie sets, but because that's all modern and edgy, that's apparently acceptable. But a chemical imbalance she couldn't control? Pff, who cares about her?

No other performance has ever touched me like her Blanche has. For those of you curious about my fanatical devotion to Pauline Kael, I must confess that a large part of it is due to discovering that she is one of the few critics I've come across who shares my view completely about the importance of Vivien's performance  (to be fair, I haven't been able to find many reviews from the actual year Streetcar was released, so critics back then might have been kinder to Vivien than those I've read recently). Here's how Kael begins her capsule review of Streetcar:

Vivien Leigh gives one of those rare performances that can truly be said to evoke both pity and terror. As Blanche DuBois, she looks and acts like a destroyed Dresden shepherdess...Shakespeare must have had a woman like this in mind when he conceived Ophelia...you're looking at two of the greatest performances ever put on film....

 This is a perfect review about a perfect performance. Kael gives Brando plenty of due as well, which is important. But what's most refreshing for me is to read someone who was affected like I was, who saw Vivien's wide Dresden Doll eyes as windows of absolute despair, her thin body so delicate that her movements are almost wraith-like--but with enough wiry strength left to at least try twisting the broken bottle into Stanley's face. A porcelain tigress indeed.