Cast:
Pia Zadora (Jerilee Randall), Lloyd Bochner (Walter Thornton), Bibi Besch (Veronica Randall), Joseph Cali (Vincent Dacosta), Anthony Holland (Guy Jackson), Jared Martin (George Ballantine), Ray Liotta (Joe Heron), Kerry Shale (Walt Thornton, Jr), Sandra Dickinson (Nancy Day), Lou Hirsch (Bernie), Ed Bishop (Doctor Baker), and Shane Rimmer (Adolph Fannon) Directed by Peter Sasdy (#1159 - Taste the Blood of Dracula)
Review:
I didn't have this film initially in mind for Turkey Week 4, you know. I thought to myself, hey, what was the next film adaptation of Jacqueline Susann's works after Valley of the Dolls (1967). Well, The Love Machine (1971) did seem like an idea, but I found my way to something that might as well be part of it all. The Lonely Lady was a novel released to stores in 1976 by the hands of Harold Robbins. He dedicated the book to Susann (who had died in 1974). Robbins was notable as a writer in his own right, of course; born and raised in New York to Jewish emigrants, he served in the U.S. Navy for a time before going on to work a variety of jobs that even included Universal Pictures. He started writing in 1948 and basically wrote melodramas for the rest of his life, which would see various film adaptations that went from King Creole (released in 1958, after changing the title from the book) to The Adventurers (1970) to The Betsy (1978). He was the kind of racy book writer that lived a life so colorful that had people such as Stephen King say didn't want to end up like him as a "nightmare". Needless to say, Robbins led a strange life that probably would've made for its own film, even if he liked to fib about his upbringing; he died at the age of 81 in 1997. And then there's Pia Zadora. Born in Hoboken, New Jersey to a violinist and wardrobe supervisor, she actually was an actor from a young age, which included what else but Santa Claus Conquers the Martians (1964). She later married Meshulam Riklis, who wanted to push her as an actress, complete with financing from his company. This would culminate in Butterfly (1982), a film that saw her get critical savaging and a "Newcomer" Golden Globe. Fake-Out (1982) isn't even remembered as the follow-up, because, well, the next one was this film. It all aligns together because Riklis helped out the logjam that Universal Pictures had when it came to doing a film based on that Robbins book that had stalled for years despite having Susan Blakely in mind to star. The eventual screenplay credit went to John Kershaw and Shawn Randall with a story credit for Ellen Shepard. Peter Sasdy never directed another theatrical film after this failure, which had the dubious honor of having an ad campaign lead by John J.B. Wilson, the guy behind the Golden Raspberry Awards who "liked" what he saw (Zadora apparently said that receiving a nomination but not winning would've been something she "hated" - take one guess how that worked out). Robbins called the film crap but liked the fact he received $600,000 before it opened.
I should mention that Zadora called the film a turkey upon release. She had one more star role in her with the B-flick sci-fi musical Voyage of the Rock Aliens (1984) and has since been more known for her musical career. It is kind of like watching a perverted cousin of The Oscar (1967), another film involving an awards ceremony setup (but that one had the actual Oscar statuette). It actually is a short film at 92 minutes, and if you avert your eyes as the ridiculous amount of sex scenes, it is even shorter, unless one really needed to see a guy shoot a pool ball at a naked woman on a table. I think the preening title song has the most life next to Zadora when it comes to such ridiculously lowkey acting around it all. Holland is probably the only "normal" person in the film, which includes plenty of perverts and lurid attempts at hard-hitting dialogue that has the impact of light cat scratching. Bochner and Cali might as well be mailing it in from downtown. Zadora may have been the target of criticism because, well, title character, but who could have helped this film? She really tries to show the trouble and toil that come with an industry that seems to value the body of a woman over a body of work and where it can lead someone to go down the road of shame. Of course, skin showing aside, there is nothing for anyone to grab on to because the dynamics of the film are skewed into lame soap opera with no sense of dignity or interest. For a "writer", you see exactly one line of dialogue that she suggests, which really can apply to dubious choices of any kind: "Why?". I can't tell what is most embarrassing in the opening sequence: Zadora supposed to be playing a high schooler among other near 30-somethings or, well, the garden hose moment. The fact that the particular sequence has Ray Liotta (a future member of being in even worse material than this) making his debut is probably a testament that if you can make it there, you can...escape to anywhere. The movie dives into the mud early, puts oil all over said mud and decides lighting a match would be better than the garden hose to top it off. Calling the film silly trash is actually a bigger joke than you think, because this is the kind of movie you show to someone who thought Valley of the Dolls lacked that cheesy factor. The closing sequence takes the cake for such empty dramatic heft that Zadora gamely tries to make stick, for better and certainly for worse. I especially like how she just leaves the ceremony to no one around, as if the film was about to hang itself in shame. The points that the film that stop one from going all "zero stars" is mostly on her shoulders, because the script and director failed her most of all. As a whole, it is a lurid and ridiculously terrible time to spend for all the reasons you would expect, but Zadora at least seems like she deserved better than the reviews of the time gave her. It isn't the worst of anything, but if you love some Hollywood trash, you have something to consider.
Overall, I give it 3 out of 10 stars.
Once more on Turkey Week, let's consider some religion. The Left Behind (2014) kind.
No comments:
Post a Comment