Cast:
Faye Dunaway (Joan Crawford), Diana Scarwid & Mara Hobel (Christina Crawford), Steve Forrest (Gregg Savitt), Howard da Silva (Louis B. Mayer), Rutanya Alda (Carol Ann), Harry Goz (Alfred Steele), Michael Edwards (Ted Gelber), Jocelyn Brando (Barbara Bennett), Priscilla Pointer (Margaret Lee Chadwick), and Selma Archerd (Connie) Directed by Frank Perry (#1957 - David and Lisa)
Review:
In 1978, Christina Crawford wrote a book about her upbringing (as an adopted daughter) at the hands of legendary actress Joan Crawford, who adopted Christina after her birth in 1939. She stated that her mother had valued her career more so than her family life, complete with having Christina call various men that she happened to see "Uncle". When Joan died in 1977, she left Christina (and her adopted brother) out of the will for "reasons which are well known to them." Various people around Crawford had their own thoughts about the allegations of abuse leveled by Christina, which included two of her (adopted) siblings, who sued her because she claimed that Cathy and Cynthia were not biological sisters or adopted legally. The actual life of Joan Crawford probably could have made its own miniseries even without the aforementioned book. Crawford (born Lucille Fay LeSueur) had a dubious childhood (involving a stepfather accused of embezzlement). At any rate, she went from dancing in the chorus of revues to the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer days (of nearly two decades). The San Antonio native was quoted as working hard to practice her dictation, complete with repeating a word fifteen times to get it correct for ones she had not known to pronounce. She actually adopted five children (three girls), with one of them being returned back to the family on their request. The furor of the book led to film rights being sold to Paramount, as one would expect. Robert Getchell was hired in to write the screenplay (Crawford had done a script but it wasn't used) before Tracy Hotchner and Frank Yablans (who produced the film) were brought into re-write the script before the bringing in of Frank Perry to direct (and deliver re-writes for the only writing credit he ever received on a film) as opposed to the original intent of Franco Zeffirelli to direct Anne Bancroft. At any rate, the film only focuses on two of the four children raised by Crawford (Christina, Christopher, Cathy, Cynthia). Incidentally, Christina has been on record as not being a fan of the film, although she noted once (while promoting her one-woman show "A Conversation with Christina Crawford: Live and Onstage in Surviving Mommie Dearest") that there was a certain amount of folks who seemed to enjoy the film as a melodrama that "lost a sense of reality." The movie was not exactly loved by critics, but audiences apparently were fine with the film to where Paramount Pictures actually marketed it as an unintentional comedy (“Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest—the biggest mother of them all.”) midway through release. Perry, who had directed eleven films prior to this one, directed just three further features (one of those in Monsignor (1982), is apparently worse) prior to being diagnosed with prostate cancer that led to his death at the age of 65 in 1995.
In its sympathy for the devil, one sees a great contradiction with this film. It jumps around in its selection of what it believes would make an interesting biopic. Its attempts at showing the conflict of a person who tried to be a regal and "always on" movie star but also a dear mother that expected the most from the children she chose to adopt. You have a method actress at the height of their career (coming off an Academy Award win a few years prior) who had to contort the muscles around their mouth and hold it so one could see the resemblance to Crawford who seemed to believe that when back home she could feel Crawford in her presence. People either see the film as unintentionally amusing or disturbing, but all I see is a very average experience that has one domineering performance and obvious pacing problems. I think of it as "The Rocky Horror Picture Show effect", where the hype about it being a cult favorite leads to a really average viewing experience. The movie around Dunaway never really gets going because, well, imagine making a movie where you don't think about Christina Crawford a fraction of the time that you see (and hear) Dunaway chew the scenery. I think there is something quite compelling about what you might as well call the Faye Dunaway Experience that might make you want to see it. Yes, stuff such as the "wire hanger" sequences probably don't lend favors to Dunaway in the long run, but I think there is something really worthwhile in seeing Dunaway basically morph into Crawford in spirit. Dunaway apparently blamed Perry in not apparently having the experience (incidentally, Perry had directed eleven films prior to this) to assess when an actor should rein in their performance. The enjoyment of the film is in how much you care for that performance above else, because Scarwid and Hobel basically get swept up as dominos to be moved around as if all that matters is to see a family monster more than, well an actual story moving from A to B (you don't even get to see the screen Crawford die on screen, she just passes and boop, that's that). One kind of would like to have seen more from Forrest, who seems bemused to be in the film (incidentally, he plays a person that didn't exist in real life). Biopic or no biopic, I think a point-by-point movie about Crawford in all the facets of a career (the hard work and the domineering personality) would have been a better flick than this. Sure, you could call that "cliched", but it probably would've tried to reach a level of "honest" that this film never really reaches. The 129-minute runtime lumbers with some of the ambition required but not nearly enough in actual depth. Sure, some of the film is amusing because of the sheer audacity in dialogue. If the film was compelling in drama, maybe one would take interest in seeing what gets played out in the "historical record", but instead of harrowing edge, it comes off as exaggerated in a way that is hollow; in short: it isn't as funny as one thinks from a so-called "camp favorite" and it isn't as moving as it surely wishes to be. As a whole, I really wish the film was better. It yearns to be taken seriously as a work about the toils of trying to be both a consistent star in the classic studio system and simultaneously trying to mold her children in her image. Instead, it became a film misunderstood by ones willing to criticize it or think of it as some sort of goofy trash.
Overall, I give it 6 out of 10 stars.
About (fucking) time: the NC-17 rated Showgirls up next.
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