BOOK REVIEW: The Mommie Dearest Diary

The Mommie Dearest Diary: Carol Ann Tells All   by Rutanya Alda

For worshipers of the enduring camp classic Mommie Dearest (and that’s pretty much all of us, am I right?), actress Rutanya Alda has, for the last couple of years, been something of a battle-scarred, in-the-trenches, cult-film missionary doing the Lord’s work. The Lord in this case being the Great God of Inadvertent Camp. Ms. Alda’s sacred trust: to preserve the legacy and answer the gay community’s clarion call (and make no mistake, the LGBT community is solely responsible for Mommie Dearest not disappearing into oblivion) of “What were they thinking?”

As cult film fans and connoisseurs of delectable camp already know, Rutanya Alda plays Joan Crawford’s devoted, long-suffering, rapidly-aging secretary, Carol Ann, in Mommie Dearest. A now-iconic role in the iconically misguided 1981 biopic which contributed significantly (some might say exclusively) to derailing the A-list career of Oscar-winner Faye Dunaway.

Rutanya Alda as Carol Ann in Mommie Dearest

Alda’s own nearly 50-year career in films encompasses everything from being Mia Farrow’s stand-in in Rosemary’s Baby (and the voice of Dr. Hill’s answering service in that memorably tense phone booth scene); doubling for Barbra Streisand in Hello, Dolly! (and playing the townsperson dressed in Judy Garland's tassled frock from Meet Me in St. Louis); to co-starring opposite Meryl Streep and Robert De Niro in Michael Cimino’s The Deer Hunter. But unlike Dunaway and almost everyone else associated with Mommie Dearest, Alda is actually happy and proud to have been a part of a film once regarded as one of Hollywood’s biggest embarrassments, now a bonafide camp cult classic. She even accepts (with considerable grace and good humor) the fact that in spite of having more than 50 films to her credit, to a great many individuals she is, and always will be, Carol Ann.

Alda’s current status as the unofficial spokesperson for all things Mommie Dearest began in 2013 when she was the guest of honor at a special Mother’s Day screening at San Francisco’s Castro Theater. There she regaled the SRO audience with hilarious “Lived to tell the tale!” anecdotes about the making of Mommie Dearest: a major serious-minded major motion picture upon which many hopes and investments were pinned, held hostage and kept under siege by the demands and off-the-rails ego of its star.

Conceived as a serious dramatic adaptation of Christina Crawford's 1978 bombshell of a tell-all memoir (Dunaway was certain she'd get an Oscar nomination), Mommie Dearest somehow became a quotable high camp comedy by the time it hit the theaters. Every highly-anticipated film that flops engenders a certain level of curiosity (Mommie Dearest was a critical flop, but made lots of money for Paramount...but for all the wrong reason), but the swift and total reversal of Mommie Dearest's fortunes created a great deal of curiosity among fans as to how so many things could go wrong so extravagantly. Alas, nobody was talking. Considerable blame was placed on the screenplay, but the lion's share of the shame spotlight fell on Faye Dunaway and her fiercely committed, brazenly unsubtle performance.

With Dunaway and the rest of the film's cast and crew reluctant to even acknowledge their participation on the project, details about what went into the making of one of the screen's most delectable disasters has largely been nil.
That is until Carol Ann finally broke her silence.

Carol Ann appeared to be on an accelerated aging program. The book explains why

Culled from the personal diary Alda kept throughout the entire ordeal…I mean, filming of Mommie Dearest, these deliciously dishy stories, related with chummy, “Can we talk?” candor,  were the first behind-the-scenes accounts ever to emerge from beneath the cone of silence that seemed to envelope Mommie Dearest after its critically disastrous release. Needless to say, the audience lapped up every gossipy detail.

 As Ms. Alda began making the reading of excerpts from her diary a regular part of her personal appearances celebrating Mommie Dearest, the outpour of interest from fans convinced her to publish them in book form.

Rutanya Alda’s The Mommie Dearest Diary: Carol Ann Tells All was published September 18, 2015 (just a few days shy of the 34^th anniversary of the film's Los Angeles release date of September 25, 1981).
Although I was chomping at the bit to read Alda’s memoir hot off the presses, I nevertheless bided my time and had my prayers answered when I received the book for Christmas. By December 26^th  I’d finished it. Not because the book is so brief (it’s a slim 166 pages) but because it’s that much fun to read. To use a cliché I’m sure that’s been overworked in every review of The Mommie Dearest Diary to date, but I really couldn’t put it down.

The Deer Hunter
Rutanya Alda played Angela, the pregnant bride in Michael Ciimino's 1978 film.
Here she's seen with (l. to r.) Christopher Walken, John Savage, and Meryl Streep

Being a smart woman who knows her audience, Rutanya Alda uses the first third of the book to supply us with only the briefest of personal and professional bio material before getting down to the good stuff. (Biggest personal epiphany: Rutanya Alda is NOT, as I'd always assumed, related to Alan!) Happily, this section proves surprisingly crammed with “good stuff” as well, for once the Latvian-born immigrant embarks on a career as an actress, we’re treated to stories about Alda’s early encounters with the likes of Brian De Palma, Joan Crawford, Robert Altman, Barbra Streisand, and even pre-Mommie Dearest Faye Dunaway. The cumulative effect is the desire for Ms. Alda to later write a more comprehensive autobiography, the span of her career and the many great directors and actors she’s worked with (and slept with) providing a ‘70s enthusiast like me with a vivid glimpse into the New Hollywood as it morphed into blockbutserland

Mommie Dearest opened in September, but by mid-October Paramount realized audiences weren't taking their drama seriously. The studio attempted to capitalize on the film's growing status as a camp cult film by posting this newspaper ad.
The ad was removed after the late producer, Frank Yablans, filed a $10 million lawsuit (a move he later claimed to regret given the unstoppability of the cult and the longevity - and profits - said cult ultimately granted his film).

The actual Mommie Dearest diary begins with Alda’s audition for director Frank Perry (Diary of a Mad Housewife, Last Summer) in December of 1980, and ends on the last day of filming, April of 1981. In between, movie fans are given a rare glimpse into the inner workings of the hurry-up-and-wait world of filmmaking, and Mommie Dearest fans at last get to find out if there was anything going on behind the scenes which could possibly explain - or excuse - wound up on the screen.

What we discover is Dunaway's dedication to her work was complete, if myopic. Her understandable but nevertheless all-encompassing self-concern not exactly jibing with the image Hollywood likes to promote of itself (on award shows) as a collaborative community of artists.

For her part, Alda, dealing with a rocky marriage and her husband's drug addiction, struggles to be a team-player on the set. She keeps quiet as the size of her part is systematically whittled down by a star who envisions the film more as a one-woman show, all while under constant pressure (and repeated warnings) to keep making herself plainer and plainer so as not to distract or draw attention away from Dunaway.

Since the diary was never intended for publication and used primarily as a meditative tool while the author sought to navigate both her troubled marriage and the difficult shoot, there’s a take-no-prisoners directness to Alda’s writing that makes The Mommie Dearest Diary something of a quidnunc’s wet dream. Nobody is spared (including Alda herself), and she leaves it to the reader to decide whether a bit of gossip to big or too small…she just reveals everything (which is exactly what one seeks in a tell all, but so seldom ever gets). In addition, she's also very fair-handed. Dunaway is revealed to be quite gracious and accommodating - when she wants to be.

It's a wonderful read for fans of moviemaking in general (the minutia of per diems, soundtstage etiquette and glimpses of LA in the '80s are a treat [Filmex!]), but a truly marvelous companion piece for fans of Mommie Dearest. In fact, the biggest compliment I can bestow upon The Mommie Dearest Diary is that it reads just like the kind of commentary I wish accompanied the DVD. Should yet another special edition DVD be released, perhaps with a few of the many sequences shot and later excised for time, I hope they enlist Rutanya Alda for the commentary.

Dunaway got future-husband, photographer Terry O'Neill, a producer's credit

I don't want to spoil anyone's fun by revealing anything more about the book, so here's a glimpse of some of the things you'll find out, some of the questions that will be answered, and a few tips on what to keep a lookout for:

I'll Be There For You - Except When It's Time To Feed You Lines For Your Closeup

What is the "Clear Away Club" and Who Were its Members?

The Hospital Scene: Who's Line is it, Anyway?

Did Carol Ann Skip The Wedding?

Who Designed This Dress? Dont' Axe!

Crawford gives hardworking Carol Ann an Opportunity to Put Her Feet Up

Dunaway and O'Neill Play "I 've Got A Secret"

(S)he Who Gets Slapped...three times, yet

Tonight's Episode: "Shear Dedication" or "Hacking at Hobel"

If you pick up The Mommie Dearest Diary: Carol Ann Tells All expecting the kind of dirt to make your hair stand on end, you're likely to be disappointed ( you won't discover anything you don't likely already suspect about La Dunaway, but it's fascinating having it confirmed!).

But if you're like me, a Mommie Dearest fan who has always marveled at the phenomenon of serious-minded films (like Valley of the Dolls, The Oscar) going so grievously astray they transmogrify into something nobody involved could have ever foreseen; then The Mommie Dearest Diary provides some eye-opening insight into the world of high-stakes Hollywood filmmaking.

A world where everybody starts out wanting to do something important, only to wind up compromising, placating egos, cutting corners, and ultimately counting the days waiting for the whole thing to be over.

The Mommie Dearest Diary: Carol Ann Tells All 

Paperback

Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

BONUS MATERIAL
Read  my essay on Mommie Dearest HERE

See Rutanya Alda read her Mommie Dearest Diary at The Castro Theater in S.F. HERE

Read more about Mommie Dearest Diary at Angelman's Place 

"Now imagine you're delivering your 'don't fuck with me fellahs' line straight to the last row of the balcony...."
Faye Dunaway plays nice and lets Frank Perry have his turn directing Mommie Dearest

Copyright © Ken Anderson

MEET ME IN ST. LOUIS 1944

I don't believe in perfection, but were someone to really press me to name what I consider to be the most perfect musical ever made, I wouldn't hesitate a second before placing Vincente Minnelli's Meet Me in St. Louis at the top of any list. An unpretentious gem of a movie that's small in scale, meager of plot, modest in ambition, and blissfully devoid of any of those so-called "sure-fire" elements associated with most major movie musicals; Meet Me in St. Louis is nevertheless a nonstop, smile-from-ear-to-ear delight that features more moments of genuine magic than all eight Harry Potter movies, combined.

Judy Garland as Esther Smith

Margaret O'Brien as Tootie Smith

Lucille Bremer as Rose Smith

Meet Me in St. Louis is a nostalgically idealized little memory book of a musical chronicling a year in the life of a suburban family in turn-of-the-century St. Louis, MO. Divided into a series of charming and delightfully idiosyncratic vignettes, each designated by a season of the year, Meet Me in St. Louis presents itself as a slice-of-life Americana—circa 1904—with nothing loftier on its mind than a desire to pay gentle tribute to the imperishable bond of home and family. What it ends up being is a buoyantly delightful, utterly enchanting little musical whose narrative manages to strike the perfect balance between sentiment and sentimentality.

Setting a tone of lighthearted innocence and old-world charm that Minnelli captivatingly (not to mention, miraculously) manages to sustain throughout the entire film, Meet Me in St. Louis opens with an introduction to the members of the Smith household that's a study in cinematic economy and ingenuity. Structured practically a musical number in itself in the way narrative exposition and character information are seamlessly interwoven in a choreographed introduction, we first meet the level-headed lady of the house Anna (Mary Astor); no-nonsense housekeeper Katie (Marjorie Main); college-bound only son Alonzo "Lon" Jr. (Henry H. Daniels); next-to-youngest daughter Agnes (Joan Carroll); grandpa (Harry Davenport), a collector of hats and firearms; Esther (Garland), the romantic pragmatist; eldest daughter Rose (Lucille Bremer); precocious (and downright weird) youngest daughter, Tootie (O'Brien): and, last but not least, Alonzo, the quintessential father figure (Leon Ames).

You and I
Mary Astor as Anna Smith /  Leon Ames as Alonzo Smith

Director Vincente Minnelli, whose third film this is, displays a remarkably sure hand with this opening sequence. For not only do we come away from it with a vividly distinct sense of each of the main characters, but the seamless manner in which the action and camerawork are interwoven with the impromptu singing/humming of the title tune is positively balletic. It's a virtuoso bit of narrative filmmaking worthy of Kubrick or Hitchcock.

We accompany the Smith family throughout the year as they weather sundry domestic and romantic crises. The story's chief conflict, such as it is, being the zestful anticipation surrounding the opening of the Louisiana Purchase Exposition World's Fair vs. the dispiriting news of the impending uprooting of the family to New York City.

Boy Meets Girl
Tom Drake as John Truett / Henry J Daniels Jr. as Alonzo "Lon" Smith Jr

The uncluttered simplicity that is the screenplay by Irving Brecher & Fred F. Finklehoff (the DVD commentary makes mention of the excising of a superfluous subplot) is based on the largely autobiographical stories of author Sally Benson. Stories first serialized under the title "5135 Kensington" in The New Yorker in 1941, expanded and novelized later in 1942 as "Meet Me in St Louis."  

I've never read the novel, but as a fan of Alfred Hitchcock's Shadow of a Doubt (to whose screenplay Benson was a contributor), Benson seems to have a disarmingly quirky eye when it comes to family. Meet Me in St. Louis is funnier than most films of its ilk, mainly due to a great many wonderful throwaway comic lines and the characters being afforded humanizing traits like vanity ("It would've been nice to be a brunette." "You should have been. Nothing could've stopped us. Think how we'd look going out together, you with your raven black hair and me with my auburn."), self-seriousness ("I hate, loathe, despise and abominate money!" "You also spend it."), precocity ("You're nothing less than a murderer! You might have killed dozens of people!" "Oh, Rose, you're so stuck-up!"), and eccentricity ("The ice man saw a drunkard get shot last night, and the blood squirted out three feet!" – that would be Tootie again).

All of this is tunefully buoyed by a lovely musical score comprised of period standards and four original songs composed by Hugh Martin and Ralph Blaine. 

I've seen it a million times, but Judy singing the Oscar-nominated
  The Trolley Song is always such a thrill to watch

A treat for the eyes and ears, Meet Me in St. Louis never fails to win me over with its charm and heart, but I really get a kick out of its character-based comedy. And while many other films have tried to duplicate its formula (the rather dreadful Summer Holiday - 1948), they only wind up getting the material trappings right. Meet Me in St. Louis—from its talented cast and their inimitable chemistry, to the creative artists behind the scenes, to the degree of loving care lavished on this entire production by Vincente Minnelli and producer Arthur Freed (who co-wrote the lovely song "You and I" and dubbed Leon Ames' singing voice)—is a film that remains in a class by itself.

Marjorie Main as Katie

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM

From all this gushing praise you'd think Meet Me in St. Louis was a movie I've been in love with all my life. On the contrary, I saw the film in its entirety for the first time in 2007. My avoidance of Meet Me in St. Louis for so many years stemmed from an assumption on my part that it was just another one of those aggressively quaint, synthetically folksy period musicals that tend to cause me to break out in hives (think The Music Man or Hello, Dolly!). Nothing wears me down faster than hardened show biz pros barnstorming their way through cloying depictions of homespun simplicity.

But of course, it's within this very arena that most critics contend (and I agree) that Vincent Minnelli scores his greatest triumph. In convincing the actors not to play down to the material, to treat the characters, dialogue, and situations seriously, he infuses this gossamer-light fairy tale with genuine warmth of emotion. The result is a sincerely sweet and touching family movie devoid of the usual mawkishness and sentimentality.

The entire "Long-Distance Phone Call" sequence is hilarious.
A favorite scene in a film loaded with standout sequences

Considerable assist is given by the Oscar-nominated screenplay (Meet Me in St Louis was nominated for four, winning only a special juvenile Oscar for O'Brien) which consistently keeps clichés at bay by subverting anticipated payoffs with unexpected twists. Every time a scene threatens to become too sentimental or hackneyed, some bit of business or dialogue is introduced to wrest the proceedings back to something amusing or emotionally honest. This is especially true of the two youngest Smith girls, Agnes and Tootie; angelic of face but mischievous and possessed of extravagantly gruesome imaginations (Agnes, after being told [in jest] that her pet cat has been harmed: "Oh, if you killed her I'll kill you! I'll stab you to death in your sleep, then I'll tie your body to two wild horses until you're pulled apart!").

I think what appeals to me most is Meet Me in St. Louis' refreshing lack of schmaltz. Where a less thoughtful film might have the characters express their feelings through manipulative emotional outbursts and maudlin displays designed to elicit a sentimental response from the audience, I'm impressed by the way the closeness of the Smith family is illustrated in the ways they treat one another, and not by the voicing of false-sounding bromides.

This beautifully composed shot is a testament to Minnelli's painterly eye. The detailed production design and eye-popping Technicolor cinematography only add to Meet Me in St. Louis' enduring appeal

1) When Rose's much-anticipated long-distant call turns out to be a bust, I'm always so charmed by how Ester rescues her sister from embarrassment by putting a positive spin on the events.

2) Instead of opting for the overworked device of having two sisters vie for the attentions of the same man, I like how Rose encourages Esther to strike up an acquaintance with the boy next door. 

3) The "bond of family" theme is reinforced by how quickly Esther puts aside her feelings for John Truett and is ready to go to battle when she believes he has harmed Tootie.

4) The most touching (for me) is the tender way the mother, despite being upset by the news of uprooting to New York, kisses her husband and, in effect, reaffirms her affection by playing him a love song. Multiple viewings of this scene reveal a plethora of little intimacies and routines of family togetherness enacted in the background. It's no small wonder that so many people consider Meet Me in St. Louis' Autumn sequence (combining the Halloween and move to New York announcement scenes) to be the strongest in the film.

Grandpa schools Tootie & Agnes on the finer points of flinging flour
into the faces of victims on Halloween

I have a bit of an aversion to the trite, artificial sentimentality of "wholesome" family programming like The Brady Bunch and Father Knows Best (Hazel is another matter...that Shirley Booth can reduce me to tears in an instant, even in a sitcom). And I flat-out reject the alternative trend that asks me to find snarky, wise-ass children to be adorable. That's why Meet Me in St. Louis is such a marvel. Minnelli & Co. found the magic formula to get me to care about a family that genuinely cares about one another.

I'm not sure I'd trust anyone who was immune to the absolute
adorableness of Esther's crush on neighbor John Truett

PERFORMANCES

The cast of Meet Me in St Louis could hardly be better. Ensemble acting at its finest, with the standout performances only serving to add luster to the already glowing efforts of the rest of the troupe. I'm partial to the delectably neurotic Margaret O'Brien (I always crack up when in one scene, out of the blue, apropos of nothing, Tootie announces plans to start digging a tunnel to a neighbor's terrace for the express purpose of grabbing her leg when she walks in her garden), but lovely Lucille Bremer has many fine moments ("The plans have been changed!"). Everybody's favorite dad, Leon Ames, the master of confounded exasperation, is solid as always. I'm citing these particulars, but the truth is that every single character in the film is exceptionally well-cast. The result is that we not only like the Smith family and care what happens to them, we appreciate why they feel so strongly for their town and friends. 

The Smith Family

Depending on the source, any number of people have claimed responsibility for casting the reluctant Judy Garland in this, my favorite of her non-Oz roles. But the who doesn't matter so much as trying to imagine what this film would be like without her. Even if everything remained exactly as it is, without Garland I'm 100% certain the result would merely be one of those disposably competent, workaday musicals MGM churned out with regularity in its time. 

Judy Garland is the element that makes this film magic, and it's amazing to me that she was overlooked come Oscar time. People don't tend to think of vocal performances as acting, but just check out the variance in Garland's singing of "The Boy Next Door" contrasted with the performance she gives during "The Trolley Song" and ultimately, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." Were one to regard each of these unforgettable moments as a dramatic scene, scenes Garland commands and puts over with touching sincerity and depth of feeling...well, Meryl Streep and Cate Blanchett would both have to concede they're not in her league.

Striking a perfect balance between spunk and youthful innocence ("I've worked all my life to be a senior!"), Judy Garland's Esther Smith is a testament to her uniquely accessible and likable star quality 

THE STUFF OF FANTASY
I'm always taken a little aback when I realize just how few musical numbers there are in Meet Me in St Louis. It always feels like wall-to-wall music! One listen to the score of the 1989 Broadway adaptation of the film, expanded by at least eight more songs by the same composers (and in which we learn Tootie's name is Sarah), and you're likely to come away with a better appreciation for the virtues of brevity.

Under the Bamboo Tree

I've written before (in reference to the dull soirees in every version of The Great Gatsby I've ever seen) that parties in movies rarely ever look to be much fun. The going away house party the Smiths throw for brother Lon is the exception. This lively, well-staged sequence features a clever reworking of "Skip to My Lou" and of course, the cute Margaret O'Brien / Judy Garland duet, "Under the Bamboo Tree."

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Movie musical magic moments don't get much better than Judy Garland's sublime rendition of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." I love the song and the way Garland sings it, but it's truly how the song is used in dramatic context of the story (along with Margaret O'Brien's doleful performance) that makes it the memorably heartbreaking classic scene it is. As the pivotal event necessary to inspire the father to change his plans, this number delivers both narratively and emotionally.


THE STUFF OF DREAMS 
Like the character of Lon Smith, I grew up as the only boy in a household of four sisters (hence my desire to escape to the movies every chance I got); only in the pecking order of age, I was where Agnes would be. My earliest memories of my family, before my parents divorced in 1967, have a veneer of nostalgia surrounding them that takes on more and more of the shimmering Technicolor glow of Meet Me in St. Louis the older I get.

The youthful quirks of my sisters stand out in my mind: One had her room plastered with posters of the Beatles; another was part of a neighborhood girl's singing group, modeling themselves on The Supremes; one sister was drawn to anything artistic, and the youngest seemed to be in constant telepathic communication with the family dog. My parents stand out in my mind as these two perfect problem-solvers. It seems there was no problem you could come to them with that they couldn't fix or vanquish, whether it be the strap on a roller skate, or the certainty there was a monster hiding in the bedroom closet when the lights went out.

When we were that young, it felt like we were indeed a unit, looking out for one another, the feelings of love, concern, and companionship all melding together under the instinctual, unexamined union called family.

Any sense of accuracy in my memories of Christmases, picnics, and birthday parties, is forever lost in the alchemic process which turns that which can no longer be accurately retrieved into that which we need it to be. Both of my parents have since passed away, my sisters no longer speak to one another, and the success of my current (isolated) relationship with each of my siblings is firmly rooted in my living several hundred miles away from all of them. 

The word "family" should appear in dictionaries right next to the word "imperfect" because that's what they are (even the Smith family left St. Louis for New York in real life). But growing older has shown me that familial love, equally imperfect, can be incredibly durable, flexible, forgiving, and remarkably impervious to time, distance, and the holding of grudges.

When I watch Meet Me in St Louis, I know I'm looking at a vision of family life that never existed anywhere, at any time, ever. But this movie, like a fairy tale or my own hazy, half-remembered, half-idealized, wish-fulfillment memories of my childhood and family; makes me believe, if only for 113 minutes, perfection is possible. And that's what dreams are for.

"I can't believe it. Right here where we live. Right here in St. Louis."

BONUS MATERIAL
The one clear advantage to it taking me so long getting around to seeing Meet Me in St. Louis is that it ultimately afforded me the unforgettable opportunity of seeing it for the first time in the presence of an audience at one of Los Angles' great restored movie houses. The Palace Theater in downtown Los Angeles was built in 1911.
Not only was it a thrill to see this classic on the big screen and experience the collective audience response (applause and huge laughs throughout, and not a dry eye in the house by fadeout) but getting to be inside this magnificent theater was a wholly unforgettable experience.

In 1989, Meet Me in St. Louis was (as is the trend these days) adapted for the Broadway stage. It was nominated for four Tony Awards and looks absolutely insufferable.

A photograph of the actual 1904 Louisiana Purchase Exposition 

Meet Me In St. Louis opened on Tuesday, Nov. 28, 1944 at the Astor Theater in New York

Copyright © Ken Anderson  2009 - 2014

GYPSY 1962

Sing out, Louise!

It’s not exactly a picnic being a movie musical fan who’s also a devotee of live musical theater. These distinct yet inherently complementary art forms have made such strange bedfellows over the years, I've found it necessary to run myself through a staggering array of mental acrobatics just to feel ready to commit to even the simple act of watching a film based on a favorite Broadway show.

Sometimes this means I have to ratchet down an overeager anticipation of the sort that usually leads to disappointment (Nine, Dreamgirls). At other times this means I have to hold in check a guarded, over-protective attitude harbored toward a beloved source material (to this day, I’m not entirely sure I hate the film version of Grease so much because I genuinely think it’s a lousy movie, or because its '70s-mandated disco-ification [Spandex in the 50s!] is so at odds with the original show’s satirically nostalgic charm). Upon occasion, if the filmmaker is particularly clever, I find I can surprise myself by being flexible and willing to surrender to an ingenious reinterpretation and reinvention  (Hair, The Wiz, On a Clear Day You Can See Forever).
However, if I’m really committed to giving a movie adapted from a Broadway show the benefit of the doubt, I know my chief duty is to refrain from engaging in that time-honored, ultimately fruitless pastime of all self-appointed musical theater “purists”: stockpiling comparisons and evaluating motion pictures by live theater standards. 

When I let go of the desire for to-the-letter faithful transfers of Broadway shows to the screen and accept the fact that film and stage are two entirely different animals, I always enjoy myself so much more. In fact, of late I've come to appreciate how most of my favorite stage-to-screen musical adaptations have not always been those that have cleaved religiously to the stage production, but rather, those which have discovered a way to translate the essence and excitement of a stage show into cinematic terms (Jesus Christ Superstar, Cabaret, Oliver!).

Happily, I was spared all this with Gypsy due to having discovered the movie version long before I ever knew anything about the well-regarded Broadway show. Equally fortuitous was the fact that I fell in love with this movie while I was still too young to know I wasn’t supposed to.

Rosalind Russell as Rose Hovick

Natalie Wood as Louse Hovick / Gypsy Rose Lee

Karl  Malden as Herbie Sommers

Directed and choreographed by West Side Story’s Jerome Robbins, written by Arthur Laurents (West Side Story, Anyone Can Whistle), music by Jule Styne (Funny Girl, Bells Are Ringing) and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim (you name it), Gypsy, is the highly-fictionalized 1959 Broadway musical based on the memoirs of famed stripper Gypsy Rose Lee. On the strength of Ethel Merman’s star turn and the show’s then-novel integration of song, narrative, and character; Gypsy was already being heralded as a theatrical milestone by the time Warner Bros turned it into a critically lambasted, Top-Ten boxoffice hit motion picture in 1962.

Gypsy was adapted for the screen by Leonard Spigelgass (Pepe, of all things) and directed by The Bad Seed’s Mervyn LeRoy (can you imagine pushy Mama Rose coming across Rhoda Penmark? Gypsy would have had a 10-minute running time).

A backstage musical set in the waning, transitional days of vaudeville, Gypsy is a family drama (some would say tragedy) about Rose Hovick’s stop-at-nothing efforts to make her daughter, blonde and talented “Baby” June, a star. There’s another daughter, of course, the shy and talent-challenged Louise, but that’s a fact the thrice-married Rose makes the best of rather than rejoices in. As the family and their ragtag vaudeville act tour the country, Rose takes up with and secures the managing services of marriage-minded Herbie, a former kiddie talent show host. Meanwhile, her daughters grow restless for another kind of life: June, for a solo career on Broadway, Louise, for a stable home and family.

Four characters, four different dreams. But in Gypsy, only Rose’s dreams matter, which we come to learn is Rose’s one true talent. Mama Rose has a gift for deluding herself into believing her relentless ambition is genuinely in the interest of others. Gypsy’s humor, heart, conflict, and drama derive from the sometimes ruthless lengths Rose is willing to go to make those dreams come true.

"Some People"

In spite of its impressive showing at the boxoffice, the movie version of Gypsy is widely regarded as a disappointment...if not an out-and-out failure. Citing everything from Mervyn LeRoy’s uninspired direction to Rosalind Russell’s notoriously “manipulated” vocals, Gypsy’s reputation as a respectable misfire is so pervasive, few tend to credit it with one of the things it gets absolutely right: it’s an atypically faithful movie adaptation of a stage hit.

Me, I place myself in the opposite camp. While far from what I’d consider a classic, Gypsy is nevertheless one of my favorite movie musicals. It’s tuneful (not a clunker in the bunch!), funny, well-acted (save for that dreadful young Louise and the chorus boy with the overdone Bowery Boys shtick), and one of those rare musicals with genuine dramatic heft. And as good as I think Natalie Wood is in this, the real jewel in Gypsy’s crown is Rosalind Russell. She’s the first Mama Rose I ever saw, and although the role has been better sung and more showily performed, after all these years I’ve never seen anyone come close to Russell in giving Rose Hovick the kind of depth and humanity necessary to make me care about this somewhat monstrous creature.

Rosalind Russell IS Mama Rose to me.

"You'll Never Get Away From Me"

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM

I couldn’t have been more than eight or nine when I saw Gypsy on TV for the first time. My older sister was a rabid Rosalind Russell fan, so watching Gypsy, a musical I knew absolutely nothing about, was not a choice, but a household edict. Viewed on the family’s living room console, Gypsy as first seen by me was in black & white, pan and scan, with commercial interruptions and edits for time. In fact, it wasn’t until many years later when Gypsy aired uncut on cable that I even KNEW the "Little Lamb" number was a part of the film, let alone had the opportunity to see it. (I can hear my partner saying that’s an opportunity he’d gladly pass up.)

But even with these limitations, I thought Gypsy was something pretty special. Being a child myself, I was enthralled, in those pre-Annie / Oliver! days, by a non-kiddie movie where kids played such an integral role in the plot, and similarly, the whole “family” thrust of the dramatic conflict was nicely within the scope of what I could understand. Although I must add, being at an age where my notions of good/bad - hero/villain were still pretty simplistic; the chilling vision of motherhood as presented by the charismatic, likable, yet overweeningly selfish Mama Rose was really quite a shock to the system.

Ann Jillian (age 11) as "Dainty" June Hovick with Caroline the Cow

I remember loving all the musical numbers (especially “You Gotta Get a Gimmick”), thinking Natalie Wood was really a knockout (something I dared not relay to my sisters, lest be teased unmercifully), and just being bowled over by Rosalind Russel’s powerhouse performance. Then, as now, she fairly eclipses everything else about the film for me.

Over the years, as my appreciation for Gypsy grew both in terms of concept and context, the film never ceased being a favorite; even if all those repeat viewings only made me more aware of the film’s many flaws and inadequacies.

When critics hail Gypsy for its seamless integration of song, story, and character; the downbeat themes masked by its cheery vaudeville visage, and the emotional complexity of its lead character, you’ll get no argument from me.

If I have any complaints, it’s that the film’s innocuously cheery, prototypically '60s roadshow approach to the material seriously undercuts what’s so special about Gypsy as a musical property. There’s something disturbingly Eugene O’Neill-ish lurking beneath all that Hovick family dysfunction that the movie only touches upon.

"If Momma Was Married"

Because we’re a country that worships success and achievement, people tend to react to Gypsy Rose Lee’s ultimate attainment of wealth and fame as some kind of happy ending. As if Rose’s cutthroat determination is finally vindicated and Louise’s lonely childhood rewarded. But I always leave the film thinking that nobody’s won a damn thing. Louise winds up with a “dream” that was never really hers; the anonymous adoration of “celebrity” a substitute for a heartbreakingly anonymous childhood. And Rose, in spite of the reconciliatory tone of the fadeout, is, in spite of all of her efforts combating a lifetime of being abandoned, still alone.  

Russell and Wood are both effective at accessing some of the darker corners of their characters (as much as the screenplay allows), but it would be years before Hollywood felt comfortable reshaping the movie musical—traditionally a family-oriented genre—to accommodate more serious themes (Sweeney Todd, Cabaret, All That Jazz, Into the Woods).

"Rose's Turn"

PERFORMANCES

Movie musicals were having a hard go of it in the 1960s, and studios hedged their bets wherever they could. In Gypsy’s case, this meant turning a groundbreakingly complex, 4-character dysfunctional family musical drama into a splashy, $4 million, widescreen crowd-pleaser. It also meant ignoring the near-unanimous praise heaped on Ethel Merman’s head for what many considered to be her career-defining role and performance (vocally immortalized on the Original Broadway Cast album that seemed to be in every home, by law, when I was growing up), and going with a more skilled actress with marquee recognition. An actress whose biggest drawback was that her voice wasn’t up to the demands of the written-specifically-with-Merman-in-mind musical score. 

Bankable Rosalind Russell, adding a touch of Lavinia Mannon steeliness (Mourning Becomes Electra) to her Auntie Mame steamroller ebullience, controversially stepped into the made-to-order shoes of Ethel Merman in the iconic role of Mama Rose: stage mother to end all stage mothers.

Rosalind Russell's vocals were largely handled by Lisa Kirk
A 2003 CD release of the Gypsy soundtrack included a few outtake samples
of Russell singing unassisted. 

After having seen Ethel Merman in the movies Call Me Madam and There’s No Business Like Show Business, it’s hard for me not to appreciate the soundness of any decision designed to keep her off the screen (although I have to concede she’s pleasant and very un-Ethel Merman like in those early Eddie Cantor musicals). However, the by-product of Merman being passed over has been the fostering of an idealized “What if?” scenario regarding Merman recreating her greatest stage success onscreen, A fantasy scenario that has followed Rosalind Russell’s Gypsy around like one of Madame Rose’s trunks.

But speculating about what was missed in not granting Merman the opportunity to play onscreen the role she originated onstage, fails to take into account what a significant contribution an actress of Russell’s caliber (equally deft at playing comedy or drama) brings to a movie this stagy and set-bound. 

"Everything's Coming Up Roses"

Natalie Wood, fresh off of doing whatever she thought she was doing with that Puerto Rican accent in West Side Story (1961), was cast as late-blooming ecdysiast, Gypsy Rose Lee.

Natalie Wood has always held a lot of appeal for me, and her genuinely sweet persona is used to great effect during the film’s first half, just as her remarkable figure and stunning beauty provide a perfect contrast/payoff in the second. I’m not sure how she does it (star quality alone?) but her Louise looms larger in the film than it does in any stage production of Gypsy I’ve ever seen. That Wood naturally has the ability to make you care about her is one of the reasons I think her rather underwritten role carries so much poignancy.

Natalie Wood shines brightest in her quiet scenes. Consequently, her big, dressing room outburst moment is, for me, her weakest. But in delivering a few well-placed snarky lines to her meddlesome mom, Wood’s transformation from mouse to sardonic cat is a delight.

"Let Me Entertain You"
Gypsy afforded Natalie Wood a rare opportunity to do her own singing.
To help with her strip routines she visited a Sunset Blvd strip club where
strippers had names like Fran Sinatra and Natalie Should

THE STUFF OF FANTASY

In defense of "Little Lamb"

Maybe it’s because I was deprived of it for so many years. Maybe it’s because Natalie Wood’s vocals remind me of Audrey Hepburn singing “Moon River” in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Maybe it’s because all my taste is in my mouth. Whatever the reason, “Little Lamb,” a song so maudlin it would make Mother Teresa roll her eyes, is my favorite song in the film.
I love that it is the single, solitary moment afforded the pushed-to-the-sidelines Louise, and the first time we get to hear about what someone else feels besides Rose. This external internal monologue captures so perfectly a child’s loneliness (associating sadness with what should be a happy occasion) with the single lyric: “Little cat. Little cat. Oh, why do you look so blue? Did somebody paint you like that, or is it your birthday, too?” 

That just knocks me the hell out. Reduced to waterworks each and every time.

Most musicals have draggy second acts, but Act II of Gypsy has two wonderful numbers: The show-stopping “You Gotta Get a Gimmick” and that masterfully-constructed musical nervous breakdown, “Rose’s Turn.”

"You Gotta Get a Gimmick"
Roxanne Arlen as Electra, Betty Bruce as Tessie Tura, and Faith Dane as Mazeppa

The one number that's perfectly fine but that I could do without is "All I Need Is The Girl". But this likely has to do with the song being done to death on TV variety shows long before I ever saw Gypsy. But the rousing "Mr. Goldstone We Love You" is a number I could watch a hundred times.  

"Mr. Goldstone, I Love You"
That's character actor Ben Lessy as Mr. Goldstone -  dubbed Mervyn Goldstone in
inside-joke honor of director Mervyn LeRoy

It's a shame the cute "Together Wherever We Go" number was deleted from the film before its release. Karl Malden had all of his singing bits (he sang briefly in "You'll Never Get Away From Me") left on the cutting room floor. Happily, 16mm prints of both numbers appear as part of the extras on the Gypsy DVD.

"Together Wherever We Go"

THE STUFF OF DREAMS

One of the things I like most about Gypsy and why I think it’s so deserving of its status as one of the greatest American musicals, is that one could talk to fans and detractors of the show all day and never hear the exact same take on Mama Rose. In spite of her dominating presence in every scene of the musical, hers is a character influenced as much by a particular actress’s interpretation as by the audience’s response to her behavior.

"Don't you DARE answer that phone when I'm yelling at you!"
That's Jean Willes quaking in her boots as Mr. Grantzinger's secretary

I’m one of those who sees Mama Rose as (to quote Lewis Carroll on the topic of unicorns) a “fascinating monster.”  She’s pitiable and perhaps sympathetic in that she’s a woman clearly driven by frustration (what outlets did a woman with her brains, drive, and ambition have in the 1920s?), selfish desire, and her own childhood abandonment; but her treatment of her daughters—all in the name of love—qualifies her as a largely detestable character.

And as a look at some of my favorite films with strong female characters will reveal (Blue Jasmine, Queen Bee, Mommie Dearest, Angel Face, The Day of the Locust, Darling, Hedda), I have a real affinity for fabulous monsters.

Rosalind Russell, in not shying away from Rose’s unpleasant side, gives a portrait of a woman of contradiction. Contradictions so keenly felt during the “Rose’s Turn” number, that by the time mother and daughter take a hesitant stab at reconciliation at the finale, the scene resonates with melancholy. Melancholy because (if you’re as old as me and your parents are no longer around) it seems to be the inevitable legacy of the adult child to one day realize that one's parents, even at their worst and most flawed, were never more or less than simply human.

"Madame Rose and her daughter Gypsy!"

 BONUS MATERIAL

The real-life Gypsy Rose Lee appeared onscreen opposite her motion picture mother,
Rosalind Russell in the 1966 comedy, The Trouble With Angels

"Mama's Talking Soft," a song composed by Styne & Sondheim for Gypsy that failed to make it into the production (it was to be a duet sung by June & Louise following "Small World"). In 1959, pop star Petula Clark recorded a cover of the song for the B-side of her single, "Where Do I Go From Here?"

"Let Me Entertain You"

Copyright © Ken Anderson  2009 - 2015