The Grouchy Editor

The Living and the Dead begins quietly enough.  The setting is one of those stately British manor houses with an imposing facade but which, once you step inside, has fallen into hopeless disrepair, probably because its occupants are too proud to leave but too poor to pay for upkeep.  The three inhabitants of the house are a respectable father (Roger Lloyd Pack), a dignified but terminally ill, bedridden mother (Kate Fahy), and their only son, James (Leo Bill).  Everything seems peaceful and proper. There is very little indication that director Simon Rumley is about to unlatch the gates of hell.

Our only clue that things are about to unravel – big time – is the unorthodox behavior of adult son James.  Actually, James’s problems are a bit more than unorthodox; he is a full-blown schizophrenic.  He is hyperactive, needy, and childish – but all of this is managed by medication and the loving care of his father (mother, remember, is unable to leave her bed).  James, who really means well, is desperate to prove to his parents that he is a responsible boy, that he can be “normal.”  And then one fateful day, father has to leave the house on business, and the day nurse can’t come right away, and James is left alone in the house with mother ….

I’ll have to say that watching Leo Bill as James, I initially felt that he was overacting and that his histrionics would grow tiresome and kill the movie.  I was mistaken. Bill, Pack, and Fahy all turn in superb performances in what must have been difficult roles.  Bill, especially, impresses.   When James panics, you panic.  What in God’s name will this unfortunate soul do next – to himself, his poor mother, or anyone around him?

The Living and the Dead can count among its cinematic ancestors movies like What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? and Misery, but Rumley’s film is even more horrifying because it’s more realistic.  There are no faded movie stars, famous writers, or crazed nurses in this film; just an ailing mom, an absent dad, and a boy with problems.   And boy, what problems.         Grade:  A-

Director:  Simon Rumley  Cast:  Roger Lloyd Pack, Kate Fahy, Leo Bill, Sarah Ball  Release:  2007

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In the recent documentary Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work, the venerable comedienne insists that, when it comes to standup, no topic is off limits.  That might be true, but when compared to today’s top comedians, old pro Rivers seems awfully tame.

Case in point:  Sarah Silverman: Jesus Is Magic.  Silverman, who joins Kathy Griffin in the upper echelon of American female comics, doesn’t seem to have any limitations:  “Smelly” Mexicans, blacks who don’t leave tips, anus analysis, and dying old people are all just fodder for a routine which, I have to admit, is often hilarious.  What seems to be sad but true is that the crueler the setup, the funnier the payoff.

What separates Silverman from the standup pack is her surface innocence.  Her “who, little old me?” persona and cutie-pie face are at comic odds with her delivery whenever she drops the f-bomb, simulates sex, cracks wise about the Holocaust, and so forth.   It does make me wonder, however, just how well Silverman’s shtick will play when she’s 45 and no longer “cute” – something never an issue for Rivers, and probably not for Griffin, either.

But for now – or, in the case of this concert film, 2005 – Silverman’s politically incorrect, profane, and outrageous offensive works just fine.       Grade:  B

Director:  Liam Lynch  Cast:  Sarah Silverman, Brian Posehn, Laura Silverman, Bob Odenkirk, Kelsie Lynn  Release:  2005

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The World of Henry Orient is a small movie that begins as a silly romp about two teen girls infatuated with a zany pianist, and then — thanks to a pair of adult actors at the top of their game — becomes something much better:  a quietly powerful story about growing up.

Despite the title, The World of Henry Orient is initially a world belonging to New York City girls Marian and Valarie.  Marian (Merrie Spaeth) is a child of divorce who lives with her mother and a friend of the family.  Valarie (Tippy Walker) is a child prodigy who rarely sees her own parents, wealthy globetrotters who visit their daughter only when it’s convenient.  When Marian and Valarie hook up at a private school, they concoct a childish obsession:  the stalking of Henry Orient (Peter Sellers), a cowardly lothario from the Bronx with uptown aspirations and a bogus, continental accent.

Sellers, riding high in 1964 with The Pink Panther and Dr. Strangelove on his resume, does his deadpan shtick in this film and is, as always, amusing.  Walker and Spaeth have winning personalities and, although I confess there were times I felt I was watching two novice actors attempting to act, their enthusiasm is infectious.

But something near-miraculous occurs in the film at its midpoint, and this is largely thanks to a pair of consummate actors who turn a frivolous comedy into something sad, powerful, and utterly wonderful.  Tom Bosley and Angela Lansbury, as Valarie’s absentee parents, command the screen, Lansbury as a self-centered socialite and lousy mother, and Bosley in a precursor to his Happy Days role on TV —  the perfect Dad.  Bosley, in particular, has a scene with Walker that is heartbreaking, uplifting, and emblematic of why this little gem from 1964 still sparkles.      Grade:  A-

Director:  George Roy Hill  Cast:  Peter Sellers, Paula Prentiss, Angela Lansbury, Tom Bosley, Phyllis Thaxter, Bibi Osterwald, Merrie Spaeth, Tippy Walker  Release:  1964

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It’s hard to say who might be more offended by the cult classic A Boy and His Dog:  feminists, the citizens of Topeka, Kansas, or sperm banks.  I’d vote for sperm banks, because institutions generally have little or no sense of humor.

The genesis of this low-budget oddity is a Harlan Ellison novella, which tells the story of Vic (the boy) and Blood (the dog), two roving souls in post-apocalyptic America, circa 2024.  Vic (Don Johnson) is the dumb one, a hormonal homeboy who at least has sense enough to recognize the “smart” one:  Blood.  The dog, for some unexplained reason, has developed an ability to communicate telepathically, which he uses to deliver some wickedly funny one-liners (particularly the last line of the film).  Blood also boasts more mundane dog skills, such as sniffing out scarce food — and even scarcer human females.

When Vic is seduced by a female recruiter from the (literal) underworld, our scruffy heroes are given a choice:  remain above ground, where vicious bands of males fight for food and women, or follow Quilla June Holmes (Susanne Benton) to the land down under.  Vic wants to go with his new girlfriend; Blood does not.  I mentioned which of the two of them was smart, didn’t I?

Ellison’s story posits some interesting questions.  Is it better to live free but among savages (the “natural” state), or in a society where everyone must conform or face dire consequences for “lack of respect, wrong attitude, [and] failure to obey authority”?  In the world portrayed by A Boy and His Dog, this is not an appetizing choice.

But if Boy is infamous, it’s not because of any social questions it raises; it’s because of its notorious ending, in which Blood proves to be “man’s” best friend, indeed.  Is the ending misogynistic?  Is the entire movie misogynistic?  I’d say yes, but then I’d be like that sperm bank and totally devoid of a sense of humor.  Perhaps it’s just a matter of taste.       Grade:  B

Director:  L.Q. Jones  Cast:  Don Johnson, Susanne Benton, Jason Robards, Tim McIntire, Alvy Moore, Helene Winston, Charles McGraw, Hal Baylor  Release:  1975

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