The Grouchy Editor

Match Point is one odd duck of a movie.  It was written, directed, and filmed in London, England, by Woody Allen — a man not known to venture long nor far from his Manhattan comfort zone.  It’s a crime caper heavily influenced by the likes of Alfred Hitchcock and Patricia Highsmith — yet no crime occurs until the final third of the movie.  In other words, it’s not a typical Woody Allen movie, it violates standard suspense-film protocol — yet it’s often absorbing and always entertaining.

Match Point tells the tale of a Ripley-like character straight out of Highsmith, an Irish tennis pro without much cash but with a whole lot of social ambition.  Chris Wilton (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) does his highbrow homework and soon worms his way into the heart of a plain-Jane London lass with a very wealthy daddy.  But then he meets his match in Nola (Scarlett Johansson), an American actress who shares Wilton’s humble background, if not his ruthless ambition.  Lust and adultery ensue.

At this point, you might expect the film to veer into crime-film mode.  The pesky rich girl must be eliminated, but her money must be gained.  Instead, Allen ignores plotting and continues to explore relationships:  among rich and poor, men and women, the lucky and the unlucky.  Two-thirds into the movie, Allen seems to wake up and remember, “Oh, yes.  There’s supposed to be a crime in this story.”

On the one hand a viewer might feel cheated, because there isn’t a whole lot of Hitchcock in this Hitchcock homage.  On the other hand, the social interplay is always amusing, the actors are in fine form, and the stylish location photography is great fun.  Woody should leave Manhattan more often.          Grade:  B

Director:  Woody Allen  Cast:  Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Scarlett Johansson, Emily Mortimer, Matthew Goode,  Brian Cox, Penelope Wilton  Release:  2005

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There is a scene in the 2008 family movie Marley & Me that depressed me.  No, it had nothing to do with the dog.  I’m referring to a scene in which we meet a middle-aged, pudgy character named “Ms. Kornblut.”  The chubby, plain-looking woman, obviously cast for comedic effect, looked vaguely familiar.  I sought her out in the end credits: “Ms. Kornblut — (oh … my … god) — Kathleen Turner.”

Thirty years ago I sat in a Texas movie theater and watched as a Hollywood sex symbol was born.  Lawrence Kasdan’s steamy Body Heat was taking the country by storm, largely due to the performance of 26-year-old Turner, making her film debut as conniving murderess Matty Walker.  In casting Turner for this role, Kasdan accomplished a Hollywood rarity:  He’d found a sex kitten with gravitas, a Lauren Bacall for the 1980s.

Turner’s Matty convinced everyone in the audience (and in the film) that she was much more than just a pretty face.  Here is critic Roger Ebert’s summation:  “Turner … played a woman so sexually confident that we can believe her lover (William Hurt) could be dazed into doing almost anything for her.  The moment we believe that, the movie stops being an exercise and starts working.”  By the end of the film, when Matty luxuriates on a tropical beach while her latest male victim rots in prison, I could also envision Turner, the retired movie star, lounging on just such a beach in 30 years.  Alas, I did not foresee Ms. Kornblut.

Body Heat is classic film noir for more reasons than Kathleen Turner, of course.  It features a meticulous, sly script by Kasdan, a perfect foil in Hurt, and nuanced supporting turns from Ted Danson, Mickey Rourke, and Richard Crenna.  The musical score by John Barry is legendary.  The 2006 DVD contains a treasure-trove of trivia.  Among the tidbits:  Filming of this oh-so-hot movie occurred during the coldest Florida weather in memory.  It was so chilly during the famous band shell scene with Turner and Hurt that you could actually see the actors’ breath.  Body heat, indeed.              Grade:  A

Director:  Lawrence Kasdan  Cast:  William Hurt, Kathleen Turner, Richard Crenna, Ted Danson, J.A. Preston, Mickey Rourke, Kim Zimmer  Release:  1981

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I interviewed actress Beverly Garland one day back in the 1980s.  Garland was best known for playing Barbara Douglas, second wife of Fred MacMurray’s character on the 1960s sitcom My Three Sons.  Garland was reminiscing about the show when I asked her what it was like working with MacMurray.  She hesitated, her tone changed, and she said something noncommittal about MacMurray’s not being on the set very much.  While the other cast members were working, she said, MacMurray was usually off playing golf, or vacationing in Europe. Apparently, the veteran actor’s contract stipulated that he receive a 10-week hiatus every year – right in the middle of the TV show’s shooting schedule.  This arrangement did not sit well with some of MacMurray’s co-stars.

I think about Garland’s comments whenever I watch The Apartment, director Billy Wilder’s classic comedy-drama about a corporate nobody (Jack Lemmon) who lends his apartment to bosses for their adulterous trysts. MacMurray — forever identified with good guy Steve Douglas on My Three Sons — plays one of filmdom’s most memorable heels, the arrogant Mr. Sheldrake.  I wonder, was Fred MacMurray, nicknamed “the thrifty multimillionaire” by some colleagues, typecast in the role?

MacMurray’s slimeball executive is pivotal to The Apartment, but the film really belongs to Wilder, Lemmon, and Shirley MacLaine.  All three pull off the trickiest job in cinema:  juggling comedy and pathos and doing it right.

Although it opened to mixed reviews in 1960, the movie is now considered one of Wilder’s best.  The crusty Austrian-American filmmaker described The Apartment’s main theme as corruption of The American Dream.  That’s a depressing thought.  Sort of like finding out that Steve Douglas wasn’t such a great guy, after all.         Grade:  A

Director:  Billy Wilder  Cast:  Jack Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine, Fred MacMurray, Edie Adams, Ray Walston, Jack Kruschen  Release:  1960

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