Brats (d. Andrew McCarthy 2024)
Trying to cobble some thoughts together about this. Ooh I found it a little excruciating. Andrew McCarthy looking like he’s about to break down from shame in every shot, standing awkwardly in Emilio Estevez’s kitchen, reprising his ‘Class’ dynamic in Rob Lowe’s Malibu manse, getting therapised by Demi Moore out by the pool. He is peeved and peevish: being called a a member of the ‘brat pack’ proved detrimental to his and other BP’ers careers, meant they were seen as lightweights and for McCarthy it’s like a PTSD, like he “lost control of {his} own narrative” … Only Ally Sheedy seems to be aligned with him, but even she is more glass half-full … I also found it a little fascinating. Who doesn’t hit mid-life and wonder what the fuck happened? I write a lot about films and identity formation. I grew up with all those youth movies, and am attached to some more than others. But yeah this is messy - it feels like it’s reaching for something that it can’t quite get. I’m thinking absentee Molly Ringwald had the right idea. ("She said she'd think about it but that she'd probably like to keep looking forward.") Exactly who was in the brat pack becomes an overarching question. I read the original article, and the journalist does seem to hold the actors in contempt but there’s no mention of Andrew MCarthy. It’s interesting to think about the actors who had careers beyond the label. Clearly AM wasn’t going to get close to Tom Cruise. Nice to see Timothy Hutton with his bees and his bemusement. But why no check in on Mare Winningham? Why not make my day with some James Spader? I’ve read several responses to the documentary, something that’s come up a bit is that it feels like a very Gen X lament. It was the Boomers world for so long (sometimes it feels like it still is). In that light some of the sentiment wasn’t completely alien: indignation at being overlooked, feelings of chagrin of having missed some mythical ‘moment’, and not having the nous to do anything about it. (Is this reflection? Projection? Process?) Eh. Getting old.
Did you watch it? What did you think?
Related: this Peri (menopausal) in Pink by Wendy Aarons made me laugh.
The Eye of the Cat (d. David Lowell Rich 1969)
San Francisco, San Francisco! If the opening credits of cat-shadows slinking across the wavy street was too much thrill there are scenes in then-bohemian Sausalito - a dock party! I have always been partial to movies as travelogues and I don’t know how this one escaped me. It’s a thriller, pretty camp, the acting - apart from Eleanor Parker - is a bit stiff, and Michael Sarrazin’s frequent chortling gets annoying. Wylie (Sarrazzin) is the prodigal son, persuaded by salon hottie Cassia (Gayle Hunnicutt) to murder his rich Aunt Danny (Parker). She lives in a Nob Hill mansion with Wylie’s put-upon younger brother and about fifty cays. Aunt Danny has a lung disease and sleeps in a bubble; she’s planning to leave everything to the cats unless Wylie comes home, but he is cat-phobic and haven’t you heard that you can’t make a cat leave anywhere. Cinema cats did a great write-up on this giving a warning for “kitty-carnage” and yes, there is plenty of claw and fang, the feline hordes hoeing into chunks of meat, yowling, stalking, guarding etc. Wylie is a prankster, into what he calls “black fun”. There’s some mystery about why he left in the first place (intimations of incest). I saw the twist coming but didn’t mind because it all just looks so good. The streets scenes, the houses, that beautiful park that’s on top of the city, and Aunt Danny’s fabulous conservatory where the film’s grisly end plays out. Watch the full movie on youtube, or just see the scene where Parker loses control of her wheelchair on those hilly, hilly streets.
Joanna (d. Mike Sarne 1968)
And speaking of films as travelogues … I thoroughly enjoyed this fractured, ditsy thing about Joanna (Genevieve Waite) who hits London, attends art school, bed-hops. mixes with all-sorts including Donald Sutherland as a lisping Lord. Shot around South Kensington, Paddington, Chelsea, Waterloo bridge, Royal Albert Hall, Kensington Gardens, Trafalgar Square, Southbank … also Tangiers! It’s a dreamy watch, a showcase for Genevieve Waite’s quirky youthquaker fashion and proof that London really was swinging (and not just for the Beatles, as Mike Sarne said.) Up there with my beloved Goodbye Gemini. Genevieve Waite didn’t really act after this, (and likely wasn’t really ‘acting’ in it). She went on to marry John Phillips (of the Mamas and the Papas). Together they released ‘Romance is on the Rise’ with Waites' sorta vaudevillian gangster’s moll flapper-esque vocals on full display.
Watched in full on Youtube. Youtube is my life.