some things are classic, some things are just old

The opinions expressed here are solely those of the author. Your results may vary.

I love old movies. Of course, I have my favorites — those that I have watched over and over again. I think its funny when watching an old movie — one that I have seen dozens of times — and I catch myself staring as though its the first time I have ever seen it. That is a true sign of how much I like a particular movie. 

Cable network TCM shows old movies and they have some in their vast library that they broadcast way more than others. Among them, there are some that — surprisingly — I have never seen. Each August, TCM highlights a different actor and shows a collection of their movies for an entire day. The selections are a mixed bag of popular and well-known titles from the performer's resume, along with some lesser films in which the actor was featured in a tiny role. This past Friday spotlighted the versatile Jack Lemmon. Along with fan (and TCM) favorites like The Fortune Cookie, The Apartment, Days of Wine and Roses and the all-time TCM staple Some Like It Hot (a movie that I will sheepishly admit I do not like), the 8 o'clock time slot was filled with the 1970 Neil Simon comedy The Out-of-Towners — which I have never seen. So, with nothing else to my liking on any of the other seven zillion channels offered by my cable provider, I watched.

Host Ben Mankiewicz introduced the film with a proper build-up, citing Neil Simon's comedic prowess, Jack Lemmon's adeptness at playing the "frustrated everyman" and a host of supporting actors in small roles long before they became notable figures in their own right. I was sold. A quick scan of the movie's IMDB page told me to be on the lookout for the likes of Billy Dee Williams, Anne Meara, Richard Libertini, Ron Carey, Robert Walden, Graham Jarvis, Anne Prentiss, Dolph Sweet, Phil Bruns, Johnny Brown and Paul Dooley. (These folks went on to lucrative careers as in-demand character actors and their names are very meaningful to those of us that fancy themselves aficionados in Hollywood trivia.) Jack Lemmon's co-star for this 101 minute ride was Oscar-winner Sandy Dennis, an actress who I never quite got. Nevertheless, under the capable direction of Arthur Hiller, a one-time television director who went on to helm The In-Laws, Plaza Suite and several collaborations with Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor, I figured I'd be in for some great laughs.

I wasn't.

Considering The Out-of-Towners was lauded as a comedy, I didn't laugh once. I have seen plenty of "the nightmare that doesn't end" movies... and there have been a lot. Films like Martin Scorsese's After Hours, Adventures in Babysitting, Being John Malkovich (I'm sure there are others), where the main character is trapped in a seemingly never-ending circumstances where things just keep getting increasingly worse. Nothing goes right. Everything  goes wrong and there is no relief in sight. Except in those movies, the situations were just ridiculously implausible and outrageous. In After Hours, Griffin Dunne's beleaguered "Paul Hackett" encountered a succession of surreal characters who live exclusively in a nocturnal New York City. They were cartoonish and weird for the sake of being weird. In Adventures in Babysitting, Elisabeth Shue and her brood suffer a flat tire that - though a series of preposterous events — escalates into a run-in with organized crime and eventually Thor, the god of thunder.

In The Out-of-Towners, Lemmon and Dennis just fall hapless victims to a long-running series of bad luck... sometimes as a result of Lemmon's own arrogance. Nothing really outrageous or comically bizarre. Just plain bad luck. The story starts with Ohio suburbanites The Kellermans (Lemmon and Dennis) leaving their little provincial cocoon to fly to big bad New York City so Mr. Kellerman can apply for a prestigious corporate position. The interview is to take place at 9 AM sharp the next morning, so the Kellermans wisely plan to arrive the night before, have a lovely, leisurely dinner at an expensive restaurant, retire to a pre-arranged suite at the illustrious Waldorf Astoria, awaken to breakfast in bed, after which Mr. Kellerman — properly refreshed — will make his interview on the dot of 9 and "wow" his prospective new employers. This is hardly the script for a comedy, but, in the hands of comedy master Neil Simon, it had the potential of being uproarious. 

It was not.

The Kellermans (especially Jack Lemmon's over-zealous "George") can't seem to get out of their own way. He has an angry chip on his shoulder and spends the entire movie scribbling the names of everyone who has wronged him on an ever-growing list that he threatens to present to his attorney for promised lawsuits. However, the hardships that the Kellermans experience are totally plausible. There's bad weather that forced their flight to be diverted. There's confusion as to which train to board (Kellerman's fault). The dining car on the train runs out of food. It begins to rain as they walk to the hotel. New York is in the middle of a cab strike, a sanitation strike and a subway strike. The hotel doesn't hold their reservation. They get robbed. (again, Kellerman's fault). The bad luck just goes on and on and on. It's not funny. It's frustrating, irritating and infuriating, but not funny. Jack Lemmon is annoying. He is irrational, relentless and — at the same time — wishy-washy. He is curt with those trying to help him and especially snippy with his loyal wife. After a while, I just wanted someone to push him into the East River. The more understandably irate he became, the more unfunny the movie became.

As the story grew to a sentimental close, it took an abrupt turn and fell back into frustration for an unsatisfying and perfectly lazy ending.

In its initial release, The Out-of-Towners was outperformed at the box office by Beneath the Planet of the Apes. It received fair reviews and was remade almost twenty years later with Steve Martin and Goldie Hawn in a story slightly adjusted for the times.

The highlight of the movie was the parade of supporting actors, all showing the germination of bigger and better roles to come. However, those are 101 minutes I could have spent elsewhere.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

brothers in arms

One of my favorite shows has always been "Leave It To Beaver." Although the show debuted before I was born and completed its six-season run when I was 2, I happily watched it in reruns on local channels, decades before the Nick-at-Nite concept was hatched. The show was pitched as a warm family comedy, offering a glimpse into the problems faced by kids, followed by gentle lessons in parenting. Its goal was light humor, regularly shunning the broad slapstick of "I Love Lucy." According to co-star Tony Dow: "If any line got too much of a laugh, they'd take it out. They didn't want a big laugh; they wanted chuckles."

Lumpy, Eddie and Wally.

The one thing that always intrigued me about "Leave It To Beaver," was how the conflict was created in each episode. Most of the time, it followed the same formula. You see, Beaver (played by Jerry Mathers) and his big brother Wally (played by Tony Dow) were pretty good kids. They were polite, well mannered and respectful. However, their judgement was questionable. Specifically, their choice of friends. Both Beaver and Wally had friends who were total assholes. Every one of them. They were a pack of lying, conniving, two-faced con artists whose main goal in life was to make life miserable for the Cleaver brothers. Most famously, there was Eddie Haskell, Wally's slimy "best friend" played with oily creepiness by future LA police officer Ken Osmond. Eddie was always sucking up to Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver, only to mock them behind their backs. Then, he would invariably steer good-hearted Wally in the wrong direction when tapped for advice. Eddie would routinely convince Wally to hide a dent in the family car, to doctor a low grade on a test or to forge his father's signature on an important document. For some reason, perhaps as a testament of his loyalty to an undeserving friend, Wally would follow Eddie's direction and get himself in a bigger predicament that could have been avoided if he had only not listened to Eddie. By the episode's end, a humbled Wally would have to swallow his pride and own up to his actions, only to be forgiven by his dad, though Eddie Haskell's ass would remained unkicked. Wally's other friend, Lumpy (played by the late Frank Bank) was a typical, knuckle-headed dope who would jump off a bridge if Eddie Haskell told him to. Yet, Wally, a bright, popular, good-looking young man, somehow let his insecurities get the better of him and heeded every underhanded suggestion from Eddie and Lumpy, those sneaky bastards. Wally always forgave them for their bad advice and still came back for more.

Beaver, Gilbert, Whitey.... and Larry.

Beaver was also a victim of his lousy friends' double-dealing actions. Beaver's pals rivaled Wally's in every shifty and despicable way. Larry Mondello, Beaver's idiotic acquaintance was a sloth-like, slow-witted moron who led Beaver astray at the same rate that he stole apples from the Cleaver kitchen. This character was written out of the show in the third season when actor Rusty Stevens moved out of the Los Angeles area. His position as a bad influence was taken by Gilbert and Whitey, two minor characters that were given bigger roles. Gilbert and Whitey were just as weaselly and scheming as the departed Larry, repeatedly leading a naive and trusting Beaver down the primrose path. It was Whitey who famously dared Beaver to check if a giant steaming bowl on a billboard really contained soup. Instead of telling Whitey to find out for himself, Beaver climbed up a ladder, fell into the bowl and... well, it wasn't good. Parents were called, Beaver got in trouble and Whitey, that backstabbing little shit, got off scot-free. And Beaver still hung out with him and continued to take his advice. Gilbert convinced Beaver to make a funny face in a school picture, promising that he would as well. Of course, Beaver made a face and Gilbert didn't. Beaver got reprimanded and, as usual, Gilbert concocted some excuse that made it look like it was Beaver's idea from the start. And poor Beaver clammed up so as not to rat out his friend.

In addition to getting Wally and Beaver into trouble, these so-called friends were always borrowing money and toys and comic books and sporting equipment from the Cleaver boys. They mooched dinners by taking advantage of Mrs. Cleaver's hospitality. In the case of Wally, they moved in on girlfriends. In Beaver's case, they taunted him for having a girlfriend. These "friends" had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. So why did Wally and Beaver keep them around? There wouldn't have been a show otherwise. And that's what makes television television.

Don't worry Wally, I won't ever let you down.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

shake that rat

I used to fixate on — actually, I still do — the uncomfortable fact that my parents took me to see The Godfather when I was eleven. This bothered me a lot. What were they thinking? What kind of parent subjects an impressionable child to that kind of gritty violence? Were there no babysitters available? Did they discuss this and conclude that, as responsible parents, this was an admirable thing to do? I even wrote a lengthy blog post about this a few years ago, so the people that I couldn't tell in person wouldn't miss out on some serious parent shaming.

A few nights ago, I was scanning the multitude of entertainment options available through my cable television provider. I stopped at Turner Classic Movies — one of my favorites — to see what they were offering. I scrolled through to the schedule and soon found myself viewing the movies that TCM reserves for the wee hours of weekend nights — a period they refer to as "The Underground." While most folks are fast asleep, Turner Classic presents films that fall into the category of "cult." Just after midnight on Saturday, such forgotten gems as Coffy starring an ass-kicking Pam Grier and Hillbillys in a Haunted House, a painfully campy romp that Jayne Mansfield turned down, are screened for the pleasure of insomniacs everywhere.

At 3:45 a.m., Turner Classic presented the 1971 thriller Willard, a heartwarming tale of an awkward young man who befriends a bunch of rats. This was followed by its 1972 sequel, the equally preposterous Ben, featuring a cast of every character actor the 1970s had to offer. An unexplainable wave of excitement shot through me and I instinctively set the DVR to record both movies. 

I hadn't seen either one of these movies in years! Decades! On Sunday morning, I set myself up with a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee and settled into the den sofa for a "blast-from-the-past" double feature. I remember loving these movies when I was a kid. Hey, what's not to love? It had Ernest Borgnine, excitable "Commander McHale" playing against his TV type (but not movie type, as he portrayed numerous assholes on the silver screen) as Willard's asshole boss. It had the eccentrically other-worldly Elsa Lanchester at the end of her illustrious career as Willard's mother, acting as though she didn't get the same script as the rest of the cast. There was lovely waif Sondra Locke as Willard's pseudo love interest and a supporting assortment of characters from TV including J. Pat O'Malley (Google him, you'll know him) and the delightfully daffy Jody Gilbert, who made a career of playing "Woman" or "Fat Woman" in 115 screen credits. With newcomer Bruce Davison (who has gone on to a five-decade career that included an Oscar nomination) in the title role, Willard was a typical 70s schlock horror film. It was a low-budget, zero production value, poorly-acted 95 minutes of dreck... and I loved it! Movies in the 70s were churned out with assembly-line regard. They followed trends and genres and there was very little originality. Actors wore, what seemed like, their own street clothes — or maybe costumes just mimicked the brightly-colored polyester fashions of the day. It certainly did not try to top Citizen Kane and that certainly was not its goal. It was just crappy entertainment and it delivered. 

Mom and Dad's guide
to parenting

While I watched and chuckled at the over-dramatic antics flashing across my television, remembering my first view of this film, something dawned on me. I saw Willard at a Saturday afternoon matinee at the Parkwood Theater in 1971. I was ten. Ten years old! I went with friends. My mom most likely drove us there in her lime green Rambler, dropping us off and providing me with a few dollars for popcorn and candy. She was well aware of what sort of movie Willard was, as our television was bombarded with ads for the movie. They must have caught Ernest Borgnine shilling on Johnny Carson's show, explaining how the stunts and effects were accomplished after running a promo clip for the audience. So, what was she thinking? Why would she allow a ten-year old to see this? This was not a film for a ten-year old! I should have been seeing Bedknobs and Broomsticks or Million Dollar Duck or The Barefoot Executive or any number of movies more suitable for a ten-year old. Not a movie where a pack of hungry rats rip "Commander McHale" apart right before your eyes. So, I shouldn't be surprised that, a year later, my parents thought it was a fine idea to take me to see The Godfather. After all, once I saw thousands of rats gnaw through a wooden door and attack the once-sympathetic Willard, watching a helpless James Caan get riddled with thousands of rounds of machine gun fire was nothing.... I guess. And that severed horse's head? Piece of cake.

Perhaps my Mom and Dad should have read a good book on parenting skills after they finished Mario Puzo's tale of "family."

www.joshpincusiscrying.com