MY MOVIE SHELF: Pretty Woman

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 25 Days to go: 20

Movie #415:  Pretty Woman

Several years ago I bought Pretty Woman on DVD, and the only version on the disc was some wretched Director’s Cut with all sorts of crap in it that wasn’t in the theatrical release and that greatly disrupted my expected viewing experience. I was livid — not only because all I had was this version, but because nothing on the packaging indicated that’s what I’d be getting. So ever since that time, I’ve been trying to find the theatrical version somewhere and thanks be to God, I found it on blu-ray. Movie studios and distributors and directors take note: I want the movie I want, not the one you want me to have.

So I was incredibly grateful to have obtained this version sometime last year. Pretty Woman is one of those seminal films that shaped my view of the world and was assimilated into my consciousness, as another part of who I was. To this day, I impress my children with the observation that your foot is the same length as your arm from your elbow to your wrist. Anytime I’m driving at night, I’m probably saying to myself, “Lights. Lights would be good here.” And there hasn’t been any significant time in my life that’s gone by since 1990 when I haven’t pondered the thought that the more you’re put down in life, the more likely you are to believe it and that, for whatever reason, “The bad stuff’s easier to believe.” I will even blurt out, at random times, that something corners like it’s on rails. Also, “Kiss” is my favorite Prince song, I love strawberries with champagne, and I used to be quite obsessed with seeing if I could get my legs to measure 44 inches from hip to toe, but I gave up around age 17. Pretty Woman is inside my head, and has been for 25 years.

A lot of people discredit Pretty Woman because it’s a fantasy tale that glamorizes prostitution and that Vivian (Julia Roberts) is just another one of Hollywood’s famed hookers with a heart of gold. I see it a different way, though. One of the things I love about Pretty Woman is the way it humanizes prostitutes, not glamorizes them. Vivian is treated like a person, like a woman who made a few missteps in her life and found herself in a bad situation, but who perseveres in order to make ends meet. She’s doing what so many women do, which is to earn money the only way they can, because the types of jobs available to people who don’t graduate high school and live in slums and don’t have money for transportation or professional clothes, much less fees, often don’t pay the rent. This doesn’t make Vivian dumb or worthless or inferior, and the movie acknowledges that. And it doesn’t just shine that light of humanity on Vivian either. Her roommate Kit (Laura San Giacomo) has been in the business longer, is tied to drugs more as a means of self-medication, and still gets portrayed as a woman who’s allowed to have agency and control over her life and who is allowed to have dreams and to strive for betterment. The movie knows it’s a fantasy — the “Cinder-fuckin-rella” line isn’t a coincidence — but it allows that even in romantic fantasies, women (hookers included) are allowed to have goals and make decisions and be human.

Pretty Woman is also incredibly funny and engaging, and Julia Roberts lets her infamously disarming personality come straight through the character of Vivian, making her someone who is not tactful or cultured but who is insightful and clever and good-hearted. She also knows that, if you have money, if you aren’t constantly struggling to survive, then you should enjoy your life more than Edward (Richard Gere) seems to, so she helps him to loosen up, to see the way to joy in his life, and to feel more fulfilled. The “she saves him right back” line isn’t just a hokey way to neatly end the film, it’s an observation on everything Vivian has done for Edward over their week together. Often people look at their relationship and only see the ways Edward saves Vivian from a life on the streets by giving her money and clothes and whatever, but like she says, “That’s just geography.” On a personal and emotional level, Vivian’s life was much richer than Edward’s at the start of the film, and she helps him to change that. She saves his soul. She saves his heart. As she says when they first meet, “I ain’t lost.”

Honestly, the only thing that truly bugs me about the film is how bad Vivian is at math. When she first quotes a price for Edward, it’s $100 an hour. Then, for the rest of the night — which presumably is more than 3 hours — it’s only $300. Then for seven days and six full nights, she starts off at a measly $4000 and bargains down to $3k. Now, I know three thousand dollars went a lot further in 1990, but come on. She should’ve been pulling in over ten grand, easy. Although I suppose it’s possible she made it up on her clothes allowance.

That shopping trip IS pretty sweet, and so iconic it’s been imitated in dozens of movies since. Being swept off my feet by romance is nice, but a “reallllly offensive” spending spree in Beverly Hills is a fantasy I could get behind. Anybody got a credit card I could use?

MY MOVIE SHELF: An Officer and a Gentleman

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 176  Days to go: 179

Movie #201:  An Officer and a Gentleman

Young Richard Gere could get it. When the movie opens and you see him standing there (as Zack Mayo) in his tank undershirt and too-long hair, all muscled arms and sex appeal, it’s already got your full attention.

Zack is a bad boy, a troubled youth, trying to make good, trying to be somebody worthwhile instead of growing up like his piece of shit father (Robert Loggia). He’s joined the navy and is going to attend their Aviation Candidate School so he can be an officer and fly jets. He wants to fit in, but he still carries a lot of his past baggage around with him.

The regiment is full of great characters, all full and rich and going through different obstacles in their quest to finish the program (more than half will quit before it’s through), but three people particularly influence Mayo’s tenure at the base: his friend and fellow candidate Sid Worley (David Keith), the local woman he starts seeing on his weekend leaves, Paula (Debra Winger), and his Sergeant (Louis Gossett Jr.).

Lou Gossett Jr. is amazing in this. An Officer and a Gentleman scored two Oscars back in its day, and it’s no surprise he got one, for Best Supporting Actor. He’s as hard and as abusive as any stereotypical drill sergeant in any movie ever, but he has a lot of heart, too. The one woman candidate in their regiment, he knows she probably doesn’t have the physical strength to pass, but he’s constantly impressed by her drive and her dedication. Meanwhile, Zack has no problem doing all the physical challenges, but he’s a disrespectful prick who thinks he’s got the whole place wired. Sgt. Foley pushes Zack, and calls out his arrogant attitude, forcing him to face who he is and what his weaknesses are. He calls him Mayo-NAISE because it’s funny and because drill sergeants aren’t that original. He kicks the shit out of him literally and figuratively, and gets him to ugly cry that he’s “got nowhere else to go!” It’s pretty great.

Paula, meanwhile, is an anomaly to Zack. At first he tries to treat her like he has every other woman he’s ever known, but they’ve all been just one night stands for him. She awesomely calls him out on it, tells him he’s got no manners and treats women like whores and she’s not going to put up with it. She likes him but she won’t let him walk all over her. He’s been warned about local girls that like to trap themselves a naval officer by getting pregnant, but Paula’s not interested in that. She knows he’s only there for a couple of months and she wants to have fun while she can. She has dreams and aspirations. She wants to have a better life, too, and she makes Mayo better just by virtue of being in her presence. He’s never had a girlfriend before. He doesn’t know what it’s like to care for someone and have her care for him. His mother killed herself when he was a young teen and his father was a drunk and a good-for-nothing, and at some point Zack started believing that he had no one in the world to count on but himself. His growing intimacy with Paula fascinates and terrifies him. At one point he tries to just stop calling, stop seeing her, but he sees her at a bar with another man and he can’t stay away. He’s drawn to her, and as much as he tries to fight it, he loves her. She makes him a better man.

It’s Sid, though, who really turns Mayo’s world around. Sid’s father and older brother both went through this same program, and when his brother died in Vietnam, Sid joined the program to live up to his parents’ expectations. He has a moral code — when he thinks his girlfriend might be pregnant, he can’t fathom not being a part of his kid’s life, despite Zack’s arguments — and he always tries to do the right thing. He’s a great student and a good friend. He challenges Zack’s selfishness and his bullshit, so when things fall apart for him, Zack can’t understand and is hurt and angry all over again that he let himself get close to someone. At the same time, though, it’s Sid’s legacy that Zack will always remember, that he’ll keep inside him always. Ultimately, I think it’s Sid’s influence that leads Zack to the paper factory after graduation. Zack realizes how important it is, because Sid knew it was important. It’s like he’s finally grown up.

An Officer and a Gentleman is such a fantastic film. I don’t even know how or when I first watched it, only that my mother loved it and it somehow got passed on to me — for which I’m eternally grateful. It’s a rich and satisfying film. It’s an unexpected romance from a hard-as-nails man’s perspective. It’s a coming of age film about a full-grown adult. It’s about self-discovery and learning how to be a better person and how to live a better life than the one you’ve been dealt. And it’s got an awesome theme song. It’s just so, so great. I love it to pieces.

“Way to go, Paula! Way to go!”

MY MOVIE SHELF: Chicago

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order, by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 318 (for now, I keep buying more)    Days to go: 310

Movie #52: Chicago

The best idea Rob Marshall ever had was to turn the incredibly insular and affected stage production of Chicago into a motion picture by presenting each one of the very stage-y musical numbers as figments of accused killer and sociopath Roxie Hart’s imagination. It allowed for a seamless transition into songs that are often meant to be directed at an audience because it made the audience, the performance, the costumes, the lighting, all imaginary. Now once someone starts singing, it doesn’t take you out of the action, but rather adds layers to the delusional nature of the lead character and says even more about the pull and drive of celebrity than just the songs and the dialogue do on their own. It’s a wholly more effective tale, and it netted the movie six Oscar wins (out of thirteen nominations) in the process.

Chicago is an excellent story. It’s not just about a woman who cheats on her husband and then shoots the man she was having an affair with. It’s about the sensationalism of these acts, the “phony celebrity” that comes with them, and the cynical, mercurial nature of fame, the media, and the justice system. It’s not just about advancing the plot when the only innocent woman on Murderer’s Row becomes the first woman in Illinois to be executed; it’s about how innocence and truth won’t get you anywhere, and money and influence are the only things that will. It’s an incredibly jaded, pessimistic view of life and society, yet people consider Chicago a feel-good movie. Why? The gorgeous production, for one, the winning cast, for another, and the songs.

“All That Jazz” might be the perfect opening number ever composed, in terms of a catchy, raucous tune that sets the entire tone of the film. Jazz sisters Velma and Veronica Kelly are late — they’re supposed to be going on stage any second. When Velma (Catherine Zeta-Jones) arrives alone she is agitated and brusque. She rips Veronica’s name off their poster, declares she will do the show by herself, and goes into her dressing room to quickly change. Still not having seen her face, the audience then gets a view of her hands, red with blood, and the gun she hides before washing them. And as she goes on stage, wowing the crowd even without the help of her sister — “it’s just a noisy hall, where there’s a nightly brawl” — the camera introduces us to Roxie Hart (Renee Zellweger) who watches the performance with sharp interest, and then imagines herself in the starring role before some guy assures her he’s working out a shot for her with a club manager before grabbing her ass and leading her out to her apartment. And that right there tells you everything you need to know about our two lead women. Velma Kelly is a bossy diva who does what she wants — her expression one of defiance and daring when the district attorney shows up to have her arrested. Roxie Hart is a gullible yet determined nobody with big dreams of stardom who engages in illicit rendezvous with potentially useful men.

As Roxie kills this man a month later, feeling insulted by his rebuffing of her dreams, and convinces her husband Amos (John C. Reilly) to take the blame, the music shifts into a sultry, sleepy song of love and devotion, “Funny Honey,” which itself shifts into a condemnation of this idiot she married when it becomes clear, during his interrogation by the police which runs concurrently with the song, that he can’t and won’t get her out of this mess she’s gotten herself into. It’s so cleverly worded and sly, many lines finding dual meanings along the way.

Queen Latifah’s performance (as prison Matron Mama Morton) of “When You’re Good to Mama” — imagined by Roxie upon her introduction to prison life, where it becomes clear there’s a process of buying favors — is probably my favorite of all the songs on the soundtrack, which is saying a lot because I’m actually in love with the whole thing, start to finish. But if you like clever wordplay, this song is where it’s at. Every line, every verse is a mixture of payola and sexual innuendo. “When they pass that basket, folks contribute to, you put in for Mama, she’ll put out for you.” I mean, that’s brilliant. (My favorite line of that one, though, is actually “They say that life is tit for tat, and that’s the way I live; So I deserve a lot of tat, for what I’ve got to give.” That’s fantastic.)

“Cell Block Tango” is probably the most famous song on the bill, after “All That Jazz,” and rightfully so. It’s catchy and funny and powerfully sung, plus it gives you the (somewhat ridiculous) backstories of all the other murderesses Roxie’s in with — the two most important being, of course, Velma’s story, and the story of Katarina who — “Uh-uh” — didn’t do it. All these women, including Roxie to be honest, believe they were justified in killing the men they killed, be it for popping their gum or doing number 17 — the “Spread-Eagle.” Velma swears she doesn’t even remember what happened, “only that [she] didn’t do it,” and Roxie is willing to say whatever manufactured grounds she and her lawyer Billy Flynn (Richard Gere) can think of in order to win her sympathy with the press.

Several of the remaining songs are variations on cynical themes of personal interest and public manipulation. “All I Care About Is Love,” “Roxie,” and “I Can’t Do It Alone” are all about the idea that there are no people here without ulterior motives. Billy isn’t so much interested in justice as he is in huge payouts from his clients. Roxie wants everyone to love her and revere her, to recognize her eyes, hair, boobs and nose. And when Velma sees her and Roxie’s roles reversed, with Roxie getting all the media attention and Velma all-but forgotten in the paper, she performs “an act of desperation” to get Roxie on her side and working with her instead of against her. Meanwhile “We Both Reached For the Gun,” “Razzle Dazzle” and “Tap Dance” — that last a literal tap dance intercut with Billy’s Perry Mason moment — are all hysterical, tongue-in-cheek ruminations on the ability to frame a person’s public image based solely on emotional manipulation, fancy footwork and parlor tricks (metaphorically speaking) to distract from the truth of the matter. It’s a statement about our society and our obsession with celebrity that is just as relevant today as it was twelve, forty, or even a hundred years ago. Facts are secondary; Perception is everything. (Though please note that not even a narcissist like Roxie Hart wants to be famous for being a freak act.)

The most heartfelt and subsequently heartbreaking song of the show is “Mr. Cellophane,” about how Amos is invisible to everyone — his wife, her attorney, everyone. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve felt that way, how many times someone has called me Jennifer (or something even further from reality — once someone called me Esther, for chrissakes) and I’ve felt that gut punch of the unmemorable, of the forgotten, of those unworthy of notice. If I were to confess the deepest secrets of my heart, fear of being completely inconsequential would be right there in the mix. But Amos isn’t sensational and he doesn’t know how to play the game. He’s just an earnest man trying to live a decent life, and for that, in the eyes of everyone in the film, he is no one. So while the obsessive quest for celebrity might be a sickness, it’s also completely normal and necessary to want to be noticed. I love that Chicago tells that side of the story as well, and I confess every time Billy calls Amos “Andy” (heehee), I choke just a bit on my laugh.

“That’s Chicago.”