Posts Tagged ‘betrayal’


Bobbi is an over-the-hill but still spirited exotic dancer. Somebody ought to remake this movie with Madonna in the great role of Bobbi. Aided by the power of a Haitian amulet, she holds in thrall a guy named Dave, a born loser she pulled out of the gutter. But Dave can’t keep his hands off Bobbi’s daughter, young Julie, who looks like one of those “draw me” art school ads that used to be in the backs of magazines.drawme

There’s some kind of honky voodoo ceremony, where Julie gets to show her stuff. She and Dave run away together, and there’s some very Freudian cross-cutting between their tryst, and Bobbi’s onstage bump-and-grind. The amulet does its work, and Dave comes crawling back. Desolate Julie wanders out into the night and is stalked by a leering man rolling a cigar around his mouth in the most hideously lascivious way.

This terminally camp film is odd, in that long stretches of it seem as if they were made for a silent film. It’s broadly acted, like a silent. Yet, there is dialogue – sometimes, lots of it. But the sound quality is awful and the continuity is sub-par. On the other hand, there’s human sacrifice in the club’s storeroom, and Julie ends up with the amulet.

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Frankie (Gary Busey) gets made up to do his turn as Bozo. The job description is: sit in a cage and aggravate the male carnival visitors, so they will spend lots of money buying balls to throw at him. If they hit a lever just right, he gets dumped in the water. These rubes just have to show off for their girlfriends. Of course the best way to irritate a redneck is to impugn his manhood. “Don’t be queer,” Bozo sneers. The Bozo persona is truly provoking, with a flat twangy voice and an aura of malice. “You know why she’s shorter than you?” he taunts one guy. “It’s because she shrinks from your touch.”

Actually, Frankie is a pretty nice guy. We see examples of this, for instance at breakfast, when he and his buddy Patch (Robbie Robertson) are both accompanied by their one-night-stands. Frankie is sweet to the girl he picked up and partied with. Patch smokes a joint and ignores his own girl. His motto is, “I like to see ’em come, and I like to see ’em go.”

Patch is the carnival’s fixer. He fixes situations with money, free passes, or violent attack, whatever it takes. I love his look, and felt moved to paint a portrait of Robertson in this role (down the page.) Patch is cool but not cold. When an old-timer gives his farewell speech, the fixer wipes away a furtive tear.

If the marks don’t buy tickets to the Garden of Earthly Delights, the barker accuses them of not having normal sexual appetites. The carnival world is permeated with sex, a bachelor’s paradise where Frankie and Patch have shared girls and swapped girls. Then, into this testosterone-saturated atmosphere comes Donna (Jodie Foster). At she hooks up with Frankie, who treats her with respect and genuine caring. He encourages Donna to believe in her own instincts and powers of observation, which can be a double-edged weapon likely to hurt friends and the self, as much as enemies.

Donna’s cocky attitude gets the two friends attacked by truckers in a restaurant. Patch starts falling apart. He’s already thinking he’s getting to old to be a hired muscle guy, and now this woman is getting him into stupid fights for no reason. And she can’t resist playing him and Frankie off against each other. This is a sad commentary on the tendency of some women to take pride in their ability to set men at each other’s throats. In their eyes, this is a legitimate kind of empowerment. But they’re wrong.

And hey! Men do it too. In fact, riling people up is Frankie’s profession. Sure, he says he does Bozo not for the money, but as a student of human nature. But he’s just a little too good at doing Bozo. He’s earned himself some disturber-of-the-peace karma that’s coming back to bite him in the ass with Donna’s teeth, as it were.

“We’re crossing some state lines here. How old is Donna?” Patch sees Donna as an impediment to his partnership with Frankie, and tries to get rid of her. She claims to be 18, so he can’t ditch her with the underage excuse. You guessed it – before long, it’s Donna and Patch. Part of the problem here is that Frankie sees her as a rare blossom, far too good for life on the midway. But Patch is up for changing her into a carny, and succeeds, by getting her in the girly show. When that doesn’t work out, he finds her a job in a concession booth. Kissing her, he says, “You don’t even feel like a mark any more.”

Frankie has to find Patch for a rumble. When he stumbles in on Donna and Patch making it, he’s almost apologetic. Soon he’s back in the cage as Bozo, “rangin’ up” the yahoos, who don’t need any encouragement, because they’re already wrecking the place. Patch shows up and tells him to cool it, but Bozo is on a suicidal run, carrying on as if only exorcism would settle him down. The yahoos knock over his cage, and Patch extricates him. Then they have a serious fight and Patch says, “You and I are gonna disconnect.”

A bunch of really bad shit happens, and the two friends work together to fix a situation for Donna. They also make up, but then Frankie suggests he might move on. Patch says no, and Donna stays too. Patch decides to take a turn in the Bozo cage. He’s always been too cool for that kind of thing, before. You get the impression that they’ve each made the decision to continue on as a threesome, and that they’re each willing to make whatever adjustments or accommodations are needed, in order to do that.


Interested in the portrait of Robbie Robertson as Patch?
Email Pat Hartman hartman (at) frii.com

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Under the credits, a man and a woman wander through a museum in Vienna, comporting themselves like lovers. We get close-up views of luscious romantic Klimt paintings and then – a Schiele canvas, in which a man desperately holds onto a woman who looks very much like she wants to get away.

He is American research psychologist Alex Linden (Art Garfunkel) and she’s an American too, Milena Flaherty (Theresa Russell), who comes and goes across Austria’s border and has a husband over there in Czechoslovakia. Russell is beyond superb. While directing the movie, Nicholas Roeg fell in love with her, and you can sorta tell from the way the whole thing is a showcase to display her. She deserves it. (They got married, had a couple of kids, and divorced.) Her eyes seem to change color in different scenes – there’s one in particular where they are the palest icy blue, yet seem a minute later to be dark.

The first question you have to ask about Milena is, what does she live on? When she moves, she only takes along one small bag. Yet she has fabulous clothes and an apartment full of stuff. Is she a trust fund baby, or does she hold onto the Czech husband because he’s rich, or what? There’s no indication of her ever doing any kind of work. She can get away with being drunk, having irresponsible, impulsive adventures, and so forth. Her source of income isn’t relevant to the plot, but geez.

Along with his research and teaching, Alex Linden does occasional jobs for the US intelligence services. For instance, a spook hands him two files, and tells him to find out if either of the subjects “sniffs cocaine or plays with little girls or boys.” Linden, who should know better, is a poor security risk. He brings files home. He brings home a file on Milena’s husband, which includes her photo and biographical information.

We learn the story of Milena and Linden in flashbacks. In fact there’s probably more cutting back and forth in time than in any movie ever made. It’s pretty disorienting. So go ahead and watch it twice.

In the present, an ambulance takes the overdosed Milena to the hospital. Inspector Netusil (Harvey Keitel) extracts the story from Linden. Milena had called him up and said “I’ll be dead in a minute, I wanted to say goodbye” and of course he went right over. It was no big deal, she’d overdosed before. Linden paints her as a wild woman who denies herself nothing, a woman to whom something dreadful was bound to happen sooner or later.

But the inspector sees a few discrepancies. Linden says he talked on the phone with Milena long after she would have already been comatose. And his car radio is tuned to a station that doesn’t start broadcasting until midnight. And so on. In other words, Netusil suspects exactly what happened. Far from rushing to Milena’s side and summoning help immediately, Linden waited to make sure she would die, and “ravished” her in the meantime.

We see how it went down. When Linden first arrived, Milena was still semi-coherent. Collapsed on the floor, with almost no motor skills left, she managed to get the telephone. Linden pulled the jack from the wall and replaced it later, after it was too late. Looking around the apartment, Netusil somehow intuits all of this. He even seems to have psychic visions that tell him what happened.

Linden puts Milena on her bed, saying “We don’t need anybody else. Just you and me.” While waiting for her to die, “It’s better this way, believe me, there was no other way.” After pacing around for a while, he cuts her clothes off and rapes her inert body, saying “I love you.”

At the beginning of their affair, Milena had pursued Alex, who hung back at first. We see them in happier times. He reads to her from the poetry of William Blake, the verse

What is it men in women do require?
The lineaments of Gratified Desire.
What is it women do in men require?
The lineaments of Gratified Desire. *

A scene where Milena’s in bed with her husband implies that she isn’t getting sexual satisfaction from him, although that’s not the only reason she goes out in search of adventure. He’s 30 years older, for one thing. Once when Milena goes missing for a week, Linden calls her husband, who is bored, dismissive, and contemptuous of this weak American, who can’t muster the necessary intestinal fortitude to deal with such a woman. The husband tells Linden that a man has to love Milena even more than his own dignity. And, as Linden learns, more than he loves being told the truth. She persists in lying about her marital status, and Linden crosses over to Czechoslovakia and bothers some hostile bureaucrats to try and find out if she’s divorced or what.

Linden wants Milena to move in with him, he wants her to return to the States with him and marry him. We sit in on one of his lectures, where he speaks to the students about how we are all spies. He knows all about this, because he spies on Milena a lot, and suffers terribly from jealousy, while she relates to a lot of different men.

But that’s not all. She does heedless things, like burn his car’s upholstery with a cigarette. She can be an embarrassing drunk. In one horrendous scene she’s invited him over. Her place cleaned up as if by the world’s most dedicated housewife, and she’s wearing some kind of mock-sexy outfit and enough makeup to turn her from a flashy woman into a grotesque clown. She’s changed herself into what he seems to want her to be. He leaves, and from the balcony she hurls bottles into the street, yelling at him so the whole neighborhood is disturbed.

Soon their discourse is reduced to “What?” and “Why?” as brilliantly encapsulated in one scene. He wants to possess Milena, who can’t be possessed. “You don’t own me. I don’t own you,” she says. She enumerates some of her priorities – to get up when she wants to get up, and eat when she wants to eat, and not to be with people she doesn’t like. (These are core values I recognize, and I don’t think a person who holds them is necessarily a monster of selfishness.) They have a terrible argument on the stairs and she declares, “I just want to be allowed to give where I can – what I can – to who I can.” What she most likes to give, and there’s nothing wrong with this, either, are the Lineaments of Gratified Desire.

There’s a lot of cross-cutting to emphasize the twinship of sex and death. From Milena’s orgasm to her convulsions on the emergency room operating table. From the couple having sex, to the doctor spreading her legs and going in with a speculum to look for rape evidence. From Milena’s head hanging over the edge of the bed during sex, to the doctors doing the tracheotomy.

With unflagging persistence, the inspector interrogates Linden. He’s fully tuned in to the atmosphere of claustrophobic obsession and sexual pessimism reminiscent of certain Leonard Cohen lyrics. The intuitive genius detective is the role Harvey Keitel was born for, and this isn’t the first time he’s filled it, or the last. Anyway, he’s just about gotten Linden to confess when Milena’s husband appears at the door. More bad timing. She’s alive, and will recover.

I like how the art references in the film hang together. For instance, we see Milena reading The Sheltering Sky, and later we see her with Linden on vacation in Morocco, which apparently was their last happy time. This is where he made the mistake of talking about marriage, which left her completely unimpressed. As he waits for her to die, he plays a record of Moroccan music instantly recognizable as the Master Musicians of Jajouka. Which is ironic, because this is supposed to be healing music. Maybe that’s why Milena survives the drug-induced coma. You’d think the professor would be smart enough not to play the wrong kind of music to die by.

So Linden gets away with attempted murder, and loses Milena of course. There’s a flash-forward to a future scene, when they’re both back in their own country. She gets out of a cab, he gets into a cab. He had asked her to return to the States with him, as his wife. Instead, their only meeting is accidental and brief, and she looks at him with hatred.

*These lines, incidentally also figure in Lawrence Durrell’s Alexandria Quartet, where the characters initials (like the author’s) are LGD (for Lineaments of Gratified Desire, of course.)

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