Reeling Backward: "The Way We Were" (1973)

"It's about a Jewish woman with a big nose and her blond boyfriend who move to Hollywood, and it's during the blacklist and it puts a strain on their relationship."
                         --Lisa Loopner (aka Gilda Radner), describing "The Way We Were"

"The Way We Were" is one of the few well-known love stories that defies conventional male/female roles. The usual central dynamic can be summed up by what feminist critics call "the male gaze," in which the way the female character is portrayed is defined by how they are beheld by their romantic male counterpart.

In short: women in the movies exist to be gazed upon, and men exist to do the gazing.

The first few moments of "TWWW" flip this on its head. Barbra Streisand sees Robert Redford, and is so overcome by his beauty she literally gasps, her mouth hanging open like a trap door. Indeed, through virtually every encounter they have in the movie, it is she who is the active pursuer and he is the lackadaisical pursued. She is always looking at him, while he usually has his eyes turned elsewhere.

Director Sydney Pollack photographs Redford with a lustrous quality, like a fallen angel loitering about the Earth to amuse himself. His character, Hubbell Gardiner, is the object of affection to Katie Morosky (Streisand), a passionate leftist political activist. She is the proactive character, while his is entirely reactive. Hubbell's defining characteristic is that he doesn't really have one, existing as a beautiful object upon which Katie (and others) project their own aspirations.

Much is made about Hubbell's blondness, which in the movie is intrinsic to his ability to mesmerize. I have commented before on Hollywood's declining favor for fair-haired male movie stars, and indeed, Redford in the 1970s more or less marked the last of the line of blond sex symbols. Katie refers to Hubbell as her "gorgeous goy guy," and one of her pet moves is to brush the coppery locks on his forehead with her fingers -- less a grooming gesture than a a miser fingering his gold.

Pollack was just establishing himself as a mainstream director, despite a number of features already under his belt. He was brought into the project solely upon the basis of his promise to entice Redford, with who he had just made "Jeremiah Johnson," to take the role opposite Streisand, for whom the part was expressly written.

Hubbell had originally been envisioned by screenwriter Arthur Laurents as a supporting character to the firebrand Katie. Laurents based the story on his college experiences in the 1930s and '40s, transposing his own Jewish identity onto the figure of a woman he admired but never pursued romantically.

Pollack petitioned to expand Hubbell to an equal footing, and reportedly brought in a raft of other writers to change the script around without Laurents' knowledge or consent. Despite some sloppy editing and story construction, "TWWW" was rather well-received at the time and was a huge box office hit.

Laurents ultimately retained the sole writing credit, he and Pollack buried the hatchet and even pursued a sequel, which fell apart in the early 1980s. The idea was still was being batted around as late as 2005.

As for Redford and Pollack, they would go on to make five more pictures together, including "Three Days of the Condor" and "Out of Africa."

Hubbell and Katie encounter each other in college around 1938, hit it off but never become a couple until they meet again at the war's end. She takes the drunken Navy man back to her apartment, where he sleepily has movie sex with her -- read: sweet, and short -- not realizing it's Katie. Later, though, he puts it in on purpose.

They stay a pair the rest of the movie, despite stormy waters and several near-breakups, before Hubbell finally dumps her for good right after she's given birth to their daughter. Later they meet up for a moment sometime in the 1950s, fond remembrances of love lost.

Hubbell is defined as being everything Katie is not: an easygoing, likeable WASP with no strong political convictions or even a core identity beyond being a BMOC in college, and the adult equivalent thereafter. His redeeming attribute is that he's aware of how easily everything comes to him, and is able to write about his privilege with flair and a little distance.

At first jealous of Hubbell's writing talent -- she's crushed when the professor picks his short story, instead of the one she'd been laboring on for weeks, to read aloud to the class -- she eventually becomes his caustic muse, pushing him to write more deeply about his characters and subjects. Forever taking a stand against the latest cause, she's vexed when Hubbell appears to stand for nothing other than his own success and comfort.

Their relationship is defined by a pedestal: Katie places Hubbell upon one, convinced he's the perfect man, except for needing a little prodding from her. He's fascinated by her sense of unfailing certainty, whether it's about politics or his own abilities, while she thinks he needs to push himself harder, in life and in his writing. When they move out to California together so Hubbell can pursue a lucrative screenwriting career, their resentments are slowly stoked to the point of no return.

It's fascinating how passive and inert Hubbell really is. Like a classic romcom woman, he allows himself to be defined by his lover, and then grows to resent the box in which she has placed him. Meanwhile, Katie goes through the paces of being the one who decides she must change, even if in the end she goes back to her old life of rabble-rousing.

The film is probably remembered now more for the title song, sung beautifully by Streisand, than the story itself. The supporting characters don't make much of an impact, the two most notable being Bradford Dillman as Hubbell's best friend, J.J., and Lois Chiles as Carol Ann, who ping-pongs back and forth between the two men.

James Woods and Sally Kirkland both turn up in small roles early in their careers.

Patrick O'Neal plays George Bissinger, the director whom Hubbell is working for on an adaptation of his first novel. As near as I can figure, the screenwriting process goes on for months and even years, which seems unlikely for the late 1940s, when it wasn't unusual for writers and directors to have three feature film credits in a year.

The section about the Blacklist isn't terribly compelling, other than it exacerbates the tension inherent in their relationship. Katie wants Hubbell to speak out against the House Un-American Activities Committee, while he thinks it's best to keep his head down. Entire families will be destroyed for nothing, he argues, while Katie sees that laying down before one monstrosity will only invite a worse one.

Unlike its two stars, "The Way We Were" hasn't aged very well. It feels like it would have been a better fit during the Golden Age of Hollywood, where it's set. Of course, it would have been rare for a film of that age to end with the couple splitting up. Just as it is to see a movie in which the usual gender roles are reversed so starkly.

Reeling Backward: "The Scalphunters" (1968)

One of the pleasures of doing the Reeling Backward column is discovering new talents I hadn't heard about before, or rediscovering new aspects of actors and filmmakers with whom I had some familiarity.

I've enjoyed finding more films from Ossie Davis' long movie career, and I encountered another delightful performance in 1968's "The Scalphunters." It was Sydney Pollack's third feature film credit after his TV apprenticeship, an enjoyable Western comedy about a grizzled fur trader (Burt Lancaster,) an educated slave out of his element (Davis), some enterprising American Indians with their own peculiar take on capitalism, and the aforementioned scalphunters.

In a previous column, I marveled at Davis' ability to play a young soldier in "The Hill," despite being nearly age 50 at the time. The year "The Scalphunters" came out, Davis turned 51, yet convincingly portrayed a character much younger.

I think I figured out Davis' trick: He simply declined to age, until he reached the point in his career that he felt ready to tackle older-man roles. Talk about Method.

Lancaster is ostensibly the lead, Joe Bass, but it's worth nothing that he largely disappears from the center of the movie, residing both literally figuratively on the periphery of the story. During this time Joseph Lee, a cagey slave who plays the underhanded motives of the white people against each other, takes the limelight.

In terms of narrative, there isn't much of one. A trapper, Bass has his winter's worth of fur pelts stolen from him by a Kiowa chief named Two Crows (Armando Silvestre, a Mexican actor who makes for a charismatic but unconvincing Indian). As payment, they give him Joseph Lee, whom they had captured from the Comanches.

Bass, with Lee in tow, follows the Kiowa with the intention of stealing back his furs, when the Indians are attacked by a large group of marauders led by Jim Howie (Telly Savalas). Indian scalps are worth $25 apiece, and Howie and his gang are the sort to acquire money in whatever way they can get it. Bass' mule laden with furs is merely a bonus.

After slipping down a cliff wall, Lee is captured by Howie, who figures he'll fetch $1,500 at the slave auction before they move on to Mexico and out of the reach of the long arm of the law. Lee, who realizes slavery is abolished south of the border, begins ingratiating himself with Howie and his mistress, Kate (Shelley Winters), in hopes of accompanying them entire way to freedom.

Meanwhile, Bass shadows the wagon train, attempting through various means to get back his furs. The most clever of these is poisoning the next water hole with locoweed, so the group's horses bolt and go crazy, killing several men.

Even though story-wise there really isn't much going on, I so enjoyed the four main actors in their roles. Lancaster does his wonderful high-low thing, playing a man of dubious cultural refinement who somehow seems to retain his sense of human grace. He's an illiterate liar who isn't above stealing and fighting dirty, but by gods, he reasons, at least he doesn't trade scalps for a living. The man's stubbornness is his calling card, and his curse.

Telly Savalas had one of those careers where he could play lecherous villains and noble heroes, and yet the characters had a similar through-line. His Jim Howie is not a truly dastardly man -- he does evil things not because he enjoys them, but because they profit him. And profit is all that Howie truly cherishes. Even his relationship to Kate is largely transactional: She figures he's the best chance she's got at a lifetime of comfort, and he gets regular sex and companionship.

It is a marvel to me that anyone, anywhere, at any time ever considered Shelley Winters an attractive woman. With a brassy attitude, screechy voice, three chins and a girdle that groans mightily at its task, Kate is a walking study in repulsion. She at least treats Joseph Lee with something like compassion, seeing him as a more refined companion than Jim Howie -- especially since he's servile and doesn't hit her.

But Ossie Davis' Joseph Lee is the star that makes "The Scalphunters" shine brightly. I loved the way Davis delivers his dialogue, in bright, clipped readings of perfect enunciation and diction. His voice carries almost like he's on a stage and trying to reach the back row.

I shivered with delight whenever he addressed Joe Bass, calling "Mr. Baaasss!!" with a rising crescendo. That over-the-top enthusiasm hides a mountain of obsequiousness, of course, but that is the plight when you are a slave at the mercy of people far less intelligent than yourself.

It could have been just a minor piffle, but Ossie Davis and the rest of the cast transform "The Scalphunters" into a joyous comedic reverie on the dusty plains of the West.

3 stars out of four

Reeling Backward: "They Shoot Horses, Don't They?"

I don't know of any other movie with a title that seems to fit its subject matter less than this 1969 classic starring Jane Fonda and directed by Sydney Pollack. At least, that was my first impression.

I had assumed, like many others I think, that "They Shoot Horses, Don't They?" was a Western. I should have been clued in by the presence of star Jane Fonda and director Sydney Pollack, both of whom are more associated with modern urban settings than tumbleweeds and six-shooters. (Though I should note that each has done a quasi-Western: Fonda in "Cat Ballou," and Pollack with "Jeremiah Johnson.")

No, it's about, of all things, a Depression-era dance marathon. These things were apparently quite the hit during the tumultuous '30s, as hard-luck young folks would submit themselves to the ultimate endurance test in order to win a nice little wad of cash.

The rules, as laid out in the pre-dance registration, are simple: Partners must keep their knees from hitting the floor, or they're out. They must keep moving the entire time they're on the dance floor. If somebody's partner is ruled out, the surviving one has 24 hours to find a new partner (of the appropriate gender -- no same-sex dancing) or they're out. They get a 10-minute break every two hours to use the bathroom, eat, sleep, etc.

And this would go on for weeks at a time.

In "Horses," they get to 1,200 hours or so before the film ends. (Note I don't say the dance ends.) Why would anyone do this, other than the absolutely desperate? More importantly, why would anyone pay to watch this spectacle of suffering?

Those uncomfortable questions are what the movie is really about.

Fonda plays Gloria, a hard-bitten dame whose partner is disqualified before the competition even starts due to ill health. So she's paired up with Robert (Michael Sarrazin), a naive, passive drink of water who wanders into the dance hall out of curiosity. Curiously, the opening and closing sequences are told from his perspective, as he witnesses a lame horse being put down as a boy, and later being sentenced to jail for a crime. The original novel by Horace McCoy was written with Robert as the protagonist, but that changed when a big star like Fonda was cast in the female lead.

I don't mind, since Gloria is by far the more compelling character. But Robert is such a complete non-entity, a guy who reacts to everything going on around him, that it seems strange to retain the framing device centered around him. Couldn't they show Gloria as a girl being moved to tears by a horse being shot?

There's a terrific supporting cast, led by Gig Young as Rocky, the carny-like showman who's running the dance competition. He has to stay round the clock just like the contestants, but he pulls all the strings.

Rocky's not above manipulating the contestants to jazz up the show, such as stealing an impressionable woman's prize dress, knowing that in her sleep-deprived state it will send her over the edge. Dressed in a tux, barking into the microphone to urge the crowd to cheer the contestants on as they literally kill themselves on the dance floor, Rocky is like some cynical jester mocking American ideals even as he espouses them, punctuated by his trademark "Yowza! Yowza! Yowza!"

Red Buttons plays Sailor -- he's never given an actual name -- a dance marathon veteran who's over the hill, but still battling. He claims to be 31 years old, but his gray hair and lined face say otherwise. He knows all the tricks Rocky can throw at them, and altruistically gives advice to the kids to help them along.

Susannah York plays Alice, a British stage actress who's been talked into the marathon by a huckster who claims it'll help her break into showbiz. With her refined manners and slightly haughty attitude, she's instantly disliked by the other contestants. But when her mind becomes unstitched by the slow sleepless torture, the pity for her his palpable.

Bruce Dern and Bonnie Bedelia plays a husband-and-wife team of destitute sharecroppers who see the marathon as a way to get regular meals, if nothing else. She's pregnant, and Gloria cold-heartedly berates her for not having an abortion or giving the child away, since they obviously don't have the means to care for it.

The cruelest part of the competition is the Derby, literally a run for life and death. The remaining partners are lined up for a speed-walk race around an oval for 10 minutes, and the three couples that come in last are eliminated. Consider what it must be like to exert oneself full-out for 10 minutes without a break after days and weeks of only resting two hours a day. The pained look on Sailor's face as he huffs around the circle, determined not to lose, makes plain that these dance marathons were just a half-step up from gladiator fighting.

"They Shoot Horses, Don't They" is hardly what I expected, but it's not to be missed.

3.5 stars out of four

UPDATE: My Dad e-mailed me to remind me that Gig Young won an Oscar for best supporting actor. I actually knew that, and meant to include it in the review, but it got lost in the shuffle.