The Girl Can't Help It

A year before making his masterpiece, Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? in 1957, director Frank Tashlin fashioned what could be seen as a companion piece for that movie: self-referential jokes and comments about the changing world of media and entertainment; corny "introductions" as the set up; Jayne Mansfield. The Girl Can't Help It (1956) is a musical comedy with a sex symbol star and a lot of up-and-coming rock'n'roll acts—with a big budget, widescreen format, and vivid color—but it also served as a vehicle for Frank Tashlin to experiment and innovate—though he might argue it was all about entertaining, which it certainly is. As a musical, it showcases entire songs by quite a few performers. In 1956, rock'n'roll was undeniable, but also still seen as a fad—that many predicted, and hoped, would soon go away, as soon as the kids "grew out of it." But in the meantime, they were buying movie tickets. I have no idea how these bands were chosen. Some of them are obscure enough that it's the only time I've heard them (but if you're a fan, this is your movie!), but others have become cornerstones: The Platters, Fats Domino, Eddie Cochran, Gene Vincent, and Little Richard (who performs the title song).

Little Richard leaps off the screen and threatens to change your life. 


I'm guessing The Platters were a big draw for this movie, with the hit songs they were registering, and I'm wondering how audiences took to the rockabilly acts who even now strike me as extreme. But for me, the best reason to watch this as a musical showcase is Little Richard, a performer so out there that if he were to originate right now, he'd have a very difficult road to any kind of mass market success. You've got to think the young audience of the mid-1950s was hungry for a lot more than the latest handheld, brain-deadening, time wasting pacifier. I can imagine any number of white, middle-class kids seeing this movie and it influencing them to alter their classical studies for jazz, think about moving from the suburbs to the city, possibly coming out of the closet, and doing everything in their power to become black. Apparently both John Lennon and Paul McCartney were profoundly influenced by this movie, and might still be merely performing drunken English pub standards in backwoods English towns without it.

With all the songs in the movie you'd think it has no story, but on the contrary, it has an extremely involved plot that becomes so complex, with so many twists and turns, that even after several viewings I can't really summarize it—but it's the combination of all these elements that makes this film so great. Tom Ewell in the leading part (and just a year after his role in The Seven Year Itch, this makes him the cinema's most iconic "breast man") is kind of the first person narrator, playing an alcoholic press agent—so that if you are someone who likes to have a few, you'll be right there with him. He is immediately dropped into a compromising situation by a gangster named Marty "Fats" Murdock, who has hired him to make a singing star out of his new girlfriend—played by Jayne Mansfield—who has to do nothing but walk into the room for Tom Ewell to fall madly in love with her. Two things about Jayne Mansfield... just kidding.

Another subtle Jayne Mansfield sight gag.


Apparently Tom Ewell's character was previously Julie London's (playing herself) agent, was in love with her, and is still obsessed with her—there is a great scene where she keeps appearing, ghostlike, in his apartment, while singing "Cry Me a River." Anyway, for whatever reason, Fats Marty feels like he can trust Tom with his new girlfriend... and of course he couldn't be more wrong. Not only is Tom Ewell instantly in love, Jayne Mansfield also seems to like him, and confides in him that she doesn't even want to be a singer—in fact, she can't sing—and she claims nothing would make her happier than being a housewife.

Now that he's met the perfect girl, Tom has to try to convince Fats Marty that she has a voice that will shatter light bulbs so that hopefully he'll lose interest in her... but Fats controls a part of the jukebox Mafia, so he is confident that he can make a hit happen no matter who the singer is—and in fact, he has written, while in prison, just the song he thinks will be number one. Here the story gets too convoluted to repeat (or even remember) but Fats' right-hand-man, Mousie, is involved... and the interesting thing here, for me, is that he's played by Henry Jones, an actor who resembles Tom Ewell to the extent that I've often confused them. In fact, Henry Jones has a prominent part in Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?—and I went for the longest time thinking he was Tom Ewell!

Which is neither here nor there, as that's not exploited in this story, but it just adds to the oddness of this movie. And finally, the oddest and most surprising thing of all is that Fats Marty is played by Edmond O'Brien as a kind of loud, dangerous, but still lovable goof—especially odd when you consider his grim, serious presence in movies like D.O.A. And then there's the song. We get to hear "Rock Around the Rockpile" several times—first when Fats (in a bathrobe, with a cigar) demos it for Tom (who accompanies on piano), and next in the studio—where Ray Anthony performs it with his orchestra—with Jayne Mansfield relegated to vocalizing the train whistle in the song. Bored, she saunters over to the "Fruit-O-Matic" chilled fruit vending machine for an apple during the recording. And then finally, due to circumstances, a reluctant Fats Marty is forced to perform his own song in front of a live audience, dancing like a "Peanuts" character—he's awkward, but the kids love him! He's great! The funny thing is, you can buy it. Edmond O'Brien could have been a rock'n'roll star. And "Rock Around the Rockpile," which will now forever play in your mind, could have been a hit. But—of course—this is just a movie.

Beneath the Planet of the Apes

I’ve often thought of Beneath the Planet of the Apes (1970) as my favorite of all the "Planet of the Apes" movies, but it’s been awhile since I watched it, so I’m writing down my observations as I do. The early scene where Brent sees the apes for the first time, at a war rally, where the general of the gorillas (Ursus) is giving a speech about how "the only good human is a dead human!"—I notice he sounds a lot like the reindeer coach in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964)—but no, it's actually James Gregory, the character actor who appeared in every cop show known to man. Orson Welles was offered the part, which would have—especially if he had eschewed the ape makeup—taken it to another level. The part of Brent was actually first offered to Burt Reynolds, but they couldn't figure out how to work a Trans Am into the story. It also occurs to me how much better the movie would be with Michael Caine in the Brent part. He’s horrified by the sight of the apes, you can just hear him: “It’s a bloody nightmare, that's what it is.”

The story is about some astronauts who come looking for Taylor and his crew, from the previous movie, somehow retracing their steps... into the future. Brent, the only one who survives, as played by James Franciscus, is kind of lame—pretty much a stand-in for Charlton Heston, who appears only briefly, obviously only available for about a week of filming. Franciscus is a pale substitute… but oddly resembles Heston, to the extent that when meeting him, Dr. Zira (Kim Hunter) thinks he is Taylor at first (of course, "all humans look the same"). He looks even more like the white, Western version of Jesus than Heston does. For awhile then, it’s about, on the human side, these beautiful, hot humans, Brent and Nova, running around in animal skins that miraculously keep breasts and genitals covered; you keep watching because it’s only a matter of time before something falls out (but of course nothing ever does; it’s called editing). On the ape side, they try to set up a philosophical allegory with the human condition, which is kind of amusing, but is a bit simplistic. When I was a little kid I thought the different types of apes were supposed to represent different races, not comprehending until later how offensive that is. What I didn't realize then was that they were actually meant to represent stereotypical residents of the the different boroughs of New York—which is also offensive—and doesn't quite work. And the whole story might be most offensive to gorillas, who are highly intelligent, peaceful animals.

For awhile then the movie proceeds as a lame western: there is the chase, the capture, the chase, the capture, on and on... danger, injury, getaway. Finally, it’s a tremendous relief, nearly halfway through the movie, when Brent and Nova venture underground—the “Beneath”—and this is what always inspired my imagination—the weird, underground, tile passageways—a fond memory that has helped make the NYC subway system more bearable as an adult. Unfortunately, the most disturbing part of the movie also comes in here, when the mutants psychically control Brent's mind and make him shove Nova's head underwater in a rancid fountain. I'm sure this scene strikes a chord with the members of the audience who regularly witness domestic abuse, but I could do without it.



"I reveal my Inmost Self unto my God."

Finally, we get to meet the mutants, who are "highly evolved" people who live underground in constant fear of being invaded by the apes. They have lost their exterior layer of skin, I guess due to radiation, or maybe having no need for it, as they never venture into the sunlight. For some reason, however, they wear rubber masks that make them look like "normal" humans. The really disturbing thing, I always thought, was that they actually look scarier —and maybe this is the result of subtle makeup and good acting—with the masks on than off!

Another Biblical pose—it's all in a day's work.

Eventually, Brent and Taylor (Charlton Heston) meet up, and the odd thing is that Taylor is a full head taller than Brent, even though they came from the same time period of the past. It's like Brent is the Taylor ventriloquist dummy. He holds up in a fight, however—and the reason they fight is because one of the mutants uses his psychic ability to make them fight—and because you can't have an action movie without some really, really tedious, brutal, hand-to-hand combat. Brent and Taylor just prove to be too distracting for the mutants, however, who let up their guard and allow the apes to invade their underground hideout. The mutants are only able to hold off the aggressors by using illusions, and ultimately the war loving gorillas are depicted as being too dumb to hold the illusions. It seems the mutants have expected this all along and have prepared for this day by worshiping a doomsday bomb which they seem all too happy to utilize. Really, all along, you realize they suffer from nothing so much as poor self-images. Even in the end they are really pretty lame, and it's Heston who gets to push the button.

Finally, after the action has mercifully ceased, we hear a narrator who seems to have been borrowed from an educational film: "In one of the countless galaxies of the universe lies a medium sized star. And one of its satellites, a green and insignificant planet, is now dead." Who could this be, speaking, if humans are all dead and gone? Well, after this exhausting exercise in self-hatred, who cares—and good riddance. You leave the theater thinking, "At least we won't have to endure another sequel." But wait...

You damn fools won't be making another sequel if Chuck Heston has anything to say about it.