Deflating Arizona

Movie Review:
O.C. and Stiggs

1985 / 1 hr., 49 min. / R

Director: Robert Altman

This review is part of my quest to see every Robert Altman film available in an attempt to discern what it is that made him a renowned director.

There is a reason that John Hughes lives on as a great writer and director of 1980's teen comedies, and Robert Altman does not. And O.C. and Stiggs is that reason.

O.C. (Daniel Jenkins) and Stiggs (Neill Barry) are two high school buddies who have a general disdain for their middle-class lifestyle in Scottsdale, Arizona, and a more specific hatred for local bigwig Randall Schwab (Paul Dooley). Schwab is the area’s insurance monarch, complete with a low-budget commercial that is almost too painful to even laugh at. And it seems that Schwab has turned down a claim filed by O.C.’s grandfather (Ray Walston), leaving O.C. no choice but to put Gramps in a nursing home and move himself off to a southeastern state to live with another relative. I can’t say exactly how Schwab’s declination topples the string of dominos – the film was a little unclear on that – but that is probably beside the point anyway.

The boys spend their free time – and they pretty much make sure free time is all they have – finding ways to harass, embarrass, and torment Schwab and every member of his extended family. They run up huge overseas phone bills on Schwab’s line, steal his barbequed dinners, crash the wedding of Schwab’s daughter, convert Schwab’s home into a drug rehab clinic fund-raising event, and blow up Schwab’s survival shelter, all with as much gleeful abandon as a couple of malcontent slackers can muster.

The teen comedy genre is capably populated by hits that fans still talk about, like Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Sixteen Candles, and Porky’s. Not only does O.C. and Stiggs fail to place on that list, but I can’t even recall anyone ever mentioning this film when chronicling Altman’s list of achievements.

The foundational problem is that Altman didn’t even like teen comedies. He saw in the script a chance to satirize the genre, not complement it; and yet I don’t feel like he even succeeded at satire. Altman would have been wiser to craft his own script with that agenda, or drop the agenda entirely, rather than distort what the studio wanted and what writers Ted Mann and Donald Cantrell handed him.

The result is a meandering series of misadventures with almost no framework holding them together. Some of the pranks seem to have nothing to do with the Schwabs, so far as I could see. A summer river trip down to Mexico has no apparent connection to anything whatsoever, nor do the various subplots involving cheating husbands, bridezillas, or homosexual teachers. The film as a whole has little forward momentum or any sense of drive toward a climactic moment. The last prank, blowing up the bomb shelter, may be the most devastating one; but we are left with the feeling that this was just one of many, and not the grand conclusion of the boys’ scheme to ruin their archenemy.

The experience is made even messier with Altman’s trademark directing style involving overlapping dialogue. It worked in MASH, Gosford Park, and others, but here it feels overused and overmixed – conversations get layered so deeply upon each other that entire scenes are rendered helpless in moving the plot forward because we can’t hear anything relevant to the plot. And if there is indeed nothing relevant to the plot in those scenes anyway, then by the unwritten rules of storytelling, those scenes need to be cut. The wandering, noisy mish-mash makes the film feel even longer than its nearly two hours.

The film is not hopeless, it’s just nowhere near Altman’s best. Daniel Jenkins and Neill Barry are likeable onscreen presences. Barry is particularly charismatic in his attitude and delivery, with body language that is humorous in the way it just doesn’t care. I enjoyed their mutual repartee at several points, especially when they go to purchase a car. I can see where someone like John Hughes could have turned this same plot into a film that would have had Jenkins and Barry fielding larger offers than the sideline careers they both ended up with.

Altman recruits major stars to support our two anti-heroes, with more than a few of them playing parodies of their own earlier roles. Dennis Hopper’s character is lifted straight out of Apocalypse Now, for instance; and according to Altman, cameo performances by Martin Mull (Clue), Ray Walston (Popeye), and Melvin Van Peebles (Jaws: The Revenge) draw on their past cinematic lives as well. Paul Dooley (Strange Brew) and Jane Curtin (Coneheads) as Mr. and Mrs. Schwab are overblown exaggerations, but still manage to draw out some humor. All together, the cast delivers a light-hearted teen hijinx comedy, sometimes believable, sometimes too over-the-top to be at all convincing. If the overboard performances of some of the supporting roles is part of Altman’s satire, he missed and ended up with results that just look bad, not lampoonish.

I have a request of directors: If you just don’t like a genre, then when a studio offers you an opportunity to direct something in that very genre, just turn the offer down. To readers: You’ll definitely laugh more with Revenge of the Nerds, Real Genius, or any of a dozen others. How much more will vary, of course, but consider this warning as your opportunity to save yourself the two hours you would have lost.

My Score: 5

Open Invitation

Even before reviewing "Waiting For Godot", I noticed that the praise people have given it has been of a very vague kind: "It's great!" "It's so interesting!" Etc.

After posting my review, the criticisms have been equally vague: "You just don't get it", "You're a loser," etc. Most of those who disagree with me have simply stooped to sarcastic mockery.

Why not take the opportunity to Educate instead of Excoriate? I had a mind open to seeing the play and giving it a chance -- why not practice what you preach and return the favor? Take some time to actually delineate what it is about this play that makes it great (objectively or personally subjectively), and write about it.

Normally I reserve my blog for things I write myself, but if someone actually takes the time to write an informative rebuttal that explains what it is I should be taking home from this play, I will publish it here. (If I get multiple entries, I'll pick the one I feel helps me understand the issue best.)

Now's your chance - rise above petty sarcasm and mockery that does not help in any way, and educate me.

Fascinating

Here's a tiny little blog read by maybe five or six people a month at most (in a good year), and suddenly it is the talk of the theatrical community because I voiced my opinion that I didn't like a play. I've not-liked previous plays, and my opinion still barely made a blip on the blog's viewer-hit chart. Why all of a sudden?

Now that I've hit the 100-views mark in a single day, a few thoughts come to mind:

* It should be noted that I've never picked on the actual performances of any community theater productions, mostly because there has never been anything to pick on. At least not since I started writing reviews. The direction and delivery of any given script has been anywhere from very good to outstanding. Every negative comment I've ever given for a community theater show has been about the script itself.

* For those concerned that I'm attempting to sway the entire Central Oregon community into not seeing "Waiting For Godot", I repeat that this blog's viewership has been so laughably low that to think I could sway any significant portion of the community is excessive flattery. But thanks for reading and believing I have that kind of vast internet presence! Where were all you readers over the past three years? I was about ready to give up.

* Is the Central Oregon theatrical community so thin-skinned that hearing a negative review brings about a firestorm? Are we all just supposed to pat each other on the back and say, "Good job, I loved the play" even if that's not true? That's what the Oscars are for, and look at the mediocre garbage being churned out year after year from that bunch of back-patters down in Hollywood because everyone's so afraid to say what they think.

* Did you like "Waiting for Godot"? Start a blog and tell the world! It's a fun hobby. If the entire blog is about the performing arts, I'll even be happy to put a link to it in my sidebar! - After all, I now have a hundred readers and they might be interested in your opinion as well!

I'm guessing, however, that after a few days, my blog will be back down to the usual 5 or 6 readers a month, and I'll write for the fun of writing as I have for three years now, and no one will give two hoots about my opinion, as they generally never have unless they are the few folks up here in Redmond who generally already agree with me anyway.

Good Godot, That Was Awful

Play Review:
Waiting For Godot

by Samuel Beckett

Company: Innovation Theatre Works
Venue: ITW Main Stage
Run: 3/5/12 - 3/22/12

While I don’t pretend I’m so old as to know everything about myself, I do know what kinds of plays and movies I am likely to enjoy. Upon reading the promotional material for Waiting For Godot at Innovation Theatre Works in Bend, Oregon, my gut reaction was of non-interest. Wikipedia and various essays described it as “absurdist” and “existentialist”, two words that characterize the genre of art for which I have the least appreciation.

However, for a handful of reasons I suppressed that initial reaction and decided to give it a go. For one, it was touted by multiple sources as a pivotal moment in modern theater. As a cinema enthusiast, I have known the trials of getting the uninitiated to understand why Citizen Kane is an essential cornerstone in the foundation of film history. So as a theater hobbyist, I felt I should at least give “the most important play of the modern theater” a chance to speak for itself.

For another, one of the cast members essentially dared me to see it. And third, a friend offered to enable my completion of the dare by purchasing my ticket at a time when I could not afford the ticket price.

Given the script’s lack of forward momentum through a traditional A-line narrative, the play defies a standard plot synopsis. It revolves around two men, Estragon and Vladimir (informally addressing each other as “Gogo” and “Didi”), who are waiting by a dead tree for someone named Godot (“GOD-oh”, not “g’DOH”). Apparently they have been requested by Godot to wait there for him, though neither of them can recall for certain what time Godot will arrive, or if they are by the correct tree, or even whether they will recognize Godot when they see him.

They pass a long and tedious day by talking, sometimes agreeably and sometimes less so. They ponder things like Gogo’s too-tight pair of boots, and whether the nearby tree would support them if they committed suicide by hanging, and other topics I cannot recall because I forgot my notepad. As the day rolls on, a man named Pozzo passes through, along with his tethered lackey Lucky. They stop and join the other two in conversation, pondering such things as why Pozzo keeps Lucky in slavish service to him, and what twilight looks like in that part of the country.

Eventually night falls, and a messenger boy arrives to inform Gogo and Didi that Godot will not be arriving that day after all, but will come tomorrow. The two men head off to find sleep, with the knowledge that they must return the next day and continue waiting.

That’s Act One.

Act Two is more of the same, though the tree has sprouted a few leaves, Pozzo shows up blind, and Gogo has a curious lack of memory regarding anything that happened the previous day. Eventually night falls, and a messenger boy arrives to inform Gogo and Didi that Godot will not be arriving that day after all, but will come tomorrow. Imagine Groundhog Day, only without Bill Murray’s ever finding a happy ending.

And at this point I am not sure how to proceed. Given the bizarre nature of the entire thing, it’s a bit tricky to critique any particular aspect of it. The performances were certainly capable – having worked with cast members Andrew Hickman, Liam Mykael O’Sruitheain, and Alastair Morley Jaques in the past, I expected no less. I can’t even really comment on Brad Hills’ work as the director because, knowing the caliber of three of the four main performers first-hand, I’m quite sure they all brought a great deal of collaboration to the table.

Tim Blough and Hickman, as Gogo and Didi respectively, are well-matched counterpoints. Blough brings out the dour skepticism of Gogo, who is far more ready to give up on ever meeting Godot than Didi is. Ailing from tight boots and foot lesions, Gogo makes many attempts to leave, only to be stopped by Didi; Blough’s deeply resonant voice and long face enhance Didi’s pessimism nicely without being so overtly depressing as to make us want to join him in hanging from the tree.

On the other side, Hickman makes Didi a fraternal twin of Stan Laurel: His hands constantly fidget with his short necktie, he deftly twiddles his hat, and he walks with feet turned way out in a bouncy waddle. Didi seems the more confident in the imminent arrival of Godot, and maintains the sunnier disposition throughout most of the play. Such optimism is brought out by Hickman’s lilting tenor tones and animated physical features.

Liam O’Sruitheain never fails to intrigue me. I have seen him on four occasions now, and he always manages to make his characters far richer than the scripts suggest. Though I cannot for the life of me figure out what Beckett’s script is even trying to suggest and therefore cannot decide whether his performance here was richer or not, O’Sruitheain is watchable as always, pretty much stealing Act One out from under everyone else with his wide range of emotional choices.

Alastair Morley Jaques plays Lucky, who carries around Pozzo’s belongings, and spends every waking moment on stage looking utterly fatigued by the load. Apart from one excessive outburst akin to the Monty Python skit where Eric Idle drove Michael Palin to insanity by complaining about travel agency package deals, Lucky is silent, a character of pure physicality, and Jaques handles it ably.

I started with the performances because I want to differentiate them from the play itself: It is possible to deliver a flawless and expert performance of a script, at the same time that the script itself is not even worth performing. And that is the situation we have here.

The easiest way I can think of to describe what I saw is “doodling”. A person sits and doodles to entertain himself. (I might add that’s why I blog about the theatrical arts, though I do appreciate anyone who stops to read.) It matters not if he doodles anything resembling a decent picture; it’s not really meant for anyone else to look at. And this is the impression I am left with: A play full of doodles.

Samuel Beckett’s script jumps from topic to topic, with or without rational motivation in the dialogue. What portion of page ten requires it to come before page eleven? Would the audience notice if the two pages had been switched? Doubtful. Apart from one hint at an attempt to be deliberately philosophical about the brevity of life (which Beckett also covered in his play Breath), none of the dialogue carries any significant weight or lasting resonance. Some humorous lines are good for a chuckle for their own sake, but they are just chuckles adrift, not serving any larger purpose. There is physical schtick reminiscent of a Mel Brooks film, but it comes and goes with stark inconsistency. Like a child doodling on page after page of blank paper and then throwing them all in a meaningless pile, Beckett doodles out a few dozen theatrical sequences that add up to nothing intriguing whatsoever.

The actors inhabit these doodles consistently and even creatively. O’Sruitheain’s brief discourse on the difficulty of sitting on his stool a second time is delivered with a sly twinkle. Blough and Hickman have volleys of patter that develop a nice rhythm. The list of such individual doodles is long, but doodles they remain: Even when all bundled together, they are still just doodles.

I am told that all this doodling is actually a play wherein Beckett uses the absurd setting to toss out to the audience several thought-provoking questions about the human condition. Indeed, this is the reason cited for the play’s standing as a landmark in modern theater: Never before had a play asked the questions and assigned the audience to ponder their own answers. From everything I have read, it is safe to say existentialism in theatrical form was born right here in Waiting For Godot.

And that is certainly a plausible explanation for my complete lack of enjoyment. I disagree with existentialist philosophy, and with existentialist art. Every play I consider a favorite was written before Waiting For Godot, back when playwrights actually had, you know, something to say. Back before modern art disguised Western culture’s growing relativism and skepticism in a cloak of pseudo-intellectualism.

The director’s program notes invite us to open our minds to the questions being asked. But even disregarding my belief in the presence of absolute truths and the rejection of existential thinking, I still did not even get the impression I was being asked any questions at all, let alone thought-provoking ones I was being burdened to answer. I cannot, a mere two hours after leaving the theater, name for you a single issue about the human condition I am now supposed to be mulling over. If I did not know better, I would say the whole experience felt like a big practical joke by Beckett, who went to his grave laughing quietly about how he duped every producer, director, actor, and receptive audience member into thinking that the play was actually significant. I have no idea what it is about this play that would intrigue any director into staging it, or any actor into auditioning for it. I’m not trying to be snarky, I’m just being honest.

And it’s not that I’m hopelessly shallow: I don’t mind a play or movie that gives me something to think about. But I want to know that the author had a specific assertion in mind, even if I have to dig for it, and even if I disagree with it. Waiting For Godot is none of these. Beckett refused to assign meaning to the play, which makes sense given its existential purpose, but in doing so he completely alienates me.

I think by now I’m beating a dead horse. Waiting For Godot is, for my taste, the worst theater script I have ever seen performed. I would hire any of the performers I saw, who all proved themselves skilled in creating and delivering consistent characters. But the play itself is useless. The fact that Innovation Theatre Works is having a hard time filling the seats for this production suggests I’m not the only one completely put off by its incomprehensible inanity.

When I was a kid who would grimace at some new dish placed before me at the dinner table, my mother would ask, “How do you know you don’t like it? You haven’t even tried it.” Whatever else you may think of my opinion of Waiting For Godot, you cannot say I didn’t even try it.

Basic Ticket Price: $15-$20
Value for Money: Not worth it