"You mocked it."-- Bruce Davison, failed mutation
Upon the
announcement of George Segal's death last week at the ripe, well
lived age of 87, the requisite undertow of melancholy can lead to one’s mind , shrinking
as it may be for those without benefit of subdural injury, into attempting to
strong arm the algorithm to retrieve more underappreciated vehicles like Born
to Win, something of a hybrid for 1971, a cross between Didion’s rigor in …
Needle Park and the tension
embedded in The Desperate Hours. A viewer of my beleaguered age may have seen Born
to Win in network syndication up through the early eighties, but its appearance
had a delectable rarity, where Segal’s depreciating lines end up having a menacing
edge; in this contemporary streaming environment of today, it is sometimes
difficult to find movies not so grandiose, with a lighter center of gravity, without being
too corny, which are of my time, and of familiar grainy quality, with subdued
olive and brick red tones in its wake, that which made the Me decade authentic behind
the lens, even if in actual fact the physical environment of childhood and old
age had negligible differences, whether in style or palette: one can laugh at
Segal’s 71 hairstyle as being too hip because it was an artifice. The same can
be noted for Natalie Wood and once divorced husband Robert Wagner two years
later, in their made for television romantic drama The
Affair. In the sense that matinee idols can impede an actor’s artistry,
Wagner was always dismissed, a well groomed action figure whose two dimensional
aspects were suitable for the desperate heroism of towering infernos. Wood
received more sympathy for a lavish dramatic sadness, but was more a career
glamor girl than more recent signatures. Julianne Moore, in her current aging
grace, is able to inhabit more complexity, and this is what makes The Affair
interesting. This little bit of televised slice of life inhabits complexity in
a flawed mediocre fashion, which means that Bruce Davison, like most younger brothers
of crippled lameness, is an asshole, and the script has inconsistencies.
Viewers can ascertain, however, that Wagner and Wood make an effort to move
beyond their casting portfolios, and attempt to open the door, with some
success.
I too
can be kind to stock figures, perhaps under the burden of having taken too many
blows, being deflated in retreat, scaling back. I am not afraid to go long form
in my blog posts, but I will apportion this into shorter segments, especially
now that we have so many research tools at our disposal. I have been a long way
away from myself as a writer, and while I cannot hope to have the resilience of
Strether in The Ambassadors, like a Victorian sensing a new epoch, there
is a stride to be reclaimed, even if disposable underwear will be banned from
landfills to save the sewers.
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