Monthly Archives: May 2005

Many people have asked me, as a marketing guy with some knowledge and involvement in the entertainment industry, to explain the Star Wars phenomenon. How is it, they ask, that neither a weak story, poor acting, terrible direction, gigantic plot holes, nor the dearth (or would it be “Darth”) of likable characters seem to matter in the least?

For those who have not been touched by the inner workings of “the industry,” it is well to note that this question is asked in the context of most industry wannabees harboring a ticket punch mentality. That is, if you do all the right things, and pay your dues long enough, then you too will achieve success. Or, put in a different way, if you have not yet succeeded, you must therefore take more acting classes, work on more non-paying indie films, and do more non-paying showcases (that still charge you to be in them). Add to this some very rigid notions of what constitutes an acceptable screenplay, and you can appreciate how the apparent contrarian history of Star Wars throws many at the bottom of the industry food chain into serious turmoil.

The easiest explanation, or non-explanation, if you will, would be to quote screenwriter William Goldman, who observed, in this matter, that “Nobody knows anything.” Goldman was at least wise enough to realize that when one deals with human emotions, cocksure elucidations of box office success, or the predictions thereof are of little value. At best, such analyses are like the jumbled writings of Nostradamus, whereby events are claimed to be accurately predicted AFTER they occur.

Still, some observations can be proffered…

Given the success of the series’ first entry in 1977, it was natural that sequels would follow. The big advantages of a sequel are the familiarity quotient and bandwagon effect. Within reason, most moviegoers would be interested in the further adventures of the characters of any popular film. The bandwagon takes hold in that most people want to be part of the winning team, or, at least want to appear cool, knowing about the latest pop culture trend.

Lucas further exploited the bandwagon effect by targeting kids interested in all the Star Wars paraphernalia, as well as the uber sci-fi nerds who glory in the obscure details of the dozens of alien groups, weapons, and characters mentioned only fleetingly. Beyond the extra dollars gained in selling the promo merchandise and quickly published reference books, a huge buzz was generated with all the “underground” discussion, websites, and clubs.

At the heart of the bandwagon effect is the primal need that people have to belong—to something, anything. By way of example, there is simply no other rationale for the continuing popularity of professional sports, and the identification by fans with a particular franchise, especially these days when teams and players cannot even be expected to remain in a city. Indeed, the cynical question is raised, “Are peoples’ lives so empty that they have to invest themselves so greatly in such as sports teams, the lives of celebrities, the plot machinations of TV series, or who might win on American Idol?” The sad answer is “Yes.”

It is worth noting that the huge box office of Titanic (1997) derived from the familiarity of the story, the anticipation of special effects, the masterful score, but, most importantly, in the casting of the leads. It was no accident that the male lead (Leonardo DiCaprio) was far prettier than the female lead (Kate Winslet). In this way, every plain Jane could identify with Winslet’s Rose character, and the ultimate “love is a tragedy” fantasy could be viewed repeatedly by this demographic. Many women went to this film more than ten times, assuring stratospheric box office.

Yet, in the entire Star Wars series, there is not a single casting decision that was made to pull in any audience group. This is truly amazing, and bespeaks George Lucas’ disconnection with normal film philosophy.

In sum, then, the actors don’t matter, the script doesn’t matter, and the direction doesn’t matter. That leaves us with the special effects and the John Williams score. Did Lucas come upon the ultimate pop movie ingredients?

How many recent films, including direct-to-video flicks, can be boiled down to exciting music and lots of FX-driven action? If you answered “most,” go the the head of the class.

Rip-roaring action, mixed in with terrible dialogue, illogical character development, mostly weak acting, a few silly Leftie precepts, and points to ponder about The Force mark this final entry in the Star Wars saga.

Episode II – Attack of the Clones (2002) ended with the secret marriage of Anakin Skywalker (Hayden Christensen) and Sen. Padmé Amidala (Natalie Portman). The opening titles of Revenge tell us that galactic warfare has broken out, that there are heroes on both sides, and evil is everywhere. Sure enough, the pic starts right out with a frantic mission, displayed in full video game splendor mode, as Obi-Wan Kenobi (Ewan McGregor) and Anakin must save the kidnapped Chancellor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid).

Things start getting confusing, though, when baddie Count Dooku (Christopher Lee), a master of the Dark Side of the Force, although involved in the kidnapping plot, seems to be in cahoots with Palpatine. From this is dug several plot holes: The staged kidnapping still required a dangerous rescue, that could have killed Palpatine, and the many improbable betrayed alliances seem to serve little purpose, beyond more light saber duels.

As for Anakin, he is worried about his pregnant wife, since he has visions of her dying in childbirth. His earlier visions have been sadly accurate, including that of his mother dying at the hands of Sand People. Besides, as a Jedi, he is not supposed to have any romantic entanglements, let alone be married.

Anakin wants to be the greatest Jedi, and no doubt could be, if the Jedi weren’t such a bunch of self-absorbed killjoys. To say that they are mistreating their best recruit—the one they call the “chosen”—is a huge understatement, so it comes as no surprise when Anakin joins the other side. He is taken in by Palpatine, who reveals the advantages of the Dark Side, the main one to Anakin, worried about Padmé, being that its greatest practitioners can actually prevent or reverse death.

But, the Dark Side really is more powerful, and that is because, unlike the Light Side, it USES emotion, rather than trying to hide it away. Moreover, the Dark Side is not inherently evil, although evil people will surely be attracted to its great power. Why the Jedi refuse to employ its power is a mystery that is never explained, and pervades the entire film series.

Furthermore, it is quite absurd that none of the Jedi masters can sense a “disturbance in the Force” when either Palpatine becomes the Dark Lord Darth Sidious, or when Anakin becomes Darth Vader. It is also questionable whether Palpatine is truly “evil.” After all, he is trying to keep the Republic (later the Empire) together, composed of thousands of planets, that would just as soon be at constant war with one another. And, in this regard, he is voted extraordinary powers by the senate—a bloodless coup, if there ever was one.

It is very nice for Padmé to remark, in perfect know-nothing fashion, that “This is how Liberty dies – with thunderous applause,” while the senate cheers Palpatine as the new emperor. Does she prefer nonstop war? Ironically, the problem derived from attempting to create such a large and far-flung republic in the first place. Why DID all these planetary governments think they had to unite, anyway? Heck, we can’t even do that on one little planet of our own, can we?

Consider also, this exchange:

Anakin:  If you’re not with me, you’re my enemy.
Obi-Wan:  Only a Sith Lord deals in absolutes. I will do what I must.

Anakin’s line is being compared to a statement by President Bush on the War on Terror, and not favorably. However, during a war, and in an argument between potential combatants, can it be any other way? If you are not on Anakin’s side, you ARE his enemy. The two are soldiers, and they cannot be neutral, regardless of what effete Leftists might think.

Obi-Wan’s reply, so dear to the pop culture, is false in numerous respects. The Jedi, in dealing in their own stupid absolutes, have CAUSED Anakin to go over to the Dark Side, and even though they realize that the Dark Side is more powerful, prefer defeat, and loss of untold life to maintain their own misguided rigidity. In the big picture, absolutes ARE what we must deal with: Good and evil, truth and lies, life and death. It matters not whether today’s taste makers are uncomfortable with this concept. Avoid absolutes at your peril.

Apologists for Lucas will point out that Vader does finally act as the chosen one, when he kills the emperor at the end of Return of the Jedi (1983), but that is way too little, way too late, and trivializes his own epic.

By now, Lucas may be well past worrying about such details. Gone is the repartee between Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill, and Carrie Fisher in the first pic, as well as the charisma of Alec Guinness. In Revenge, scene-stealer Christopher Lee is killed off soon enough, while Jimmy Smits and Samuel L. Jackson, usually reliable, are completely uninspired here. Thus, it is left to McDiarmid to carry the show, and carry it he does, even if he looks awkward during the rescue from the faux kidnapping.

Perhaps it does all make sense, in its own perverse way. The details of the story don’t matter, and loose ends need not be tightened up. Who cares if millions have perished, and worlds have been destroyed? The entire epic, and all its conflicts, are contained within the only character appearing in all six episodes—Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader.

Which leads us to a much better title for the series. Of course, Lucas would likely have been sued, had he called it “Lord of the Sith” instead of “Star Wars.”

Apparently, last week’s piece on Song Of The South (1946) touched some hearts and minds. All the e-mails were very supportive of the movie, and many correspondents expressed dismay that recorded copies were so hard to come by. Some even asked whatever happened to Bobby Driscoll, the actor who played cute little Johnny.

I wonder if Uncle Remus himself could have created a saga like Bobby Driscoll’s…

Born in Cedar Rapids, Iowa on March 3, 1937, Bobby’s family moved out to Los Angeles in 1943. A friendly barber suggested that the boy should get into the movies, and he debuted in Lost Angel in 1944. Eight more features followed before his starring role in Song of the South. From the get-go, his talent and screen presence came shining through, and the youngster was earning $500/week. Needless to say, that was serious money back then, and unheard of for children. He was being touted as “the greatest child find since Jackie Cooper played Skippy (1931).”

Success continued, as Bobby stole the show in The Window (1949), an interesting movie about a boy who cries wolf, and then when he really does witness a murder, no one believes him except the perps. His bravura performance in this film caused New York Times film critic Bosley Crowther to remark that, “Bobby Driscoll is a brilliant actor. The Window is Bobby Driscoll’s picture, make no mistake about it.” Some even felt that he should have been nominated for the Best Actor Oscar. As it was, based on his work in Window and a Disney pic, So Dear To My Heart, Bobby did receive a special Oscar for “outstanding juvenile actor” of 1949.

Following this banner year, his career would encompass seven more features, including the well liked Treasure Island (1950), and Bobby’s voice as Peter in Peter Pan (1953). By 1954, though, the cute kid had become an awkward, gangly teenager, plagued with fairly nasty acne. Some TV jobs did come along, but the former golden boy felt rejected by his peers, and got into drugs. He started with marijuana at age 16, moving up quickly to cocaine and heroin, doing some hard time at California’s Chino State Penitentiary in the early 1960’s. He had been arrested previously on a drug charge in 1956, and did clean up his act long enough to land his last role in a feature called The Party Crashers (1958).

Ironically, this film also starred Frances Farmer, another Hollywood tragic figure, who also failed, with this vehicle, to make the big comeback to the silver screen. She was to fare better than Driscoll, in that she did host her own TV series for six years. Still, Farmer was wrongly committed to horrific mental institutions for 11 years, and was even lobotomized.

After Driscoll was released from Chino, he moved to New York, to take up stage acting, and supported himself with various odd jobs—none of which he kept very long. Unfortunately, his druggie reputation preceded him, so few acting gigs panned out, either.

Little more is known about his New York period, other than his final screen appearance in the short film Dirt (1965). We can assume that there were drug-free and drug-addled times, influenced, no doubt, by how well his life was going at that moment.

We do know that he died a pauper in an abandoned Greenwich Village tenement, with needle marks on his arms. The body was discovered by two children on March 30, 1968, but the exact date of death will never be known, since he was buried as a John Doe, in New York’s Potter’s Field on Hart Island. The causes of death were listed as heart failure and hardening of the arteries, brought on by drug abuse. It is probable that hepatitis was also involved.

Even while indigent, Bobby stayed in reasonable touch with his mother, who, after not hearing from him for several weeks, tried to find him. It took a year, but thanks to the efforts of the FBI, and the record keeping practices of the Potter’s Field officials, he was identified via fingerprints.

Some, in our cynical age, would write off this sad story with AJ Benza’s tag line: “Fame, ain’t it a bitch.” Surely, Driscoll was gifted, and was given excellent opportunities. However, it seems that more could have been done to help him adjust to reality, following the end of his Disney contract, when he was barely 17. As Driscoll himself put it, when an adult, “I was carried on a satin cushion, and then dropped into the garbage can.”

There are many sad child actor stories to come out of Hollywood, but none is sadder than Bobby Driscoll’s.

Here’s a truly great Disney feature from back in the day, that was one of the first to combine animation with live actors, but, in the late 1980’s, ran afoul of the PC Gestapo. More on that later.

The film opens with a voice-over by the sage Black storyteller Uncle Remus (James Baskett) noting that even though his tales deal with animals, there are still lessons in them for humans. The time is several years after the Civil War, with many freed slaves now working the plantations as trusted employees.

Action begins with seven-year-old Johnny (Bobby Driscoll), along with his mother Sally (Ruth Warrick), father John Sr. (Eric Rolf), and their maid Tempy (Hattie McDaniel) heading down to the Georgia plantation owned by Johnny’s grandmother Miss Doshy (Lucile Watson). Although the parents tell Johnny that this will be a vacation, it soon becomes clear that his parents are separating, and that he and his mother will be staying on at the plantation, with John Sr. returning to Atlanta.

Distraught, and not exactly having his worst fears relieved by Sally, the boy decides to return to Atlanta, that very night, on foot. He soon hears Uncle Remus telling a story about Brer Rabbit, and hides behind a tree to listen. Remus sees him, convinces him to not run away, and as the frantic plantation crew searches for Johnny, Remus takes the rap, saying that he was telling the boy tales, and they lost track of time.

Within the next day or two, Johnny has made friends with Toby (Glenn Leedy) a young Black resident of the plantation, and Ginny Favers (Luana Patten), a poor white girl who lives nearby. Ginny gives Johnny a puppy that her two older thuggish brothers were going to drown, and a conflict is thus created. To make matters worse, Sally, demonstrating the first of several ridiculous failures as a mother, forbids Johnny to bring the dog in the house (this as he has just lost his father), but Remus agrees to keep the dog in his cabin.

Remus regales Johnny and Toby with his tales, including the famous “Please don’t throw me into the briar patch” reverse psychology episode. Johnny ends up using this trick on the Favers brothers, and even though it earns them a good spanking, Sally ruins it by scolding Remus for keeping the dog. She instructs him to tell no more tales to Johnny.

Soon after, Johnny’s gala birthday party occurs, but this is really more of an ego trip for Sally. Johnny is concerned that his best friend Ginny has not yet arrived, so he runs over to her house, to see her emerge in a dress that her poor mother created from her own wedding dress. In an effort to get back at Johnny, and showing real cruelty toward their own sister, the Favers boys push her into the mud, soiling her dress. At this, Johnny rushes the younger of the brothers, who is still much bigger than he is, and pummels him. The fight is broken up by Remus, who sternly tells the boys to stop pestering the younger children.

Ginny and Johnny are both dejected, and don’t return to the party. Remus cheers them up with his “Laughing Place” story, but Sally again ruins everything by blaming Remus for them leaving the party, and forbids him (out of earshot of Johnny) to have any contact with Johnny at all.

Remus, saddened by this misinterpretation of his good intentions, and beginning to think that he is just a useless old man who tells silly stories, decides to leave the cabin that was always his home, to journey to Atlanta. Meanwhile, Ginny and Johnny search for their own Laughing Places. Ginny finds hers at her home, since her father has now returned, and Johnny realizes that his laughing place is Uncle Remus’ cabin.

He runs over to the cabin, only to discover that Remus has left, and he sees him departing in a wagon—across a pasture, ruled over by a ferocious bull. Heedless of this, and trying to catch up to Remus, Johnny takes the short cut across this pasture, and gets rammed by the bull.

Brought back to the plantation, and near death, it is only Remus’ stories that keep Johnny going. Meanwhile, his father returns, John Sr. and Sally are reconciled, and the parents suddenly develop child rearing skills. Remus notes that all this is “mighty satisfactual.”

In the last scene, some of the animated characters join in the celebration with the kids, much to the surprise of Uncle Remus, who thought they only existed in his mind.

Zip-a-dee-do-dah, zip-a-dee-ay, wonderful feeling, wonderful day…

After the film’s original release in November, 1946, it was re-released in 1956, 1972/1973, 1980, and 1986. In 1986, though, the pressure of certain “civil rights” groups, and the PC storm troopers in general caused Disney to remove the film from public viewing in North America.

Disney surely did not need the hassle, and is free to do whatever it wants with its own copyrights. Still, beyond absurd prejudice and blind hatred, there is nothing in Song of the South for anyone to be upset about, except maybe white people, since save Johnny, Ginny, and Doshy, they are all portrayed quite negatively. Moreover, despite the comments of true morons, there are no slaves in the movie, since it obviously takes place after the Civil War (how else would Remus be able to run off to Atlanta on a whim?)

The PC fascists might be objecting to the Black dialect being used, but then they should also condemn Mark Twain, or maybe come to realize how southern Blacks spoke in that era. If they are worried that plantation workers convey a bad image, I would remind them that Gangsta rappers, teenage single mothers and their feckless wayward boyfriends, drug dealers, and school dropouts are far worse stereotypes, and they are present day, not from 130 years ago.

Song of the South is a sweet picture that deserves to be seen by a new generation, and fortunately can be purchased here.