MY FAVORITE YEAR: Blu-ray (MGM, 1982) Warner Archive
1954 – they don’t
make years like that anymore, nor is Hollywood particularly interested in
making movies like Richard Benjamin’s My Favorite Year (1982); a joyous
send-up and, in many ways, a farewell to the end of multiple eras in the
picture-making biz. 1980 was,
ostensibly, the year everything changed; the epic thud of Michael Cimino’s Heaven’s
Gate, resonating shock waves throughout the industry, effectively to sound
the death knell for a certain kind of director-driven vision taken over the
industry after the implosion of the producer-heavy/studio system of the late
1950’s. In the wake of Heaven’s Gate, Hollywood became more circumspect
about the kinds of movies it was willing to take a gamble on. Or perhaps, ‘gamble’
is the wrong word. As Tinsel Town emerged from the seventies – a decade of glamorous
corporate takeovers to transform time-honored studio real estate into one giant
garage sale and public annex of its treasured past, there was little to even
suggest Hollywood might be on the verge of a rebound – girding its collective
creative loins for the impending tsunami that was supposed to wipe out movie-making
as it had been known for nearly the last hundred years. Mercifully, this final
blow never happened…or rather, was offset by Ronald Reagan’s entrance into 1600
Pennsylvania Ave. One of Reagan’s first acts as President was to reverse the Consent
Decrees that, in 1948, splintered these stardust monopolies, ending a golden
reign by crippling their ability to own virtually all the necessary accoutrements
to sustain the dream factories. At the
same time, television – that ‘little black box’ to have found its way into
America’s living rooms, was depriving the picture-makers of their exclusivity. Finally,
the star system, cultivated and refined for two generations, transforming mere
mortals into rarefied stars, was systematically being dismantled. And thus, as
in this movie, we arrive at 1954, the year where everything – for better or
worse - changed…forever.
My Favorite Year, densely
researched and handsomely scripted by Norman Steinberg and Dennis Palumbo, is a
comparative study of the clash between the old – Peter O’Toole as an
illustrious swashbuckling ham of yore, Alan Swann, and, the new – Joseph Bologna
as megalomaniac TV variety star, Stan ‘King’ Kaiser. The parallels between
Swann and Warner Bros. one-time handsome figure of a leading man, Errol Flynn,
and, Bologna and television’s gregarious MC of ‘Your Show of Shows’ - Sid
Caesar are so transparent, it remains a small wonder the producers of My
Favorite Year were not sued by the estates of either talent, as this movie presents
neither in a particularly flattering light, but illustrates both as probably
much closer to the truth of their natural fiber, as opposed to the public
personalities, concocted either ‘for’ or ‘by’ them to satisfy the public’s
insatiable need to dream. In reality, Swann – a paragon in pictures – is a
raging alcoholic with a lecherous penchant for indiscriminately bedding the
ladies. His counterpoint, Kaiser is a hot-tempered, self-centered, and,
ego-crazed specialist in live comedy with not an ounce of compassion for who
his razor-sharp barbs wound. Ironically, both men find their common ground in a
failed attempt to put on a skit that ends with Swann coming to Kaiser’s rescue
after the latter has thoroughly miffed a cigar-chewing Mafia chieftain, played
with riotous severity in a cameo by Cameron Mitchell (whose casting in My
Favorite Year came about quite by accident, while lunching in the MGM commissary).
To see and be seen in those days was decidedly very good for business!
The linchpin to
make everything click as it should is Benjy Stone (Mark Linn-Baker, in a short-lived,
but career-defining role); a ‘fetch n’ carry’ kind’a guy, working as a lowly
staff writer on Kaiser’s program. My Favorite Year ought to have been
Linn-Baker’s big ticket to stardom. After the first day’s shoot, O’Toole
approached Benjamin to suggest he had ‘chosen wisely’ in hiring Linn-Baker
as the congenial fresh face, whose hero-worship of Alan Swann precedes his good
sense to recognize that even idols pass their prime. High praise, indeed, given
O’Toole’s uncanny ability to spot talent. And although the dough-faced and curly-haired
Linn-Baker would achieve a certain level of popularity on television’s Perfect
Strangers (1986-93), ABC’s riotous sit-com in which his straight-laced ‘cousin’
Larry Appleton was usually upstaged by Bronson Pinchot’s flair of comic genius
as newly immigrated, Balki Bartokomous; Linn-Baker’s career between My
Favorite Year and this hit show, and, his prospects thereafter, were all
but flushed away once Perfect Strangers went off the air. He just never found his niche. The rest of the
cast are a hand-picked roster of memorable faces who do much to augment our viewing
pleasure; Jessica Harper, as Benjy’s perky love interest, K.C. Downing, Lainie
Kazan as his mother, Belle Carroca, Lou Jacobi, Benjy’s Uncle Morty, and, Bill
Macy (of TV’s Maude fame), as harried head writer, Sy Benson. In the role
of the show’s frenetic producer, Leo Silver, Benjamin hired ‘a face’, perhaps
unfamiliar, but whose list of credentials were formidable to say the least: Adolph
Green. One half of the zeitgeist to have written – among other things, the
long-running Broadway smash hits - 1944’s On The Town and 1956’s Bells
Are Ringing (each made into movies, respectively in 1949 and 1960), Green, along
with his ‘other half’ in the creative department - Betty Comden, was
responsible for such smash hit movie musicals as Good News (1947), The
Barkleys of Broadway (1949), Singin' in the Rain (1952), The Band
Wagon (1953), and, It's Always Fair Weather (1955). Benjamin’s
reasoning in casting Green, not an actor, was to capitalize on his presence as
only somebody who had actually experienced the industry from the inside out,
could attest to its wild antics first-hand.
My Favorite Year opens with the
melodious opening strains of Nat King Cole’s haunting ballad, Stardust,
immediately followed by Benjy Stone’s voice-over prologue, declaring 1954 as ‘his
favorite year’ – the one when he befriended his movie idol, Alan Swann – a
romantic swashbuckler since gone to seed. Charles Rosen’s production design,
complete with effective mattes, turns back the hands of time on a New York long
since bygone by 1982, and Gerald Hirschfeld’s evocative cinematography conspires
to make us believe we are living in that golden epoch of early live television.
In short order, Benjy giving us the lay of the land at 30 Rockefeller Plaza and
NBC. Although earning a salary greater than virtually all the tenants at his
mom’s Brooklyn apartment combined, Benjy is still just a junior writer on King
Kaiser’s Comedy Hour. His superiors are the caustic head writer, Sy Benson,
and his supporting staff, Herb (Basil Hoffman) and Vivian (Karen Haber). Kaiser’s
show is a series of unrelated comedy skits with at least one built-around a
weekly ‘guest star’. This week’s famous person is Alan Swann whose fan
following remains solid, despite the fact that his movie career is largely a
thing of the past. At first, having disappeared from the airport undetected,
Swann eventually turns up at Sy’s office, roaring drunk. Having caught a
glimpse of his former self being projected on a makeshift screen, Swann insists
on performing a similar pratfall in their presence to illustrate he still has
what it takes to be a great star. This ends with Swann passed out cold on the
table and Kaiser, unimpressed, ordering Sy to dump him. Instead, Benjy coaxes Kaiser
to reconsider. Kaiser agrees, but then places Swann in Benjy’s care. If Benjy
can keep the old ham sober and on time for rehearsals, Swann can stay. If not,
both Swann and Benjy are through.
Moving Swann
into a penthouse suite at the Waldorf Towers, Benjy and Swann’s chauffeur, Alfie Bumbacelli (Tony DiBenedetto) set about sobering
up their charge by stripping him down to his skivvies and dumping him in the
bathtub. Next, they confiscate Swann’s stockpile of scotch – all, except the Mickey
he has managed to conceal somewhere on his person. For the next few days, Swann
behaves as he should, and, he and Benjy form a gentle bond of friendship based
on Benjy’s fan worship. Swann flirts with Kaiser’s junior producer, K.C. Downing.
This briefly incurs Benjy’s ire as he has been desperately trying to land a
date with the standoffish K.C. for months. Swann advises Benjy to give K.C. a
bit of ‘wiggle’ room and a ‘head start’. Taking Swann’s advice, Benjy gains
traction in his efforts to woo K.C. and eventually the two evolve a passionate
relationship while screening some of Swann’s old movies. Meanwhile, Kaiser
makes rather a bad enemy of Mafioso, Karl Rojeck (Cameron Mitchell), whom he
has been lampooning on his show as a zoot-suited buffoon. Rojeck threatens to
put an end to Kaiser if the jokes don’t stop. But Kaiser is unrepentant, even goading
Rojeck by casually tossing his expensive cashmere overcoat out of Silver’s high-rise
office window. The stage is, therefore, set for Rojeck to launch into a series
of reprisals.
Benjy’s mom,
Belle (Lainie Kazan, sporting a vast quicksand of cleavage that no earthly man
should ever get lost in), and her second husband, Filipino ex-bantamweight
boxer, Rookie Carroca (Ramon Sison) invite Benjy and Swann to dinner at their
apartment in Brooklyn. Alas, the night is fraught with embarrassing incidents.
Benjy’s uncle, Morty wants to know if the rumors about Swann ‘shtupping’
a sixteen-year-old are true. He also hopes to get Swann to sign multiple
autographs that, presumably, he intends to sell later on. Belle, an insatiable
flirt, is constantly rubbing up against Swann. Her sister, Sadie (Annette
Robyns) a middle-aged frump of considerable heft, crashes the night, wearing
her wedding dress. More amused than put off, Swann entertains all of their oddballs
and their probing questions, much to Benjy’s chagrin. We learn Swann has a young
daughter, Tess (Katie McClain) living with her mother in Connecticut, whom he
has not seen in more than a year. Belle gingerly admonishes him for his lack of
paternal persistence, suggesting all Swann really needs to be truly contented
in life is a family. Swann concurs. But
afterward, on the ride back to Manhattan, he gets stinking drunk on another
stockpile of booze.
Climbing up to
the rooftop of his building and suggesting both he and Benjy scale the side by
tying themselves to a firehose, merely to crash in on K.C., Swann manages to
slip over the side, tethered to the hose, which drops him two floors below the
balcony he anticipated to land on. A pair of nervous party goers hoist him to safety,
only to learn K.C. does not live there. The next day at rehearsals, an arc lamp
falls from the ceiling, narrowly missing Kaiser. He is unnerved by the
incident, although, like Leo, he suspects Rojeck is out to get him before his
next broadcast. On the day before the eve of the show, Swann sneaks off to
Connecticut to see Tess. Alas, he cannot bring himself to get out of the car. Instead
he orders Alfie to drive him back to the Waldorf. Arriving at the studio on
time and sober, Swann is thrown into a tizzy after he learns the show is to be
broadcast live. “I’m not an actor,” he emphatically professes, “I’m a
movie star!” Swann absolutely refuses to go on. Benjy confides that the
public has come to see him. That his lack of courage is a transient episode of ‘cold
feet’, soon to pass. But by now, Rojeck’s goon squad have infiltrated backstage.
While the taping is taking place before a live studio audience, Rojeck’s men jump
and assault Kaiser behind the scenes. Eventually, their fisticuffs burst forth
onto the stage and before the live audience. Viewing this debacle from the
balcony, Swann, in full musketeers’ garb, girds his loins, grabs hold of a mooring
rope, and swings across the theater and into action, recreating a scene from
one of his swashbuckling pictures. He and Kaiser subdue Rojeck’s men with a
display of fists and swords. The audience, unaware the events unfolding are ‘for
real’, cheer madly over the spectacle of watching Swann resurrect his persona
from the good old days. The day one, the
bad guys subdued, we hear Benjy narrate a fitting conclusion: Swann, his
confidence restored, went on to be reunited with his estranged daughter. Although
it is implied the actor had not much longer to live, he managed, in the waning
of both his popularity and youth, to recapture the glory he once believed only
existed for him as a fraud in the movies.
My Favorite Year is, in fact,
one of my favorite movies. It isn’t the best role Peter O’Toole ever had
– not by a long shot. It also is not a movie you will revisit for its costumes,
sets, cinematography or high style. But it has great warmth emanating from the
peripheries of the screen; wonderful bromantic chemistry between Peter O’Toole
and Mark Linn-Baker, and, a joyous sense for documenting a moment out of time,
perfectly encapsulated in period and sentiment, without
ever appearing dated or maudlin. The penultimate scene between Swann and Benjy,
the one that forever solidifies their mutual respect, comes late in the movie;
Swann, having suffered a mini-nervous breakdown, confiding his innate lack of
confidence, to which Benjy, fallen into the misconception afflicting any film
fan, fires off a roster of Swann’s movie catalog as examples of his daring do
seen on the screen. Incensed, Swann cries out, “Those are movies, damn you!
Look at me! I'm flesh and blood, life-size, no larger! I'm not that silly
God-damned hero! I never was!” Benjy confesses, “To me, you were!
Whoever you were in those movies, those silly goddamn heroes meant a lot to me!
What does it matter if it was an illusion? It worked! So, don't tell me this is
you life-size. I can't use you life-size. I need Alan Swanns as big as I can
get them! And let me tell you something. You couldn't have convinced me the way
you did unless somewhere in you, you had that courage! Nobody's that good an
actor! You are that silly goddamn hero!” Honestly, does a romance on
celluloid get any better than this?
By today’s
standards, the comedic situations in My Favorite Year are quaint at best
– all, except for the zinger O’Toole’s Swann delivers to the show’s costumer,
Lil (Selma Diamond) after he crashes the lady’s restroom, only to be told with
disgruntled disdain by the chain-smoking Lil’, “This is for the ladies!”
to which O’Toole, with an air of the slap n’ tickle, unzips his fly and
replies, “So is ‘this’, ma’am…but every now and then I have to run a little
water through it!” Irreverently
silly, wonderfully obnoxious in spots, and with a touch of slapstick favored
over good common sense, My Favorite Year is a magical movie experience –
sadly, underrated among O’Toole’s many accomplishments today. Warner Archive’s
(WAC) Blu-ray leaves something to be desired. I am not certain the fault is
entirely theirs, as film stocks from the early 1980’s were notoriously
unstable. The first shortcoming here is film grain – amplified to distracting
levels during long shots and sequences photographed at night; also, the MGM logo,
which also is plagued by severe color fading. Color saturation on the whole is
generally consistent, and, oft, very satisfying. Dissolves, fades, and optical
wipes cause a momentary loss of color density; the image, suddenly pale and
softly focused, with grain all but momentarily breaking apart background
information. On the plus side, flesh tones are naturally rendered and certain
colors here – reds and yellows in particular, are robust. There are no
age-related artifacts. There also appears to be no untoward digital tinkering.
So, no edge enhancement, no digital sharpening, etc. Contrast toggles between fair
to weak. Rarely do we get deep saturated black levels. The 2.0 stereo is
wonderful, evoking the vintage early eighties movie-goer’s experience. WAC has
included Richard Benjamin’s audio commentary. This accompanied the DVD release
from 2005. We also get a theatrical trailer. Bottom line: I adore this movie.
Have mixed feelings about this 1080p transfer though. It’s good, but not great.
Highly recommended for it’s warm and fuzzy nostalgia nonetheless.
FILM RATING (out
of 5 – 5 being the best)
4.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
3.5
EXTRAS
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