The Wicker Man (1973), Redux

Room 307. Again. Needless to say Frank was more than relieved when he was finally able to check out of the Sebring.

His roommate in 307 had been for some time making it more than clear that he wished Frank would leave. Dr. Conner was unnerving from the beginning. Pacing up and down the halls, rapping on table tops or shaking the furniture. Frank was generally a quiet man. And this suited the doctor. He had gotten used to the telephone, the television was tolerated, the radio not so much. Frank quickly learned to stop blaring the Cure, and found Conner had a soft spot for the Arcade Fire. Did I mention that Dr. Conner had been dead for a century or so? As the summer heated up, so did Frank. Conner too. It started when the girl got pissed (as they sometimes do.) The summer was almost over and they were completely over. Dr. Conner found it appropriately amusing to tug a flower out of the vase in the hall and toss it before Frank’s feet when he passed. Frank could hear him snooping around the room while he showered. When Frank’s music got louder and sadder, Conner got angrier.

In the Florida heat, Frank kept the windows always open; one had to shove with all their might to budge the old, over-painted frames anyhow. But, at the doc’s pique the window slammed shut whenever Frank went to flick a cigarette ash out the screen. His left hand was painfully swollen in the end; the blow was much harder than a naturally sliding shut window would have caused. Indeed, the window by the little table upon which his laptop sat, never shut all summer---except when his hand was under it. That’s Frank’s tale. For a similar tale of a cold-than-hot (spoiler!) reception at a weird hotel, Frank recommends you check out The Wicker Man---Robin Hardy’s 1973 version for god’s sakes, not the 2006 Nick Cage (Vampire’s Kiss; Bierman, 1983) remake. The original stars veteran actor Edward Woodard (King David; Beresford, 1985) as the do-gooder policeman Sergeant Howie who travels to the remote Scottish island of Summerisle to search for a missing girl. There he must unlock the mystery of her disappearance despite the lack of cooperation by the pagans living there, lead by Lord Summerisle, played by the great Christopher Lee (Dracula; Fisher, 1958).

Things are not quite right on Summerisle. Star Britt Ekland (The Great Wallendas; Ekland, 1978) called it the most dismal place on earth. Certainly the eeriness of the island is itself a character in the film. How they could reset it in the US in 2006 is beyond guess.

In 1973, the plot moves by degrees. Strange sexy things in the pub offend the straight-laced Howie but are attributed to the grog. Strange things afoot in the cemetery are the work of the eccentric keeper. But pagan teaching in the school house! Think of the children! Howie is slowly finding the girl’s disappearance is related to the pagan rites being practiced anew on the island. He is steadfast in his intent to find and save her. And finally... The Wicker Man’s strong point is its subtlety, an art form surely lost by most directors today. Simple elements like the residents of Summerisle prancing around in animal masks are sufficiently off putting; it is a gripping thriller despite its lack of grand special effects. Of course the other key element Hollywood has often ignored today is that you like the protagonist. Howie may be a bit of a pill. But you root for him because he is the chaste good guy. You’d hate to see him fail… but, then... Anyway, to summarize:

Good- Guy?

1973: Edward Woodward aka “The Equalizer”

2006: Nicolas Cage aka Nick Coppola

Creepy Island?

1973: Summerisle, Scotland

2006: Summerisle, US of A

Hot Chick?

1973: Brit Ekland

2006: Ellen Burstyn

Creepy-looking Ghoul?

1973: Christopher Lee

2006: Leelee Sobieski

Religious and Moral Tension?

1973: Yes

2006: No

The Real Monster?

1973: Human beings

2006: An actual “Wicker man” As you can see, there is no comparison. The compelling interest in contrasting the hero’s Christian morals vs. the island pagans is gone. It has been replaced by a simple Hollywood “boogeyman” Not only does this kill and invalidate the surprising ending, the entire ironic purpose of the character of Willow (Ekland, 1973; Kate Beahan, 2006) is ruined. Once again a slick Hollywood gloss-over has taken the teeth out of a compelling story… When Frank is running low on Gosling’s Black Seal and takes to hurling things about the room a bit to protest the girl’s leaving (after the fact, of course), Dr. Conner had had enough too. Frank leaves down the hall to get ice some time around 4 AM, sealing and locking his door as usual. He returns to find his bags wedged behind the inside of the door when he tries to open it.

Frank gets the hint.

Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966) “Come on, ya bastard! Go for the throat already!” was what Frank wanted to yell when the rottweiler sank its teeth into his back end, but all he was able to manage was a muted “Arrrrgh!” as he was thrown to the ground. Once he was on the sidewalk the rotty decided to get a better grip, and that was when Frank was able to deliver a size-13 Frye to its head. The dog came back snapping and tearing but Frank managed to keep it at arm’s length until its owner moseyed over to take up the leash. It was the perfect finale to the worse weekend ever. Frank had taken the Greyhound from Erie, Pa to see, Andrea in Worchester, Ma. After a 25-hr ride, a passionate reunion at the bus station and 5-min jaunt back to her tiny flat, his romantic getaway officially ended. He presented her with decent Chianti, a housewarming gift, and failed to question the three glasses poured. He chalked it up to an Ecuadorian housewarming gift custom he was unaware of. It was not until they were snuggled together on the love seat watching Marty (Mann, 1955) that the Dude walked in. Andrea immediately leaped up and instantly began a round of tonsil hockey with the Dude. Frank, the Dud, could only leap up and demand: “Who the hell is this? What the hell is going on?” Andrea snarls back: “This­ the hell is Spike, my other boyfriend. And what the hell is going on is that: this is my way of showing you that while I don’t expect to have to choose between you two, Spike is the one I am going to fuck tonight.” “I see.” Frank is wrecked and concedes, and she is more apologetic--- “Sorry. The love seat is very comfortable.” “You think I am staying here? To listen to you to fornicate in the next room when it was supposed to be me?” “Well, we still have four days planned.” “Ha! Ha!” Frank giggles madly. He snatches a liter of Jim Beam off the counter and storms out to the street. [The cracking apart of a brief and badly paired match such as this causes a pain in the heart that can be cured with whiskey, pills and the false whispered promises of a stripper. Not that Frank recommends this. But it can be cured. But, the cracking apart of a long and badly paired match is best avoided. However, if you want a peek at it then watch Mike Nichols’ 1966 debut, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? It will be re-released by Warner Home Video on December 5, 2006 (Yeeesh! That’s a helluva xmas present!). It is faithfully based on Edward Albee’s story of a nightcap between two faculty couples gone horribly awry.

The cast of four all turn in astounding performances, with, Elizabeth Taylor (Cleopatra; Mankiewicz, 1963) and Richard Burton (Cleopatra; Mankiewicz, 1963), as the infamously twisted game playing older couple, Martha and George. Of course, the two were in real life a stormy couple, twice married. George Segal (King Rat; Forbes, 1965) and Sandy Dennis (The Out of Towners; Hiller, 1970) as their newlywed prey are also admirable. All four were nominated for the academy award for the film. taylor and Dennis both won. It also won best art direction, costume design and cinematography.

Come on, admit it: you only know George Segal as the boss from “Just Shoot Me!” The film is a marathon to watch--- not long, but tiring, a psychological rollercoaster as the four pick at each other, drinking, dancing, biting, clawing, smashing and drinking some more. The running time of 131 minutes feels like spending the night in real time. It voyeuristic, uncomfortable and will leave you squirming in your seat much more than any horror pic. It feels real, and like it or not. You wish the best for these sadly broken folks.] Frank roamed the not-so-seedy underbelly of ‘Woosta’ before finding his way back to Andrea’s to sleep in the hallway of her building. He has in the meantime polished of the Beam and picked a fight with a brick wall in the process. At daybreak he is glad to find his bus ticket intact in the breast pocket of his cord jacket and is able to slink back out to find his way back to the bus depot. He is hopelessly lost by the time the rottweiler, sensing his anger and misery, breaks away from his owner at the corner of Foster and Norwich and tears Frank's last shred of humanity not to mention his favorite corduroy jacket to bits. The owner is not apologetic, since the skin on Frank’s ass is not apparently punctured. One of the horrified on-lookers stays long enough to give Frank directions to the Greyhound. His ticket cannot be changed. He has to hit two ATMs to get more cash than he is allowed to withdrawal, and makes the painful decision to return to Andrea’s for his duffle. He decided not to too be too hard on her, no reasonable person would expect him to tag along with her and Spike all weekend. She was neither the first nor last to tell Frank that she was looking for a ‘nice guy’ and then stray for the likes of the red locks and solid abs of someone like Spike. Maybe she’s vulnerable because she is/was an orphan, taken in early by a well-to-do importer in Flushing , Queens. Her adopted parents had complained of Frank’s small income. Maybe not. Maybe she’s just…. Though insisting she drive Frank back to Greyhound, Andrea must first but Spike groceries. It is not until his coach is departing its Buffalo lay-over that Frank realizes he hasn’t eaten in three days. He feels ill.