***/**** Image A Sound A Extras A
starring Barbara Parkins, Patty Duke, Paul Burke, Sharon Tate
screenplay by Helen Deutsch and Dorothy Kingsley, based on the novel by Jacqueline Susann
directed by Mark Robson
by Travis Mackenzie Hoover There's little left to say about Valley of the Dolls that hasn't already been said by either its contemporary critics or legions of mock-adoring fans. The former were correct in establishing it as a cynical cash-in crushed under the weight of its vapidity, the latter justified in their identification of its trash playground of mansions, film sets, and nightclubs as the ideal stage for queening and camping. By all rational standards, the movie is awful, yet its rapid-fire stream of meshuggah takes it into some realm of nonsensical fantasy that makes it as good or better than successful films of its genre. There are so many critical errors in judgment that they meld together to become a hyperbolic cocktail that goes to your head and knocks your legs out from under you.
I haven't read Jacqueline Susann's smash potboiler (somehow, I'm afraid to), but the stench of moralistic trash fiction lingers on. The film telegraphs its descent into depravity when naïve innocent Anne Wells (Barbara Parkins) forsakes New England for exciting New York. One could tattoo "little does she know" on her forehead as she applies for a secretarial position and barrels into the dark side of showbiz. No sooner has she got the job than does she see fading Broadway icon Helen Lawson (Susan Hayward) gratuitously slash the only number for ingénue Neely O'Hara (Patty Duke)–and though Anne manages to befriend both Neely and talentless showgirl Jennifer North (Sharon Tate), she's set up to witness Neely's self-destruction and Jennifer's doomed marriage to singer Tony Polar (Tony Scotti).
The message is that nice girls don't do showbiz–or anything, for that matter, that involves their possible centrality. O'Hara is the standard-bearer example: she seems the victim when Lawson cuts her number, but she takes the battleaxe's place once her substance abuse requires a comeback of her own. She's the most obnoxious of the main characters, and not just because Patty Duke rips through every line like she's Tony the Tiger: everything is about her, her, her!, until she's left forgotten and mewling by the dustbins. Though one could argue that Jennifer is a victim of passivity, she's blindsided by Tony's castrating half-sister Miriam (Lee Grant), who manipulates him for her own personal gain. Decent Anne has no choice but to return from whence she came–that way she'll stay feminine and minty-fresh.
Faced with this absurdly sexist punishment ethic, one feels compelled to engage in ridicule. Fortunately, nobody has a choice in the matter. Lazily cynical Mark Robson clearly thought all he had to do was build a massive set and let nature take its course, thus the script is wall-to-wall outrageous in its unsayable dialogue and self-generated clichés, the better to look ridiculous in the flaming-peacock colours. No surprise that the themes of striving, showbiz, and "ballsy" women translate into the drag ethos: they're drag queens played by women and ministered to by nonentity men like Mel Anderson (Martin Millner), who can't possibly hope to compete with the appalling flamboyance of their circumstances. Too much is never enough for Valley of the Dolls, and good thing, too: it's all you're going to get.
It would be giving the film too much credit to call it "innocent" camp. Unintentionally hilarious it may be, but innocent it is not. It's a film with the direst view of human existence trying to cling to a virtuous character without a shred of credibility. As the special features of Fox's splashy new DVD release point out, it was made at a time when Hollywood was trying to appeal to new '60s permissiveness while clinging to the sensibility of a bygone era, and the total disconnect between the two forms shows how utterly clueless the former studio brass could be. But Valley of the Dolls is simply too much fun to castigate for its shortcomings: you have to celebrate it. The film shows such contempt for human values that it triumphantly sublimates that contempt into self-destruction–and the shambles are a beautiful sight to behold.
Fox delivers a beautiful transfer for this Special Edition of Valley of the Dolls. The 2.35:1, 16×9-enhanced image renders the film's searing palette with excellent balance–it's at once vivid and restrained from oversaturation or bleedthrough. A crystal-clear presentation with excellent fine detail, it does the movie proud. The Dolby 2.0 stereo sound is clear as a bell and extremely sharp, though its unusual faintness requires a slight boost in volume. Crazy extensive extras run as follows:
DISC ONE
Commentary with Barbara Parkins and Ted Casablanca
The film's main star and the E! interviewer–the latter of whom takes his name from a supporting character–offer a convivial and dishy commentary that suits Valley of the Dolls perfectly. The pair are aware of the movie's risible aspects, with the star remarking that director Robson wasn't interested in character motivation–perhaps a precondition for camp success. Judy Garland's abortive casting is also discussed in detail. Casablanca can be a tad tasteless, as when he inquires as to Parkins's feelings on Sharon Tate's murder, but the two get along famously and gush over every detail.
"Gotta Get Off this Merry-Go-Round: Sex, Dolls and Showtunes" (48 mins.)
An exhaustive set of eyewitness accounts–though the eyewitnesses are mostly gay fans gushing about their favourite parts. Nobody has any doubts as to the ridiculousness of the affair, and this featurette is largely concerned with the phenomenon, which spawned a couple of stage versions (including an all-star script reading with Bruce Vilanch). Much is made of the fact that Valley of the Dolls was the one of the first films to actually acknowledge the presence of homosexuals, however derogatory those mentions might have been.
A stills gallery and an unusually thorough pop-up "trivia overdose" feature round out the first disc.
DISC TWO
"The Divine Miss Susann" (14 mins.)
Reviewing the life and career of Jacqueline Susann, who with her husband Irving Mansfield managed to power Valley of the Dolls' source novel to the position of top-selling American novel ever. Naturally, it races through her controversial decision to shut up her autistic son in a sanatorium, but the various interviewees (many of whom also appear in the main featurette) speak emphatically about her marketing genius and commitment to vulgarity.
"The Dish on Dolls" (5 mins.)
The long life of the novel is traced through this celebrity-watching feature, from early performances in the film (Richard Dreyfuss!) to the alarming number of TV soaps. Bemusing testament to Hollywood's will-to-recycle.
"Hollywood Backstories: Valley of the Dolls" (23 mins.)
An entirely less complimentary episode of the "Hollywood Backstory" series, in which the disaster with Garland, Duke's feuding with Robson and Hayward, and the spiralling budget are gleefully detailed. A welcome corrective to the disc's other love-ins.
"Valley of the Dolls: A World Premiere Voyage" (48 mins.)
An impossibly cheesy and extremely awkward 1967 TV special. Lounge robots Bill Burrud and Army Archerd ride from Venice to the Bahamas and Acapulco with the premiere boat tour, interviewing various embarrassed cast members (as well as Susann herself) and trading excruciating witty banter. Would be a fascinating time capsule were it in any way possible to endure.
"Jacqueline Susann and Valley of the Dolls" (50 mins.)
A somewhat more tolerable bit of 1967 promotion, wherein hostile interviewer Long John Nebel grills Susann (she naturally comes out on top) and we're regaled with various on-the-street and celebrity dialogues. A puff piece (and badly constructed), if somehow more investigative than infotainment is now.
Screen Tests
Sharon Tate and Tony Scotti (5 mins.) discuss sister Miriam; Tate alone (2 mins.) does her bust exercises and talks on the phone; Scotti (3 mins.) serenades some nameless woman with digitally-blurred features (hilarious); and Parkins (7 mins.) tests for the Neely O'Hara role. The latter gives the role too much class but is still quite good–relatively speaking.
"You've Got Talent" Karaoke
Follow the bouncing doll for the theme song, "It's Impossible," and "I'll Plant My Own Tree." Cute graphics, if I may say so.
Musical Numbers
11 audio-only songs from the soundtrack, from the Dionne Warwick theme to the "Gillian Girl" commercial.
Rounding out the package: two TV spots and two trailers.
123 minutes; PG-13; 2.35:1 (16×9-enhanced); English DD 2.0 (Stereo), English DD 2.0 (Mono), French DD 2.0 (Mono); CC; English, Spanish subtitles; DVD-9; Region One; Fox
