Tag: Martin Mull

Mr. Mom (1983, Stan Dragoti)

Approximately three-quarters of the way through Mr. Mom (approximately because the movie is a series of sitcom set pieces, not necessarily in sound narrative order), I realized it wasn’t just about sitcom set pieces; the whole thing is a situation comedy. With very low stakes. When the third act has to gin up the big drama, each resolution is a little more pat than the last, with Mom putting the whole weight on Teri Garr.

Sort of sums up the entire picture.

Mr. Mom opens with its pilot episode—Detroit auto engineer Michael Keaton gets laid off, even though his boss and carpool driver Jeffrey Tambor said it wasn’t happening. Keaton also works with Christopher Lloyd and Tom Leopold; Lloyd must’ve been doing someone a favor. Mom plays like a prestige sitcom in an era where the concept was before its time… except the script’s bad and the direction’s terrible.

Anyway.

Keaton’s laid off, so both he and Garr are going to look for work. They bet on it. After a commercial break, Garr’s got a job, and Keaton doesn’t. We get a little of their characters’ backstories throughout, without any actual insight, obviously. Garr went to college for something advertising-like and worked for two years before leaving to homemake for Keaton. Keaton was in the Army, then went to college, then got a job in Detroit designing cars. They can’t afford actual cars, just filming at the plant, so it’s not like there’s a failed supercar subplot. “Tonight on NBC Mr. Mom” doesn’t have supercar money.

Garr goes to work for Martin Mull, Keaton starts hanging out with her housewife friends. Mull’s a sleaze, but Garr doesn’t acknowledge it because it’s the eighties and it’s messed up. Garr’s Mom’s secret weapon. Like, it’s Keaton’s test run for sure—is Michael Keaton ready for his own “The Michael Keaton Show”? Most of his scenes are like he’s doing stand-up, presumably because director Dragoti hasn’t given him any other instruction or input. Mr. Mom has a lot of pitfalls—spoiler, the screenplay (credited to John Hughes) was worked on by a room of Aaron Spelling TV writers. And Hughes’s screenplay was only ever intended for television anyway, in that weird era of TVM comedies.

So Mom’s got a lot riding against it.

But nothing compares to Dragoti’s abjectly bad direction.

Obviously, some of the fault lies with Victor J. Kemper’s photography. Kemper’s not incompetent, just generic. But there’s better generic than what Kemper shoots for Dragoti. And Patrick Kennedy doesn’t know what he’s doing with his cutting, either. The technicals on the movie, outside Garr’s work outfits (they get the only costuming credit), are rough. I forgot about the hair and makeup on the housewives.

So why isn’t Mr. Mom the worst, then? Keaton and Garr are likable. Keaton never has to be particularly cute with the kids—any parenting mishap scenes are short, and the biggest plot arc for any of the kids is middle child Taliesin Jaffe having to give up his blankie. Though even it’s an incomplete plot arc, with Mom skipping the middle section. The movie does multiple montage sequences to cover the lack of story, including one involving Keaton growing a beard and being a layabout. The problem is the anti-beard coding doesn’t age well. Luckily he’s slobbing out in other ways… at least until Garr tells him a homemaker has to take pride in the home.

Plus divorced housewife Ann Jillian is hot to trot and after Keaton for absolutely no reason other than there aren’t any other men in the movie.

Garr’s coworkers don’t even get names.

And, of course, despite having such a limited cast of fellas… Mr. Mom doesn’t pass Bechdel. It fails proudly.

Do Keaton and Garr save it? No. But there aren’t any casualties among the cast—even with lousy sitcom bits and Dragoti’s bad direction, everyone makes it through. Eldest son Frederick Koehler gets less than Jaffe but is perfectly solid. Koehler and Jaffe are professional kid actors. They can do this job. Mull’s fine. It’s not a standout performance, but it’s not bad. Jillian’s fine. Not sure about that hair. After them, everyone else is basically just a guest star.

Nice cameo from Edie McClurg. Miriam Flynn’s good for barely having a name (it’s also unclear how well Garr knows the other housewives or if Keaton joined someone else’s gang).

I wish it were better. And not just because it’s somehow a long ninety-one minutes—you’re being forced to marathon a sitcom you didn’t agree to marathon. But there are some really obvious misses—Keaton and Garr never get to be together, which I know is a feature, not a bug, but it’d have been nice to see how they worked together. Especially since they’re then left running their own shows without reward.

Also… the final joke is dreadfully unfunny. There’s a good reason Aaron Spelling didn’t make sitcoms.

FM (1978, John A. Alonzo)

After a somewhat linear, pratical first act, FM begins to meander through a series of vingettes. Occasionally these end in a fade to black, usually when there’s supposed to be some deep meaning to the scene, but occasionally just when it’s time to move an interminate period into the future. A day or two. Or a week. It’s never really clear, which is fine, since there’s not much internal reality to the film.

FM is about the highest rated radio station in Los Angeles. Only, they’re not highest rated because they’re a bunch of corporate squares, they’re highest rated because they’re a bunch of Hollywoodized hippies. Station manager and morning disc jockey Michael Brandon never gets to work on time, if the opening titles are to be believed, when he’s driving from home to work in approximately six minutes. In L.A. traffic. Brandon’s got long, shaggish hair and a beard and sometimes wears a cowboy hat. He doesn’t believe in commercials, he believes in the music.

Then there’s Martin Mull. He’s the sweet talker lothario DJ who has way too high an opinion of himself. He actually gets one of the film’s better story arcs, culiminating in the most creative direction director Alonzo does in the entire film. Cleavon Little is the other sweet talker lothario DJ who has just the right opinion of himself. He doesn’t get anything to do in the movie, except make the station seem hip for having a black guy. Eileen Brennan is the third of the successful DJs. She’s tired with the life. She has the worst story arc; of all the underutilized actors in the film, Brennan is most underutilized. Ezra Sacks’s script doesn’t have much in the way of character depth–calling the parts caricatures is a tad complementary–so it’s up to the actor and Alonzo to make the most of the performances.

Mull can kind of get away with it, but Brennan has less to do than Jay Fenichel, who’s the tech guy who wants to be DJ.

There’s also Alex Karras, who’s sort of around to give a sense of linearity, as well as giving Brandon some character development. Not enough because Sacks doesn’t do anything with Karras. And, frankly, when Karras takes a back seat to Cassie Yates, who at least is active and supposedly has a on-again-off-again with Brandon (though they have zero chemistry), it’s a fine enough change. Yates isn’t annoying in the little transition scenes between Sacks’s attempts at vingettes. Karras, however, does get annoying.

Tom Tarpey is okay as the company stooge who should be a foil for Brandon, except he disappears for too long somewhere in the second act. The second act is also when FM drops in a three song set from Linda Rondstadt, which Alonzo doesn’t direct any better than the rest of the film so it’s not even compelling.

Oh, and James Keach’s pothead Army lieutenant is an exceptional fail in everywhere–Keach’s performance, Sacks’s writing, Alonzo’s direction.

When the film finally does get to the third act, which basically just resolves stuff introduced in the first ten minutes… well, FM goes from being a genial disappointment to a complete waste of time. It doesn’t help Alonzo is wholly unqualified for everything the film needs him to do. And whoever thought Panavision was a good idea was very wrong. Alonzo can never find anything to fill the side of a frame in his one shots. He also can’t direct group shots, which is a problem since much of the film is the cast standing or sitting around the radio station.

Lawrence G. Paull’s production design isn’t bad though, even if the station is unbelievable as a successful radio station, Hollywood hippies or not. And David Myers’s photography is passable. It’s not his fault Alonzo doesn’t know how to compose a shot.

FM doesn’t run much over a 100 minutes, yet it begins to drag once it’s clear it’s not really going anywhere with the cast. Mull’s comic relief. Brennan’s around to give it respectably. Yates is supposed to give it spunk, Little color, Brandon heartthrob. As it does start to finish up, the film manages to drain all its enthusiasm. It can’t end fast enough; it’s already burned through the tepid goodwill it’s created and is just wasting everyone’s time.

FM doesn’t even end up deserving a turn your dial joke.

0/4ⓏⒺⓇⓄ

CREDITS

Directed by John A. Alonzo; written by Ezra Sacks; director of photography, David Myers; edited by William C. Carruth and Jeff Gourson; music by Steely Dan; production designer, Lawrence G. Paull; produced by Rand Holston; released by Universal Pictures.

Starring Michael Brandon (Jeff Dugan), Martin Mull (Eric Swan), Cassie Yates (Laura Coe), Eileen Brennan (Mother), Tom Tarpey (Regis Lamar), Cleavon Little (Prince), Jay Fenichel (Bobby Douglas), Roberta Wallach (Shari Smith), Janet Brandt (Alice), Alex Karras (Doc Holiday), and James Keach (Lt. Reach).


THIS POST IS PART OF THE WORKPLACE IN FILM & TV BLOGATHON HOSTED BY DEBBIE OF MOON IN GEMINI.

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My Bodyguard (1980, Tony Bill)

My Bodyguard is more than a little frustrating. Alan Ormsby’s script either completely changes in the second half–just in terms of how he constructs scenes, how much willful suspension of disbelief you need, whether or not lead Chris Makepeace is ever going to have a story of his own–or director Bill chucked a lot of material in editing. And given Stu Linder’s editing is phenomenal–the slow motion isn’t his fault–and I kind of doubt it. When he can, Linder finds just the right cuts. Bill’s got coverage issues, especially on action sequences–Michael D. Margulies’s photography is always just right though–and Linder still saves them. The second half of the picture’s mess seems to be Ormsby’s fault, with Bill’s approval, of course.

Here’s the thing–My Bodyguard, which is supposed to be this sensitive movie about a sensitive teenager (Makepeace) going to a tough inner-city school and having to convince loner giant Adam Baldwin to protective him from bully Matt Dillon. Makepeace’s home life is different–his dad (Martin Mull) runs a classy hotel. They’re not rich but they pretend to be rich. There’s a lot of class politics in play somewhere in My Bodyguard, but not thoughtfully. They’re just on display as narrative tropes and shortcuts. Kind of like Makepeace. He’s not the protagonist. There’s one scene with him having personality before he’s just Dillon’s target. All of his scenes with Baldwin are a completely different character. My Bodyguard feels like three different scripts forced into this idea of high school protection rackets.

But in the first act, Bill covers it all. Thanks to Linder and Margulies and a very cheerful but introspective Dave Grusin score, the first half of My Bodyguard feels like it’s going to go somewhere. There’s a narrative progress to the school year unfolding, kids doing activities, time moving. It’s not because of Makepeace and his home life subplot (Ruth Gordon’s his sassy, drunk grandmother). It’s because there are supporting cast members with lives going on. Attention to Paul Quandt, Joan Cusack, and Kathryn Grody creates the film’s verisimilitude as it were. It needs to wander aimlessly at times.

Once Baldwin goes from being Makepeace’s mystery thug classmate to his surrogate big brother, which Bill and Ormsby don’t address because My Bodyguard is kind of cheap and it does want to present a working class to yuppie life goal (Mull has to fend off a yuppie underling). It’s got its problems, but it’s also a missed opportunity. The film’s technically marvelous. The photography of the Chicago locations are so good, you don’t forgive Grusin’s soulful saccharine, you allow for it. And Linder’s editing, especially in the first half and during Baldwin’s fight scene in the finale, is marvelous.

Sadly, following Baldwin’s fight scene is Bill’s worst direction in the film. Coming in its last few minutes–Bodyguard cheats out on a real ending, as the second half tries hard to infantilize its teenage characters. Kids movie is only a pejorative if its characters are static. And My Bodyguard does go in that direction in its second half.

Great performance from Dillon. Baldwin’s good with tough material and not the best direction for it. Makepeace has a two-dimensional (at best) character. He’s not unlikable, but he also doesn’t commandeer the role. Gordon’s awesome. Mull’s fun. John Houseman has a nice cameo.

My Bodyguard acknowledges what it could do, what it could be, then it goes the easy route. It’s disappointing, though probably not surprising.

2/4★★

CREDITS

Directed by Tony Bill; written by Alan Ormsby; director of photography, Michael D. Margulies; edited by Stu Linder; music by Dave Grusin; production designer, Jackson De Govia; produced by Don Devlin; released by 20th Century Fox.

Starring Chris Makepeace (Clifford), Adam Baldwin (Linderman), Ruth Gordon (Gramma), Matt Dillon (Moody), Martin Mull (Mr. Peache), Paul Quandt (Carson), Craig Richard Nelson (Griffith), Joan Cusack (Shelley), Kathryn Grody (Ms. Jump), and John Houseman (Dobbs).

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