In the Twinkling of an Eye -- or the Twitching of a Nose

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Jack (Will Ferrell): So were your parents in the witch business?

Isabel (Nicole Kidman): Both of them. My mother fixed the 1986 World Series.

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I had pretty high hopes when I heard that a movie based on the Bewitched TV series was being made. I was a fan of that show when I was a child, and I have admired Nicole Kidman (who was tapped to play Elizabeth Montgomery's role) for many years.

Now, I'm not really a fan of movies based on TV shows. Occasionally, they turn out OK, but mostly I have found them to be huge disappointments. It's fair to say that my enthusiasm for the Bewitched movie was tempered.

But I like Nicole Kidman in much the same way that I liked the original Samantha. I thought she was a good fit for the role.

You know what? I still do. I had other issues with the movie. So did film critic Roger Ebert, who conceded that he didn't watch much prime–time TV and had never seen an episode of Bewitched. "When you see 500 movies a year," he wrote, "you don't have a lot of left–over yearning for watching television. In the evenings, you involve yourself in more human pursuits."

Ebert found the movie "tolerably entertaining," and so did I. Since much of it incorporated scenes from episodes of the original series — sometimes word for word, as I recall — I gather he would have found the series entertaining as well. But he had the same problem with the movie that I had — it threw together too many scenes from episodes of the series that had no unifying theme or context — other than whatever flimsy pretense was used to loosely link things together.

"Many of its parts work," he observed, "although not together. Will Ferrell and Nicole Kidman are funny and likable, but they're in a plot that doesn't allow them to aim for the same ending with the same reason. It's one of those movies where you smile and laugh and are reasonably entertained, but you get no sense of a mighty enterprise sweeping you along with its comedic force. There is not a movie here. Just scenes in search of one."

That seems like fair criticism to me.

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As I say, I like Kidman, and I think she was a good choice for Samantha. But there was some real chemistry between Elizabeth Montgomery and the first Darrin (Dick York) that transcended the transition to the second Darrin (Dick Sargent), who clearly was never as comfortable with Samantha as his predecessor, midway through the series' run.

That was material for one of those inside baseball kind of jokes in the movie. Ferrell observed that, on the TV show, Darrin had been so insignificant that the producers changed actors playing the role midway through the series' run — "and no one noticed!" But the series wouldn't have survived for four more years if not for the reservoir of good will the show's fans had for Montgomery. If she was even remotely convincing in her relationship with the second Darrin, the viewers would accept him without question. She was, and they did.

And the movie needed to be mindful of that. The movie wouldn't work if there wasn't the same kind of chemistry between Samantha and Darrin as there had been on the TV show — and there wasn't. Kidman and Ferrell could read the same lines that Montgomery and York did 40 years earlier, even re–create entire scenes, but they wouldn't work without the chemistry.

Kidman needed a different Darrin. I like Ferrell, too, but he needed a different Samantha. As Ebert observed, they were never really on the same page.

And I wasn't particularly wild about the supporting cast, either. For me, Michael Caine never really worked as Samantha's father (played by Maurice Evans in the TV show). And I had some trouble accepting Steve Carell as Uncle Arthur. I suppose that really was a tough one to cast, though. I mean, who could improve on Paul Lynde?

But my real problem was with Shirley MacLaine as Endora, the role played by Agnes Moorehead on TV. Now, I admire much of the work MacLaine has done over the years, but, frankly, I have found her recent work to be a little too flamboyant, and she really let her freak flag fly in "Bewitched." Not that Moorehead wasn't a little over the top at times; the role certainly called for some of that. But MacLaine was a little too over the top for me.

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So, what we were left with was, as Ebert observed, an entertaining big–screen homage to a beloved TV series — but nothing that seemed likely to spawn a "Bewitched 2." I doubt that very many people in the audience left the theaters in 2005 hoping that a sequel would be coming along in 2006 that would let them know how things were working out between the new Samantha and Darrin.

Sadly, it is what I had been conditioned to expect — from previous attempts to make successful TV series into movies. Perhaps a little better than most, and, to be fair, "Bewitched" the movie did have some elements of creativity that the others did not. So it showed flashes of what might have been. I hoped for better.

I didn't get it.

A Case of White Privilege?

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"It's for sure a white man's world in America. Look here: I raised that boy since he was the size of a piss–ant. And I'll say right now, he never learned to read and write. No, sir. Had no brains at all. Was stuffed with rice pudding between th' ears. Shortchanged by the Lord and dumb as a jackass. Look at him now! Yes, sir, all you've gotta be is white in America to get whatever you want."

Louise (Ruth Attaway)

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I think "Being There," which premiered on this day in 1979, was Peter Sellers' next–to–last movie before his death by heart attack in July 1980.

For awhile, I believed it was his last movie — that designation actually went to "The Fiendish Plot of Dr. Fu Manchu" — and that thought appealed to my sense of order somehow, that he had died after giving what was arguably his finest performance as Chance the gardener.

I suppose, if I had been Peter Sellers, I would have wanted the public to remember me for "Being There," not "The Fiendish Plot of Dr. Fu Manchu" — nor the somewhat bizarre posthumous performance he gave via archival footage in the last of the Pink Panther movies a couple of years later.

People do have a way of remembering the last thing a writer, an actor, a musician, an artist of any kind does before he/she dies — as if there is some kind of cosmic significance to it. Sometimes there is a touch of irony, given whatever happened shortly thereafter; other than that, though, I think people attach far too much to last words or last movies or last songs or whatever. And I am just as guilty as anyone else is, I guess. I try not to be, but I'm human and I do fall into that trap occasionally.

If it had been his last movie, though, "Being There" would have been a great way for Sellers to go out.

"Being There" was a comedy that equaled nearly every comedy Sellers ever made — and surpassed most. I say nearly because, frankly, it's darn near impossible to match what Sellers did in "Dr. Strangelove." I will go to my grave believing that.

Take that one out of the equation, though, and "Being There," with its subtle and understated symbolism, is, at the very least, equal to any other comedy Sellers ever made. Why do you suppose that was so?

On the occasion of Sellers' death, film critic Roger Ebert observed, "If Mr. Sellers was correct in saying that he had no personality of his own to portray, then perhaps his performance in 'Being There' was his most autobiographical."

I think Ebert was on to something there.

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"It was a virtuoso performance," Ebert wrote, "made all the more difficult because Mr. Sellers had to sustain a single note throughout the movie."

That was pretty much what Ebert wrote when "Being There" hit the theaters.

"Being There," Ebert wrote in his review about seven months before Sellers' death, "begins with a cockamamie notion, it's basically one joke told for two hours, and it requires Peter Sellers to maintain an excruciatingly narrow tone of behavior in a role that has him onscreen almost constantly. It's a movie based on an idea, and all the conventional wisdom agrees that emotions, not ideas, are the best to make movies from. But 'Being There' pulls off its long shot and is one of the most confoundingly provocative movies of the year."

That sums it up pretty well.

The story was simple, really. A mentally handicapped individual, Chance (Sellers), had been living in the Washington, D.C., home of an older man who died — Chance grew up there, actually, but I don't recall that his relationship with the old man was ever explained — and Chance had to find a new place to live so he found himself outside in the world, which created plenty of fish–out–of–water scenarios — perhaps the best of which came when Chance was approached by a group of young thugs, apparently intent on causing trouble for someone. Chance, who had a TV remote control with him (everything he had learned, other than how to tend a garden, he had learned from watching TV), repeatedly clicked the remote while aiming it at the leader of the gang.

Not surprisingly, neither the gang leader nor any of his associates disappeared when Chance did that.

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Chance was rescued from the streets of Washington by the wife (Shirley MacLaine) of an elderly, wealthy and ailing industrialist (an Oscar–winning performance by Melvyn Douglas) who also happened to be a friend and confidant of the incumbent president (Jack Warden).

Ebert was spot on when he wrote that "Being There" was based on the premise that Chance didn't understand that the world wasn't like the comfortable and predictable existence he had led before the old man's death. As Ebert observed, "life isn't television," and the only thing that Chance knew, besides television, was gardening. Listening to him talk was an exercise in doublespeak — actually, that should be doubleperception. When he spoke, people heard what they wanted to hear. "[H]is simple truisms from the garden," wrote Ebert, "are taken as audaciously simple metaphors."

Presto! A movement to nominate him for president was under way — and he hadn't even had to lift a finger. (I thought of Chance and "Being There" a lot when Ross Perot's nascent presidential campaign was being launched in 1992.)

"There are wonderful comic moments," Ebert wrote, "but they're never pushed so far that they strain the story's premise."

A satire that poked fun at all sorts of things, it rose to an entirely different level near the end when, after viewers had seen the political kingmakers promoting his candidacy while serving as pallbearers for Douglas, Chance was elevated to an altogether different — but clearly recognizable — realm.

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Sellers received a Best Actor nomination for his performance. He lost, in the "Kramer vs. Kramer" wave, to Dustin Hoffman.

An Uneasy Alliance

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Tess (Shirley MacLaine): [in the grocery store] It's got no price at all.

Bob: Yes, ma'am. [over the radio] Uh, Doug, this is Bobby in canned goods, are you anywhere near the manager? I need a price check on Le Sueur baby peas, repeat, Le Sueur baby peas.

Doug (Nicolas Cage): Le Sueur baby peas.

Store Manager: They're on special today, two for .59.

Doug: They're on special today, two for .59.

Bob: Uh, copy that, it's two for .59.

Tess: But I only want one.

Bob: Uh, roger that, Doug, but she only wants one.

Doug: How much for just one?

Store Manager: The same. It's a two–for–one thing.

Doug: Uh, Bobby, it's a two–for–one thing so I suggest you go ahead and get both.

Bob: Uh, copy that, Doug, but I believe we've lost in interest in peas, repeat, lost interest in peas. Canned goods out.

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Tess Carlisle (Shirley MacLaine) was a demanding and stubborn woman, a former first lady who was "beloved" ... "as all first ladies of course are," wrote Roger Ebert, "with the possible exception of Nancy Reagan."

And it was the job of Secret Service agent Doug Chesnic (Nicolas Cage) to provide her with the protection to which she was entitled.

That job wasn't as easy as it might sound. Doug was intent on doing his job the way it was supposed to be done. Tess was intent on not allowing him to do his job the way it should be done.

I think Ebert made an astute observation when he said that Tess was "not elderly, or weak, or unintelligent, but she is lonely: During the film we see no friends, and her only relationships seem to be with her Service Service guards, her cooks, her secretary, her chauffeur and other employees."

Perhaps that explains a lot about her interaction with her protection detail. It was adversarial at times, but I always got the sense that Tess' relationship with her agents was special to her. In her own way, I think Tess was trying to prepare them for a world that she thought was more demanding than she was.

I found it intriguing that Ebert wrote of MacLaine, "I have never seen her in a role that I sense is closer to herself." He explained that he meant it in a complimentary sense, but he also spoke of Tess as a lonely, somewhat isolated and detached person, a micromanager.

I don't know if that really is an accurate description of MacLaine or not, but it is a good description of Tess.

Ebert made another interesting observation when he wrote that the relationship between Tess and Doug, the agent in charge, was not unlike the relationship in "Driving Miss Daisy."

"It isn't love, God forbid," he wrote, "but a certain respect for a tough opponent, and even some grudging affection."

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Ebert admitted, though, that the movie took "an unanticipated turn," which he refused to reveal to the readers.

He wrote only that it was "handled well enough that it doesn't break the earlier mood of the movie but only underlines it." That's a good description.

I won't reveal that "unanticipated turn," either, except to say that it led to a satisfying final scene in which Doug and Tess indicated they had reached a mutual understanding, implying that things would be much smoother between them in the future.

It would have to be smoother than the relationship Tess had with her son (played by Edward Albert), who approached her for her endorsement of his commercial venture and was turned down. But the audience was aware that, privately, Tess had watched old footage of her husband's funeral, focusing on Doug in the crowd, and perhaps the viewers sensed that she had a certain fondness for him and his loyalty to her husband.

Personally, I enjoyed Cage's performance. I guess my favorite Cage performance will always be the one he gave in "Raising Arizona," but the one he gave in "Guarding Tess" ranks second with me.

Ebert concluded that MacLaine and Cage were quite good in their respective roles. "We feel for this man who has no life of his own — except to guard a woman who has no life of her own," he wrote.

Well said.

An Inconvenient Corpse

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If anyone ever tells you that Alfred Hitchcock didn't have a sense of humor, tell him he's full of it and direct his attention to "The Trouble With Harry."

See, the trouble with Harry is that he's dead, and no one seems to know what to do with him. He's just laying out in a field with an apparent wound to his head, and any one of a number of seemingly ordinary people — played by Shirley MacLaine, John Forsythe, Mildred Natwick, Edmund Gwenn — could have been reponsible for Harry's death. And that leads to all sorts of complications.

It's the blackest of comedies and a real departure from Hitchcock's normal style. It does have a generous helping of the understated British humor, evident especially when Mildred Natwick encounters Edmund Gween hauling the body away and innocently inquires, "What seems to be the trouble, Captain?"

True, Hitchcock used elements of humor in his other movies, but they were different. Sort of along the line of comic relief to break the tension. In this film, his tongue is firmly planted in his cheek.

"The Trouble With Harry" wasn't Hitchcock's most successful film, but I've heard it said it was one of his favorites. It was the screen debut of 7–year–old Jerry Mathers (before he became Beaver Cleaver), and it was Hitchcock's first collaboration with composer Bernard Herrmann, who also wrote the scores for films like "Vertigo," "Psycho" and "North by Northwest."

(Incidentally, you can see "Psycho" and "North by Northwest" on Turner Classic Movies on Sept. 22.)

You can see "The Trouble With Harry" on Turner Classic Movies Tuesday at 7 p.m. (Central).

By the way, if you want to see one of Hitchcock's signature cameo appearances, he was still doing them when he made "The Trouble With Harry" in 1955, but you'll have to get through the first 20 minutes or so of the movie before you'll see him.

I think Hitchcock made his cameo appearances in just about every film he directed. In many of his early films, he didn't make his cameo apearance until well into the movie, but at some point it became apparent to him that audiences weren't following the story very closely until after they had seen him so he started making his appearances very early in his later movies.

He wanted viewers to give their full attention to the story.

As a result, Hitchcock's cameos in "Vertigo," "Psycho" and "North by Northwest" occur in the first 10 minutes.

Oddly enough, though, his cameo in his final film, 1976's "Family Plot," came 40 minutes into the story. That was hardly a record for Hitchcock — in half a dozen of his films (all made before 1946), Hitchcock made his cameo appearance after an hour or more. In the last quarter century of his life, all of Hitchcock's cameo appearances were done before the 30–minute mark except "Family Plot." Perhaps that was because it, too, was a comedy.

As primarily a practitioner of the thriller genre, Hitchcock may not have felt it was necessary for audiences to be as focused when watching one of his comedies.

Why don't you be the judge?