Valle de las muñecas

The film adaptation of Valley of the Dolls is stupid, empty, overly melodramatic...and a lot of fun!

Jacqueline Susann's 1966 novel is my all-time favorite, and her gritty, glossy pulp material was severely diluted for the big screen. That is the main problem. Too many punches are pulled, the characters are sweetened up, and a completely ridiculous happy ending (which Jackie hated) is substituted for the book's bleak, satisfying conclusion. Mark Robson's film has none of the spirit of its basis.

With that out of the way, the movie is very enjoyable for what it is: An unintentional laugh riot. The dialogue is hilarious and eminently quotable--"Boobies, boobies, boobies! Nothin' but boobies! Who needs 'em? I never had any! Didn't hurt me none!" Most of the supposedly "dramatic" and "touching" scenes are a scream. Patty Duke is priceless as the speech-slurring, tantrum-throwing, self-destructive Neely O'Hara. Watch her flailing around during the "It's Impossible" number; notice the embarrassing position of her beads. Barbara Parkins seems to have taken one Seconal too many before shooting, as she appears to be completely anesthetized. Susan Hayward gets to bellow a lot, fight with Duke, and get her wig thrown into a toilet in the most famous scene. The only one who comes off really well is Sharon Tate, a talent who never got the attention she deserved in life. Hers are the only genuinely affecting moments in the film, especially her final scene.

The candy-colored photography is good, beautifully capturing the glossy red capsules taken at every turn. The hair and fashions are glamorous--and so is the hairspray can! Dionne Warwick sings the beautiful theme, and the rest of the songs are enjoyably silly. I have the soundtrack LP--TWO copies! In conclusion, the ultimate camp classic! I'm off to take another doll now....

One of the great landmarks in the history of American cinema. This is one of those movies that tells it like it is, takes it on the chin, and really shows some SPARKLE. Oh yeah, the wigs and gowns are fab, too, especially that sequined poison-green trapeze minidress Patty Duke is too trashed to get into towards the end.

There is a kind of sublime awfulness about the performances that elevates every sentence in the screenplay to some scriptural stratum of indelible elegance. Lines like "Gee, honey, that ole witch oughta be boiled in oil," "You're not the BREADWINNAH either," and "SPARKLE, Neely, SPARKLE" ring with poetic resonance in one's mind long after viewing the film. Especially when you find yourself compulsively watching it over and over and over again...

The montage sequences are unbelievably powerful. Forget Medium Cool, you haven't experienced the true tacky splendor of the Sixties till you've seen Barbara Parkins' Gillian Girl Commercial. Get the soundtrack and use the jingle composed by master artiste Andre Previn on your answering machine. Why, all your friends will be ringing the phone off the hook just to have a listen.

As Superstar Helen Lawson, Susan Hayward is head and shoulderpads above the rest of the cast, especially when she's attempting to lipsynch her way through "I'll plant my own tree" while dodging the giant translucent fake Calder mobile (probably built by Monsanto) that's slowly revolving around her. The symbolic-castration wig-in-the-loo sequence has to be seen to be believed. "I'll go out the way I came in" admirably sums up the sentiments of everyone connected with this movie after it was released. See Patty Duke's autobiography for some anecdotes about the filming.

This movie pretty much destroyed Director Mark Robson's career, but it made pots and pots of money for the studio, and was still playing drive in theatres around the country years after its release. And curiously enough, many women I have known now in their fifties and sixties felt drawn to this film, felt that it spoke to them (if not for them) in a way nothing else up till that time had done.

Viewers who like this film like it mostly because it is such a campy mess. Its main entertainment value lies in the unintended humor that results from cinematic incompetence. The main problem is the screen story.

For one thing, the character arc of Neely O'Hara (Patty Duke) is totally not credible. She's a singer who can't sing. Yet, she inexplicably goes from rags to riches on her singing ability alone. In the process, her personality morphs from sweet young thing to jaded and embittered has-been who barks and scowls at everything and everyone. Pills or no pills, her transformation does not ring true.

In addition, the film's poor plotting renders a story that is at times muddled. The plot darts and flits from one girl to the next; it spurts and sputters in a disconnected sort of way, without viable transitions. And some scenes are included evidently just to convey story exposition. A big part of the on screen time for the Jennifer character (Sharon Tate), for example, consists of three separate, and awkward, phone conversations with her mother. Other methods of explaining detail and advancing the plot would have worked better.

And the film's dialogue is campy, simply because it contains almost no subtext. It's so in-your-face, so lacking in subtlety, that some of it just reeks of junior high school theatrics.

Aside from the screen story, the overall acting is not very good. Patty Duke, in particular, is just downright awful. She shouts, she screams, she exaggerates her facial expressions in ways that are totally out of sync with the dialogue and the plot.

And the film's musical numbers are something else, especially when Susan Hayward attempts to lip sync a ghastly song called "I'll Plant My Own Tree", surrounded on stage by brightly colored fake leaves that whirl around her. The sequence is made even more ludicrous because the audience cheers wildly at the awful performance.

I guess I can't really fault the visuals, since bright colors were so trendy in the 1960s. Still, the visuals do make the film look dated. Those garish costumes and hairdos, that garish makeup, and that garish decor provide just one more reason to sneer at the film.

The only thing worthwhile here is the appearance of lovely Sharon Tate. And the film's sad theme song is professionally done. Otherwise, apart from its unintended humor, "Valley Of The Dolls" is suitable mainly as a lesson for aspiring filmmakers. In a book on film-making, this film could head the chapter: "Don't Let This Happen To You".

There's nothing I can add to the many hilarious and trenchant comments of other IMDB users--"Valley" will live forever as one of the greatest bad movies ever. But here's something nobody else has picked up on. The scene when Patty/Neely discovers hubby Ted cavorting in the pool with another woman? Well, before Patty/Neely sees them, she hears splashing and giddy, girlish laugh. That splash and laugh are Marilyn Monroe--audio from her famous nude swim scene in "Something's Git To Give," the movie she never finished.

Somebody at 20th Century Fox--MM's home studio--had a perverse sense of humor!

Probably my favorite film of all time. The best classic trash, with the greatest costumes, and the biggest hair! Watch for the poolside scene in which Patty Duke, Martin Milner, and Sharon Tate all say "fag"! I'm sure everyone on Earth noticed the famous "beads-around-the-breasts" shot, so we won't go there. My favorite line: Barbara Parkins tells Patty Duke that she shouldn't be taking her "dolls" with alcohol, and Patty says "It makes 'em work faster."