La leyenda de Lylah Clare

I just caught this yesterday, home with the flu. It certainly reminded me of Vertigo. Kim Novak takes someone's breath away because she reminds someone mysteriously of Lylah. Kim agrees to take the lead in a movie about Lylah. She is then made into Lylah's image -- recorded for all time in a painting. The difference from Vertigo: in Vertigo you eventually find out Kim is acting in a con; in this movie, the viewer is left to wonder if Lylah's ghost is taking over Kim. In Vertigo, the lead male suffers from vertigo; in this movie, Kim Novak suffers from Vertigo.

When Kim's voice becomes Lylah, it's laughable. The whole movie is so bad, it's almost good.

I think the word to describe it is "unbelievable". Peter Finch is in it, an actor known for being rather picky. He was to win an Oscar for "Network" I wonder what this movie looked on paper. Robert Aldrich won his dues with films like "Attack", "The Big Knife" even "Whatever Happened To Baby Jane" another camp fest but with a brain and a real intention. Here, everything is in top gear without ever really moving. In short, a mystery. Poor Kim Novak. Even her make-up doesn't make any sense. Pale lips. It's pointless for me to go on, you have to see it. I had the chance, thanks to Turner Classic Movies. Kim Novak's character seems to be possessed by the spirit of Lylah Clare, the doomed star she's suppose to to play in a preposterous movie about her life. When she is under the influence of the spirit, she laughs and talks with the grave tones of a hybrid, part Lotte Lenya part Mercedes MacCambridge. Outrageous! Peter Finch playing the director and one of the former Lylah's lovers creates a monster without nuances. His debate with the studio head, played loudly by Ernest Borgnine, about films vs movies seems to be Aldrich's major preoccupation. Valentina Cortese's costume designer is a very brief delight, Rosella Falk's lesbian is in unintentional hoot but the prize goes to Coral Browne, playing a columnist as if she were Catherine The Great and with a wooden leg. I swear I'm not joking. As yo may very well suspect, I think this is one of the worst films I've ever seen and yes, I had a lot of fun. That's why a 5 out of 10 seem fair to me.

Another piece of yesterday from Robert Aldrich, filthied-up through his askew, slightly campy/slightly serious vision. We never know where we sit with an Aldrich movie; he enjoys setting up a comfortable scenario before wickedly pulling the rug out from under his audience. He also exposes the weaknesses of Kim Novak as an actress, rather cruelly allowing the puckered blonde to look silly (at her expense) and without ever giving her a fair shot at a meaty scene. The opening moments are richly evocative, but they don't last long: Kim (in a mousy brown wig) hangs out in a dingy apartment in Hollywood, surrounded by movie magazines and celebrity biographies. Turns out she resembles a long-deceased movie queen named Lylah Clare and is quickly tapped to star in a picture of the actress' doomed life--to be directed by Lylah's widower husband! Bits of satire, supernatural elements, trendy lesbianism and symbolism muddy up this potboiler, which is almost always overwrought but never boring. Peter Finch and Coral Browne are worth watching, and Novak's mere presence is tantalizing (even if her acting is not). Frank De Vol's background score is lush, and the finale is interesting if a tiny bit inscrutable. It is Aldrich's stamp as a filmmaker to go over-the-top; here, he goes over-the-edge as well. **1/2 from ****

Well yes, it's compelling viewing in spite of, everything. So overwrought it's jarring and at the center of it all, Kim Novak. The swan of Picnic. James Stewart's obsession in Vertigo. She appears in The Legend Of Lylah Clare, but she's not really in it. Distant, cold, awkward. Pale, almost white lipstick. She has a death scene for goodness sake! It reminded me of that death that Goldie Hawn plays again and again in "Death Becomes Her", she watches it on TV as her arch rival, Meryl Streep, brilliantly plays an actress without talent - dies again and again strangled by Michael Caine. Meryl's Madeline Ashton even licks her lips before her death - Well, Kim Novak's Elsa Campbell/Lylah Clare doesn't lick her lips but almost.Peter Finch is the leading man. Peter Finch! Howard Beale in "Network" His dialogue here is not by Paddy Chayefsky, no, not by a long shot. Hysterically funny I must admit, specially because of the seriousness of the delivery. Then, surprise surprise a few genuine delights, Coral Browne plays a columnist with a wooden leg, Rosella Falk, a talkative lesbian and the glorious Valentina Cortese plays a costume designer. As I'm writing about it I feel an urge to see it again to make sure I didn't imagine the whole thing.

THE LEGEND OF LYLAH CLARE looks initially like some sort of camp classic. Don't expect a companion piece to VALLEY OF THE DOLLS, however. Kim Novak plays a mousy aspiring actress picked to portray Lylah Clare, a Marlene Dietrich/Greta Garbo-type screen goddess from Hollywood's golden era who died tragically 30 years before, in a screen version of her life. Under the tutelage of Peter Finch, Lylah's director and husband, Novak is transformed physically and psychologically into the screen star. Along the way, we're treated to three different versions of Lylah's death(kitschy flashbacks in watery black and white framed with lurid red borders, with Novak's close-up in the corner of the screen), a great bitch-out scene between Novak as Lylah and a crippled gossip-columnist hag based on Louella Parsons, a lesbian drama coach, and Novak spouting dubbed, throaty, German-accented dialogue. The make-up job on Novak to make her look like Lylah really doesn't reflect 1930s movie glamour; with her teased and bleached bob, frosted pink lips, and inch-thick eyeliner, she looks more like Dusty Springfield than Jean Harlow. Despite all this, the film isn't some out-of-control camp fest. Really. No scenery chomping, bad dubbed singing sequences, emotional breakdowns, down-and-dirty catfights, or the like. The only fault with a performance might be with Novak during her fits when she impersonates Lylah, throwing her head back to laugh maniacally in that throaty, faux-Garbo accent. Still, its the only real fault in an otherwise competent film. Aldrich is hardly subtle with his digs at the Hollywood system and corruption, but they come out during the course of his characters' conversations and aren't sensationalized. Too many good performances and sympathetic characters to keep it from being an all-out guilty pleasure, but still engaging