Recuerdos de Hollywood

Postcards from the Edge (1990)

Mike Nichols is as close to a William Wyler as the New Hollywood (post-1967) gives us. His movies are both impeccable and emotionally taut. They feature the very best production values and impressive acting. And they take chances carefully, which isn't actually an oxymoron. Nichols knows he's pushing boundaries, but within the established forms. Even this movie, with its insider look at Hollywood, feels ingenious in a safe way, with echoes of "The Bad and the Beautiful" but with everyone toned down to a perfect realism.

One of the tricks of this movie, which is a little over the top in so many small ways (again, careful restraint all around), is keeping the acting believable. And foremost is Meryl Streep, lovable and sympathetic but not quite admirable or otherworldly the way older generation actresses so often get portrayed. Streep as a drug-troubled actress is a wonder, and right behind, with deliberate hamminess, is the woman playing her mother, Shirley MacLaine. Add Gene Hackman and Richard Dreyfuss in smaller roles, a cameo by Rob Reiner, and a pretty boy role for Dennis Quaid, and you can see there is something cooking here.

So why isn't this a great movie? It has the trimmings of greatness, even beyond the acting. Story by Carrie Fisher, music written by Carly Simon (and performed by the cast). Photography by German import Michael Ballhaus (who by the 1990s was also working for Coppola and Scorcese).

Well, some might say it really is great. Even though it is lightweight, even airy as a farce, and even though it leaves you only slightly glad, or happy, at the end rather than transformed, you could argue that Nichols intended something with this flavor, and achieved it. Could be. But for a simple example, take his second movie, "The Graduate," and notice the same tone, humor and irony laced with important topical and emotional strains. How different the effect there, and maybe for a couple of reasons. One, I think, is the subject matter here is the famously glib, plastic, unsympathetic world of overly rich, tabloid saturated Hollywood itself. Another is the inherent plot. What happens? A woman overcomes her addiction to star in another movie, and she seems to move a little forward in her relationship with her mother. Enough? Maybe not.

But knowing it's not trying to change the world, you might appreciate the illusory nature of the medium, exposed for us in a whole bunch of different ways (moving props, back projection, doubles used for blocking and framing, lights and camera in action, screening rooms and overdubbing, and so on. This is the stuff behind the drama enacted by Streep and MacLaine and the rest. It's worth watching in its own right.

And Nichols and Ballhaus have filmed this to glossy perfection, layering and moving and keeping the long takes going as long as possible (with an apology by Hackman, as a movie director, to Streep, the actress playing the actress, for using such long takes all the time). It's almost as if Nichols is making fun of himself, and the excesses that cause the cast and crew to go a little crazy.

Brilliant and entertaining? Completely. Probing or socially satirical in any way? No, not even into Hollywood, which is safely behind all these layers. Still, a film not to miss.

Debiee Reynolds/Carrie Fisher or MacLaine/Streep? It doesn't really matter. A comedy that swims around a theme without ever getting anywhere. To see Streep and MacLaine together is enough to make this a collector's item. The cheerful side of the Ingrid Bergman/Liv Ullman grim Ingman Bergman "Autumn Sonata" I know that Carrie Fisher with her American wit was telling us something, something personal but did it have to be so shallow? There is nothing about this characters with a hint of depth. Drugs and alcohol part of a culture in permanent denial. Maybe that's what it is. We're witnessing the replicas of what used to be human beings. The hurt is so flimsy. He may have told a million women that they smelled like Catalina, so what? Didn't she notice the phoniness in Dennis Quaid's smirk? I had to rush and see "Plenty" and stare into Meryl Streep's face to be reminded of her greatness. Not that she's bad here, not at all, she's wonderful, it's the character that made me recoil in horror. Okay, enough of that. the combination of MacLaine and Streep is terrific and the film will keep you entertained even if, like in my case, will leave you with a toxic aftertaste.

Screenwriter Carrie Fisher adapted her own book--about an actress in drug rehab--into this film about a drug-addicted actress and her alcoholic movie star mama, and the two barely resemble each other. No matter, because director Mike Nichols stages the behind-the-scenes/show-biz material very well (he's visually clever, with a humorous wink to the audience). However, it's momentarily disappointing that the film is so lightweight and doesn't strive to be more substantial, or that Meryl Streep hasn't really zeroed in on her character (she spends much of her time being comically frazzled). Streep's scenes with mother Shirley MacLaine are colorful and well-written, but her interludes with smug lover Dennis Quaid are embarrassing, with both stars spitting out silly lines of dialogue--and Nichols and his editor just letting them ramble. A plot-thread about Streep's shady business manager is brought up only to be forgotten about (we meet the man in question early in the film and he appears to be a forthright person of integrity), while the finale is a musical dead-end (is it supposed to be part of a movie or a music video?). Streep does an amiable Wynnona Judd impersonation here--and even resembles her!--but the picture is thin (it is exceptional, perhaps, only in its thinness). Gene Hackman as a director has a forceful moment at the beginning before he's turned into an understanding daddy, while Richard Dreyfuss plays a doctor who pumps Streep's stomach and sends her flowers the next day. Fisher and Nichols stay soft; they never get offensive or edgy--and maybe that's part of the problem. **1/2 from ****

A good supporting cast and director, and a pleasantly ironic view of Hollywood life, can't quite save this from the perfectly soulless, textbook actress Streep totally miscast as the insecure (and infinitely sexier, more intuitive actress) Fisher. I never believed for a minute this woman was vulnerable: Streep is a ballbreaker who should only play larger than life villainous roles.

This is a very addictive movie. It got me hooked on its genuine and rich characters, sassy and intelligent dialogue that made fun of a serious subject. The performances were spectacular, not only by Streep and Maclaine, but also by the veteran Mary Wickes, Dennis Quaid and Robin Bartlett as Aretha ("my parents expected me to be black"). All of the cameos were enjoyable and added SO much to this fabulous film. It's refreshing to see Streep do something where you don't need to buy out a store's tissue supply to get through the movie. And Maclaine shines as this disturbed yet determined matriarch. I like almost everything about this film. Especially the singing at the end, and Maclaine's rendition of "I'm Still Here"

Great Movie!