Boom

Adaptated by Tennessee Williams from "The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore", he obviously pulled in a few of his old friends to get this done. It's a gender-bending allegory with Liz Taylor as rich, dying Sissy Goforth, a bad-tempered recluse in her remarkable clifftop Mediterranean villa. Along comes Dick Burton, a freeloader-cum-Grim Reaper figure who sees it as his mission to help ladies in extremis.

Neither of them are right for their roles, but that only adds a certain fascination - a totally earnest rendition would be dull and pretentious. Taylor lets rip here and it's a riot. The highlight is her dinner with Noel Coward playing a role originally meant for a woman. She is wearing an utterly outrageous kabuki outfit while Coward camps it up like there's no tomorrow, which is no doubt the film's theme.

The script is full of naff psychology, Taylor is shrill and unpleasant, Burton looks like he's on vacation. With this set-up, Losey hasn't the slightest chance of delivering his usual sophisticated, simmering subtlety, and maybe that was fortuitous - this is so godawful it's brilliant.

Where to begin in discussing the rococo lunacy of this ill-fated project? Would it be Tennessee Williams' overripe script ("My heart beats blood that is not my blood, but the blood of anonymous donors")? Elizabeth Taylor's screeching performance ("S*** on your mother!", she yells at a clumsy servant)? Richard Burton's near-catatonic recitation of the title, or his reading of Coleridge's "Xanadu" (which Taylor interrupts with a "HUH?")?

Director John Waters' favorite movie (he calls it "failed art" and, thus, "perfect") is a non-stop laugh riot, and since "Boom!" is not available on video, you owe it to yourself to catch it on screen on those rare opportunities when it is presented. (The LA County Museum of Art recently screened it as part of its celebration of the Noel Coward centenary -- despite the fact that Mr. Coward appears in it for about 10 minutes -- and it drew hearty laughs throughout its seemingly interminable running time.)

So loony, so overdone, so 1968, this one's a camp classic.

This is a film about the super-idle superrich and the people who participate in their deathwatch. The film is minimalist in nature having only a cast and a set that supports the deathwatch theme. It is probably a difficult movie to watch because it has absolutely nothing to say about life and living. William's script creates a Dante-ish abstraction of a death journey with incredibly tight and sharp dialogue that is matched by the director's use of space and time. The only problem I have with the production is the totally inept lighting direction. Here we have a Mediterranean sunwashed villa as the set of the final human drama with very little sense of light and heat.

The whole cast, what there is of it, are essentially giving solo performances. Even when they are in each other's arms they seem to be issuing soliloquies. This produces a very interesting effect of "who's on first". Everyone has such a good part with such good lines its hard to tell who to focus on. The real treat was the Taylor-Coward jousting at the dinner table. I've never seen Noel Coward before and this part seemed to be written for him. Taylor hated her part in this film but it appeared the director was allowing the cast to develop their parts themselves judging from the reading flubs that were left in the final cut.

I'm not going to say anything about the story. It should be seen by those who are looking for a Tennessee Williams interpretation of death at the top. Suffice it to say, in response to the waves crashing on the rocks below: "boom...the shock of each moment of still being alive".

I rate this a 5 out of 5. I would have rated it a 4 out of 5 if there was no close-up of Taylor's eyes.

How can a film be a 10 and a 1 at the same time? As serious art, Boom is a bomb. Yet, as a testimony, a very camp testimony, to the lives of Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Noel Coward, and Tennessee Williams, it is literally hysterical. As the Age of Aquarius was dawning on America, what were these pioneers of love, lust, decadence, and existential meaning to do? What is there to say, to do, to perform, two years after Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? 1968. the play Hair is delighting Broadway. The hippies have overtaken the Beats. Where can the stars go? To the Old World, Europe, Italy, Capris... The movie reveals their state of mind: preoccupation with death, the emptiness of wealth, sex, and luxury. As we watch this undeniably amusing costume melodrama, we can't help wondering just what Taylor and Burton's "real" life there in Sardinia must have been like. Did they throw tantrums when their whims went unsatisfied, or was it the opposite? I'll have to leave the answer to the biographers. But this film makes it impossible not to imagine them all there in Italy, trying with desperation NOT to be what they were portraying. That is what makes the film intriguing.

Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, and Noel Coward in a Joseph Losey film from a screenplay by Tennessee Williams with music by John Barry and cinematography by Douglas Slocombe. These credits alone should promise an award-caliber prestige film, but, unfortunately, the production of "Boom" was flawed from the beginning, and arguably one of Elizabeth Taylor's finest late-career performances was buried when the film bombed. The foundation of a film is its screenplay, and, based on one of Williams's lesser known, lesser quality plays, "The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore," the film is slow, often tedious, difficult to fully comprehend, and hard to sit through. Taylor and Burton were fresh from career highs with "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" and "The Taming of the Shrew," and their decision to appear in such an uncommercial endeavor is mystifying. "Boom" was among the first of these missteps that led to the couple's demise at the box office.

Flora "Sissy" Goforth is a lonely woman of immense wealth, who reigns supreme over her servants and a nurse upon a rocky Italian island; evidently quite ill, Sissy is demanding and often cruel to those around her. Enter Chris Flanders, a some-time poet with an address book whose pages list the names of deceased women; also known as the "Angel of Death," Flanders washes up on the shores of Sissy's island. For some bitchy spice, Flora's flamboyant friend, the Witch of Capri, arrives and is carried on the shoulders of a muscular servant up to the villa. Taylor is much too beautiful, young, and vibrant to be a dying recluse, although she is excellent in a part that echoes her Oscar-winning Martha. Burton is always worth watching, and his magnificent voice gives some of Williams's lines the poetic justice they deserve. Coward is Coward and is amusing in his few scenes.

The visuals are often striking; the Sardinian scenery is magnificent; and a white Mediterranean villa, perched atop a cliff, and filled with striking art works, makes a suitable backdrop for the actors who are garbed in outlandish Japanese-inspired costumes. However, Barry's music is intrusive and inappropriate at times, and, unfortunately, Joseph Losey's direction is self-consciously arty, and he uses much symbolism, even beyond Williams's obvious Goforth, Angel of Death, and Witch of Capri monikers. Taylor is always dressed in white, while Burton is wrapped in a black samurai kimono and often carries a sword. Burton references the film's title several times, which is taken from the boom of the waves against the rocks below the villa. "Boom" is generally slow, pretentious, ponderous, talky, and difficult to recommend to any non-fans of Taylor, Burton, or Williams. However, for Taylor-Burton devotees, the film is essential viewing, and they will not be disappointed by Taylor's performance or Burton's reading of William's lines.