La pelle brucia

Adam Johnson (Sammy Davis Jr.) is a troubled self-destructive famous jazz musician. He drinks too much. He is too bitter after some personal tragedy. His best friend Nelson Davis (Ossie Davis) has brought over civil rights activist Claudia Ferguson (Cicely Tyson) and her grandfather Willie Ferguson (Louis Armstrong). At first, Adam is brutal with his guests which he regrets. Sometimes, he teaches and mentors Vincent (Frank Sinatra Jr.). His manager Manny (Peter Lawford) wants him to shut up and play.

This is an interesting indie. At least, it looks indie. There is a mix of musicians and professional actors, both do well. It is a bit of a mess cinematically. They are definitely trying a lot especially Sammy. The music is great. More than anything, this movie needs to rein in the rambling story.

Great late Kennedy/early LBJ urban look to this film. A lot of it is set inside The Great Hipster Jazz Club with lots of Jackie hair do's on the gals and narrow black ties and glasses on the guys (horn rims for the Ofays and shades for the Brothers). You expect to see Lei Roi Jones, before he became Amiri Baraka, flagging down a cocktail waitress and Capote holding forth to Jill St. John (or vice versa). And there are three very good musical interludes featuring Satch, Mel and Sammy, respectively. Also, it's good to see Cicely Tyson just before she hit it big as well as Satch playing a character at least somewhat removed from himself.

Otherwise, this thing's a bore with endless, repetitive scenes of the title character either about to fall apart, falling apart or feeling guilty after falling apart, and Davis' performance, to put it at its kindest, is more energetic than nuanced. And Les and Tina Pine's dialogue is strictly from Squaresville, as they would have Adam say. C plus.

PS...Peter Lawford was forty two when this movie was made and easily looks sixty two. Ah, the vagaries of The Pack!

The good:

• The great performance from Sammy Davis, who has such screen presence and exudes cool. Cicely Tyson (RIP!) is good in this too.

• The jazz soundtrack, with performances from Louis Armstrong and Mel Torme, who were both a treat to see.

• The spotlight on racism in society and in the police force, and in a minor key, allusions to the tension between passive nonviolence and fighting back in reaction to it.

The bad:

• Davis's character is unlikeable. He's been traumatized but is a complete jerk to everyone around him, and I think we're meant to have the same reaction as the other characters, which is to forgive him because he's so talented.

• The plot is melodramatic and lacks creative focus. It's too bad it kept going back to Davis imploding instead of other more interesting things.

The ugly:

• The treatment of Tyson's character. I hated how she succumbed to Davis after he forces himself on her, failing the first time and succeeding the second (just keep assaulting 'em fellas, and they'll give in). She forgives his bad behavior like a saint, and in one nausea-inducing moment, blames herself for having softened him too much by telling him to behave better. Ugh.

I am floored that I have never seen this film before...much less ever heard of it! And now I am hooked until the end. The cast, the era, the theme, the music and even the opening is WORTH the price of admission on Netflix!

Sammy Davis Jr. does well with a self-destructive, unlikable role, that of a jazz trumpet player (with the ridiculously Anglo-ized name of Adam Johnson) who finds true love for the first time with a virginal bleeding heart: a sensible civil rights activist who wants to reform the hot-headed musician of his hard liquor and hard-living. Adam, carrying around a multitude of shoulder-chips, lashes out at everybody and never seems to land on his feet; after burning all his bridges, he finds himself at the end of his professional rope--yet the faithful are still hopeful he can make a comeback. Davis mimes the trumpet well enough, but this character is tough to take (if he's not humiliating himself, he's hurting all his loved ones). Much better are Ossie Davis as a friend with a strong center and endless patience, as well as love-interest Cicely Tyson (her sparkling smile is particularly ingratiating, though she has a speech late in the movie about robbing Davis of his manhood that plays all wrong). Mel Tormé stops the show with a terrific rendition of "All That Jazz", while the superb soundtrack and Jack Priestley's gleaming cinematography are first-rate throughout. Director Leo Penn is best at the smaller bits of business; the action happening just left of center is far more interesting than the film's big dramatic moments, which tend to run away from Penn. Worse, the montage-heavy final act is movie-shorthand for the Last Hurrah, a worn-out cliché even in 1966. ** from ****