Eu Te Verei no Inferno, Querida

I watched this film for the first time today, having avoided it since its release. Mailer wrote the book, Janet Leigh is in it, so can it REALLY be as bad as all that? Oh gee . . . Eleanor Parker opens the "action" with a performance that beggars description. She acts demented, if not possessed. In the context of the film, it is impossible to believe she did not manifest bizarre behavior, such that suicide would be deemed unthinkable. Then there's the unexpected involvement of the mob boss as the film veers away from a police procedural into film noir. And then comes the whole religious prohibition against abortion and suicide, but by that point . . . Who cares? This is not one of those films which are so bad they are good. This is just bad.

It's unclear to me, with its TV cast, whether this was a B movie in theaters or a TV movie. It looks for all the world like a '60s TV film, produced by William Conrad, who did occasionally direct second features, notably "Brainstorm" starring Jeffrey Hunter. The timing at 1:45 suggests television.

"An American Dream" stars Stuart Whitman as a TV show host named Rojack who sits in front of rows of different telephones and answers questions. He's vocal about police corruption and the mob. He's separated from his wife (Eleanor Parker), the daughter of the 8th richest man in the world (Lloyd Nolan). She's a vicious drunk who's sleeping around. When Rojack visits her in her over-the-top penthouse, complete with gorgeous maid (Susan Denberg) who attempts to seduce him. His wife attacks him, and at one point, he nearly strangles her to death. Finally, after a lot of caterwauling, she ends up on the terrace railing and starts to slip. Rather than grab her, Rojack lets her go.

The police (including Barry Sullivan) can't prove whether it's an accident or murder, and Rojack takes up with an old girlfriend (Janet Leigh) who is now a mob-connected nightclub singer. Complications ensue.

Based on a novel by Norman Mailer, "An American Dream" is fun to watch because it's so '60s - in fact, it's reminiscent of early Columbo episodes. The furnishings, the color processing and dialogue like "I can't make the scene" are a hoot.

Janet Leigh, with a short Carnaby Street haircut, blue eyeshadow, dark eye makeup and light lipstick is the epitome of the '60s look. All she needed was white go-go boots. Strangely, the gown she wears in the nightclub scene (not the one picture on IMDb) is back in style, minus the cheesy material.

The high places - the wife's penthouse, Leigh's rooftop, suggest the heights and the only place you go once you get there. With none of the characters being particularly likable and an okay story, this is mainly something to watch if you were alive and cognizant in the '60s or just to get a look at some of the styles of the day. A lot flashier than Mad Men.

The film was ridiculous but that theme song will live forever. A Time for Love, by Johnny Mandel, has an unforgettable melody and Mandel's arrangement, playing over the opening credits, was the best part of the movie. Vidal Sassoon also gets special mention for Janet Leigh's chic hairstyle. The pacing and direction were so weak, I lost interest early on. I was hoping the movie would be good but it wasn't. The five stars go to Johnny Mandel. The rest of the movie deserves a big fat zero.

Stuart Whitman plays a hard-hitting television journalist intent on taking on the mob with a rich, shrewish wife, Eleanor Parker. After he helps his wife take a nosedive over the balcony of her penthouse suite, she hits the car of the mafioso. Then, this flurry of coincidences continues as he discovers that one of the Mafiosos is dating his long lost love, Janet Leigh. Geez.

The lurid, over-the-top first act of this film caught my interest, but I only stayed with it as a morbid curiosity. The dialog was horrible. Perhaps they lifted it from Mailer's book, but literary dialog often makes for bad screen dialog. Even worse, now one in this film behaves like a real human being would behave. Stuart knows the police believe he murdered his wife, so what does he do? The night he is released from questioning, he immediately hooks up with his ex-girlfriend and sleeps with her! (This, despite the fact that he knows he is being followed the police!) The mafia don literally threatens Stuart in a room of police officers. Janet Leigh stays with him despite him calling her a whore. His father-in-law doesn't really seem to care whether his beloved daughter was murdered or not as long as her death isn't labeled suicide so that he bury her in a Catholic cemetery. I could go on and on.

The film is absurd. It deserves the Mystery Science Theater 3000 treatment. In the end, the most interesting thing was trying to figure out what TV shows from the '60s and '70s the supporting players ended up on.

Eleanor Parker is an embarrassment to acting. Her ugly and obnoxious portrayal of rich and spoiled socialite Deborah Kelly Rojack who goads her war hero husband Stephen Richard Rojack (Stuart Whitman) into a bedroom tussle that lands them both overhanging their penthouse balcony until she falls to her annoying death was pitiful.

Talk about overacting and a crummy screenplay that includes a jilted lover and dance hall singer to the mob, a girl named Cherry McMahon (Janet Leigh) and the murdered daughter's wealthy father Barney Kelly (Lloyd Nolan) all making our war hero turned TV broadcaster Stephen Richard Rojack a target for everyone including the mob.

The film tries in vain to build suspense with a penetrating music score and continued non-stop hurried dialogue between Stuart Whitman and EVERYONE and ANYONE else who shares screen time with him. Well it just does not work.

A most forgettable film worthy of a 3 out of 10 rating and nothing more.