La Vallée des poupées

The film adaptation of Valley of the Dolls is stupid, empty, overly melodramatic...and a lot of fun!

Jacqueline Susann's 1966 novel is my all-time favorite, and her gritty, glossy pulp material was severely diluted for the big screen. That is the main problem. Too many punches are pulled, the characters are sweetened up, and a completely ridiculous happy ending (which Jackie hated) is substituted for the book's bleak, satisfying conclusion. Mark Robson's film has none of the spirit of its basis.

With that out of the way, the movie is very enjoyable for what it is: An unintentional laugh riot. The dialogue is hilarious and eminently quotable--"Boobies, boobies, boobies! Nothin' but boobies! Who needs 'em? I never had any! Didn't hurt me none!" Most of the supposedly "dramatic" and "touching" scenes are a scream. Patty Duke is priceless as the speech-slurring, tantrum-throwing, self-destructive Neely O'Hara. Watch her flailing around during the "It's Impossible" number; notice the embarrassing position of her beads. Barbara Parkins seems to have taken one Seconal too many before shooting, as she appears to be completely anesthetized. Susan Hayward gets to bellow a lot, fight with Duke, and get her wig thrown into a toilet in the most famous scene. The only one who comes off really well is Sharon Tate, a talent who never got the attention she deserved in life. Hers are the only genuinely affecting moments in the film, especially her final scene.

The candy-colored photography is good, beautifully capturing the glossy red capsules taken at every turn. The hair and fashions are glamorous--and so is the hairspray can! Dionne Warwick sings the beautiful theme, and the rest of the songs are enjoyably silly. I have the soundtrack LP--TWO copies! In conclusion, the ultimate camp classic! I'm off to take another doll now....

This movie truly is badly done and campy. However, there is one good reason to watch it: Sharon Tate. She was truly one of the screen's all time beauties (if you disagree at first, name someone prettier =)

She is not a bad actress either and did her best with the forced, artificial dialog. Overall the movie has virtually no suspense or drama or tension it just chugs along predictably with one badly written scene after another. Then all of sudden Wham! Sharon appears and you stop caring about the worthless "plot" and watch her. She steals all her scenes and makes the other actresses invisible.

All in all its a bittersweet vehicle for an extraordinarily lovely woman who met a very violent and tragic end.

This movie is the greatest example of 'camp' that Hollywood ever produced. It is hysterical, stupid and lame, but you cannot take your eyes off the screen for a second. The casting is questionable (Patty Duke cannot sing, Parkins cannot do drama and I cannot badmouth Tate, but...), but the greatest legacy is Susan Hayward as Helen Lawson, the biggest bitch in the world. No one spits out a swear word or an insult like Hayward!

This is it, kiddies, the Grande Dame of camp classics. The sheer ineptitude of everyone involved is staggering. Mark Robson directs without a trace of nuance or subtlety; Patty Duke and Susan Hayward come off as boozy drag queens; Sharon Tate and Barbara Parkins look and act as if they had taken one downer too many; Dory and Andre Previn's musical numbers are as funny as those in "The Operetta"--the "I Love Lucy" episode which parodied musical theater; Billy Travilla concocts some of the most glamorously god-awful gowns ever seen; and Kenneth (of Hairstyles by Kenneth, of course) must be personally responsible for the hole in the ozone layer, so lacquered, teased and towering are his creations. But, you know what? IT ALL WORKS. The source material--Jacqueline Susann's groundbreaking, scandalous novel--begs for sledgehammer direction, overripe acting and eyepopping fashions. Certainly, subtlety was not a hallmark of Jackie's work. If anything, VOTD should have been even MORE over-the-top. Due to restrictions of the time, the film is sadly devoid of such juicy plotlines as Jennifer's lesbian affair, Tony's preference for - ahem - rear-entry intercourse, and Neely walking in on Ted Casablanca's tryst with another man. What we have, instead, is an endlessly entertaining piece of cinematic trash that is nowhere near as racy as it would like us to believe; and that's part of its twisted charm. Because it fails on so many levels--as true art, as explicitly sexual titillation, or as a faithful adaptation of a popular book--it's downright inspiring that it comes together so brilliantly. VOTD's ultimate triumph is that, despite its incredible waste of talent, time and money, 30 years later, we're still watching.

Viewers who like this film like it mostly because it is such a campy mess. Its main entertainment value lies in the unintended humor that results from cinematic incompetence. The main problem is the screen story.

For one thing, the character arc of Neely O'Hara (Patty Duke) is totally not credible. She's a singer who can't sing. Yet, she inexplicably goes from rags to riches on her singing ability alone. In the process, her personality morphs from sweet young thing to jaded and embittered has-been who barks and scowls at everything and everyone. Pills or no pills, her transformation does not ring true.

In addition, the film's poor plotting renders a story that is at times muddled. The plot darts and flits from one girl to the next; it spurts and sputters in a disconnected sort of way, without viable transitions. And some scenes are included evidently just to convey story exposition. A big part of the on screen time for the Jennifer character (Sharon Tate), for example, consists of three separate, and awkward, phone conversations with her mother. Other methods of explaining detail and advancing the plot would have worked better.

And the film's dialogue is campy, simply because it contains almost no subtext. It's so in-your-face, so lacking in subtlety, that some of it just reeks of junior high school theatrics.

Aside from the screen story, the overall acting is not very good. Patty Duke, in particular, is just downright awful. She shouts, she screams, she exaggerates her facial expressions in ways that are totally out of sync with the dialogue and the plot.

And the film's musical numbers are something else, especially when Susan Hayward attempts to lip sync a ghastly song called "I'll Plant My Own Tree", surrounded on stage by brightly colored fake leaves that whirl around her. The sequence is made even more ludicrous because the audience cheers wildly at the awful performance.

I guess I can't really fault the visuals, since bright colors were so trendy in the 1960s. Still, the visuals do make the film look dated. Those garish costumes and hairdos, that garish makeup, and that garish decor provide just one more reason to sneer at the film.

The only thing worthwhile here is the appearance of lovely Sharon Tate. And the film's sad theme song is professionally done. Otherwise, apart from its unintended humor, "Valley Of The Dolls" is suitable mainly as a lesson for aspiring filmmakers. In a book on film-making, this film could head the chapter: "Don't Let This Happen To You".