The Man With the Italian Tattoo

Williams and MagnaniJose here, to continue celebrating the centennial of American playwright and icon Tennessee Williams.

Williams grew up watching movies. He was one of the major playwrights who learned his craft, not through Shakespeare and Moliere but through the works of De Mille and Chaplin. This can easily be seen in the way his works lack the naturalism of "the theater" and their reality is more grounded on high drama, film noir and even slapstick. You can almost picture the young Williams sitting inside a dark movie theater, enthralled by the images projected on the screen (makes a case for why some of his characters are usually described as "larger than life" huh?).

During one of his many movie adventures, Tennessee spotted Anna Magnani. I like to assume it was Rome, Open City, but of course am probably wrong.

He became so obsessed with the Italian diva that he ended up writing an entire play just for her: The Rose Tattoo. When he approached her to play the leading role of Italian widow, Serafina Delle Rose, Magnani declined because she was unsure her limited English skills would do justice to the play. (Maureen Stapleton did the role on Broadway instead, winning the Tony in 1951.)

This didn't stop Tennessee and Anna from starting a friendship that would endure until their deaths. Williams described Magnani, 

 I never saw a more beautiful woman, with such big eyes and skin like Devonshire soap.  

The temperamental Magnani felt at home with Tennessee and when the time came to take The Rose Tattoo to the movies, she obliged. 

She took on the role of Serafina with such intensity and passion that she ended up taking home the Oscar for Best Actress. She didn't attend the ceremony because she thought she would lose, even after she'd won the critics' awards, the Golden Globe and BAFTA for the role.

The film might not be counted as one of the strongest Williams' adaptations (and the play itself is often regarded as a minor work) and in the years that followed, the movie earned a reputation for being full of stereotypes and even for discriminating against Italian immigrants.

Sure, the film is filled with symbols, bare chested lovers (Burt Lancaster mostly), weeping, screaming, gossiping neighbors, Virgin Marys (and nods to virginity), wine, loud laughing fits and thick accents but few back then realized that the film wasn't being touted as a portal into reality. It was an interpretation of the immigrant experience by someone whose knowledge consisted mostly of neorealist films.

More than this, the movie was a tribute to Anna Magnani. Not the Magnani Williams came to know later, but the Magnani who embodied a nation in the aftermath of WWII. The one Williams had met at the movies.

The Rose Tattoo therefore, is less about the characters than about what inspired their creation. The play is filled with nods to Williams' own life and the motifs that would define his work (sex, passion, humid settings, dead men...) The very tattoo in the title can mean much more than the ideas associated with the flower (love for example) since Rose was the name of Tennessee Williams' favorite sister. I'm sure she accompanied him to see Magnani's films on many occassions... 

Therefore, we understand that the role of Williams in the play is that of the tattoo artist, imprinting precious memories on the skin of his characters and his audience. But above all, imprinting them onto his own creative skin. Some works of art are misunderstood because the are too personal and deciphering their meaning only leads to migraines and shouts of "pretentious".

The Rose Tattoo would be one of these works; so private, so intimate; that we carry them around with us all the time, waiting only for a casual slip of the sleeve, a careless morning after, an accidental movement, to share them with others who might be fascinated, disgusted or even indifferent to their nature. 

Tennessee 100: Night of the Iguana

JA from MNPP here, continuing Tennessee Williams Centennial Week with a look at John Huston's 1963 film The Night of the Iguana. I chose Iguana because it's one of the few adaptations of Williams' work that I hadn't seen already, and because IMDb's summary made it sound torrid in the best Williams way. Defrocked priests and wanton teen girls and sapphic spinsters all flitting about a Mexican beach cut off from civilization? Yes please.

But truth be told, I found the film a little wanting, not wanton. Richard Burton's in full bluster, screaming and sloshing about as the drunken ex-man-of-the-cloth Shannon, Deborah Kerr barely registers as the sexless traveling painter he's too big a mess to end up with, and not a whole lot seems to gel.

 

I was fond of Grayson Hall as the lesbian intent upon Shannon's destruction (she was nominated for an Oscar, but lost to Lila Kedrova in Zorba the Greek), and kind of loved Ava Gardner as Maxine, the owner of the motel where they all end up marooned who keeps a couple of cabana boys for herself...

... but then, she was speaking my language. Bette Davis played the role of Maxine in the original staging of the play for four months before, according to her, her co-stars undercut her and she left the production and was replaced by Shelley Winters. I can picture both of them doing exquisite work in the role, but I really did like Ava Gardner here. (And scanning through Gardner's filmography I realize this is the first time I've ever seen her in anything!)

Iguana was shot in the Fall of 1962, right at epicenter of the tabloid insanity over the affair between Burton and Elizabeth Taylor - they'd just worked (among other things) together on Cleopatra - and Taylor actually accompanied Burton on the shoot in Puerto Vallarta, which led to all kinds of scrutiny upon the set. From Wikipedia comes this fun fact:

"By March 1964, months before the film's release, gossip about the film's production became the subject of a public parody when Huston received an Writers' Guild of America award for advancing "the literature of the motion picture through the years"; at a dinner where the award was presented, Allan Sherman performed a song, to the tune of "Streets of Laredo", with lyrics that included "They were down there to film The Night of the Iguana / With a star-studded cast and a technical crew. / They did things at night midst the flora and fauna / That no self-respecting iguana would do."

As you can tell, the stories surrounding the production are more interesting to me than the movie itself now. Perhaps the mega-quake that was Burton-Taylor was too strong a distraction to gel together an entirely satisfying, coherent film. Still there's some gorgeous black-and-white photography to be had...

And it did walk away with an Oscar for Best Costume Design (B&W), beating Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte and Edith Head for A House is Not a Home, so in summation let's take a look at a couple of those. It's refreshing to see an example of a non-period film winning a prize for its costumes, isn't it?

 

Tennessee 100: "The Fugitive Kind"

Michael C. here from Serious Film to join in the Tennessee Williams festivities. When I picked a film to write about I jumped at The Fugitive Kind because

A) I'm a big Sidney Lumet fan and
B) I was curious how a second Brando/Williams collaboration could fly so far below my radar. I got my answer and then some.

The Fugitive Kind (1960) directed by Sidney Lumet based on Tennessee Williams’ play Orpheus Descending is one of the most fascinating messes I’ve ever seen. There is no getting around the fact that it just doesn’t work, yet I think I’d recommend it more readily than a lot of successful movies I’ve seen. Of all its flaws being dull is not one of them.

Williams writing was as inescapable in the fifties as Jane Austen’s was in the nineties. After burning through his major works Hollywood decided to take one of his rare unsuccessful productions and give it the full feature length treatment. Thus Opheus Descending, the story of a musician named Snakeskin with a questionable past who strikes up a relationship with a trapped middle-aged woman while lying low in a tiny southern town, hit the big screen under the title The Fugitive Kind.

This film represents Brando’s return to Tennessee Williams for the first and only time following his iconic work as Stanley Kowalski, and Anna Magnani’s second Williams project after winning the Best Actress Oscar for the movie of his play The Rose Tattoo. This was Sidney Lumet’s first encounter with Tennessee but his success with the adaptation of Broadway’s 12 Angry Men made him a natural choice. With such a collection of talent it can leave one wondering why so few still talk about The Fugitive Kind.

Brando and Magnani: Tennessee Williams Sophomore Slump

Until one actually watches the movie that is.

Click to read more ...

Tennessee 100: "Suddenly Last Summer"

Robert A. here (of Distant Relatives). When Nathaniel asked us to pick a Tennessee Williams based film and write about it, my first instinct was the pick something I’d seen again and again and thus could write with authority. Unfortunately all of those films were quickly scooped up and I thought, why not take the opportunity to explore one I’d always wanted to see but hadn’t gotten around to. Why did I want to see Suddenly, Last Summer?

Well...

Of course, Tennessee Williams films are often saturated in dripping sexuality.

Cue the crotchety old man in me saying “In my day, when films couldn’t show two people hopping in the sack, they were sexier.”  But in the case of Williams, it’s true. Consider shirtless desperate Marlon Brando shouting out for his lover in Streetcar or Eli Wallach seducing Carrol Baker in Baby Doll. This wasn’t every day sexuality winkingly eluded to to get past the censors. This was dangerous stuff.

Which finally brings me to Suddenly, Last Summer which stars Montgomery Clift as a psychiatrist hired by Katharine Hepburn to analyze, diagnose (and lobotomize) Elizabeth Taylor who has been hopelessly manic since witnessing the sudden death of her cousin Sebastian (Hepburn’s loving son) "last summer".

death haunts those conversations about last summer.

Made just a year after Cat on a Hot Tin Roof had every suggestion of Brick’s homosexuality purged, and knowing writer Gore Vidal claimed the studios made him do much of the same I went in expecting no less. Perhaps the innocence of the 50’s was still in full swing but from Taylor’s blunt declaration that Sebastian used she and his mother as “decoys” to attract desperate men, to the production design which covered Sebastian’s study with pictures and sculptures of naked men, the “undertones” seemed more like overtones.

To be gay would be shocking enough for audiences in 1959. But Sebastian’s predatory nature and the details of his grizzly murder add up to a kind of vampire sexuality where characters are at the complete whims of their urges, easily seduced, uncontrollably impassioned, set in a world explicitly characterized as one where the chaos of nature has free reign and we’re all victims in the making waiting to be devoured. My introduction to Suddenly, Last Summer was also my initiation into the most shocking of Tennessee Williams.

not the kind of action Sebastian was looking for

Suddenly Last Summer is actually a one-act play and, as such was not a Broadway outing for Tennessee in it's original run, double billed with another one-act. The film version won 3 Oscar nominations (art direction and a double Best Actress for Taylor and Hepburn. They lost to Simone Signoret in Room at the Top) There are no other feature film versions though there was a televised BBC production in the 90s with Maggie Smith (Emmy nominated), Rob Lowe, Richard E Grant and Natasha Richardson. 

Tennessee 100: "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" (1958)

Robert G from Sketchy Details here to discuss the real star of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof for this Tennessee Williams Centennial Week. The beauty of the fifties screen adaptation of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is not in the quality of the performances, set design, or cinematography. It comes from the tightly-wound dialog and plot structure adapted from Tennessee Williams' stage play.

Elizabeth Taylor and a No Neck Monster

For this one-day tale of adults acting as foolish as children, the true nature of the story is revealed when the characters pull away from the lines they learned by heart. The dialog is a mask used by the characters to hide their true feelings about everyone else. Even something as ridiculous as Maggie's (Oscar nominated Elizabeth Taylor) constant put-downs of the "no-neck monsters" is nothing but an act of misdirection.

Brick has major emotional hurdles to leap.Every major character in the film, regardless of age, is no more mature than the parade of children singing and dancing throughout the estate. The adults fire off sharp words at each other to draw attention away from their own insecurities. They all play into the roles defined for them by the family. If Brick (Oscar nominated Paul Newman) can't be the football star he once was, he will be the most dedicated alcoholic the family has ever gossiped about. The same goes for Big Daddy (Burl Ives) as the no-nonsense patriarch of an empire, Big Momma (Judith Anderson) as the unyielding caregiver, and even Mae and Maggie as the manipulative money-hungry wives. Talking about the roles they're playing only encourages each of them to act out the roles with more energy and commitment.

It is only when the constant talk of "Big Daddy," "cats," and "Skipper" gives way to the overbearing discussion of "mendacity" that the film comes into focus. Brick isn't the only person trying to escape the lies of the Pollitt Empire; they all are. Every single member of the family is sick of the roles, game play, and war of kind facades with bitter tongues. They don't want to play into it but they don't know how to escape it. Even the doctor plays into the game of lies when he tells everyone except for Big Momma and Big Daddy that Big Daddy's dying from cancer.

The constant repetition in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is an effective device: Brick always plays with his glass in a certain way, Maggie wipes her hands and arms, Mae (Madeleine Sherwood) always conducts the children's songs in the same way, Big Daddy dismisses everyone with the same tone and arm wave. The repeated discussions of child rearing, marriage, Big Daddy's health, and the titular cat metaphor are just extra tools used to keep each member of the family in their respective role.

These words and actions are choreographed to create an artificial sense of normalcy that will eventually give way to more believable mannerisms, speaking patterns, and interactions when the lies stop.

The only thing that can break the pattern is to discuss the environment of lies itself: mendacity. Brick blames it for his drinking, but Big Daddy won't accept that as an answer because Brick is expected to play the role of a drunk. One by one, the lies that support the clan are torn apart until only the true nature of each character is left standing. There is no more glass spinning or arm waving; there is only a family transitioning into better fitting roles.


Tennessee Williams Cat on a Hot Tin Roof won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. It lost the Tony Award to The Diary of Anne Frank in 1956. The film version was nominated for 6 Oscars losing Best Picture to Gigi. Burl Ives won the Supporting Actor that year but for The Big Country instead. "Big Daddy" surely had something to do with that.