Falling from Grace

Rock stars that attempt to make the move from the stage to the big screen are often met with cynicism and outright condemnation. Just look at how the likes of David Bowie, Sting and especially Madonna have been regarded by critics. With the notable exception of Bowie, most of the criticism has been warranted as either their on-stage charisma failed to translate on-screen or they just delivered terrible performances. And so, when John Mellencamp made, not just his acting debut, but also directing, it was anticipated as merely the latest rock star hubris.

However, several critics were surprised at how good Falling from Grace (1992) was. Mellencamp was smart in that he didn’t stray far from his strengths by portraying a successful singer/songwriter who returns home to face his past. Known for making music that not only celebrates America’s heartland, but also examines its darker aspects, he wisely asked author Larry McMurtry to write the screenplay. His novels Horseman, Pass By and The Last Picture Show feature the kinds of characters that Mellencamp wrote about in many of his songs so the two of them seemed like a good fit. Unfortunately, Falling from Grace was barely released in theaters and tanked at the box office. It was quickly relegated to obscurity and regarded as yet another example of rock star folly, but deserves to be rediscovered.

Bud Parks (John Mellencamp) is a successful musician who returns home for his grandfather’s 80th birthday and on the surface he’s greeted with warm smiles and open arms, but old wounds are soon reopened. As with his songs, Mellencamp has a good eye for the details of life in Middle America with its small-towns populated by pickup trucks of everyday people struggling to get by. Bud’s sister Sally (Deirdre O’Connell) is upset because her husband Mitch (John Prine) drinks too much and is never around. Bud’s brother Parker (Brent Huff) is married to P.J. (Kay Lenz), the musician’s high school sweetheart. There’s still something between her and Bud, which surfaces upon his return, much to the chagrin of his wife Alice (Mariel Hemingway). The main source of strife stems from Bud’s father Speck (Claude Akins), a real piece of work whose past bad behavior casts a dark cloud over the entire family.

Falling from Grace is a character-driven film propelled by their behavior as opposed to the plot. Fortunately, McMurtry’s script is populated by well-developed characters with complicated relationships between them. As he demonstrated with books like The Last Picture Show, McMurtry has an innate understanding of how small-towns work and the secrets that exist in the people that populate them. Mellencamp came from this kind of town and so he is able to tap into the author’s sensibilities rather comfortably and confidently for he not only knows these people, he is one of them. As a result, we get a montage of picturesque small-town America and Bud interacting with various townsfolk. Where an outsider might look at these people condescendingly, Mellencamp has an affinity and affection for them.

On the acting front, Mellencamp wisely doesn’t stray from his comfort zone, playing a character close to himself and thanks to the music videos he’s done over the years, the singer is comfortable in front of the camera. Some reviewers saw Falling from Grace as a vanity project, but Mellencamp portrays Bud as a character full of flaws. One gets the impression that Bud left town to avoid turning out like his father and was successful, but returning has also brought back old habits. Alice even calls him on it, reminding him that he didn’t grow up until he left town and that if he stays home he’ll end up just like Speck. Mellencamp understands this push and pull dynamic all too well because he’s lived it. He gets and conveys the contradictions that exist within Bud, which is quite an accomplishment from a novice actor.

It helps that Mellencamp surrounds himself with veteran actors like Mariel Hemingway and Claude Akins, with the former playing Bud’s strong and smart wife, and the latter playing his monstrous father. Hemingway eschews the trophy wife stereotype by playing a woman that loves her husband, but refuses to live in a toxic environment like the one she finds herself upon returning with Bud to his hometown. Akins is very good as an abusive man who specializes in sleeping with married women and who is used to getting what he wants, not caring who he hurts in the process.

Originally, John Mellencamp was approached to star in films like the ones Elvis Presley did, but he wasn’t interested nor did he want to make his life story. He had always written songs about small-towns and was interested in making a film about one that would be an extension of his songwriting. Around 1982 or 1983, he got together with long-time friend and author Larry McMurtry at his home in Indiana. He stayed with Mellencamp for a week and during that time they talked about a story involving a successful Los Angeles country singer who returns to his small-town to rediscover his roots. They both agreed that they would not romanticize the subject as Mellencamp remarked, “I never liked putting rose-colored glasses on things.” McMurtry returned home and wrote the screenplay, which was then called The Kentuckian. The project bounced around four different studios over 10 years with an initial budget of $20 million, but none of them were willing to finance it unless Mellencamp sang in it and did not direct. He stuck to his guns and Columbia Pictures eventually agreed to back it, but only if he could do it for a lean $3 million. The singer agreed.

Prior to making the film, Mellencamp had come off a grueling tour for The Lonesome Jubilee album and contemplated retiring from touring. He took up oil painting as a hobby, which excited him more than making albums. Three years and one divorce later, he had finished another record and made Falling from Grace. In order to get the film made on a modest budget, Mellencamp called in a lot of favors from friends and acquaintances. Appearing in music videos helped Mellencamp act in front of the camera, but running a group of musicians helped prepare him for directing: “In rock ‘n’ roll you’ve got the roadies; in movies you’ve got all the technical people. Then there’s the talent – the guys in the band and the actors. In both jobs, you move these people around and direct them.”

Over that time, the film’s title had changed to Riding the Cage until principal photography when Larry Crane, one of Mellencamp’s bandmates, wrote a song called, “Falling from Grace.” Mellencamp liked it so much that he decided to name the film after it. Not surprisingly, music plays an important role in the film. In addition to Crane’s song, Nanci Griffith supplied one called “Cradle of the Interstate,” Janis Ian provided “Days Like These,” and Mellencamp wrote “Sweet Suzanne,” assembling a group to record it that consisted of himself, McMurtry’s son James, Joe Ely, Dwight Yoakam, and John Prine, who also wrote a song called, “All the Best” for the film.

Falling from Grace received mostly positive reviews. Roger Ebert gave the film four out of four stars and wrote, “Mellencamp turns out to have a real filmmaking gift. His film is perceptive and subtle, and doesn’t make the mistake of thinking that because something is real, it makes good fiction. The characters created here with McMurtry are three-dimensional and full realized.” Entertainment Weekly gave the film a “B” rating and Owen Gleiberman called it, “a movie of heart, subtlety, and dramatic zest.” In her review for The New York Times, Janet Maslin wrote, “Mr. Mellencamp does bring out the naturalness of his actors, and he has assembled a large and believable cast. Although his own performance is often passive, he is surrounded by characters who have a galvanizing effect.”

However, the Globe and Mail’s Jay Scott wrote, “This thorough embarrassment, the cinematic version of vanity publishing, takes 45 minutes to begin to be about anything … and ends up being about nothing at all – except Mellencamp’s desire to direct a movie starring himself.” USA Today gave it two out of four stars and Mike Clark wrote, “The result, sincere to a fault, plays like a collection of soul-bearing scenes that couldn’t be jury-rigged to dramatic effect.” Mellencamp blamed the film’s commercial failure on a lack of advertising from the studio and said, “It wasn’t something that could come out of the chute real strong and finish real quick, and make millions for the company … Ten years ago – 20 years, maybe – people found those little movies interesting. They just don’t anymore.”

Bud is used to the rarefied atmosphere of a celebrity where everyone tells him what he wants to hear and this makes him susceptible to bad habits. He’s grounded by the women in his life – his wife and his sister – that aren’t afraid to call him on his bad behavior, but it is ultimately up to him to change. Once he realizes this and then acts on it can he finally put the past behind him. Falling from Grace is a slice of Americana, albeit one that celebrates the postcard perfect façade as well as exposing the dirty secrets that exists underneath. This film is a potent example of the old adage that you can’t go home again.

SOURCES

Bream, Jon. “Renaissance Rocker.” Star Tribune. March 6, 1992.

Falling from Grace Production Notes 1992.

Graff, Gary. “Mellencamp Film Finished After 9 Years.” Baltimore Sun. November 20, 1991.

Harris, Paul A. “The World’s A Canvas for John Mellencamp.” St. Louis Post-Dispatch. June 22, 1992.

Kot, Greg. “Mellencamp Tries His Hand at Film.” Chicago Tribune. January 19, 1992.

Larsen, Dave. “There’s Still A Little Cougar in the Art and Artistry of John Mellencamp.” Vancouver Sun. February 26, 1992.

MacInnis, Craig. “No American Fool.” Toronto Star. February 16, 1992.

“Lady, I don’t have the time.”: Lee Marvin in The Killers

BLOGGER'S NOTE: This post is part of the Lee Marvin Blog-A-Thon being coordinated by Richard Harland Smith at Movie Morlocks.

“The current cycle of crime films is a vicarious way to participate in the crime wave without committing a crime. That feeling is latent within each of us. Everybody wants to get even with somebody.” – Lee Marvin in a January 1969 interview with Playboy magazine

The first feature-length adaptation of Ernest Hemingway's short story, "The Killers" was directed by Robert Siodmak in 1946 and featured a young Burt Lancaster and Ava Gardner as the two leads. It was a simple tale of a man who had hit rock bottom so badly that he allowed two hitmen to kill him. The doomed man was the focus of Siodmark’s film while, on the surface, it may seem that Don Siegel’s 1964 film version is all about doomed race car driver Johnny North. After all, he is given the bulk of The Killers’ screen time through flashbacks by the people that knew and loved him. However, Siegel drops in subtle visual clues throughout the film to suggest that the film is actually about the two professional killers as with an emphasis on the elder more experienced one, Charlie, played by Lee Marvin. It is interesting to note that the first and last image of the film is of Charlie – the first tip off that this is his story and not North’s.

A great, menacing soundtrack by John Williams plays over the opening credits and immediately establishes the tough tone of Siegel’s film. Charlie and Lee (Clu Gulager) are ultra-cool, well-dressed hitmen that have been hired to kill ex-race car driver Johnny North (John Cassavetes) — now working as a teacher at a school for the blind. Even though he’s warned in advance, North does nothing and just lets the two men kill him. Afterwards, Charlie is bothered by the job. Something just does not feel right. And so, he and Lee decide to track down the people that knew North and find out why their victim didn’t run when he had the chance.

Along with Point Blank (1967), The Killers is one of the finest performances of Marvin’s career. He exudes a calm, malevolent nature through the simplest gesture or look and has a deep, weathered voice that conveys a lifetime of experience. For example, in the opening scene when Charlie and Lee question the receptionist at the school for the blind about North, the younger hitman fidgets with the furniture, taking some flowers out of a vase, sniffing them while pouring the water out onto the desk. The veteran killer concentrates on the frightened woman. Marvin uses that great voice of his to get the information he wants, uttering the immortal line, “I’m sorry lady, we don’t have the time.” This won’t be the last time he says that line. This scene is simultaneously funny and filled with tension in the way that the two men carry themselves. And yet we never lose sight of the fact that Charlie and Lee are there for only one reason: to kill North. Nothing is going to get in their way.

After they kill North, we see a more relaxed, casual side of Charlie. He and Lee are traveling on a train. The younger hitman still has his tie, vest and sunglasses on while the elder killer looks much more relaxed with the top button of his dress shirt undone, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie and sunglasses removed. However, something is bothering Charlie. Why didn’t North try to make a run for it? Charlie and Lee got paid a lot of money for a simple hit. They also find out that North was part of a million dollar heist – where’s the money? They don’t know who hired them but Charlie wants to find out. He wants that million dollars as he tells his partner, “But me, I’m getting old. My hair’s turning gray, my feet are sore and I’m tired of running.” It this slight admission that he’s getting older that humanizes Charlie for a brief moment and provides motivation for their quest. Half of a million dollars would certainly allow Charlie to retire in style.

Charlie and Lee decide to track down the other accomplices in the heist. In order to do so, they find North’s mechanic (played with blubbery bluster by Claude Akins). As Charlie puts the pressure on him, he says once again, “We don’t have the time.” There is now a bit of urgency in Charlie’s methods. As he said earlier, he’s tired of running and it is this urgency that motivates him to track down the money.

However, Charlie and Lee hit a dead end with the mechanic and go out for dinner. An interesting thing happens during this scene. At first, a mildly depressed Charlie is unable to eat his “fine steak,” but after he gets an encouraging call and a tip on the whereabouts of another one of North’s accomplices, his mood changes instantly and he happily begins cutting into his food. Charlie has become reinvigorated and tells Lee that it just isn’t the money that he’s after: “But I gotta find out what makes a man decide not to run. Why all of the sudden he’d rather die?” (Incidentally, this question is what also convinced Marvin to do the film) However, it is this curiosity that will ultimately be Charlie’s undoing.

Marvin delivers an economic performance which helps convey the all-business attitude of his character. He belonged to a dying breed of actor that you just don’t see anymore. Most actors today, if they’re lucky, take a whole film to convey the kind of toughness that Marvin has naturally. “Tough guys” of today – Russell Crowe, Jason Statham, Clive Owen, et al – don’t even come close to someone like Marvin. You can just tell from the way he looks and acts that he would kill you if you ever got in his way. And this kind of hard living attitude carried over into the actor’s real life as he alluded to in a 1969 interview with Playboy magazine and in Don Siegel’s memoir, A Siegel Film. The director recalls how Marvin showed up drunk the first two days of principal photography. The actor became such a disruptive influence on the set that Siegel had to intervene. Instead of dressing him down in front of everybody, he talked to Marvin in private. According to Siegel, Marvin never showed up to work drunk again.

When Charlie and Lee finally confront the film’s heavy, Jack Browning, played by Ronald Reagan in an inspired bit of casting. It was the first and only time that he played a bad guy in a movie. Browning would also be his last film role before he went into politics. It’s great to see a casually intense actor like Marvin square off against a limited one like Reagan. Charlie paces back and forth across the room with a gun in his hand while Browning sits there stiff as a board playing dumb while he’s accused of ordering the hit on North. Marvin does an excellent job working the room and questioning Reagan’s character. He clearly owns this scene.

Charlie shows just how brutal he can be when he questioning North’s girlfriend, Sheila (Angie Dickinson), and doesn’t like her answers. So, he and Lee hang her out of a window high above the street, scaring the answers out of her. Sheila pleads for her life at the end of the film putting all of the blame on Jack who says nothing, grimly accepting his fate at the hands of the uncompromising Charlie. Even after Charlie shoots and kills Jack, Sheila continues to pathetically plead for her life and Charlie utters that immortal line, “Lady, I don’t have the time,” before shooting and killing her. He kills her last because it is revenge for North's death. Through flashbacks we learn that she not only double-crossed the doomed race car driver but she broke his heart too.

However, the damage to Charlie has been done. He has been mortally wounded by a sniper rifle at the hands of Jack earlier on. Charlie staggers out onto the front lawn of Jack’s house just as the police arrive. In a haze, he points his right hand like a gun and collapses dead, the precious money he spent the entire film pursuing fluttering all around him. Siegel then cuts to a long shot of Charlie’s dead body with the money lying in the heart of suburbia with its manicured green lawns and tract houses.

Siegel’s film takes place mostly during the day with a bright color scheme. This is due largely because the picture was originally intended to be a made-for-television movie (the first of its kind) but the harsh depiction of violence was too much for NBC and it was eventually released theatrically. The artificial T.V. look, with its extensive use of rear projection, gives The Killers an almost surreal kind of feel that works surprisingly well. Even though it is bright and colorful, the attitude of the film is pure, gritty film noir. Life is cheap and the film concludes on an uncompromisingly nihilistic note as Siegel ends things with a hell of a final image that underlines the very thing that resulted in everyone’s demise: money.