Lessons of Time

- or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and…-

Background for you young ‘uns:  In the 1970s (yes, we had electricity then), a new concept in theatrical motion picture viewing surfaced.  It was the neighborhood mini-cinema complex.  As an alternative to the 800 seat, downtown mega-movie houses we had grown up with, these were small (100 seats?) and located in suburban mini-malls.  Quite often they would offer two or three screens.  This concept was an attempt to draw back the steadily declining number of cinema patrons that had been lost to TV by interjecting convenience into the equation.  But no amount of convenience could overcome the poor quality of Hollywood product and the plan failed.  As a result, those that could, survived for a while by running second and third release movies at very discounted ticket prices.  Being young and broke and thoroughly void of social skills, I was a frequent patron.

One particular Sunday afternoon, I was cruising the neighborhood of Pacific Beach with my shooting partner Frank.  I happened to notice as we approached the marquis sign of just such a mini-theater, that they were offering a double feature: Candy, a cheesy sex-romp featuring a winsome blonde with a sprinkling of major Hollywood actors in cameo roles; and Dr. Strangelove, the now classic Stanley Kubrick dark comedy about Armageddon.  Even though I had seen both movies, for a buck a seat it seemed like a good way to kill a few hours.  Frank, as always, was agreeable, especially if there was some chance of a glimpse of skin; Candy’s, not Dr. Strangelove’s.

Remind you of anyone you might know, Tink?

My experience with Candy was rather recent and I was happy to revisit the sweetly salacious comedy that featured the likes of Walter Matthau, James Coburn and Ringo Starr.  It had been years since my one and only viewing of Dr. Strangelove (on TV, no less) and I recalled that my decision to watch it was based on the TV Guide’s describing the movie as a comedy and starring Peter Sellers.  I vaguely remember having been disappointed, at thirteen years of age, that it was not more like The Pink Panther!

Oh what a difference seven or eight years makes.  First, Dr. Strangelove was filmed in glorious 70mm black and white.  I cannot put into words the difference compared to viewing it as TV broadcast replete with commercial interruptions.  I had missed two-thirds of the movie due to environmental, technical deficiencies.   And, at the age of thirteen I had no life basis for understanding the psycho-sexual content.

Peter Sellers was the selling point of this movie because he was exploding into the public consciousness at that time (1964) and was the only actor I recognized at my first viewing circa 1968.  And deservedly, he was nominated for an Oscar for best performance by an actor in a leading role; although, as he played three characters I’m not sure for which he was nominated.

Stanley Kubrick, director, was nominated in that category and the film was nominated for best picture; quite a feat on its own right; but doubly so when you consider how off-mainstream political thought this movie was when released.

Second: As good as the script and the direction are, it is the performance of the supporting cast that really makes this movie a treasure.  Though he became a Hollywood icon with his performance in Patton (1970), in 1964 George C. Scott soared as General “Buck” Turgidson, struggling to strike a balance between his obligations to his mistress and heading off total nuclear annihilation. “Sir, you can’t let him in here.  He’ll see everything.  He’ll see the big board!”

Keenan Wynn marvelously underplays the role of Col. “Bat” Guano, an Army Ranger dedicated to preserving the right to private property and above all defending the capitalist system. “Okay. I’m gonna get your money for ya. But if you don’t get the President of the United States on that phone, you know what’s gonna happen to you?  You’re gonna have to answer to the Coca-Cola Company!”

Perennial side-kick, Slim Pickens, is undoubtedly the crowd favorite for his portrayal of Maj. “King Kong”, the pilot of a B-52 destined to overcome all available American and Soviet attempts at preservation of the human race and deliver the fateful and fatal coup de grass… in person.  “Shoot! A fella could have a pretty good weekend in Vegas with all that stuff.”

But undoubtedly, the best performance is turned in by Sterling Hayden as the monastic General Jack Ripper, commander of the air wing who in his delusional state has launched a pre-emptive bomber attack against the Soviet Union in hopes of saving the water supply and the American way of life with it.  “I, uh… I do not avoid women, Mandrake.  But I… I do deny them my essence.”

If you have seen this film, you are chuckling as you remember other scenes and outrageous lines.  On the other hand, if you have not seen it, now you have been educated.  Get a copy of Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, and join the ranks of the enlightened.