User reviews

A Norman Mailer novel gets filmed as if it's a Harold Robbins story. I knew I was in for a campy treat from the opening scenes, featuring Eleanor Parker as the rich, alcoholic harpy Deborah, rolling naked on silk sheets (the camera very careful not to show any naughty bits), demanding whiskey refills from her hunky bed partner with impudent hand gestures and burning his hand with a cigarette when he tries to initiate sex. "Later!" she barks, eyes glued to the TV, watching her husband Rojack (Stuart Whitman), the host of a controversial call-in show. Parker's high-rise wallow is so arresting that Rojack's accusations that the LAPD has a protection deal with a notorious Mafia kingpin hardly register. The action ramps up when Rojack visits his estranged wife. Parker, also in the notorious show biz howler "The Oscar" the same year this was released, goes for broke and over the top, hurling cutting insults and highballs at her square-jawed husband. As Rojack, Whitman stoically endures Deborah's rant until she pantomimes castrating him, and then all hell breaks loose. Rojack finally walks out, but barely makes it to the front door before he's confronted by Deborah's sexy maid (Susan Denberg), wrapped only in a towel but willing to drop it for her boss's husband. Rojack sidesteps the seduction, but in this movie that's actually the wrong decision. Returning to his wife's bedroom for his wallet, another mêlée ensues that ends with Deborah falling off the penthouse terrace, where she's immediately run over by a limo transporting the very same Mafia kingpin Rojack accused of being in bed—figuratively, of course—with the police.

Once Parker's out of the picture "An American Dream" becomes a little less interesting, though a few actors try to match her scenery chewing, J.D. Cannon as a hot-tempered cop chief among them. Janet Leigh as Cherry McMahon, Rojack's former flame prior to his marrying Deborah and now a singer/Mafia moll, does a lot of glaring and glowering. As many other reviewers have pointed out, this often looks like a TV movie, with much of the action happening in flatly lit, claustrophobic sets (though lushly photographed). As tacky as this movie is, the novel's story actually has been sanitized for the protection of 1966 audiences. Mailer's misogyny—the one quality he shared with hack Robbins—is left well intact, however. In "An American Dream," women are just bitches and/or hos.

Though not quite in the same league as other trash-tastic movies of the 1960s, fans of "The Carpetbaggers," "Valley of the Dolls," or the aforementioned "The Oscar," will want to be sure to catch "An American Dream." Fans of Norman Mailer are best advised to skip it.

This has every appearance of a mid-1960s contemporary television drama, filmed on 1960s television studio sets, using 1960s television lighting, using 1960s television music, with overskilled movie actors for the roles they're given. I expect an epilogue announcing "this is a quinn-martin production." t Janet Leigh's 1940 noir moll dialogue is ludicrous almost to the point of spoof. Eleanor Parker's portrayal is grotesque, indulgent, and minimally watchable. There are some interesting police procedural tidbits, almost lifted from Dragnet. J.D. Cannon is great as a Joe Friday with anger issues.

The two stars, Whitman and Leigh, seemed to take a mini-vacation from acting. They're both easy to watch, but seem distracted or tired or like they're donating their time for free. I don't know what the norman mailer novel was like, but I hope to god it wasn't like this movie.

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.

How did Warner Brothers and producer William Conrad get such a fine "A" cast for this sudser? Keep in mind, Janet Leigh and Eleanor Parker were not that long off their "A" list roles in "Harper" and "The Sound of Music," respectively. Keep in mind that Stuart Whitman had just come off "Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines." This is the worst written movie based upon a book by a fine novelist (Norman Mailer) I've seen, except, perhaps, for "Mr. Budwing" (written by Evan Hunter). Interestingly, both films have "A" list actors and both were released in 1966. Perhaps more unfortunate is the lack of chemistry between Whitman and Janet Leigh. In order for this tripe to even begin to work requires a smoldering passion between the leads. Further, Leigh looks at least 10 years older than her 39 years, and she is playing a 29 year old(!). Parker looks more glamorous (and younger, at 44) as the drugged-out wife. Too bad, producer William Conrad didn't hire Israeli actress Ina Balin for the Leigh role. Balin was the right age and provided considerable sexual tension with Whitman in "The Commancheros".

Mailer's storyline is so stupidly contrived it is impossible to believe. If Mailer's intent was cynicism to the point of nihilism, he only succeeded by making all the characters behave as idiots.

The only really worthwhile elements of the film are the song (Oscar nominated) and the performances of Eleanor Parker and Lloyd Nolan (as Parker's father). They bring luster, albeit briefly to a movie more akin to a cow pie.

I give "An American Dream" a "3".

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.

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.

Watching this on TCM. I've taken to the channel as a window on style and design from eras past. Janet Leigh was a total fashion plate throughout the movie. Got a kick out of seeing George Takei pre-Star Trek. This one is rich with mid-century elements from the architecture...to the lush interiors...to the gorgeous mid 60s automobiles. Janet's 1964 Thunderbird and the mobster's Lincoln Continental along with the Mercury Monterey was literally all I watched it for. Elinore Parker delivers an over-the-top fight scene in the early going...and I found myself thinking: "Go easy on the interior...try not to make a mess of the place on the way to the ledge".

First of all, American mafioso are not even permitted to wear MUSTACHES, let alone full beards. Who's in charge of authenticity around here? Anyway, movie starts out dull, and remains that way till closing credits. Only fun was when cops were screaming at Whitman's character. I saw this movie about four hours ago, and forgotten virtually everything about it. I swear, this could not have made a single episode of "Mannix" or "Columbo" back in the day. I've never felt more cheated out of ninety minutes in my life. Absolute crap, with no emotion whatsoever, start to finish. Was this movie released, or did it ESCAPE?

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.

War hero Stephen Richard Rojack (Stuart Whitman) is a call-in TV show host. He's on a rampage against mob boss Ganucci. He's separated from his violent drunk wife. She comes at him with a bottle and he almost chokes her. She falls off the balcony to her death. Only the sexy maid Ruta is in the apartment and he is taken in by the police. It just so happens that Uncle Ganucci's car run over the wife after her fall. Rojack's former lover Cherry McMahon (Janet Leigh) happens to be in the car also.

I'm mostly interested in this for being a Norman Mailer novel. It starts with an interesting premise until the story conveniently has Ganucci's car run over the body. It's a bad contrivance that takes me out of the movie. This could have been a tense crime drama. Instead, it's stuck in melodrama. Even the acting is stuck. There is a lack of action after the incident. Even the ledge scenes lack the intensity of normal vertigo. There are loads of turns but non of it is compelling. It's hard to care about Rojack's life or his dilemma.

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.

Starting to watch this movie, which someone uploaded to YouTube, I was mightily impressed with Elinore Parker's acting chops, as she goes full throtle, yet is believable, as a sadistic, masocistic drunk. One more proof that she was one of the best and most versitile actresses of her era. She also looks impressively younger than her forty something age. Unfortunately, she's only in the first 10 minutes of the movie, and after that it's pretty awful.

I can't compete writing-wise with several of the funny, creative, and dead on IMDB reviews of the film, so I'm not going to try.

I'll just note that the Johnny Mandel title song is a classic, beautiful and moving.

This was just bad. Its production values look like 1960s TV. Stuart Whitman was no leading man and Janet Leigh was past her shelf life as an innocuous leading lady.

However, Eleanor Parker is eye poppingly beotchy in her supporting role. Your jaw will pop open in shock at what she says and does and then you will burst out laughing.