An American Dream

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.