Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mamma's Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feelin' So Sad

Eccentric, maniacal widow and her child-like grown son travel with her husband--dead for years in his coffin, and stuffed!--to a Jamaican resort; she has also brought along hungry piranha, the son's stamp collection, rare coins and ("not smart") Venus Flytraps. Director Richard Quine and producer Ray Stark were probably hoping for another outrageous, morbid comedy along the lines of "The Loved One", but this dire adaptation of Arthur L. Kopit's darkly-comic play is so far-out that it isn't funny--it's mostly off-putting. Paramount Pictures shelved the final results for nearly two years before finally releasing it with a Jonathan Winters prologue (he also speaks for the deceased husband, chiming in often with snarky, mordant comments). The picture is full of top talents, not the least of which is Rosalind Russell as the bewigged Madame Rosepettle (who approaches her role as if Auntie Mame had become a drill sergeant). There was probably no way to make Kopit's material work on film without rethinking it completely. When Barbara Harris can't even get a laugh, you know something's off. Biggest asset: Neal Hefti's bouncy score. *1/2 from ****

I've seen the film AND read the play, which I think makes me unique. It also makes me queasy. The word `queasy' is not a staple of my vocabulary, for some reason, but it leapt readily to mind as a precise description of how this miserable, grotty-looking, dull, funny-as-chloroform movie made me feel, and will make you feel, too, if you're not careful. The play was little more than a foray into a now extinct breed of artiness. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that it has never been produced anywhere in the world since 1970 - and hopefully, the sun will grow cold before it is produced anywhere ever again. The film is a botched version of the play, AND a foray into extinct artiness in its own right. Moreover I think something was wrong with the film stock. The very colours upset my stomach.

Here is what remains of the plot synopsis, excluding that which has been so wittily summed up by the title: a widow has had her dead husband stuffed; she lugs his preserved corpse around wherever she travels; she has an idiot son who is sort of undergoing a sexual awakening (DON'T expect anything salacious); and that's about it. Every so often the dead father will appear in a little bubble in the top right-hand corner of the screen and comment on what, if anything, is going on. Sometimes he'll talk to his son. Sometimes he'll address the audience, with lines like, `Not much will happen in the next few minutes.' If he'd been honest, he would have added, `And not much will happen after that, either, so if you're thinking of walking out, cut your losses and do so NOW.'

Don't get me wrong - the 1960s was the tail end of Hollywood's golden age, producing delightful throw-backs like **** and stunning new masterpieces like ****. (I'm sorry - I simply couldn't bear to see the names of two of my favourite films associated in any way with this one.) But it was also the Decade of Floundering. If you want to see just how badly Hollywood was floundering in the 'sixties, by all means watch this movie - but you'll probably decide that you didn't really want to know, after all.

The title, probably one of the longest in film history, is far more inspired than the rest of this misfired black-oedipal comedy. Rosalind Russell, Robert Morse and Hugh Griffith all give high-pitched, one-note performances (this is not one of the films that Rosalind Russell should be remembered for). Jonathan Winters' little asides to the audience, apparently (according to IMDb trivia) inserted after the film was completed, are rarely very funny, either. A young and shockingly sexy Barbara Harris is the sole bright spot....well, her and some nice Jamaican scenery (in Montego Bay). ** out of 4.

Rosalind Russell never gave a bad performance, and I don't know if it's just me, but I prefer her older, like she was in this movie! Not everyone can say that they got better with age, that they got more beautiful with age, but she did! Age just suited her unique level of sophistication and style.

And I know this movie is considered horrible, but it had me a fan from the opening credits onward! I just loved, absolutely loved the theme song! I'm still singing it off and on now, and I've been done watching the movie for a couple of hours!

I will admit that the title of the film put me off for a long time, because I couldn't help but imagine someone skinned, and hung in the closet that way. You know, the way some dogs or cats are skinned after they pass away, and then their owners get to keep the skin. That's what I thought of with this title. And the film is grotesque, but it's special brand of kooky charm that the late 1960s was so good at makes it not so bad after all.

This movie reminds me of a Carol Channing film called Skidoo, made in the same year I believe. So, anyone that likes the groovy kookiness of this film should really check that one out as well. And while I haven't seen it yet, it also brings to mind a Phyllis Diller movie called "did you hear the one about the traveling sales lady?" from 1968.

The people who gave this a low rating, I guess they just didn't like the title song, because if you like the opening credits and title song, you're going to enjoy the film overall, as it pretty much set the tone.

My only real complaints are how weird the young son looked in this movie, with his skin, seeming to be painted white a lot of times. And Jonathan Winters was included in the film in a very strange way, like a cartoon pop-up bubble every once in a while. But his mouth wouldn't be moving. What can I say, I guess it goes with the weird vibe of the film! But overall, this movie was very enjoyable!

This would make a great double feature with "Where angels go, trouble follows" from 1968, also starring the great Rosalind Russell!

Prior to my seeing Oh Dad, Poor Dad I confessed to an admiration for Rosalind Russell in that she had not gone the horror and gore route that so many of her female contemporaries had. Then I saw this.

With her ever changing hair color like the horse in the Wizard Of Oz and grand presence borrowed somewhat from Mama Rose in Gypsy, Russell plays a domineering mother who has sheltered her son Robert Morse to the point of him being socially backward. They're rich as Midas and can indulge in a lot of activities that people would say they were candidates for HappyDale if they didn't have that kind of wealth. One of them is carrying around a coffin with the body of her late husband and Morse's father. I'm sure it's the best work some taxidermist ever did. She must have read what Oxford did with Jeremy Bentham.

Anyway a couple of predatory fortune hunters are after them at the latest tropical paradise they've lighted. Sea Captain Hugh Griffith is chasing Russell and bimbo Barbara Harris is after Morse. Therein lies the story.

I learned two things about this film. After it was completed Paramount held it up for two years and cast Jonathan Winters as her late husband who takes his first flight on his new wings to observe the family he left behind. Little squib insertions were put into the film with Winters offering Greek chorus commentary at intervals. That in itself tells you the film needed help.

Secondly in Russell's own autobiography she wasn't crazy about the end product feeling that she and the director were working at cross purposes. Personally I didn't think the film had much purpose to begin with.

Roz took the place Hermione Gingold who did this on stage and the imbecile son was played by a young Sam Waterston. All I can say is Jack McCoy came from one bad beginning.

Roz Russell's own fans will be terribly disappointed.