Angel, Angel, Down We Go

Jennifer Jones gets to sleaze it up as the rich mother (who did NOT to stag movies, they keep saying) of an overweight deubutaunte who escapes with a bunch of drug abusing hippies and turns into a disaster. Almost all of the dialogue is overdone and over performed and it becomes the most hysterically funny camp experience since Valley of the Dolls. It must be seen to be believed.

I recommend that this is watched on a double-bill with Wild in the Streets, also written by Robert Thom. Both films contain similarities - a Messiah-like pop star with pretensions for a new social order, overbearing parents, LSD sequences, pop music, alternative forms of sexuality, camp and "established" actresses freaking out.

This film is like being in a long trance - there's so much imagery and symbolism that you'll need to watch it three or four times before it starts to make sense.

It's a little nihilistic for my liking, but well worth watching - Jennifer Jones gets to call her maid a sadistic lesbian, her husband appears in the first scene naked in the shower with his young male friend, while the daughter's voice-over says "My first memory is that my parents were perfect." There's all sorts of weird stuff like the cast taking a walk along Santa Monica Beach and Jennifer Jones buying candyfloss with her jewellery and then discarding it.

The songs are reasonably good too, especially The Fat Song, Bloody Mama (also another Robert Thom film) and Angel, Angel Down We Go. This is one freaked out movie. I love it!

the review in the "Psychotronic Encyclopedia Of Film" had me looking for this one, for years. Finally found it in 2003, and wouldn't you know, it has ended up on USA cable here a year later. (Showtime Beyond is really exhuming the hard to find AIP stuff regularly) So, what to say. The casting is positively bizarre, with Jennifer Jones, modeling the same outfit she later wore in "Towering Inferno"; Protest singer Holly Near as her troubled fat-girl daughter; Charles Aidman as the rich, secretly gay, father; Jordan Christopher as the freaky rock singer/producer,currently working with his new band "The Rabbit Habit" featuring Lou Rawls (who never sings?), and Roddy McDowell in his freakiest psychedelic film. It starts with Christopher appearing to be a liberating force, but by the end, the drug use/criminal activity leaves no one liberated, and some dead. It's fairly pointless overall, but there are some classic moments to be treasured. Favorite dialogue award goes to Jones, with the classic:"In my heart of hearts, I'm a sexual clam", though Roddy's mini-rant about sexuality, ending with his description of being "turned on" by a carrot comes real close. Hardly classic, but rewarding for the curious! Good companion piece to similar epics from that time, from "LSD, I hate you", on back to "Skidoo", and "Gas-s-s-s, or it may become necessary to destroy the world in order to save it!"

An weird night of moviewatching commenced with this...thing, which popped up on a lesser Showtime channel at four in the morning. (Really, how disparate was the collection of movies I saw last night? In order: Gerry, The Joe Torre Story, Cult Of The Damned, and Ghost Actress. Who needs Hollywood blockbusters to be entertained?)

I kept notes during CotD, but, uh, damned if I can codify them into something resembling a review. But I'll try. Prepare for a nonsensical commentary.

The movie opens with some hippie-dippy narration not unlike the voiceovers in, say, Radley Metzger's Score. (That's what it reminded me of, at least.) Or maybe CotD was trying to be like Valley Of The Dolls or something. Jeez, my mind's already wandering.

The only other movie I knew Jennifer Jones from was The Towering Inferno, and, yes, I agree with another user comment here: She's wearing, like, the same evening gown. Everybody: "We may never love like this again...." Okay, maybe this movie gave me a contact high.

The supposed fat girl here leans more toward Hollywood Fat like Bridget Jones, rather than Reality Fat like Tracy Turnblad.

The band's first number for some reason echoed early Pink Floyd (their "Piper at the Gates of Dawn"-era). I don't know now if that's true, but that's what occurred to me at the time. This movie wasted no time in making my mind all mushy.

Took note of the typical AIP production values: The stilted line readings, wobbly camera-work, slapdash editing, McScore, reliance on the zoom, muffled ADR, cheap Foley, and interest in brutish men and loose women.

The dialogue can be so hilariously bad that every other line could be used as a shining example of drug-infused hippie-era screen writing. My favorites:

"Your breath stinks. I dig it."

"You are a fat girl, idiot! I don't know why anyone would touch you."

"Fat girls are the remembrances of things past."

"I never really thought of having a profession, but, boy, have I dabbled."

Okay, that last one is classic; I'll have to add that to the numerous Showgirls quotes I can't help but slipping into conversation.

There was another line that was oddly familiar. One character uses the phrase "polymorphously perverse." Was this a popular way of describing someone back in the day? This is the third time this week I've heard this phrase (Annie Hall was on TCM again, and it was used in American Splendor, which I rented a few days ago), so what's the dealey-o?

Should I attempt to summarize the plot? About a half hour in I gave up trying to follow it. I don't think it matters. Digital cable's synopsis identified this movie as a crime drama. There may have been a crime, but I sure don't recall any drama.

What was up with the naked guy behind the pool table? Was there some correlation between the nudity and the balls being knocked around? I'm not complaining though; the movie seemed to have a surprisingly healthy interest in the male body and gay men, although the "homo S&M sex = death" scene at the end negated this supposed progressive depiction of alternative sexuality.

There's a user comment here that used Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls as a comparison, which was what got me interested in this movie in the first place. Alas, CotD lacked orgiastic pop bliss of the Russ Meyer classic; it instead had the pseudo-serious vibe of something like Psych-Out. Oh well. But this did have one or two things in common with BVD, like references to Naziism. But that's all I can say about that. And the lead guy was all Lance Rocke during a moment on the beach. Again, I don't remember how; at this point I'm just copying my notes.

So, back to Jennifer Jones. She had a Joan Collins thing going on for a bit there, but I zoned out through most of her scenes. When I re-engaged myself in the movie in a last-ditch, futile attempt to figure out what the hell was going on, she was pawning her bracelets to buy cotton candy. Which is when I realized either the movie left me behind or vice versa. Was she brainwashed into denouncing materialism? Was that the crime? IS that a crime? Beats me.

Hmm. I guess that's about it. If I ever watch this movie again, maybe I should either pay more attention or pack a bowl first.

The main reason to savor this deliciously decadent dress rehearsal for the entire career of John Waters is the very guilty pleasure of watching Jennifer Jones not only perform an homage to Gloria Swanson in "Sunset Boulevard" but apparently actually LIVE the role. Ms. Jones (nee Phylis Isley when she began her career as John Wayne's leading lady 30 years before this cuckoo classic was release)may NOT have been certifiable when she agreed to appear...but I for one can't think of any other logical explanation.

The widow of David O'Selznic plays "The richest woman in the world" who is also "the most beautiful woman in the world" (personal quotes from the character...read with complete conviction by the actress...as is the admission to being "45"...Jones was 50...)...

The character has an pudgy daughter named "Tara" (another quote from Jone's character "I LIKED 'Gone With The Wind'")...could the whirring sound I hear be The sound of Selznic rotating and revolving in his grave?? Why this grotesque but utterly fascinating slash at "Hollywood Royalty" is not known better under either of it's titles ("Cult of the Damned" was on the print I saw) is beyond me...it should have been a spookily prescient harbinger of the collapse of "old Hollywood" especially since it was released only ten days after the town (and the world) went reeling in the Horror of the murder of Sharon Tate...a crime it is impossible to avoid thinking of while watching this study of L.A. high society brutally invaded upon by a group of sadistic drug addled musicians.

If you need more reasons to watch how about sweet little Roddy Mcdwell bearing his behind and playing gay (his lines about being rejected by the draft board aren't skating on this ice...they are more like dancing on it in toe shoes!!).

All in all...a film so amazing and appalling...that it might be a masterpiece of schlock!