The Only Game in Town

The superficial values and emotional anguish that often permeate the world of gambling is captured by George Stevens in his final film.

Maurice Jarre's "bluesy" score (punctuated by a sorrowful trumpet) enhances the "downer" quality of this mundane drama.

It's understandable why Stevens saw something in this Frank D. Gilroy script, based upon his play. During this general period there were some pretty stark two-character plays being produced.

There was, for example, "Two for the Seasaw," "Silent Night, Lonely Night," "Husbands," and "Scenes from a Marriage." In this last film Ingmar Bergman laid bare a vacillating marriage-on-the brink, creating heart-breaking experience.

In "The Only Game in Town," two very good-looking actors try their hand at a challenging duo-character piece. It is said that "one-take" Frank Sinatra declined the role because he felt it might clash with Stevens' perfectionistic "multiple-take" approach. He was probably right.

The part then went to Warren Beatty, who tries very hard in what almost sounds like a Sinatra imitation (close one's eyes and listen to his timing and inflection). Elizabeth Taylor was apparently a favorite of the director, having utilized her talents successfully twice before. She invests her role with much energy and feeling.

However, the two, for all their earnest effort, create only a medium degree of "chemistry." Part of their lack of connection is in the script, which saddles Beatty's "ring-a-ding" character with an unrelenting degree of flippancy, right up to the last line. Taylor's role doesn't break any fresh dramatic ground, either.

Most people agree, though, that it's pretty hard to stop watching this, once one gets past the [characteristically slow Stevens] "late bedroom" -"morning after" scenes. While the presentation didn't exactly turn out to be the consummate emotional experience Stevens was obviously striving for, "The Only Game in Town" is still a most respectable piece of work.

With this opus, a great film director bid his final farewell to the medium.

So full of holes in plot and characterization that you must wonder how this was considered a finished product - for stage or screen.

Taylor, who is neither built like a chorine nor moves like one, becomes involved with a boyish Beatty, who, according to the story, is two years older than she. (Even the makeup department had their problems with this one.) Afraid to commit herself emotionally because she's seen too much of the sordid sides of life and love, she nevertheless ends up committing herself totally to a compulsive gambler. That he has undergone some type of catharsis and will gamble no more is something she is ready to believe, but, I fear, the audience is not - especially since he has just gambled away his long-sought ticket out of Las Vegas. What she has to offer him (or any man) in the way of understanding, companionship, support and stability is very much open to question. Her own ticket out of Las Vegas, in the person of a married boyfriend who has-against all expectations-divorced his wife in order to marry her, is rejected for an uncertain future as a compulsive gambler's woman. Why? Unless you are prepared to blindly accept the catch-all "because she loves him," you won't find the answer in this picture. Speaking of fantasy, although she proudly insists that she has never taken money from any man, she lives in a beautifully-furnished apartment and has an extensive, very stylish wardrobe - notwithstanding her pointing out (for our benefit, I suppose) that her jewelry is not costly and her furs are not real. Is she lying about her source of income? If so, it is inconsistent with a character who is presented as being emotionally honest, however confused she might be. If her claim is to be taken literally, how can she manage such a lifestyle on a chorus girl's salary?

There is lots more that doesn't ring true in a picture that fails to build, fails to involve the viewer, and ultimately falls flat.

How could anything directed by George Stevens, starring Elizabeth Taylor and Warren Beatty, with a score by Maurice Jarre, be such a bore? Taylor plays a Vegas singer who is just existing while she waits for her married lover to get a divorce. Beatty is a compulsive gambler who works as a piano player in a Vegas bar/restaurant. They stumble into an affair when Liz goes to get a pizza after work one night at the place were Beatty works.

Most of this film is just the two of them talking about how much they do not love the other. When the married lover shows up at Liz' apartment he treats her like a pet (Here, Liz!, Hurry Liz!, Good Liz!). There is no subtlety in his performance, but then he is not alone. You can see the little flashes of greatness in Beatty's acting, he just isn't given much to work with. I never understand what compels him to gamble and why he feels towards money and possessions as he does.

The only bit of fun is seeing if you can identify all of the classic films Liz Taylor is watching whenever she is sitting around in her apartment. And then there is the irony of Beatty playing a compulsive gambler in Vegas about twenty years before he plays the founder of modern Las Vegas, Bugsy Segal. Even for completists of the players involved, I'd say avoid this one.

This is a pretty bad movie, but hard to look away from the pretty people inhabiting it. Warren Beatty was unbelievably gorgeous in his younger days. He also was a surprisingly effective and poignant actor. His performance elevates an otherwise pedestrian movie. It really is on par with a television movie, down to the cheesy soundtrack music. Elizabeth Taylor is incredibly miscast. She is lovely to look at, though rather old-looking, for some reason. She couldn't have been more than five years older than Beatty, but looks at least ten years his senior, in spite of being filmed in soft focus. She also is quite zaftig, though it's refreshing in light of the anorexic actresses one sees now. She's totally unbelievable as a showgirl. The average showgirl is tall and slender; the tiny, curvaceous Ms. Taylor would never have even gotten an audition. She also phones in her performance, which doesn't help her rather poorly-drawn character. The film is a series of relationship and situational cliches. You can predict the dialogue before it's spoken. You have to wonder, too, why a stalwart such as George Stevens would choose such a flaccid script as his final project. Someone must have waved a lot of money under these big names' noses to get this made. It's a shame to waste such directing and acting talent. But if you start watching, you probably won't be able to take your eyes off it. They don't make beauties like Beatty and Taylor in Hollywood anymore, at least with as much charisma to go with the looks.

Frank D. Gilroy adapted his unsuccessful two-act play about an aging Las Vegas showgirl (Elizabeth Taylor) who picks up the piano player (Warren Beatty) in a cocktail lounge one night after work. He's a gambler who can't be trusted with money; she's on the rebound after her married lover returned to his wife. It's an oddly old-fashioned tale with nothing particularly dramatic in the set-up; the pressing issues seem to be her loneliness and his need to win big. The critics pounced on the picture, not because of Gilroy's writing or George Stevens' direction or the performances--but because of the budget ($11M), inflated by Taylor's insistence the film's interiors be shot in Paris, France (so she could be close to husband Richard Burton). Despite the wigs and insistent soft-focus close-ups, Taylor comes close to finding an interesting character here; she isn't convincing as a showgirl (shot from the shoulders up), and she doesn't exactly sizzle with Beatty, but she's easily bruised and vulnerable, and lovely when she needs to be. Beatty (filling in for Frank Sinatra, who had prior commitments) plays his dryly sarcastic role with a touch of eccentricity; he's supposed to be younger and reckless, a wild card, but some scenes--like a hopeless fishing excursion at Lake Mead (using a green screen)--are beyond his control. The color scheme of Taylor's apartment (where we're stuck most of the time)--in avocado green and gold--isn't glamorous, but the rest of the movie is. Cinematographer Henri Decae gives the picture a touch of fake-Vegas sparkle which is appealing, and all the exteriors on-location look terrific (Las Vegas becomes a big, shiny department store). What doesn't work is the back-end of Gilroy's second act, wherein Taylor hesitates over Beatty's marriage proposal. Their conversation is supposed to be a dissection of why men and women marry, what keeps them together and why the participants eventually get restless--but it goes on and on, grinding the movie to a halt. Had Stevens (whose last film this was) given us something more--a final visual zinger or a twist--"The Only Game In Town" may actually be worth a second glance. As it is, it fades in the stretch as well as in the memory. **1/2 from ****