Smile

When this film first came out thirty-four years ago (which seems impossible) the college crowd I hung with absolutely loved it. I was delighted to see it come up on one of the cable movie channels recently and after watching it again after lo these many years I am delighted to be able to report that its wittily insightful commentary has lost none of its edge or relevance. The flick really does deserve a place in whatever Hall of Fame is dedicated to commentary on American culture. It really is a comedy, but it has just enough raw edges to give it some genuine bite. The pacing is handled very well, and we are able to develop a genuine interest in many of the characters. The movie never descends to grossness or imbecility, although - given the subject matter, a regional beauty competition - the opportunities are plentiful. Bruce Dern's character is wonderfully drawn; it would be so easy to portray him as a dolt, but he is shown as a sincerely well-meant guy, which is what makes his subtly characterized thoughtfulness at the end of the movie so effective. Interesting to see Melanie Griffith - at the age of 18! - in one of her earliest credited performances. My favorite character is Michael Kidd, the choreographer; cynical, bitter, yet a true professional, he seems the only one in the flick that really cares about the girls, yet he has no illusions about himself. There are just so many wonderful moments in this film - thanks to a brilliant script and great direction - that it deserves a place as a minor classic of Americana.

Director Michael Ritchie made two films in the seventies that nailed the suburban existence, not just of Southern California, but of America right on the head.

While Bad News Bears was a deserved box office hit, the under-recognized Smile is the better movie...and that's saying a lot as I adore them both. Having seen the recently released Thank You For Smoking and its lame attempt at broad satire it made me reflect about what made Smile so great. Ritchie genuinely cares for his characters, making them sympathetic instead of one dimensional cardboard cut-outs which would have been very easy to do. The many characters Ritchie focuses on are human, with all the foibles that entails, so while it may be easy to laugh at the beauty pageant contestants and their problems, you do it with a touch of guilt because they are so earnest in their attempt to win respect from not only the judges, but the choreographer (Michael Kidd), the den mother (Barbara Feldon), and ultimately themselves.

To mock them is to mock yourself for rooting for your favorite girl at the film's conclusion which fittingly, as it turns out, doesn't matter anyway.

Now that's good satire.

A truly under appreciated gem.

A wickedly humorous send-up of small town boosterism, in which the junior chamber of commerce talks into mechanical dogs for food, turns on artificial birds for the sounds of nature, and substitutes a relentless smile for genuine feeling. Where also: just thinking you're having fun is more important than the real thing, and upbeat cliché becomes a way of life. Suddenly, into this hothouse arrives a tacky version of that crown jewel of artificiality, the beauty pageant, an event sure to drive everything into warp speed, which it does, but with surprisingly low-key results. The film avoids outright cynicism by humanizing the teen-age contestants, who are, after all, also products of small town America. Nevertheless, the script makes the disconnect clear: ritualized behavior has benumbed genuine emotion. The boosters have lost their inner selves, as will the girls if they continue on the contestant path. Amidst a uniformly fine cast stands Nicholas Pryor, whose portrayal of a desperate drunk looks so authentic, it shakes up the entire movie. A holdout from the deadening groupthink, he simply can't cope with the surroundings. Yet it is his emotional depth, from hangdog expression to slumping carriage, by which the rest of the community is measured. There's an undercurrent of the rebellious 60's running through this film, and I suspect it sank quickly because popular tastes were turning away from ironical characters named "Freelander". Nonetheless, a revival of this neglected gem is long overdue, not only for its often surprisingly subtle humor, but for the continuing relevancy of the message. However, don't look for it at your nearest chamber of commerce meeting.

This wonderful comedy-drama has much the same tone as "Nashville." It's a satirical view of a place and time centering around a specific event, in this case a teenage beauty pageant. It has a couple of things "Nashville" doesn't have, however--a heart, and a great deal of affection for its flawed characters. Bruce Dern has never been sufficiently appreciated--often typed as a psycho--but he has never been better than he is here as a used-car salesman with a lot of inner torment. And Michael Kidd, the great choreographer, shows what an adept actor he can be in a supporting performance which in a perfect world would have won an Oscar, and in this imperfect one was not even nominated. Michael Ritchie, one of the most erratic of directors, here hits his career peak.

Extremely smart little satire that uses a state beauty pageant as a microcosm for a stinging look at American values, with hypocrisy rampant and greed triumphant. Writer Jerry Belson delineates his characters very carefully, so that we know whom to side with and whom to despise, and the nearly no-name cast portrays them brilliantly. Talented Joan Prather is the contestant we most identify with, decent, but slowly being corrupted as the urge to win overtakes her, and Michael Kidd is the semi-big-time choreographer who at first seems callous and unlikable but turns out to be merely seeing, and telling, it like it is. There's some too-easy comedy as we view the contestants' terrible talent competition entries, but at the end we've seen a remarkably thorough put-down of American values circa 1975. (Maybe it didn't get more attention because its utter honesty and accuracy about the American way of winning, a pet theme of the director's, made people uncomfortable.) The final scene, in the police car, is just a perfect wrap-up.