Let's just start by admitting I'm not sure how this rom-com '70s romp stayed off my radar for so long unless it has something to do with the fact that I simply wasn't a fan of Barbra Streisand. Still, I should never have let that stop me. This flick is a delightful, amoral good time between a hoity-toity lit snob writer with no real life to speak of and a carefree on-again-off-again prostitute with the life she wants at any given moment but no livelihood to speak of. You can see the third act coming clearly from that description, I'm sure, but that doesn't nullify the journey to get there.
Felix is a stuffed shirt of a writer who would rather spend time parsing metaphors than living his life. In a moment of genuine feeling (rage, sadly) he gets the annoying Doris kicked out of her apartment, and when she realizes who is responsible, she shows up and returns the favor, beginning their oil and water, Odd Couple forced time together. Along the way, Felix learns that he needs life moments, not just imagination and technique, to create books people might actually want to read.
The movie begins with Felix facing another form-letter rejection from a publisher and retreating grumpily to his apartment. This sting is further reinforced when he and Doris are talking later and she says that as a model she tried out for Playboy.
Felix: Did you ever try reading a book?
Doris: A book! Oh yeah, yeah, I used to read Playboy all the time until I got mad at them.
Felix: Why?
Doris: Well, you know, I posed for these, eh, terrific, eh, playmate of the month thing, you know.
Felix: Yeah, what happened?
Doris: They sent them back.
Still, in spite of his failure to see his work published, he sticks to his guns to be the kind of writer he believes he needs to be. (Now, don't mistake that with the kind of writer he needs to be, but instead the one he believes he needs to be -- an important distinction.)
Felix: I don't write to make money.
Doris: But, you'd take it if they gave it to ya, wouldn't ya?
Felix: Yes. But, it would be inconsistent with my aesthetic responsibilities.
Doris: I understood "with" and "my".
...
Felix: They would give me money to write THEIR way. I want to write MY way!
Doris: Well, I guess they figure it's THEIR money.
Felix: Yes, I think that's the way they figure.
Doris sees the reality of his problem right away, even arguing over a metaphor with which Felix begins his magnum opus, one about the morning sun spitting morning into the main character's face. She interrupts his reading and tells him the sun doesn't spit, going so far to act it out at the edge of the bed to demonstrate how ludicrous the idea is to her.
Her life is raw and practical and doesn't allow room for metaphors.
His life is filled with metaphors and themes and doesn't allow for raw and practical.
In a way, she's right. The sun does not spit and writers need to ground their work in some kind of reality to make it work. If not, they turn into the creators of the dreaded flowery imagery, purple prose, or the ridiculed ten pages of how the mountains looked. But in another, she's wrong. Without the ability to see the world through an imaginative set of metaphor-colored glasses, a writer culls all the imagination from their prose style and is writing little more than a newspaper account. Even Hemmingway metaphored, so to speak.
Based on the poem by Edward Lear, this adult fairy tale is definitely not for kids anymore, but it just may be a must-see for writers struggling to find themselves.
No comments:
Post a Comment