choosing his wife’s husband
by Douglas Messerli
Julius J. Epstein (screenplay, based on a play by Norman
Barasch and Carroll Moore), Norman Jewison (director) Send Me No Flowers / 1964
That device itself might be enough to nudge awake even the most
somnolent of straight audiences, but the creators take it even further by
allowing Hudson’s (George’s) next door neighbor Arnold (fellow gay actor Tony Randall), his wife
conveniently “away,” to stroke, paw, and drunkenly lean upon the Rock in almost
every scene in which they appear together. In fact, the “heterosexual” cover
story is almost nonexistent in the film, and hardly matters in the plot. From
the start the predictable comedy on the surface will require his wife, Judy, to
begin to suspect something—in this case that George is having an affair with
the recently separated Linda Bullard (Patricia Barry)—after which George will
reveal his impending death, Judy discovering the truth that he is not dying,
threatening to leave him, and, by film’s end, perceiving the “real truth,” allowing
them to live happily ever after.
In short, what this film “pretends” to be about is absolutely
predictable and inconsequential, while its “secret” story, filled with puns and
campy phrases, is far more entertaining and, given its somewhat forbidden daring, is quite a hoot.
From the very first moment of this film, with George rolling alone in
bed, obviously troubled (he is dreaming, apparently, about various maladies and
medicines) we realize that he is not comfortable in his married life—although
the movie pretends they have the perfect relationship.
Before we can even assimilate what George’s problem is, his wife has been
“accidentally” locked out of her own house, while George puts in a pair of ear
plugs as he enters the shower, making certain that he will not be able to hear
her complaints of being locked out.
In his hypochondria, he soon discovers, George is the most selfish of
men, hardly hearing anything his wife says, as he moans, seeking solace over a
phantom pain in his chest. Although he has had a complete check-up only two
weeks earlier, he is determined to visit the doctor again. The doctor (Edward
Andrews), a friend, is apparently quite aware of George’s medical fears, and
assures him that it is only indigestion. Yet George insists that he check him,
readily unbuttoning his shirt and, even when the doctor suggests “You can
button up,” leaving it open as if to show off his manly physique. Overhearing
the doctor discussing another patient’s dire condition, he, again in
self-centeredness, believes the patient to be himself.
On the way home, meeting up with his
friend Arnold, George asks “Can I take you into my confidence,” the way one
might almost begin a sentence in admission one’s sexuality—he is, of course,
about to reveal his medical news—and from that moment on almost everything the
two discuss might be perceived on two levels, the commonplace and the sexual.
In lines like “I might as well go all the way,” or their man-to-man discussion
of a table: “It feels so good, [stroking his hands back and forth over the wood]
you just run your hand over it. Every chance I get I’m gonna feel the table,”
their metaphors skirt the edge, while other statements contain obvious puns.
Helping out around the house, Arnold soon after quips, “I’ll be right here
mowing your back lawn. I already mowed your front lawn,” playing with the
concept of mowing as related to engaging in sex.
At other times, the twosome simply talks in a language queerer than straight.
On the look-out for a new husband, George comments on a golfer at the country
club: “He’s reasonably good-looking,” to which Arnold responds, “Not as
reasonable as you George.” And when Judy meets an old friend, Bert (the
handsome Clint Walker) they invite him to join them not only in a drink but
insist he join them at the club’s evening dance. A few minutes later, trying to
send a message to George, Arnold suggests “I’ve got to powder my nose. George,
yours could use a little powdering too.”
Bert’s comment about Judy, who he knew
as young woman, is perhaps one of the most audacious the movie has to offer.
When Judy tells him that she’s married to George, Bert looks him briefly over
before uttering, “But I thought she’d end up marrying someone like Cary Grant,”
reminding us that Hudson is indeed someone like that dashing bi-sexual actor.
Is it any surprise that before the film is over, George and Arnold end
up in the same bed with a bottle of champagne, George commenting that Arnold
sleeps on the same side of the bed as does Judy? Does it really matter that
Judy returns home for the film’s “happy” ending? She has long been feeding her
husband a sugar placebo to put him to sleep, so I guess the audience, if it
desires, can continue sleeping as well.
If this film seems more interesting than Pillow Talk, it is because it is more interested in signaling its
actor’s gay sexuality than it is serious about its comic heterosexual story. My
interest in pointing to these open puns, gestures, and phrases, accordingly, is
not prurient as much as it is a necessary reading of what this film is
primarily about. The winks, in-jokes, fondling, campy phrases and just plain
queer bawdiness give this popular movie far more dimension than its
strait-laced story of a hypochondriac husband who has a temporary
misunderstanding with his wife.
Los Angeles, March 8, 2013
Reprinted from International Cinema Review (March 2013).
.png)
No comments:
Post a Comment