Pretty Baby (1978) from Johnny Web (Uncle Scoopy; Greg Wroblewski) and Tuna |
Tuna's notes in yellow: |
Pretty Baby (1978) is a slice of life
in a bordello in Storyville, New Orleans in 1917, the last days that
prostitution was legal. The story focuses on hooker Susan Sarandon,
her 12 year old daughter, Brooke Shields, and a photographer who
takes a liking to both of them. As the film opens, Sarandon is
giving birth to a baby boy. She eventually marries a john and
leaves, but not before her daughter's cherry is auctioned off to the
highest bidder. After being beaten, Shields runs away, and goes to
live with the photographer. When her welcome there wears out, she
returns to the whorehouse to find that it has been shut down. Then,
inexplicably, the photographer, who has no sexual interest in women,
marries her. I will leave the closing plot twist to those who choose
to watch it for the first time. Pretty Baby was nominated for an Oscar for best music, and won a technical merit award at Cannes. The score, mostly period jazz and blues was brilliant, the atmosphere was exactly right, the cinematography was wonderful. The story, however, never really engaged me. If writer/director Louis Malle had a point, he failed to make it with me. On the other hand, it was likely an accurate portrayal of the Storyville sporting houses in 1917, was dripping with atmosphere, and had a naked Susan Sarandon. |
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Scoop's notes in white: The two factors that make movies great are atmosphere and pacing. It is not difficult to write an interesting story, or to hire competent actors, or even to create interesting people, but it is very difficult to place everything in the right context - sights, sounds, texture, and the most difficult element of atmosphere, tone. It is even more difficult to master pacing, to reach the point that great directors reach, where audiences would not want their movies a minute shorter or longer, and the audience members never find their attention drifting. Atmosphere and pacing. If atmosphere were 100% of the game, Louis Malle would be Orson Welles, Kurosawa, Kubrick, and Bergman rolled into one. But it isn't. And he's not. If you look at still captures from Louis Malle's films while listening to the soundtrack, you'd think he must be the greatest director of all. He isn't. He is a master of tone and texture, but the man has no sense of pacing at all. You sit and watch this movie liking the characters, finding the premise intriguing, admiring the period reproduction, dazzled by the beauty of the photography, and falling asleep. Sometimes the feeling that overcomes you is worse than drowsiness. It is embarrassment. You see those actors on the screen, and they seem to be wondering why the scene hasn't ended yet, and guessing what they should do next. They never seem to know how quickly to respond to their cues, and they always seem to be looking around, wondering why the camera is on them when they are merely observing the real action, which is transpiring elsewhere. If they were in a home movie, they'd be pointing Uncle Bill to the true cynosure - "no, point the camera over there, not here". |
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I'm giving you the wrong impression. Louis Malle is
not a bad director. He's a very good one who should have been great
but just seemed to be missing the final ingredient. How can you make
a film about a 12 year old prostitute soporific, even though it is
beautiful to look at, and the soundtrack is sexy and appropriate?
I don't know, but he did it. It is still worth watching, but you'll be haunted with the feeling that it should have been so much more. |
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