Cinema
Lost perspective
Christopher Hudson
As any film producer knows, if you want a pot of gold you first have to build your rainbow. Ross Hunter's rainbow is the Shangri-La of James Hilton's novel, Lost Horizon (' U ' Odeon, Leicester Square). Frank Capra made his mint out of it in 1937, and now Hunter has revamped and revitalised it to fit the dreams of a later generation. A hi-jacked British diplomat and a motley band of fellowtravellers are crash-landed in the Himalayas. Miraculously (the first of many miracles) they survive without a cut finger among them. They are rescued by a band of monks who speak perfect English, and led over the snowy peaks to a lamasery in a green valley where the river runs with gold, flowers blossom in the sunlight and cleverly-sited waterfalls warble a welcome to the weary wanderers. The lamasery itself is a cross 'between the London Library and the Miami Hilton. Redcloaked lamas vaguely pruning rosebushes potter between the fish-ponds; and inside, what look like bound volumes of the collected Scrutiny remind us that the lamasery is the repository of all wisdom and culture, stored against the day when the evil world destroys itself and the few pitiful remnants of humanity slouch towards Shangri-La to be re-educated.
For our travellers — Peter Finch, Sally Kellerman, George Kennedy, Michael York, old Uncle Tom Box-Office and all — the rites of passage are not yet over. Peter Finch has to meet Julie Andrews — or is that really Liv Ullmann? — leading her schoolchildren down an alp and singing The World is a Circle.' Falling in love ('I Might Frighten Her Away '), Finch is daunted by the responsibilities placed on him, but Liv comes back strongly with 'Where Knowledge Ends Faith Begins.'
Sally Kellerman comes down from a nervous crisis into the arms of George Kennedy. Michael York gets the message when Olivia Hussey, a local houri, dances into the refectory singing 'Share the Joy.' Cogitation, such as it is, is left to John Gielgud the next-to-High Lama.
A cast of stars, then, music by Burt Bacharach, lyrics by Hal David and workmanlike direction by Charles Jarrott. This and all the money it needed can't save Lost Horizon from being a completely synthetic piece of escapist fantasy. Ross Hunter gives the audience their cue in the last words of the film when an outsider, asked about Shangri-La, replies, " I believe it because 1 want to believe it." I want to believe that the great British public will not be taken in by this tired old stuff, will not flock to the cinemas in their thousands to see it, following loyally in the footsteps of our Queen. But does that mean I do believe they won't. Not for all the kif in Katmandu.
I didn't care for Play It Again, Sam. Undiluted Woody Allen for me is like aspirin in Coca-Cola: it's reputed to knock you out but does no more than give you a slight headache. In his latest film. Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Sex But Were Afraid To Ask (' X ' London Pavilion), a mad variation on the theme of Dr Reuben, he leaves whole episodes to the comic talents of such as Gene Wilder, and Lou Jacobi. The result is one of the most hilarious films I have seen for months.
In episodes taken from Reuben's book, with titles like 'Do Aphrodisiacs Work? ', 'What Are Sex Perverts?' and 'Are Transvestites Homosexuals? ', Woody Allen takes the American obsession with sexual perfectibility and extends it into a world of ludicrously exaggerated farce. In one episode, 'What Is Sodomy? ', an Armenian farmer comes to see a prosperous New York doctor (Gene Wilder) to tell him about committing a bestial act with one of his sheep, Daisy.
Daisy is brought along for his inspection. He conceives a hopeless infatuation for her and abducts her to a hotel, (" Darling, this must all be very strange to you: you from the hills of Armenia, me from Jackson Heights "). But his wife, alerted by the lamb-chop smell on his jacket, calls the police. The doctor is caught in flagrante. His life is in ruins. Daisy, apparelled in corset and black stockings, gazes impassively at the wall. Reuben retires defeated. What, they will be asking at United Artists in mingled terror and anticipation, would Woody Allen make of the Bible?
Previous page
