BY TODD GARBARINI
Some of the
best literary achievements and their respective motion picture counterparts had
their genesis in real-life. Robert Bloch made the grave-robber and necrophiliac
Ed Gein into the motel manager Norman Bates in Psycho (1960); William
Peter Blatty took the ostensibly possessed boy in Cottage City, MD and gave him
the identity of Regan MacNeil in The Exorcist (1973); and Martin Sheen
and Sissy Spacek breathed celluloid life into Kit and Holly respectively in Badlands
(1973), based upon Waste Land: The Savage Odyssey of Charles Starkweather
and Caril Ann Fugate. Smooth Talk, Joyce Chopra’s brilliant 1985
film adaptation of Joyce Carol Oates’s equally excellent 1966 short story
“Where Have You Been, Where Are You Going?", is no exception. While it may
seem odd to begin this review of what is on the surface, and for all intents
and purposes, a story of a teen-age girl’s sexual awakening, with an overview
of horror films, it must be said that Mrs. Oates based her tale loosely
on the exploits of Charles Howard Schmid, Jr., aka “The Pied Piper of Tucson,â€
a loner and petty thief who seduced young high school girls and was responsible
for murdering at least three of them between 1964 and 1965.
While the
denouement is nowhere near as dark as its real-life roots, Smooth Talk,
the winner of the Grand Jury Prize at the Sundance Film Festival in 1986, is a deceptive
film in that it is marketed in what appears to be a coming-of-age film, but it
is not in the traditional sense. At 91 minutes, Smooth Talk is a nearly
perfect film, unlike any other film I have ever seen. Its independent status
and minimal theatrical run have precluded it from deservedly finding a much
wider audience, even today, though it should be required viewing as both an
example of fine independent filmmaking and as a cautionary tale for overly-trusting
young women, especially in the modern age of social media and the #MeToo
movement.
Following
backstory and exposition that was only alluded to in Mrs. Oates’s story, Smooth
Talk, released on Friday, February 28, 1986 at the long-gone 68th
Street Playhouse (I miss that theater!!) in New York with a PBS showing as part
of American Playhouse nearly a year later, is a remarkably faithful film
adaptation that follows the story nearly to the letter. The film gives us
Connie Wyatt, a typical fifteen-year-old girl in a terrible hurry to grow up
and experience life. She lives in the world of the relative but would prefer to
live in the world of the absolute: one bereft of a nagging mother (Mary Kay
Place), an insouciant father (Levon Helm), and her older sister June (Elizabeth
Berridge) who castigates her for transgressions. She envisions one instead full
of sweet and beautiful boys to woo and sing to her. Her summertime vacation
household is one of boredom and antagonism, restlessness, and constant
comparison to other kids. She is a stranger at the dinner table, marginalized
and spoken of in the third person as though she were absent. Her character
changes and comes to life, however, during frequent multiple-hour sojourns to
the beach and the shopping mall (Santa Rosa Plaza and Coddingtown Mall) with
younger friends Laura (Margaret Welsh) and Jill (Sarah Inglis) in tow to the
tunes of James Taylor or Franke & The Knockouts on her boom box. In the
mall bathroom, the homely triumvirate don mascara and lipstick and emerge looking
much older, dressing to impress. Connie metamorphizes from a gawky girl into a
temptress. They yearn after a group of attractive young men with “nice bunsâ€
and poke fun at nerds and generally act older than they really are. Their first
encounter with more than they bargained for is with two muscled-up bad dudes
who lecherously offer them booze and drugs, with the presumption of sexual
interludes to follow. They nervously rush away from the men’s clutches; on
their way home, they stop at an outdoor hamburger restaurant bustling with
older kids. An older man in a shiny golden convertible pulls into the lot, and
his presence goes unnoticed by Connie, but not by the audience. In the days to
follow, Connie and Laura score dates with boys their own age, although Connie’s
catch wants more than she is willing to give when he takes her to a deserted
parking lot – never a good sign – but she manages to extricate herself from his
lust and gets a verbal admonishment from her mother and older sister the
following morning for potentially “getting into troubleâ€.
When
Connie’s family goes to visit relatives, she decides to exercise some rebellion,
opting to remain home instead. She turns on several radios throughout the house
to the same station to hear music anywhere she goes. It is at this point where
the film begins to follow Mrs. Oates’s story almost completely, as the film
takes a 180-degree turn into uncharted territory with the arrival of the
mysterious man in the convertible. He introduces himself as Arnold Friend, and
professes his desire to be Connie’s friend, which is repugnant in and of itself
as he is most definitely not 15 years-old, but much older, at least
twice that age. Bemused, Connie is escorted to his car, a 1960s-something
Pontiac LeMans GTO, which has his name printed in cursive writing on the
driver’s door, and his license plate bears the name AFRIEND. Next to his name
are printed the numbers 33, 19, and 17, the summation of which is synonymous
with a particular sexual act, though its significance is completely lost on
Connie (it could also refer to the ages of the three females killed by the
real-life Pied Piper of Tucson). His last bit of the tour is showing Connie the
left rear fender, smashed in by a “crazy woman driverâ€, as he points out.
What begins
at this point is a slow and deliberate seduction of Connie, like the serpent
tempting Eve into eating the shiny apple from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good
and Evil, except here the serpent is using a shiny convertible for enticement
(note the apple grove in the backyard). Initially flirty, Connie’s demeanor
changes when Arnold behaves as though they already know each other, and he
mentions facts about her family and friends that only someone intimately
familiar with her would know. Arnold’s intentions as a sexual predator are
nefarious and despicable. He almost talks to her in code, and everything points
to a double meaning. Removing the “r†from his name yields “an old fiendâ€;
Santa Rosa becomes Satan Rosa; and his arched eyebrows are devilish.
When Arnold
tells Connie that they are meant to be together, Connie says, “You’re crazy, no
one talks like that.†And she is right – but she does not trust her instincts
enough and goes along with him in an effort to rid him from her family’s home
at 2074 Pleasant Hill Road (in Sebastopol, CA, though the film is set in
Petaluma where George Lucas shot his own adolescent masterpiece American
Graffiti in the summer of 1972). It costs her her innocence in the film,
and her life in the short story.
The film is
most notable for being the breakout performance of Laura Dern, who was
seventeen when filming commenced in September 1984, a full year prior to playing
the virginal Sandy in David Lynch’s controversial Blue Velvet (1986).
Ms. Dern should have received an Oscar nomination for this role as her performance
is a revelation. She also was growing up and her sense of being “unaware†is
what drives her natural reactions. Connie is almost a slightly older and less
wild version of Amy Sims, the out-of-control teenager Ms. Dern portrayed in the
1980 episode of Insight called “Who Loves Amy Tonight?â€
Martin
Rosen, the director of Watership Down (1978), The Plague Dogs (1982)
and the little-seen Stacking (1987) with Megan Follows, produced the
film.
Smooth Talk was originally released in movie-only versions on DVD in
2004 and on Blu-ray in 2015 with misleading cover art. This is a title that has
been screaming for the Criterion Collection treatment and it has finally received
it. The new transfer is in restored 4K digital and was supervised by the film’s
director. The audio is the original uncompressed monaural soundtrack.
There are three
short films by director Chopra, from her days in documentary film, included as
supplements: Joyce at 34 (1972), Girls at 12 (1975), and Clorae
and Albie (1976).
There are
two interviews with the director. The first is an on-camera interview from 2020
and runs 17 minutes. The second is an audio interview from Friday, November 15,
1985 from radio station KPFK on the day of Smooth Talk’s release in Los
Angeles.
The Women of
Smooth Talk is a COVID-19-enforced, socially distanced
Zoom-based conversation among Chopra, author Joyce Carol Oates, and actress
Laura Dern from September 2020, moderated by TCM host Alicia Malone which runs
just shy of an hour.
Joyce
Chopra, Mary Kay Place and Treat Williams is similar
to the above, from November 2020, and runs 23 minutes.
Production
Design with David Wasco is a fascinating
discussion from October 2020 that runs 18 minutes. Mr. Wasco talks about how he
came into the film business working on 1983’s El Norte which was the
springboard for Smooth Talk (then-titled Fifteen) and features Polaroids
of the locations and what inspired the director to want the film lit the way it
was.
The Pied
Piper of Tucson is an audio reading of the 1966 Life
magazine article of the same name, which inspired the short story by the author
and runs just over 39 minutes.
The last two
supplements are the 1985 and 2020 trailers for the film. Both are similar in
tone, though the latter plays up the sexual angle a bit more.
The cover
art reinstates the original and mysterious one-sheet artwork.
There is
also a beautifully illustrated booklet with an essay by poet and memoirist
Honor Moore called Girl Power; a 1986 New York Times article by Mrs. Oates
about the film adaptation; and a full reprint of the 1966 short story “Where
Are You Going, Where Have You Been?â€
My only
complaint is the lack of an audio commentary. While most information that
appears in the supplements is invariably often repeated in the commentary, I
would have loved to have heard the thoughts of William Ragsdale, Elizabeth
Berridge, Margaret Welsh, and Sarah Inglis. This is a minor quibble over an
already nicely designed package chock full of terrific extras.
Film Critic
Shelia Benson said that the film “may be the first film to get adolescence in
America right, down to the last, delicate seismographic tremorâ€. Smooth Talk,
like the aforementioned American Graffiti before it, manages to capture
a moment in time free of the perils of cell phones and social media. One can
only imagine what a field day Arnold Friend would have had with MySpace or Facebook.
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