In 1968, a movie appeared called
“Candy”. It was sort of a hippy dippy take off of the book which became a best
seller “dirty book” in the late 50’s. Everyone read it. Like “Lolita”, it used
children to explore the sexual revolution of the time. Morals were changing in
the late 50’s to the explosion in the 60’s, but this was taboo.
When the movie came out, my
apartment was decorated with Playboy centerfolds. Viva the revolution. But what
made me want to see the movie, since I had read every “dirty” book I could
find, was Ringo Starr, the Beatle drummer, was in it.
I don’t remember if I went with
someone else, but I plopped down my buck (movies were cheaper back then) and
entered the Capitol theater, which has now been demolished.
What caught my eye (and ear) was
the psychedelic beginning. Drifting light with these strange electric guitar
sounds. The soundtrack written by Dave Grusin (later saw him with Joni
Mitchell) and the Byrds. The soundtrack so impressed me I bought the record.
The power force of the soundtrack was a new breakthrough band, Steppenwolf.
The book dealt with a teenager’s
exploration into a physical world. The movie was short vignettes for famous
stars to appear in early soft porn.
But before I go too far, let me
give you the plot.
Candy Christian (played by
newcomer Ewa Aulin, a Swedish beauty champion) is an innocent young girl when
she first hears MacPhisto (played by Richard Burton with air blowing only on
him to make his scarf wave in the breeze), an alcoholic Welsh poet, talk of
love and self-sacrifice. Candy narrowly escapes MacPhisto's attempt to rape
her, only to succumb to her father's Mexican gardener, Emmanuel (sadly played
by Ringo Starr – stick with the drum sticks). When her father ( played in a
dual role by John Astin - remember the Adams’ Family) catches her with the
gardener, he banishes her to a trip with his twin brother, Uncle Jack, and
Jack's wife Aunt Livia,(very sexy role for Elsa Martinelli) who are headed for
New York City. As Candy makes her way to the airport, Emmanuel's three sisters
attack her because she has corrupted their brother. Because of Candy, Emmanuel
has now forsaken the priesthood. During the scuffle, Candy's father takes a
blow to the head, resulting in a serious head injury. Candy nearly gives in to
a General Smight (by a smirking Walter Matthau – remember the Odd Couple ) on
the plane in exchange for a blood transfusion for her father. In New York, an
ego-maniacal brain surgeon Dr. Krankeit (by James Coburn – check out In Like
Flint) operates on her father, while Uncle Jack pursues his own operation on
Candy. When Candy bashes him with a bedpan, Uncle Jack is put in her father's
hospital bed, while her father wanders away without notice. Candy is now free
to visit Greenwich Village where she takes part in a film by an underground
movie director Jonathan J. John.(Enrico Maria Salerno) It's a pornographic
film, shot in a public restroom. Next, Candy becomes the pet of a benevolent
hunchback (Charles Aznavour) in Central Park, but she escapes from his arch
criminal into the truck trailer of Guru Grindl (Marlon Brando). During the
drive to California, Grindl initiates her into the mysteries of the Seventh
Stage and other secrets of life. In California, Candy seeks the Great Buddah,
who will reveal to her the ultimate stage. In her search, she encounter a
filthy hermit who leads her to a temple. There Candy and the hermit have sex.
When a deluge destroys the temple and washes the hermit clean. Candy recognizes
that the hermit is really her wandering father. Again Candy runs away to more
trouble. The final time, however, she finds herself in a hippie orgy, reunited
with her past sexual partners.
Also in the movie was Anita
Pallenberg, Keith Richard’s girlfriend, Fabian Dean, a former hot throb singer
as a police sergeant, and Buck Henry as a mental patient.
Buck Henry was also given
screenplay credits with Mason Hoffenberg and Terry Southern from the novel. The
next year Southern went on to write Easy Rider with Dennis Hopper and Peter
Fonda
And the reviews? Here is a typical
one.
reviewed by Shane Burridge
115m.
Oh, those 60s. Extravagant version
of the novel by Terry Southern and Mason Hoffenberg is a lot of fun when seen
with an audience in a theater; on television it may seem fairly pointless. It
has great curio value because it is so patently a product of its time - witness
its wild editing, camp atmosphere, and rock soundtrack. But more importantly
notice its playfulness - we really don't care that the entire film crew is
reflected in a giant mirror near the end, because it seems so appropriate for
the era. At a time when directors and actors were turning the lens back on to themselves
to deliberately break through the 'fourth wall' of the cinema and remind us all
that 'it's only a movie' it was inevitable that several 60s productions would
turn out embarrassingly trite or pretentious. Not so CANDY - like its heroine
it is infused with a sense of reckless innocence. Sure, it's self-indulgent and
paints its satire with a broad brush, but if anything it's even more fun to
watch now than it was in its own time.
Both novel and film are slim
reworkings of Voltaire's 'Candide', which dealt with the misadventures of a
youth in a society of dubious philosophy, religion, and morality. The update is
irrelevant for the film experience - as a screenplay CANDY could have been
invented purely for the cinema (it certainly had to abandon the more pornographic
elements of the book). Swedish teenager Ewa Aulin plays the title character in
a suitably vacant manner (it's hard to tell whether she can act or not because
she is only given one sentence at a time, and it is nearly always a reaction or
a question); consequently it's easy to pass over how well she fits the role.
She really does capture an oblivious aspect of Candy that prevents us from
being truly annoyed with her. It's just as well, because take a look at who
she's up against - a bombastic, lecherous Richard Burton, an egotistical,
lecherous James Coburn, and guru-like, lecherous Marlon Brando. Throw in John
Astin, Ringo Starr, Walter Matthew (all lecherous) and a few extras including
an Italian director and a hunchback, and you'll see that Candy barely manages
to get a word in edgewise. At the time of CANDY's release some critics saw the
involvement of big-name stars as an embarrassment worth celebrating in their
columns, but as is most often the case with such things the film has endured while
the notices have been forgotten - modern audiences don't mind seeing Brando and
Burton play-acting instead of method acting.
Of course, Candy is no
spokesperson for any women's movement, and with very little correlation between
her constant disrobing and the story's satirical comment (against the military,
the police, the literati, religion, the medical profession, and even
film-making) she appears as a very doubtful heroine indeed. In some ways she is
like BARBARELLA (also released in 1968, and with a screenplay by Southern) and
the cosmic visions that open and close the film allude to her as a traveler
through space and time, journeying from one outlandish event to another,
sampling each in turn. For this reason I don't see Aulin's Candy as being a victim
but rather an observer - most importantly, she appears unchanged by any of her
liaisons except the last, at which point she has seen enough and transcends her
own status of a character, almost literally walking out of her own movie to
find re-invention elsewhere. Is Candy an extra-terrestrial visitor? It would
explain her naiveté but not her background - unless her family and school are
also fabrications. Fortunately such speculation is brushed over lightly,
sidestepping likely charges of pretension against the film (I don't know if
this idea is presented in the novel). This is less brain candy than it is eye
candy. It would make a good double bill with THE MAGIC CHRISTIAN, if only
because of the involvement of Ringo and Southern in both, but then again that
might be a tad too much for one sitting! Energetically directed by Christian
Marquand. It looks and sounds great in a cinema, so watch for prints in revival
houses.
Or
Sixties Filmmaking is Decadent and
Depraved: Candy
Take a twenty year-old Swedish
beauty queen with minimal acting experience and cast her in the role of the
All-American high schooler. Take a novel by the man who wrote the screenplays
for movies like Dr. Strangelove, Barbarella, and Easy Rider. Add an obscure
French director making his directorial debut. The result is Candy, the 1968
film based on the novel of the same name by Terry Southern. The film was
released on DVD last year, having been virtually extinct for three decades.
When Terry Southern and Mason
Hoffenberg published Candy, controversy ensued to no one's surprise. Southern,
who was working on a children's book at the time, and Hoffenberg, both
expatriates in Paris, wrote under the pseudonym Maxwell Kenton, whom Southern
described as an 'American nuclear physicist.' The deviant content of the book
drew it both praise and scorn—Candy was initially banned in England.
Nevertheless, it made Southern famous, selling thousands of copies.
Christian Marquand adapted the
novel into a motion picture ten years later. The film, however, was received
coldly and largely ignored by audiences. Audiences criticized the lack of a
coherent plot and bashed the embarrassing roles played by respectable
actors—like Richard Burton slurping whiskey from the floor of a limousine and
Marlon Brando as a sleazy guru. Candy was a by-product of the psychedelic
Sixties, done by filmmakers immersed in the prevailing culture and, according
to rumors, high on acid.
Candy Christian (Ewa Aulin) is the
blond, blue-eyed All-American girl—one must ignore her Germanic accent. She
exudes innocence and naivete, incredibly attractive but not too bright. Highly
impressionable, Candy adopts the philosophy of the famous poet McPhisto
(Richard Burton)—'to give myself...to whatever needs me.' And, with a cast of
lusty men, what Candy gives to nearly everyone she meets is no surprise.
The great poet McPhisto spots
Candy as he prepares to recite poetry at her high school auditorium. He invites
Candy into his limousine to give her a ride home. There it is established that
a drunken McPhisto 'needs' young Candy and he forces himself upon the poor girl
despite her pleas of 'I'm not ready.' Candy and McPhisto struggle on the
glass-bottomed limousine—glass-bottomed for no reason other than to provide
some interesting cinematography and some shots up Candy's dress. Candy thrives
on the unnecessary; the filmmakers seem to bask in their power, suggesting,
'We'll have a glass-bottomed limousine because we can. Plus, it looks cool.'
Moments after escaping from
McPhisto, Candy again must give herself—this time to her Mexican gardener,
Emmanuel (Ringo Starr). This was Ringo's first role outside of his films with
the Beatles, and that he was cast as a Mexican gardener must be some kind of
inside joke. His attempt at a Mexican accent is no match for the prevailing
Liverpudlian drawl. When McPhisto identifies Ringo as 'You with the face of an
Aztec,' one can't help but grimace and laugh uncomfortably. McPhisto urges
Emmanuel to give himself to Candy, and he does, yelling 'La Revolucion,'
throwing her onto a pool table, and violently attempting to remove her dress
and undergarments. Candy urges Emmanuel to relent to no avail, but she relents
and appears to enjoy Emmanuel's advances.
Such is the progression of the
movie. Candy travels across the country never failing to give herself to
whoever needs her. She encounters an extremely frustrated general (Walter
Matthau), an insane physician (James Coburn), a hunchback (Charles Aznavour),
and a false guru (Marlon Brando), all of whom partake of Candy's generosity.
Candy also gives herself to her uncle (she's sleeping), her father (he's
disguised in a robe and plaster), and a statue of a Hindu god.
Candy is a satire of the
prevailing culture of the 1960s—strange for a film that sates itself with the
excesses of the period. The cynicism of the film is overwhelming. The public
schools are framed as patriotic citizen builders—Candy is assigned an essay on
'the citizen's responsibility to his government, his church, his school, his
parents, his community, and his local police force.' Artists are portrayed as
publicity hungry and drunken fools. McPhisto (inspired by Dylan Thomas), upon
hearing Candy's name, says, 'Candy, beautiful name. It has the spirit, the
sound of the Old Testament.' The medical profession is portrayed as
exploitative and experimental. Candy's father has an operation in front of a
crowd of New York's finest where the surgeon says 'We're going to throw the
book away and dig in,' before prodding recklessly in the man's skull. Even
filmmakers take a drubbing. Candy meets a Cuban filmmaker named G3, who is busy
gathering material for his new work of people saying 'no.'
After an hour and a half of
watching Candy fall victim to every male she encounters, the episodes become
somewhat tiresome and one begins to feel bad for the poor girl. The film is
relentless as Candy becomes a student of a guru who resides in the trailer of a
eighteen-wheeler. The guru, Grindle, wants to lead Candy to the 'void' by
taking her through the necessary steps—the 'seven stages.' Stage one attempts
to locate the center of all breath—not Candy's lungs—and stage two is the
removal of Candy's clothes. The rest of the stages follow a natural
progression.
Critics and audiences panned Candy
for lack of a coherent storyline, and, at one point in the film, Candy asks
rhetorically, 'What does it all mean?' as she faces a underground chamber of
Hindu icons. Is this a question for the director? Did Marquand just piece
together a series of random acts with the theme of Candy getting violated in
each? Or, is the film suggesting something? Perhaps, Marquand is indicting his
society, one where the most innocent of people is corrupted by hungry monsters.
Marquand's is a society where no remnant of idealism can survive, except for
Marquand's idealism as portrayed in this film.
Candy is distinctively Terry
Southern—quirky with strange sexual mores. Anyone who has seen Barbarella
(which Southern adapted to the screen) can immediately connect these two films.
Both feature extremely na've and attractive female leads who end up mingling
with strange men and eventually sleeping with them. Barbarella takes place in
space while Candy takes place on earth.
One's first impulse is to think,
'What sluts!' but that really doesn't seem to fit. Both Candy and Barbarella,
however, seem to have transcended traditional morals in their search for
themselves. All the men who take advantage of Candy are real scumbags, but
Candy's virtue is unquestionable.
Marquand, while getting Southern's
main point, often neglects Southern's voice in the film. In the novel, Southern
scatters throughout the dialogue small details that recall Southern's earlier
work—such details that reflect very much on Candy's character and basis. In the
novel, Candy frequently remarks, 'N...O...spells NO!' Not much of a
detail—except that it is drawn from Southern's Gonzo piece (done years before
Hunter S. Thompson coined the term), 'Twirling at Ole Miss,' in which he
observes a baton twirling camp in Oxford, Mississippi. The phrase was uttered
to Southern when he offered one teen baton twirler a bottle of moonshine. Could
these five hundred pubescent girls in skimpy baton twirling outfits have
inspired the character Candy? They might have done just that, and it is
unfortunate the filmmakers neglected this.
Despite its shortcomings Candy
provides for an strangely enjoyable two hours. What many viewed as lack of
coherent plot can be attributed to the influence of Voltaire's Candide. So when
someone asks, 'How can those cops be racing across the California desert—I
thought they crashed into that bar of transvestites back in New York?' just
remind them of all the strange places that Professor Pangloss appeared. The
film, by naturem, is not supposed to be rational—it is anti-rational.
Candy is a deeply cynical film,
bashing nearly every American establishment possible. The characters in Candy
are incredibly depraved and selfish (except for Candy, of course). The
filmmakers, however, are conscious of what they are doing—conscious of their
excesses. In the final sequence, the crazed filmmaker G3 stands in a grassy
meadow and begins filming himself in a giant mirror that rises out of the
grass. The film crew is seen behind him—cameramen, grips, gaffers. Yes, Candy
pokes fun at Sixties establishments and excesses, but, at the same time, Candy
is guilty of the same things. But the filmmakers don't seem to care—after all,
it is the Sixties.
So last night, I opened the DVD I
had found on Amazon and watched this 40 year old film again. It still made me
laugh. And the music holds up nicely.
And it’s still hot. Just enough
voyeurism to entice the imagination. A brief show of tush, soft skin, and a
flash of pink under long blond hair, behind gaze and suggestive positions. Ah,
what a wonder world it was then. Barbarella should arrive tonight.
At least the soundtrack got
“There’s No Business Like Show Business” by Flo and Eddie out of my mind.
