Technical Difficulties - Please Stand By

A draggy/skippy dvd of The Color Purple has unexpectedly delayed publication of today's installment of Supporting Actress Sundays. Apologies. Tune in on Monday (hopefully) for a full report on The Oprah...

StinkyLulu Answers 5 Questions from GayProf

GayProf recently posted a cool little interview thing on his blog, Center of Gravitas. In it, he answered 5 questions posed to him by a blog buddy (TornWordo). In turn, GayProf offered to ask 5 questions of any blogger inclined to talk about themselves. (Like any bloggers would get into something like that!)

But StinkyLulu couldn't resist the invitation...

GayProf (L) asks StinkyLulu (R)...

1. We share a common link in New Mexico. Do you think that living in New Mexico provides a different perspective about the United States? Explain.

When I was a kid, my folks, sister and I lived in the Middle East. Every time I met another "expat" kid, we'd greet each other with an easy patter of questions.

"Where are you from?"
"The States."
"Yeah, me too. What state?"

At which point, my answer of "New Mexico" would -- seven or eight times out of ten -- be rebuffed with the accusation: "I thought you said you were from The States!"

The exchange happened so many times it became like my own vaudeville routine.

My "expat" peers were kids my age -- between 9 and 15 years old -- so their naïve questions might be attributed to the idiocies of youth. But this response, this shocked disbelief that this "New Mexico" place is part of these United States remains a remarkably consistent reaction from folks, regardless of age or education. Nuevomexicanos know the drill. Questions about passports. Comments about favorite Spring Breaky resort towns. Folks on the phone offering to "transfer you to the international help line" or gently reminding you that "we do not ship outside of the United States." And, my favorite, perhaps the most subliminal -- friends and associates I've known for decades, world travelers with fancy degrees, asking "how's everything in Arizona?"

All of which is to say: being from New Mexico means being both a part of and apart from the United States. We're on the U.S. border. We eat chile, not chili. We're in the forgotten time zone. We've never been "English only." We've got a history that goes back centuries. (My family's lived in New Mexico since it was part of Spain, while it was part of Mexico and now that it's part of the United States.) We're not an island like Puerto Rico or Hawaii, but we're almost as remote, as foreign, as exotic.

So, yeah: New Mexico affords a different view on U.S. culture and U.S history. Indeed, being from New Mexico is I think a big part of why I became a U.S. cultural historian.

2. Suppose you could remake any movie or television program with an all gay-male cast. Which one would it be and why?

Survivor.


Imagine the possibilities...

3. Recently, you stated that you might move to a midwestern locale. What prompts this move? If you aren’t moving, why not?

I've been offered a dream job in a prestigious department at Massive Midwestern University. It seems I also have an offer of a comparably dreamy but totally different gig at the flagship school of my homeland. I'm inclined to accept both, mostly because I'm greedy that way, but that'd be way too much work and a nightmare commute. So, as Julia Sugarbaker might say, that puts me on the horns of a dilemma...

(If any of you lovely readers are blessed with gifts of divination, foresight or other witchery, I sincerely welcome any and all guidance as I make this decision in the next days.)

4. What question do you wish people would ask you in real life or on the blog, but never do? How would you answer?

"Would it be ok if I bought you a really nifty gift? Every couple weeks?"

I would, of course, smile -- shyly, warmly, genuinely -- and answer, "If it's what you want to do..."

I do like making people happy.
I also like presents.

5. Why do you worship and/or adore GayProf?

The fact of your prized possession:

Your NRFB Mego Wonder Woman Doll.

* * * * *

Thanks for asking, GayProf!

And, lovely reader, if you would like for StinkyLulu to be an inquiring mind & ask you 5 questions, just holler. StinkyLulu's real nosy that way... (And, of course, should you have 5 questions of your own to ask StinkyLu, send them along...)

"Basically...Primal" (Homo Heritage Fridays)

from MANDATE

February 1985, page 3.
For details, click the image; then click again to magnify.

Some like 'em furry, I guess...

"What The Hot-Combed Hell" (Quote of the Thursday)

@ I Am Screaming & Punching Myself

And, lovely reader, you really must visit Catherine's recap of the first episode of Charm School ("Skank-Away Camp") to witness the saga of Hottie's head... (O'course, now I'm mostly fantasizing about what would happen if -- in some alternate "reality" -- the Shear Geniuses had to give the Charm Schoolers an "elegant" and "sophisticated" new look... Good times.)

The Women of After Hours (1985) - Supporting Actress Wednesdays: The Overlooked

Recently, a discussion in comments over at The Film Experience inspired something of a revelation. StinkyLulu just doesn't love Martin Scorsese movies. (Lulu's not too worried - Marty's gotta lotta love out there.) Sure, Lu adores the man's passion for film history and, yes, StinkyLulu absolutely admires a number of his films (Taxi Driver, Last Temptation... & Goodfellas especially). But no, as a rule, StinkyLulu does not love Martin Scorsese movies. Even hates one or two. Yet, there's an exception that proves this "Lulu Does Not Love Marty" rule: an atypically small & quirky 1985 comedy that StinkyLulu has loved and loved deeply. (For a time, this little flick was even on Lu's top ten all-time favorite movies list.) And it might come as little surprise to you, lovely reader, that the main reason for all that exception-provin'-the-rule luvin', of course, is...

...The Women of After Hours (1985)
Rosanna Arquette, Linda Fiorentino, Teri Garr, Catherine O'Hara & Verna Bloom
no stats for this one

After Hours follows Paul Hackett (Griffin Dunne), a cubicle dwelling office wonk, as he dips his toes in the wild waters of mid80s Soho and gets caught in the vortex of a crazy NY night. In the six or seven hours that follow his encounter with a dazed and confused beauty (Rosanna Arquette), Paul gets a call, loses all his money, makes art, gets lost, stumbles into an SM sex scene, gets implicated as the cause of a beautiful woman's suicide, inspires the ire of the transit authority, gets stalked, gets shoved around in a mosh pit, gets a partial haircut, gets accused of being a serial burglar, gets cruised in a park, gets chased by a vigilante mob led by a Mr.Frosty truck, gets encased in paper mache, gets stolen, and finally gets dropped off right in front of his office in time for work the next morning. It's a long NY night.

@ 1985 seconds - [sound of rain]

After Hours follows the basic narrative structure of a classical epic (ie. the "hero" must accomplish a set of insurmountable tasks before order can be restored...or, as here, "get out of Soho alive"). Dunne's Paul is hardly heroic, however. He's completely self-absorbed. He's trapped in a desperately sterile loneliness. He's also horny. In a way, Scorsese's film offers him as an everyman for the 1980s: an unremarkable straight white guy who's groping, clutching and staggering in search of intimacy amidst an urban social landscape both beyond his comprehension and his comfort zone. And the women of After Hours chart the contours of that landscape -- beginning with Rosanna Arquette.

Arquette's Marcy is Paul's siren, the beautiful woman who gives him her number and inspires him to do something a little crazy by heading out after 11pm on a worknight. Arquette's performance is at once anchored and arbitrary, her random tourette's-ish outbursts cohering in a vague (vaguely stoned?) persona that's both confident woman and wounded girl. (And thus as catnip for emotionally stunted straight guys everywhere.) Arquette's scenes start sweet & sexy before becoming incrementally strange. By the time Dunne's Paul starts to "dump" Marcy, it seems a good idea. Of course, to either approach or flee Arquette's Marcy, Paul must negotiate with Linda Fiorentino.

Fiorentino's Kiki stirs Paul's loins in ways that scare him. And, delightfully, Fiorentino keeps her pitch playfully abstract -- a well-fed cat toying with a panicked mouse. At first glance, she's all danger -- nudity, casual intimacy, sex games, sex toys, eyelined leatherman boyfriend Horst -- but that also means there's no surprises with Kiki. Anything can happen and everything's cool. Fiorentino's clarity in the role helps make Kiki one of the most memorable and "safest" presences in the film, unlike Catherine O'Hara and Teri Garr.

Teri Garr plays Julie and Catherine O'Hara plays Gail. Regular gals with regular names. (Played by adept comic actresses with unusally humane depths.) Julie and Gail both wear bright yellow & black outfits. Their ensembles glare like police caution tape -- a none-too-subtle warning which Dunne's Paul does not heed. Paul first meets Garr's Julie, a the sweet girl seeking the rescue of a good man. Later, he meets O'Hara's Gail, the take charge woman who's happy to take care of herself and her fella. Both women are initially interested in Paul. But, of course, Paul inevitably disappoints them both. Fatally. Garr's Julie lapses into a pit of neurotic need which turns vengeful once Paul flees. O'Hara's Gail seems a woman on the verge of becoming completely unhinged. She bosses and bullies Paul well enough, but when it's "revealed" that Paul's the Soho burglar? Well, O'Hara's Gail goes on a tear in her MrSofty truck to rid the streets of Soho of such dangers as Paul. Perhaps permanently...

All of which drives Dunne's Paul into the welcoming arms of Verna Bloom's June. Like each of the women before her, Bloom (a Scorsese regular) seems to Dunne's Paul an ideal refuge, indulging Paul's clumsy flirtations with generosity and gratitude. Bloom's performance is perhaps the most enigmatic -- and effective -- in the film. At first she seems almost somnambulent, before she takes aggressive charge rescuing Paul from the vigilante horde. Or...has she in fact trapped Paul?


The nightmarish dreaminess of After Hours operates on this sharp-edged pivot of gendered intimacy. Are the women he encounters Paul's salvation? Or his doom? Paul's like the ball in a pinball machine, hurtling about in a world over which he has no control. And it's to the credit of the actressing at the edges of After Hours that this fairy tale of masculine erotic anxiety does not lapse too easily into banal misogyny. Arquette, Fiorentino, Garr, O'Hara and Bloom contribute memorable and joyful performances to this dark little thriller of a comedy, making After Hours an almost actress-driven piece...and thus all the more idiosyncratic a Scorsese picture, the exception to StinkyLulu's rules of Martin Scorsese.

An aside: Additionally, consider what has to be the most (if not only?) sustained queer content ever in a Scorsese film. At each point along the journey, Dunne's Paul has a series of evocative encounters with homos, the masculine intimacies offered almost as alternatives to the terrifying women. These men -- sometimes incredibly gay, sometimes incredibly tough -- inhabit the landscape of the film in a curiously ominous...obliquely dangerous way. Indeed, despite the film's extraordinary innocence of social significance, StinkyLulu was startled to see how easily this film can be read as a straight male reaction to the early AIDS era. The gays are kind in After Hours, but they signal the uncharted dangers of Paul's single-minded erotic pursuit. All of which, unexpectedly, leads StinkyLulu to ask: is After Hours Marty's AIDS movie?

To Do List Tuesdays

___ Item 1:
REFLECT on the viciousness of sudden violence.
30 or so young adults this week in Virginia. 60 or so US Service folk (also mostly young adults) just last month. 500 or so Iraqi civilians just last week. S'all so so sad...

___ Item 2:
PONDER unlikely insights.
Andrew Sullivan (of all people) offers the most lucid parsing of the Imus mess.

___ Item 3:
RELISH unintended ironies.
StinkyLulu's choice of theme song for the current administration, "The Devil Is A Liar". (It's really a must-see. A Pentecostal family band rockin' the county fair. Good Times. Or End Times. You decide.) (h/t One D At A Time)

___ Item 4:

ASSESS unanticipated delights.
Yes, we're talking about Charm School and Shear Genius, StinkyLulu's new favorite realities. Watch for yourself: SG & CS. Then, just try and explain to StinkyLulu why these new shows are so much fun.

___ Item 5:
QUAKE at the prospect of a film version of Nine.
Now comes the harder task. Are you quaking with giddy delight? Or mortal terror?

___ Item 6:
NOMINATE yourself for April's Supporting Actress Smackdown.
StinkyLulu's still one Smackdowner short for April's Smackdown. Do you have what it takes to take on the Big 80s with Ken, Catherine & StinkyLulu? If so, holler & we'll go from there...

Have at it, lovelies...

5 Stinky thoughts on Grindhouse

With MrStinky out of town this weekend and with mounting threats to cleave its epicness into bits, 'tseemed necessary to prioritize a theatrical screening of Grindhouse. And, lo, was StinkyLulu glad to have done it. As an experience, 'twas both exhausting and exhilarating. (StinkyLulu arrived home & was wired for hours -- that like to never happens these days.) So, if you can, lovely reader, do rush out and catch the rollercoaster ride for yourself. 'Tis a four hour experience, so you may need to take the day off, but 'tis truly worth it. Can't really think of a film that's as much about the movie-going experience -- good and bad -- as this one. It's not necessarily a great movie, but it is an enthralling event with at least a little something for every movie freak... StinkyLulu, then, offers the following 5 Stinky Thoughts (which are, to the best of my limited ability, spoiler free) as both reward and incentive...

Thought #1: Oh, that Robert Rodriguez.
With Planet Terror, StinkyLulu enters the ranks of Robert Rodriguez's most weary fans. The man's clearly a brilliant and charismatic organizer. He can marshal more effects, actors and character schticks than anyone. Perhaps ever. And he's a brilliant scenarist -- creating the most enthralling and clever scenarios for cool characters to maneuver. But, criminy, RR just seems unable to tell a story in a way that sustains our emotional investment in all those totally cool things happening on screen.

Thought #2: The Sign in the Box Office Window
Last week, Stale Popcorn marveled at the American movie-going public's palate. And when StinkyLulu arrived the to the googaplex and noted the "warning" sign in the box office window...basically warning that the film was supposed to look like that...well, StinkyLulu just had to wonder. Golly. How dumb are U.S. movie-goers? To be sure, Stella Liebeck (the McDonald's coffee lady) was from ABQ so it may be that we are especially dumb in the Land of Enchantment. Then again, maybe it's not a question of smarts. Perhaps it's more that contemporary filmgoers are profoundly uncurious/uninterested in matters of cinematic style? (PapaStinky once tried convince StinkyLulu that a dvd-playing in "letterbox" mode was due to a manufacturer's defect.) Whatever the explanation, signs like the one in the box-office do not bode well for even mildly adventurous commercial filmmaking.

Thought #3: Can the interstitials get their own sequel?
Oh my jeepers. Those previews? Those "this film is restricted" cartoons? That psychedelic swirl between segments? Such filmgoing flashbacks. Lurv it. StinkyLulu could just watch that shit for hours. Literally. Hours. Honestly. Those interstitials are what elevate Grindhouse into the realm of the sublime.

Thought #4: OK. Is Eli Roth a...well, you know?
Just askin'...

Every time StinkyLulu sees/hears the man speak, that special "spidey" sense starts tingling. And a certain "ooh-wa" sound starts on loop. Maybe it's just the way he touched that other horndog's arm at the bar...with that curiously prolonged fingerpoint? I dunno... Like I said. Not sayin' -- just askin'...

Thought #5: Death Proof is pure genius.
And it's all about the structure. QT very subtly organizes Death Proof into three acts, using little bits of Grindhouse schtick as bridges between. Thus organized, QT uses the first two sections of Death Proof to immerse, inoculate and initiate the 2007 audience to his chosen genre and its two main pleasures: tawdry tedium and gruesome sadism. Then, in the third section, QT deploys a set of genuinely charismatic char/actors to subvert the genre and its gender politics in startling and gratifying ways. TO EXPLAIN: Death Proof's first section (Jungle Julia) is all about the insipid voyeurism and languid, pointless titillation of schlock pics. The characters are barely distinguishable -- same bimbo, different flavors -- and are generally uninteresting (to the point of annoying). Plus, the basic scenario gets way too complicated, with so many flailing threads that it's easier to stop caring. The main point of this section, though, is to introduce Butterfly (the gorgeously retro Vanessa Ferlito, on whom StinkyLulu now has a total girlcrush), tracking her uneasiness and slow seduction by Stuntman Mike. And just as there promises to be a horndoggish payoff for all this tawdry tedium, QT interrupts the proceedings with a simple bit of fabricated "Grindhouse" schtick. (At the sparsely populated screening I attended, the offending intertitle elicited audible groans of frustration. Cinematicoitus interruptus, if you will.) Then, with an abrupt cut, QT zooms Death Proof into the film's second and briefest section -- that I'll just call "Left Turn" -- which gives full ride to the lurid sadism of the genre and which has women taking all the hits. Hard. That's followed by a denouement-like bridge to what looks to be a lamely appended but generically-appropriate "explanatory" epilogue (featuring, in a nice twist, a few intertextual treats in the shape of characters from Planet Terror popping up). Then, all of a sudden, QT yanks us into section three -- with Death Proof's only continuing character now clearly up to the usual tricks. But the film's feel has changed. Everything's a teensy bit clearer, brighter, more contemporary in feel and sound than anything up to this point in the film. Even more, the characters are interesting, as are the performances of most of the actors (especially Rosario Dawson and Zoë Bell). There's an ominous weight in the air, to be sure, but the patter of the four women keeps things amazingly light. (That round-the-table work in the diner? Evokes the contrived whimsy of Sex & The City even as it ratchets up the terror; imagine if Carrie and the gals had a really scary stalker... That scene's one of the best things Tarantino's ever done. Right along with the incredible, extended stunt set-piece that follows. Not to mention that crazy fist fight at the end. Wow.) With Death Proof, Tarantino's genre obsession finally marries with his storytelling ability and genuine interest in performances by powerful women. It's easily his most mature and successful work. And, quite frankly, it might be the first film in which Tarantino finds a way for the audience to ride shotgun on his filmmaking joyride.

So, lovely reader, do you have any thoughts on the wonders of Grindhouse? Do tell...

Amy Madigan in Twice in a Lifetime (1985) - Supporting Actress Sundays

There are times when a Supporting Actress nomination seems to pop out of thin air. Out of nowhere, from a film that nobody's seen, or even really heard of. The performance/film nominated might be incredible, an overlooked gem...or it might be good or just ok or even bad. The nominee might an old reliable Supporting Actress nominee...or a complete newbie. And while nominations don't pop out of the blue every every year, or even every coupla years, when they do...it's always a bit of a WTF moment. As it is this week with...

...Amy Madigan in Twice in a Lifetime (1985)

approximately 25 minutes and 46 seconds
22 scenes
roughly 25% of film's total running time

Twice in a Lifetime tells the story of a midlife divorce, in which a regular working class guy meets a barmaid and leaves his 30 year marriage, thus causing emotional havoc in the lives of his devoted wife and adult children. (Think of it as "Archie Divorces Edith.")

@ 1985 seconds - VOICE ON TV: "The girls go cruising in Daddy's new convertible..."

Twice's twist? The film remains resolutely sympathetic to all the characters (the husband, the wife, the kids and the chippy) while also stubbornly avoiding any/all "resolution through reconciliation" tricks. It's also intransigently upbeat. No domestic tragedy here. Twice in a Lifetime instead spins this divorce story as an incongruously happy tale. Everyone gets a second chance to lead a happier, more fulfilling life.

Of course, not everyone wants a second chance. Some people are just happy with the way things were before someone f*cked everything up, thank you very much, now go to hell. And that's where Amy Madigan's Sunny comes in.

Madigan's Sunny is the bossy, busybody middle daughter. Married, two kids, struggling to make ends meet, with a decent husband who just can't seem to catch a break. When her father (Gene Hackman) dumps her mother (Ellen Burstyn) after thirty years of marriage, Sunny's foundation is rocked. To the core. And, boy, is Sunny pissed.

Madigan plays Sunny as a tightly coiled spring. In the film's early scenes, Madigan's Sunny tries to live up to her name, putting forward a hap-hap-happy face as cover for the economic strain weighing heavily on her basically good marriage. But when her father dumps her mother for a barmaid? The desperate fury that's been building inside Sunny finds a target, and Madigan tears it loose.

Twice's narrative seems to offer Sunny as the character who, having made all the "right" choices (marriage, work, kids), is frustrated that things haven't worked out so well. And when her parents' marriage crumbles, Sunny begins to wonder if everything she's ever believed in has now been revealed to be a lie. Unfortunately, Madigan skips over these existential aspects of the character and instead plays Sunny as a wounded animal, now cornered and biting back. Hard.

Madigan's Sunny -- like her self-administered haircut (she's too broke to go to the salon) -- is all blunt edges and jagged corners. Sunny was ostensibly born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, not Chicago, but you'd never know that just by listening to Madigan's incongruous midwestern vocal affect. The accent's flat nasality amplifies the bitterness of Sunny's rants and transforms each of the character's many chattering screeds into a dull, annoying buzz. Sure, Madigan's performance captures Sunny "in the moment" but her work in the role neglects the broader architecture of the character. Who was Sunny before her life started going to shit? Who might she be after? (The only glimpses we get of Sunny other than "blind fury" come as a side benefit of Ellen Burstyn's genuine performance as Kate, the jilted wife left to find a new identity as a single woman in her 50s. As Madigan's Sunny supports her mother by shopping and playing bingo and going to strip clubs, a few glimmers appear of what Sunny might be like when she's not living her life to prove a point and punish her father. That said, Burstyn would have been a much more worthy nomination than Madigan.)

At this point, StinkyLulu's inclined to think that Amy Madigan's nod for Twice in a Lifetime is one of those dreaded apology nominations. (Madigan's overlooked performance in the previous year's Places in the Heart was loads more nomination-worthy than her work here, possibly even deserving of the trophy.) As it is, Madigan's work in Twice in a Lifetime emerges as one of the most annoying and uninteresting components of this banal and deservedly neglected film.

"Line Up" (Homo Heritage Fridays)

from HONCHO: The Magazine For The Macho Male.
December 1983, page 56.
For details, click the image; then click again to magnify.

So...so...discreet?

"It's Not Like I'm Gay" (PhotoQuote of the Day)

"It's not like I'm gay."
- DrBoogie @ Shear Genius
see also: That Hair Guy • Inside Bay Area

Audra Lindley in Desert Hearts (1985) - Supporting Actress Wednesdays: The Overlooked

The list of "overlooked" performances in the 1985 field of Supporting Actress contenders is a broad one. While the nominations (mostly) went to decent performances in high-profile, big-studio projects, distinctly independent films offered some of the best actressing at the edges of any year -- and leading the pack of those "overlooked" by Oscar is...

...Audra Lindley in Desert Hearts (1985)

approximately 19 minutes and 29 seconds
15 scenes
roughly 21% of film's total running time

When Little StinkyLulu first caught a preview for Donna Deitch's lesbian love opus, Desert Hearts, something about the trailer's big laugh line ("I'm handlin' it") just rang familiar.

click image to be routed to trailer

Who was that sunbleached old lady? Had StinkyLulu ever seen her before? 'Twas not until a few scenes into the film, that StinkyLulu realized -- with a electric jolt of exhilarated discovery that Lu remembers to this day -- that that parched lady was MRS ROPER! 'Twas one of those clarifying moments known well to every actressexual -- part of the "coming out" process as 'twere -- and it has caused StinkyLulu to regard this performance (and this film) with especial affection. All of which made StinkyLulu's first revisit to Desert Hearts a bit uncertain. Would the film hold up? Was it even any good to begin with? And what about Mrs. Roper?

20:07 - CAY: I'll leave the keys in the visor.

Made a full 20 years before Brokeback Mountain, Desert Hearts maneuvers similar territory -- a romantic epic of same sex love, set amidst the casual freedoms and blithe cruelties of the Mountain West at midcentury -- albeit on a much smaller scale. Donna Deitch's film adapts a 1964 Jane Rule novel to tell the story of Vivian Bell (Helen Shaver), a literature professor at Columbia, who in 1959 travels to Reno to establish residency before filing for divorce. Vivian finds lodging a ways outside of town at a ranch devoted to the divorcée clientele and run by Frances (Audra Lindley). There, Vivian meets Frances' wildchild "step-daughter" Cay (Patricia Charbonneau). Cay's girl-loving bravado stirs Vivian's nascent lesbian inclinations and the movie tracks the escalation of their attraction from crush to full-body lesbionic love.

Quite frankly, StinkyLulu was surprised to see how well Desert Hearts holds up. Made at the front edge of the queer independent film wave of the late 1980s and early 1990s, the film itself is exceptionally confident. Where the Rule novel used biblical imagery to amplify the literary significance of Vivian and Cay's love*, Dietch deploys Hollywood clichés and a gorgeous soundtrack of 1950s country-pop classics to conventionalize the unconventional love story. There are sunsets and chases in the rain and train station farewells, underscored by Patsy Cline and Elvis longing for loves both lost and found. Deitch's simple and savvy use of these blatant Hollywood romantic tropes gives the movie a surprisingly enduring impact.

Deitch is smart, too, to populate the edges of her film with nifty actressing. (The leads, while undeniably charismatic, offer fairly wooden performances.) Audra Lindley leads this pack of wild women, a group that includes Gwen Welles and Denise Crosby in brief cameos and features the incredible Andra Akers as Cay's best pal, Silver. Akers' Silver -- a big-haired, big-voiced, talent-free showgirl with a heart of gold, who just adores her little lesbian pal -- is the kind of character that just makes StinkyLulu happy.

@ 1985 seconds -
SILVER (to CAY): Joe's in the kitchen. You're in the tub. Jesus. I'm happy.

But its Audra Lindley's performance as the erratic Frances that really classes up the joint, providing a necessary emotional mooring for the piece. Lindley's Frances is the kind of woman who's been offering hospitality all of her life and who's now discovering that people don't want what she has to offer. Her business is drying up. Her kids are growing up and readying to leave. Her beloved "husband" is long dead and gone. Lindley's performance deftly demonstrates how Frances' loneliness and her fear have begun to corrupt the welcoming warmth that has long been her signature.

Crucially, Lindley's Frances adores Cay but hates that Cay's a lesbian. And when Vivian and Cay start getting "friendly," Lindley's Frances turns her wrath on Vivian with a calm, terrifying clarity. Lindley's Frances is still perhaps the best cinematic depiction of the pain, terror and love that collide in a parent's heart upon a beloved child's coming out. Lindley plays Frances -- a woman driven by fear -- with a fearlessness that's both shocking and heartbreaking. It's a scary performance, free of vanity and a generous contribution to the film.

Akers' Silver gives the movie its heart, Lindley's Frances provides its soul.


AN ASIDE: One of the things for which I'll forever be grateful to Donna Deitch? Little Lulu saw Desert Hearts just a year or two before seeing The Women. Which instigated an always delightful fantasy possibility that some of The Women might have discovered their own Desert Hearts in Reno. Indeed, for years I have been practicing a whole set of fantasy narratives which have Paulette Goddard's Miriam becoming a big dyke while at the divorcee ranch in Reno. Ahh good times... Thank you Donna Deitch!