Candy (1968)
When Thurlow o'er this labor bent
-- Thurlow to George Gordon, Lord Byron
When Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent/(I hope I am not violent),/Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.
-- George Gordon, Lord Byron to Thurlow
This half-pretentious, half-moronic adaptation of the novel by Mason Hoffenberg and Terry Southern is fundamentally a slice of late 1960s comic soft core that is able to get away with masquerading as Art thanks to its stellar cast. The story, (supposedly), is that Marlon Brando was unhappy with the script but agreed to do the film because of his friendship with director Christian Marquand; once Brando's name was associated with the project other "A" listees signed on quickly and easily...and if none of them ever cursed him for it later, I would be very surprised.
The script is by Buck Henry, and one might expect a satirical narrative of some wit from the screenwriter of The Graduate, particularly as the novel is nominally an update of Voltaire's Candide. But he seems to have been out of his depth with this material. Be prepared for large, tedious chunks which fall flat and/or drag badly, a couple of bits trying hard for European erotic surrealism, (or a parody perhaps), but come across as simply creepy. (Richard Burton paying amorous attentions to a mannequin while Ringo - well, you'll see if you watch it - Roger Vadim this is not.) And parts that are just plain stupid - without question this is Brando's most idiotic performance which alone puts it on the 'must-see' list. There is also a small collection of humorous ethnic stereotypes that elicit winces instead of laughs - even for 1968 they are an embarrassment.
On the other hand some small pieces work very well: Burton's Byronic Bombast with a Constant Breeze; the segment before the finale of Candy walking through the desert to fields populated by the archetypes she encountered in her journey, as well as the rest of the cast, the director, the crew, the extras, and probably one or two people who were just driving by at the time and recruited on the spot. (Perhaps this was intended as an existential statement that the movie knows it's a movie - or something. At any rate, it doesn't really help, but you do get to see those responsible all together.)
Also John Astin is a surprising standout in the dual roles of Candy's father and uncle, and the luscious, but almost-never-heard-from-again Ewa Aulin as Candy is very appealing and far less vacuous than the script makes her character appear. Notable among the small handful of her other credits is Season 1, Episode 8 of Monty Python's Flying Circus, (7 December 1969). She left the acting profession in her early twenties and went into the teaching one.
Overall, it's like the filmmakers had about 11 minutes of movie that they put in a 124 minute box and filled the empty space with 113 minutes of Styrofoam peanuts – or celluloid peanuts. A cheese product of its time that didn't curdle nicely to begin with and hasn't aged too well since, but at least it's 100% Mike Myers and Sonny & Cher free.
This film's best quality: it's groovy. This film's worst quality: it's groovy. Oh, and any similarity this symmetry implies to any Tao-like or Cartesian dualisms is unintentional, specious and purely coincidental. No philosophies were harmed in the making of this description.
XYZ
When Thurlow o'er this labor bent
-- Thurlow to George Gordon, Lord Byron
When Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent/(I hope I am not violent),/Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.
-- George Gordon, Lord Byron to Thurlow
This half-pretentious, half-moronic adaptation of the novel by Mason Hoffenberg and Terry Southern is fundamentally a slice of late 1960s comic soft core that is able to get away with masquerading as Art thanks to its stellar cast. The story, (supposedly), is that Marlon Brando was unhappy with the script but agreed to do the film because of his friendship with director Christian Marquand; once Brando's name was associated with the project other "A" listees signed on quickly and easily...and if none of them ever cursed him for it later, I would be very surprised.
The script is by Buck Henry, and one might expect a satirical narrative of some wit from the screenwriter of The Graduate, particularly as the novel is nominally an update of Voltaire's Candide. But he seems to have been out of his depth with this material. Be prepared for large, tedious chunks which fall flat and/or drag badly, a couple of bits trying hard for European erotic surrealism, (or a parody perhaps), but come across as simply creepy. (Richard Burton paying amorous attentions to a mannequin while Ringo - well, you'll see if you watch it - Roger Vadim this is not.) And parts that are just plain stupid - without question this is Brando's most idiotic performance which alone puts it on the 'must-see' list. There is also a small collection of humorous ethnic stereotypes that elicit winces instead of laughs - even for 1968 they are an embarrassment.
On the other hand some small pieces work very well: Burton's Byronic Bombast with a Constant Breeze; the segment before the finale of Candy walking through the desert to fields populated by the archetypes she encountered in her journey, as well as the rest of the cast, the director, the crew, the extras, and probably one or two people who were just driving by at the time and recruited on the spot. (Perhaps this was intended as an existential statement that the movie knows it's a movie - or something. At any rate, it doesn't really help, but you do get to see those responsible all together.)
Also John Astin is a surprising standout in the dual roles of Candy's father and uncle, and the luscious, but almost-never-heard-from-again Ewa Aulin as Candy is very appealing and far less vacuous than the script makes her character appear. Notable among the small handful of her other credits is Season 1, Episode 8 of Monty Python's Flying Circus, (7 December 1969). She left the acting profession in her early twenties and went into the teaching one.
Overall, it's like the filmmakers had about 11 minutes of movie that they put in a 124 minute box and filled the empty space with 113 minutes of Styrofoam peanuts – or celluloid peanuts. A cheese product of its time that didn't curdle nicely to begin with and hasn't aged too well since, but at least it's 100% Mike Myers and Sonny & Cher free.
This film's best quality: it's groovy. This film's worst quality: it's groovy. Oh, and any similarity this symmetry implies to any Tao-like or Cartesian dualisms is unintentional, specious and purely coincidental. No philosophies were harmed in the making of this description.
XYZ