Reflections on ... Valley of the Dolls (1967)

From the 20 September 2017 Lobotomy Room Goes to the Movies Facebook events page:

Lobotomy Room Goes to the Movies is the FREE monthly film club downstairs at Fontaine’s devoted to Bad Movies We Love (our motto: Bad Movies for Bad People), specialising in the kitsch, the cult and the queer! And on Wednesday 20 September, we commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of Valley of the Dolls (1967)!

Before Mommie Dearest ... before Showgirls ... the original “What the hell were they thinking?” Bad Movie We Love was show business cautionary tale Valley of the Dolls. A perennial favourite of drag queens and a cult classic for connoisseurs of kitsch, the unintentionally hilarious and wildly entertaining 1967 film adaptation of Jacqueline Susann’s scandalous 1966 bestseller took the already lurid source material – and went even trashier with it! (An enraged Susann herself called the film “a piece of shit”!).

Throw on a bouffant wig, get yourself a stiff drink and strap yourselves in for a wild ride when Lobotomy Room Goes to the Movies presents Valley of The Dolls! 

As usual: arrive circa 8 pm to order your drinks and grab the best seats downstairs in The Bamboo Lounge. (Seating is limited! First come, first serve!). The film starts at 8:30 pm prompt.

“Bitches in wigs!” Drag queen Jackie Beat

“You’ve got to climb Mount Everest to reach the Valley of the Dolls …” Barbara Parkins' spoken introduction to the film Valley of the Dolls (1967)

“Boobies. Boobies. Boobies. Nothin’ but boobies. Who needs ‘em?” Patty Duke as Neely O’Hara in Valley of the Dolls

“Adult books / I don't understand / Jackie Susann meant it that way …” from the 1981 song “Adult Books” by Los Angeles punk band X

/ Casualties of the glamour jungle: Valley of the Dolls covers the show business travails of our three heroines (left to right) Anne Wells (Barbara Perkins), Neely O'Hara (Patty Duke) and Jennifer North (Sharon Tate, centre) /

Valley of the Dolls is a legendarily bad film with a terrible reputation. It is frequently categorised – albeit usually with affection – as a “bad film we love”, “so-bad it’s good” or “guilty pleasure.” But I’m ready to out myself: I’d genuinely rank Valley of the Dolls as one of my all-time favourite films. In fact, for me it’s as addictive as the fistfuls of “dolls” (pills) the film’s three main characters pop as casually as Tic Tacs.

Watching Valley of the Dolls lulls me into a trance of pure pleasure. The film unspools like a shimmering, hallucinatory pink fever dream. Like Mommie Dearest (1981) or Mahogany (1975), it’s an allegedly “bad movie” that is so wildly entertaining on every level, it collapses conventional distinctions between “bad” and “good”. The far more tasteful and respected 1952 talkathon All About Eve (1950), for example, covers much of the same “show-business-is-hell” thematic territory as Dolls (especially the bitchy antagonism between ageing veteran actress Helen Lawson and young upstart Neely O’Hara). Eve is heralded as a Golden Age Hollywood classic, but I’d argue the trashier Dolls is infinitely more enjoyable.

And it improves with repeated viewings. Dolls is a truly life-changing film! The insane dialogue was surely meant to be memorised and quoted. Along with the oeuvre of John Waters, I’d argue watching Dolls should be an essential rite of passage for all self-respecting queers. Sound-tracked by the haunting and ethereal Dionne Warwick theme tune (which you hear over and over and over again), the movie adaptation takes outrageous liberties with Jacqueline Susann’s sizzling original 1966 source novel. (If you haven’t read the book I highly recommend you do). Entire characters and subplots are excised – and the ending is radically changed. No wonder Susann hated the film! It’s not so much a faithful adaptation as a frantic summary of the book’s emotional climaxes as lurid bullet points. Think 123 spellbinding minutes of teased hair, bouffant wiglets, mood swings, mink coats, love affairs, emotional meltdowns, catfights, pill-popping, abortions, drug overdoses, nervous breakdowns, terminal illness, rehab, drunkenness, and slaps across the face.

Undistinguished hack director Mark Robson is usually blamed for the hypothetical flaws of Dolls (and he was reportedly nasty and bullying towards the lead actresses). But he’s also responsible for the film’s berserk, wildly lurching tone and the hammy performances (he apparently encouraged everyone to over-act) – so I am forever in his gratitude! It’s precisely his lack of judgement and control over the sensational material that makes Dolls so pleasurable. And to his credit, Robson shows some unusual, creative, and stylish flourishes too. When Neely recounts her hellish stint drying-out in a sanatorium to Anne and Lyon, the flashbacks are hazy and almost hallucinatory. And the glimpse of Jennifer’s subtitled French “nudie” art film is a viciously funny parody of almost every Brigitte Bardot film ever made (most overtly, Bardot’s nude sequence at beginning of Le Mepris).

/ He's just not that into you: that cad Lyon Burke and Anne Welles in Valley of the Dolls. Via /

Special mention must be given to Dolls’ several music numbers. Except for Anthony Scotti as Tony Polar, no one does their own singing - which really adds to the film’s artifice. (Speaking of artifice: when one character has her wig yanked off in a fight, she’s wearing another wig underneath!). Saturated in faux-Continental sophistication and Vegas lounge schmaltz, the middle-of-the-road quasi-show tunes belted by Neely, Helen and Tony are gloriously unmoored from the real-life youthquake pop culture of 1967. (Remember: this was the era of psychedelia, protest music, The Velvet Underground and Nico). This strange, campy ersatz “swinging” music (by Andre and Dory Previn) exists entirely in its own realm. Neely’s star-making performance of the perky “It’s Impossible” has an almost Eurovision vibe. (My favourite moment: when the strands of beads Neely is wearing around her neck miraculously suddenly loop perfectly around each boob like a bra. I love that this unintentionally hilarious shot was left in! It never fails to make me guffaw aloud). Fierce stage diva Helen working herself up into a frenzy squawking about planting her own tree (“my tree will not be just one in a row!”) is one of the great kitsch moments ever captured on celluloid. (Michael Musto has noted that Susan Hayward embraces the lip-synching so avidly that her mouth gapes open long after the final triumphant note she’s miming to has ended).

The chief pleasure of Dolls is the performances of its lead actresses. Susann’s novel had caused a sensation in ’66, so the film was a red-hot film property, every bit as hyped as Gone with the Wind had been in the 1930s. Just as with the hunt for Scarlett O’Hara, every happening young actress of the period was up for consideration for the main characters. It’s fun to imagine the various casting combinations that were proposed: Candace Bergen for Anne. (Susann herself wanted Mia Farrow). Natalie Wood or Ann-Margret as Neely (Susann would have preferred Barbra Streisand). Raquel Welch or Jane Fonda as Jennifer (Fonda was also considered for Neely. Susann’s own choice for Jennifer: Tina Louise – Ginger from Gilligan’s Island!). You can also throw Tuesday Weld, Liza Minnelli and Faye Dunaway into the mix. Meanwhile, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford and even Lucillle Ball reportedly vied to play Helen before the part went to Judy Garland (and then Susan Hayward). Fun as it is to speculate how Dolls would have turned out with these alternative rosters of actresses, for me the final cast is perfection.

/ Barbara Parkins as Anne Welles: Good girl with all the bad breaks! /

As prim, long-suffering good girl Anne Welles, Barbara Parkins is superbly inexpressive and wooden with an immaculate frost-bitten lady-like demeanour. No matter what travails Susann’s plot throws at her, no matter how badly the callous Lyon Burke treats her, Anne’s face remains a rigidly-composed mask. Parkins - styled to evoke Jackie Kennedy -  also seems to occasionally slip into a patrician British accent. Her best line: “Neely, you’re being obnoxious!” Parkins’ performance is pretty terrible by most standards, but her lustrous bouffant mane is impeccable, and she stares out of train windows and suffers in mink beautifully. And her Gillian Girl hairspray advertisement is a mind-blowing camp extravaganza.

/ Sharon Tate as Jennifer North: Sex symbol turned on too often! /

The acting of Sharon Tate as doomed sex bomb Jennifer North is hesitant, remote, and uncertain in the fragile tradition of Kim Novak. Is Tate “good” or “bad” as Jennifer? Certainly, she imbues Jennifer with a dopey Marilyn Monroe-like child-woman vulnerability. Watching her, you’re reminded me of Pauline Kael’s review of Some Like It Hot: “Monroe gives perhaps her most characteristic performance, which means that she's both charming and embarrassing.” Tate has two undeniably great moments. When hip-swiveling smoothie nightclub singer Tony serenades her with the ballad “Come Love with Me” and they instantly fall in love, Tate does dewy-eyed, besotted wordless simpering better than any of the ingenues in an Elvis musical – and that includes Ann-Margret and Nancy Sinatra. (Susann originally modeled Tony on the old-school suave Brylcreemed likes of Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra but as portrayed in the film, he’s a macho crotch-thrusting Vegas stud more in the tradition of Tom Jones or Engelbert Humperdinck). And Tate is genuinely tragic in Jennifer’s suicide scene in that orange and brown hotel room, gulping down a fatal dose of pills while staring at herself in the mirror.

/ Above: "At night, all cats are grey ..." Lee Grant as Miriam. Via /

Honourable mention must go to Lee Grant in the supporting role of Jennifer’s scheming and secretive sister in law Miriam. Like her peer Shelley Winters, Grant is from the intense, nostril-flaring Method school of acting. And like Winters, Grant demonstrates no one hams it up quite like a Method Actor. It’s been noted that even when completely silent and standing completely still, Grant still manages to overact furiously in Dolls. Whether eavesdropping on conversations, hovering around corners, having tense telephone conversations with doctors, heating-up lasagna or just lounging at home alone in a bathrobe (while wearing a thick glossy chestnut wig and false eye-lashes), Grant approaches the role like she’s in a Greek tragedy. In her 2014 memoirs Grant admitted she underwent her first face lift when she was still in her thirties. Certainly, her face in Dolls is stretched as taut as a drum. Grant’s best moments: when she cryptically warns Tony, “How many times do I have to tell you? At night all cats are grey” as if imparting ancient mystical wisdom. (What does that even mean?). And - when Tony’s medical bills begin piling up - Miriam shamelessly pimps Jennifer to a high falutin’ French pornographer (I mean, film director) with, “You’ve posed undraped on the stage before.” Miriam would be Grant’s ultimate role until she played the drunk rich bitch slapped around by stewardess Brenda Vaccaro in Airport ’77. (I also love Grant’s brief, ghostly appearance in David Lynch’s 2001 tour de force Mulholland Drive).

/ Susan Hayward as Helen Lawson: A gut, fingernail, and claw fighter who went down swinging /

Judy Garland was initially cast as scary show business dragon woman Helen Lawson, but she was fired for drunkenness and clashing with the director. (Garland got revenge by swiping her Travilla costumes). Reliable pro Susan Hayward was drafted in to replace her at the last moment. While it’s a great cinematic “What if?” for Garland fans, I think the hard-boiled, tough-as-nails Hayward is majestic as unapologetic bitch Helen. Defiant and abrasive with a butch, rasping chain-smoker growl, Howard savours every barbed line. “The only hit that comes out of a Helen Lawson show is Helen Lawson, and that's me, baby, remember?” she rages. “Neely hasn't got that hard core like me. She never learned to roll with the punches. And, believe me, in this business they come left, right and below the belt!” she gloats about her vanquished nemesis. “I'm a barracuda!” Howard snarls triumphantly, swilling champagne while wearing a green sequined caftan. Her Helen is a bitch goddess extraordinaire. And the fuss over Helen Lawson’s auburn wig is unfair: everyone in the film wears wigs and hairpieces throughout! In fact, in that infamous wig-tearing scene Neely’s own hair appears to be augmented with a wiglet. And the powder room attendant who comforts Helen is sporting an acrylic orange Ronald McDonald clown wig. (Seriously – check her out!). Wigs. Wigs. WIGS!

/ Patty Duke as Neely O’Hara: Nice kid turned lush /

Ultimately, though it’s Patty Duke who owns Valley of the Dolls as show business monster Neely O’Hara. Duke had won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar aged just 16 for playing Helen Keller in The Miracle Worker (1962) and then starred between 1963-1966 in the pert ultra-kitsch Patty Duke Show on TV (as identical twin cousins!). At 20, Duke was perhaps understandably eager to jettison her teenybopper image. A meaty, challenging role like Neely must have looked like the perfect chance to prove herself as a serious dramatic adult actress. And boy did Duke seize the opportunity with both hands! She doesn't so much act as rampage through Dolls. The more pill-head Neely unravels, the more magnificent Duke is. Gritting her teeth, screaming her lines, flailing and thrashing, Duke’s portrayal of Neely is like one continuous whiplash mood swing or temper tantrum (or what John Waters would call a “glamour fit”).  I read someone somewhere describe Duke’s Neely as a “sequined terrorist”, which is totally accurate. This is a truly towering, unfettered wild display in the tradition of Ann-Margret in Kitten with a Whip (1964) or Tommy (1975), Diana Ross in Mahogany (1975) and Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest (1981). At the time Duke’s performance was widely ridiculed. Even though Dolls was a commercial hit, there was speculation it would destroy her career. (Like Dunaway with Mommie Dearest, for years the mortified Duke refused to talk about Dolls. To her credit, towards the end of her life Duke embraced the film’s kitsch devotees). Today, her depiction of Neely O’Hara appears fearless and risky, nobly unafraid to appear foolish, pathetic, or desperate. Patty Duke died in 2016. I’d argue her crowning achievement was her incarnation of Neely O’Hara, destined to be continuously re-discovered by new generations of aficionados of "a lavender persuasion". Sparkle, Neely – sparkle!

Further reading and viewing:

There is a bonanza of documentaries about Valley of the Dolls on YouTube. Designing Valley of the Dolls emphasises designer William Travilla’s deluxe eye-popping costumes. (Travilla is best-remembered for his collaborations with Marilyn Monroe on eight of her films. His most famous creation is the white pleated halter-necked dress Monroe wears in The Seven Year Itch). It offers a goldmine of juicy gossip and insight. One fun factoid: $25,000 of the film’s budget was set aside for wigs and hairpieces. Sharon Tate was paid $35,000. Patty Duke was paid $75,000. Poor Barbara Parkins was paid just $20,000. More money was spent on wigs than one of the film’s leading ladies! That reveals so much about the filmmaker’s priorities! Designing also includes stills from deleted scenes. For example, that famous image of an anguished Neely reaching for the giant jar of red pills never actually appears in Dolls: that’s a hallucination scene from the sanatorium, cut from finished film. I’d love to see all these deleted scenes! If the scrapped footage still exists someone should compile them as a DVD extra. Or better yet, assemble a three-hour “director’s cut” with all the deleted scenes re-inserted!

/ Below: A prime example of Travilla's understated costumes in Dolls, as worn by Anne Welles in the Gillian Girl hairspray advertisement /

This documentary (below) offers an insanely entertaining, concise analysis of Dolls’ enduring cult status through the prism of a true queer eye. Contributors include Bruce Vilanch, Michael Musto, drag icon Jackie Beat – and Barbara Parkins (Anne Welles herself!). The present-day Parkins (who’s seemingly styled herself as Madonna circa 1984 with the crucifix and sheer lace) is a revelation: self-aware, perceptive, funny, hip and appreciative of Dolls’ camp reputation. The footage from Theatre-A-Go-Go's legendary low-budget Dolls stage production is hilarious. Surely this play is overdue for a revival? I'd be in the front row every night.

Read the essential Dreams Are What Le Cinema is For blog’s astute examination of Dolls here. The author Ken Anderson first saw Valley of the Dolls as an 11-year old at The Castro Theatre in San Francisco. Beat that!

Perhaps the oddest Dolls-related artefact is the 1968 tie-in album Patty Duke Sings Songs from The Valley of the Dolls and Other Selections. Duke’s singing abilities can charitably be described as modest, which didn’t prevent her from scoring a hit single in 1965 with the Lesley Gore-like teen ballad “Don’t Just Stand There” (on which her voice is wreathed in forgiving reverb and cooing backing vocalists).  The far more challenging material on Patty Duke Sings horribly exposes Duke as way out of her comfort zone. Whose idea was this? The makers of the film clearly recognised Duke wasn’t capable of singing Neely’s musical numbers (which is why she was dubbed). So why let Duke tackle this misbegotten record? Her pained renditions of “It’s Impossible” (certainly it’s impossible to sing!) and “I’ll Plant My Own Tree” (Duke doesn’t stick just to Neely O’Hara’s songs – she massacres other characters’ as well) are so bad they wind up being horribly compelling. See if you’re masochistic enough to endure the entire album!

/ If you can't manage the whole record, here is a sampler: "It's Impossible" delivered in own Duke's own strident tones. /



/ Bonus material: in the film Susan Hayward mouths along to Margaret Whiting's belting delivery of "I'll Plant My Own Tree". However, before she was fired Judy Garland recorded her own version. This clip syncs Howard's performance with Garland's voice in an intriguing hint of what might have been. Wow! /



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