How the Charleston is Done by Sasha Stone

Peter Bogdanovich's first film in nine years is, for him, a real
accomplishment. He's finally shaken off the dreaded albatross of "wunderkind" and has matured back into the good director he once was, the same director who brought us The Last Picture Show and Paper Moon, but survived Texasville.

There is something reassuring about Bogdanovich's return. The director remains surprising after all these years, and it appears rumors of his demise have been greatly exaggerated. After the debacle of 1993's The Thing Called Love, the director worked mainly in television, wrote a wonderful book called Who the Devil Made It and appeared as "scholarly film guy" on Ebert's show and in various other places. In short, he was quietly building a more respectable reputation for himself.

In that sense, The Cat's Meow is in keeping with his ongoing career as film historian and scholar, rather than his tawdry place in tabloid history (dumping the faithful Polly Platt for the young beauty Cybill Shepherd, taking up with Dorothy Stratton and then, after she was murdered, her sister). Really, Bogdanovich is second only to Polanksi (maybe Woody Allen) for a notorious battle between scandal and artistic accomplishment.

It appears, with this new film, that his work will, in fact, overshadow his personal life. The Cat's Meow is, thankfully, an oasis of pleasure in a very dry desert of studio films. It should particularly tickle the fancy of those interested in Hollywood's checkered history, that early period where there was always a curious mix of prohibited alcohol, wanton starlets, powerful moguls, and a corpse - a time when dull or awkward situations could be remedied by someone calling out "Okay everyone, Charleston!" And a time where, as one of the guests eloquently points out, they kept dancing because if they stopped there would be nothing.

In this case, the mix is aboard William Randolph Hearst's yacht, the Oneida.What is known as historical fact: those aboard included Hearst (Edward Herrmann), his mistress Marion Davies (Kirsten Dunst), Charlie Chaplin (Eddie Izzard), professional gossip Louella Parsons (Jennifer Tilly), producer/director Thomas Ince (Cary Elwes), writer Elinor Glyn (Ab Fab's Joanna Lumley), various musicians and starlets, and lots of moonshine and marijuana.

What is "told in whispers": Thomas Ince wound up dead - some say it was a gun shot to the head, others say it was a heart attack brought on by indigestion. The Cat's Meow tells the most commonly held rumor, that Hearst "accidentally" shot Ince while aiming for Chaplin, who was supposedly carrying on an affair with Marion Davies. Certainly Hearst's behavior after the event points to his guilt - buying people off with lifetime contracts, and unexplained raises.

Like Gosford Park, last year's Noel Coward meets Agatha Christie mystery, The Cat's Meow is nothing if not a film peppered with great lines. Writer Steve Peros adapted it from his own stage play and the film has a play-like feel to it, or perhaps something the BBC might put out.

Dunst's very young age of 19 is a problem for the film at the beginning - it's difficult to wrap one's mind around such a young girl kissing the much older looking Hearst. But it matters less and less as Dunst reveals a refreshing version of what Marion Davies might have been like (as opposed to the pathetic nag portrayed in Citizen Kane): bright, funny, perky and daring. And, in fact, Hearst hooked up with Davies when she was around 20, so it isn't outside the realm of possibility.

Dunst is wonderful in the film, and looks an awful lot like Davies. She didn't choose to exhibit what was undoubtedly Davies' most endearing trait, her famous stutter. But she is very good at playing a girl who is smart enough to know the difference between momentary passion from a needy genius who just needs to be loved by every girl in the room (Chaplin) and the love of a very rich and powerful man who can secure her for life.

Izzard plays the hard-to-resist Chaplin the way the man actually might have been - not as we know him through his films but as the insecure, hot-blooded artist who always seemed to want more in life.

Herrmann interprets Hearst somewhat differently than Welles, though they both play him as a man of contradictions: a coward yet a lion, a man yet a boy, confident yet insecure. Bogdanovich seems to pay homage to Welles, idol, mentor and friend, in a scene where Hearst destroys Marion Davies' room with the same clumsy hysteria Welles' Kane did. In both scenes, a tiny object is wrestled from the wreckage - which really sums up the man's life - it's all a wreck and a mess but for his beloved and precious Marion.

The film heats up in the second half and gets better and better as it goes along. It's reassuring to know that Ms. Lumley is a versatile actress and can do a lot more than Patsy. She functions as the Maggie Smith (Gosford Park) character, dryly commenting on the goings on to hilarious effect.

The real problem for the film, and the real problem for solving the crime, is that we don't know that much about Thomas Ince, and he is awkwardly inserted into the plot because there wouldn't be a story without him. But it just doesn't ring true. It is a version of events; maybe not the version. But what events they were!

Also, make sure to stay for the closing credits to hear Ms. Dunst display yet another talent - the gal sure can sing.

©2002 Sasha Stone
CineScene