I keep waiting to write the introduction where I note that this was Nichols weakest decade, and yet it’s never happened and clearly won’t happen, for even when there are lesser films in the mix, they are always amidst some of his greatest of all time. I frankly feel that Nichols has never made a truly awful film, at times I even struggle to say that he’s ever made a bad one. The five films he directed in the 90s certainly weren’t bad, as a matter of fact two of them are genuine masterpieces of comedy, drama and heart. Let’s start with the first of these masterpieces, Postcards From the Edge.
Postcards From the Edge (1990)
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Other than The Graduate of course, with it being one of my favourite films of all time, when it comes to most rewatched Mike Nichols movie, it might very well be this Carrie Fisher penned dramedy from 1990. The film that kicked off a decade with a true mixture of genres for Nichols, ranging from political dramas to broad farce comedies to even an attempt at horror. Anyway, it all kicked off here with another Meryl Streep collaboration, starring here as a pseudo fictionalised version of Fisher herself, as Suzanne, an actress from a famous actress mother currently coming out of rehab and trying to go sober whilst managing her career, relationship with her mother and a dalliance with a Hollywood bachelor along the way. When it comes to re-watchability, it’s certainly the film that I have rewatched the most specific scenes of. I’m sure if one could see what my all time most searched YouTube videos area, then ‘Shirley Maclaine - Postcards From the Edge - I’m Still Here’ is way up in the top ten, probably even top five. When it comes to Postcards there is of course Nichols to discuss, but for now I want to centre this conversation by discussing the three key women that make this film what it is, with a few notes on the plethora of other ensemble members that also have their major hand in making the film what it is. Let’s start with Fisher. Based off her book of the same name and practically perfectly adapted into a narrative screenplay, Fisher has made indeed a somewhat auto-biographical tale, but also one that drips with a comedy heightening. Of course the character of Susanne and that of Shirley Maclaine’s Doris Mann, could very easily be compared to that of Fisher herself and her mother Debbie Reynolds, but they are for me instead jumping off points for characters in their own right. Fisher’s script is overflowing with wit and comedy, but finds many of its best moments in its more dramatic scenes, many of the very funny encounters shared between mother and daughter are also simultaneously very dramatic and deeply honest. The narrative of Fisher’s script is a more vignette told tale than a straight narrative, with the clothes-line of Susanne’s attempt at rehabilitation a perfect hanging place for scenes with her mother, co-stars, directors and of course lovers. For me although her acting has given us many of the great turns on screen in the 80’s (and other decades), for me this screenplay and the novel that set the foundation for it, may possibly always be Fisher’s greatest achievement.
Then there’s Streep and Maclaine. It may not be her best performance, but I’ll be damned if this isn’t my favourite. Streep is of course an exceptional dramatic actress (I know, how controversial an opinion to hold), but also her comedy is a talent that many I feel under-rate, Postcards offered Streep the perfect balancing act for her two strengths and she also inhabits the naturalism and realism that brings the wackiness around her down to the centre each time too. Around the half hour mark, Meryl’s Susanne sings an impromptu performance of Ray Charle’s You Don’t Know Me and well I’ll be damned if it isn’t the best Streep has ever sang on screen too! But once again it’s all compounded by the emotion and truth. Sure here as Susanne Streep has humour in spades, but it’s always the realism that makes the film work as grand as it does. But as Neil McCauley once said, there’s a flip side to that coin. During Streep’s singing we keep cutting to the reactions of one of my favourite actress and one of the screens greatest of all time, Miss Shirley Maclaine, silently mouthing along, smiling, touchingly holding back tears, advising Susanne to take off her jacket. It’s no stranger to anybody who’s read one of these blogs, or any of the podcasts, or knows me, to what extent I adore Miss Maclaine. Her cocktail of humour, emotion, sexiness, showmanship, singing, dancing and acting makes quite frankly for one of my idols. The triple bill of Terms of Endearment, The Apartment and Postcards is my go to comfort movie triple bill in fact. Perhaps no role best offers MacLaine in her 90’s era the ability to highlight her greatest strengths like this one. As Doris, she is undeniable. Her power, humour, vulnerability and profound talent and craft makes for yet another sterling performance in her career. As I said before her brilliant and frankly awe-inspiring performance of I’m Still Here is one the highlights of my movie watching life. Which in a way this leads me on to Mike Nichols, in a roundabout way. First let’s discus Gene Hackman and Dennis Quaid. One could talk for hours about the myriad of stars in this film with its almost Player-esque quality to infuse real life stars and directors into the film (not as themselves like The Player however). Quaid as the sex mad cad who woos Susanne only for her to find out she is one of many wooed a week, sometimes even in a day, in one of the great charismatic b*stard performances of the era. His final couple of lines, specifically “I lied” offer him a bizarrely animated and perfectly delivered final kick to send Susanne on her way, hopefully to more self fulfilment. Then there’s Hackman, here, well, basically playing Nichols himself. The stately and friendly and ungodly wise director character who all actors see as a father is all we ever hear about it when it comes to Nichols, as Susanne embraces Hackman for the last time, she calls him ‘God’. How many people have we heard refer to Nichols as just that, a God, or the God even sometimes. For me it’s a touching portrayal on screen, intentional or not of an honest and good man, exceptional in his field, acknowledging with heart, sincerity and truth the reputation he so commonly holds. It’s yet another facet that makes Postcards one of my all time favourite films and certainly one of my favourite Nichols’ films.
Regarding Henry (1991)
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There are times of course when a film-maker strikes out on what many could see as an ideal project. Regarding Henry is such a film. When it comes down to it, this is the most ideal of ideal projects for Nichols to take part in directing and working on and yet somewhere along the way the whole thing balances the wrong way in the great balancing act that so many of Nichols films majorly succeed in achieving, that of the razors edge between sentimental and saccharin, between realistic and truthful and wholesome and melodramatic. Now this film has as aforementioned many facets in his favour; an all-star cast working on emotional and humorous material all in the realm of a human adult drama with even a little grit, but somewhere the alchemy is off and although I can’t pin it all on Nichols, I also can’t not hold him at least slightly accountable. This is also at worst a painfully average film with arcs and narrative twists one can view from a mile away and a bevy of contrivances that make certain scenes clearly made for emotional impact come off as ridiculous and regrettably laughable. The film comes from a script by a name that may sound familiar, that of Jeffrey Abrams. Mainly because that Jeffrey is one of the J’s of J.J Abrams, the acclaimed director. This is far removed from what he would end up making the bread and butter of his career, but has all of the sentimentality that infect those films all the same, just a lot less aliens can be found here. For this is the tale of Harrison Ford as an almost comically horrible lawyer figure who chain-smokes, is rude, has slicked back villainous hair and is in the middle of sending a man clearly done wrong by a hospital back home with nothing after defending the medical wrong-doing of the hospital. It’s the sort of ten minutes that sets up a character ripe for a change. Lucky for him and his wife played by Annette Benning, that change comes from quite literally a gunshot to the head, as he gets mixed up in a robbery led by John Leguizamo in an early role without dialogue. The bullet sends Ford into a brief coma and makes him forget his family and all he knew before, even losing the ability to speak. The film then – as everybody could have guessed – becomes a wholesome tale of a man becoming better after, well, being shot in the face. The issue is bar a brief late in the film sequence of a couple of revelations, the film just has no grit to it and even denies itself the intrigue of those revelations by having Ford’s titular Henry forgo any thought about it and indeed just continue becoming a better person. The film is dripping with sentimentality but it all just rings empty and tired. This is by no means a bad film, just a tropey and trite one. Ford and Benning are great as they obviously always are, but Ford’s possible Best Actor run is thwarted by the film just giving his character along with everybody else nothing to do beyond the most simple and, indeed saccharin, of arcs and ‘developments’ to fulfil. Nichols weakest film of the 90’s by far.
Wolf (1994)
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There is often an incredible level of prestige that comes with most of Mike Nichol’s film projects and his 1994 foray into horror (technically), that of Wolf, has a sublime amount of prestige and just as much as any of Nichols more successful projects. However, of course, this is not one of those successful projects, despite the prestige. The film has an Ennio Morricone score and yet is one of his worst, an odd combination of synth and repeated strings that lead to an attempt at horror that does fall quite flat. Pair this with Nichols himself, working for the first and last time in the world of horror, I feel for obvious reasons. For as much as the film eventually gives in to the horror film it should be, not unlike our lead character giving into the beast inside him, this is a film that is truly for the most part a drama about hierarchical changes in a publishing house. Yes. The movie where Jack Nicholson becomes a werewolf is actually more so about company politics. Let’s talk about Nicholson for a moment, after all he is the crown jewel in a stunning cast that furthers the prestige of the project even more. A cast including Jack Nicholson, Michelle Pfeiffer and James Spader as the lead trio, with a supporting ensemble featuring Richard Jenkins, Eileen Atkins, Christopher Plummer and David Hyde Pierce. But Nicholson here in his final collaboration with Nichols is not on his top form, he’s not bad, Nicholson for my money is never bad, and is always entertaining to an extent, but it’s just that the film never gives its actors or characters the chances to do exactly what we would want them to do, and by the time that we do get what we thought we wanted, that being of course some serious werewolf action or horror, it is by far the best sequences of the film, but is however far too little far too late. Rick Baker led the werewolf effects and does great work as always, but the choices here to have transformation only be slight compared to other Baker and other non-Baker werewolf work is a little uninteresting when compared to previous wolf on screen pedigree. Pfeiffer is charismatic and great as the love interest to Nicholson and her and Nicholson do indeed have great chemistry, but it’s a bit of a bizarre character who doesn’t really lead anyway other than at first being a damsel in distress, before then being the vehicle for a lame, if not naturally effective cliff-hanger ending. James Spader may very well be the highlight of the film, with a sleazy and overly hyper-sexual performance that is compelling and frightening in equal measure once at last we finally get some wolves into this movie… What’s the film called again?
The Birdcage (1996)
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One of the great joys of Nichols late 90’s output was a return to a key collaborator, in that of Elaine May, the other half of the critically acclaimed and hugely commercially successful comedy double act of the early 60’s, aswell as greatly celebrated director in her own right (Hell, I wrote a whole article on her - https://clwpodcast.blogspot.com/2022/03/elaine-may-comedy-god-in-front-and.html). May wrote the screenplays, adapting from previous material, for both this 1996 comedy classic farce, aswell as Nichols next film, a still fleetingly comedic political drama. We will talk about the comedy a lot in the case of The Birdcage, adapted from the hugely successful French play and film La Cage Aux Folles, later adapted in the excellent Jerry Herman musical of the same name, but really what makes Birdcage succeed so well is due to an abundance of heart and human drama. At the core of the film is a fundamental romance with great challenges in its way, but in both films love wins out, but never to the expense of comedy. The comedy is king, but luckily for us the truth and warmth that cements them both into masterworks of the comedy genre is more than present too. And cast wise, what a cast! Robin Williams, Nathan Lane, Gene Hackman, Dianne Wiest, Hank Azaria, Colista Flockhart, BARANSKI. Just flawless stuff. Just marvellous. With all those players on top form, how can you not have a work of sheer genius? Williams and Lane make you laugh till you hurt in this classic film, but they never lose sight of the heart. Like any great comedy of its ilk, it is the relationships that make us keep watching. But then, they also never forget that they should be making you laugh too and so they make your ribs hurt double next time to make up for it. Williams and Lane are two such astounding performers and The Birdcage gives them both a platform for as much heart and humour as anybody can physically take. Lane and Williams gay drag club owning couple are the centre of a farce set-up old as time; newly engaged lovebirds have to make arrangements and lies and lies in preparation for the two families to meet. In a true farce classic as this is, these lies and lies build upon one another in an ever-growing humorous fashion until the party implodes and the final huge laughs are received. The basic plot here is that William’s son from his only night with a woman has now become engaged to the daughter of Hackman’s outrageously conservative Senator, with his similarly conservative wife played by Weist. Wishing to leave the huge reveal that their new in-laws are a drag queen and a nightclub owning gay man, the son asks for one night of ‘going straight’, hence to leave the big reveal until after the wedding.
Whereas the film does play this for comedy, naturally, it makes repeatedly the same genius move that Herman’s musical made, with the deliberate imbuement of pathos to the disregarded drag queen Lane character. In the musical of course Herman gives Albert the show-stopping queer classic “I Am What I Am”, frankly one the greatest songs of all time (‘Songs’, full stop, by the way was intentional). Here May’s script and the performances of Lane and Williams allow for a similar amount of pathos as their characters and their relationship are given multiple vital smaller quieter moments away from the comedy to really breath and let us in. The biggest issue with the film is in the performance of Dan Futterman, who would go on to write Capote in actuality. I do say the issue lies with his performance rather than the writing as repeatedly I do feel an introduction of a more nebbish and upset quality would make the character a whole lot more understanding and frankly less hateable, as he goes about asking the most despicable thing he could to his father; to change who he is. Which of course leads to the most stunning moment in the whole film, Williams brief monologue about knowing who he is as a man. The power, craft and humanity that Williams brings to this monologue is usually my first go-to when it comes to the far larger debate of ‘who can play what roles’ nowadays. I think performance is performance and if it is gone about the way that Williams does here, with the power and deliberateness and removal of stereotype that he achieves, then who could ever argue about anybody’s personal life when it comes to taking on a character. Afterall when these conversations loom, people always seem to talk about the bad examples, perhaps rightly so, but also... Well. I think I’ve made my point. In the case of The Birdcage I find myself in the position I am in sometimes with this blog, where I find myself talking about one of my favourite films ever made, a usually unusually difficult task, but here in the breadth of Nichols cannon, one can clearly cite this film as perhaps not a return to a previous comedic form, bur rather a perfect modernisation and encapsulation of what made Nichols and May so darn funny to begin with.
Primary Colours (1998)
Primary Colours is a very niche and bizarre little film nowadays. In fact it was a bit of a bizarre film at the time. The film is again written by May, adapting from the initially anonymously published (later revealed to be Joe Klein) novel, which re-births in a modern political lens the novel form of the “Roman-a-clef”, basically translating to “book with a key”, based around real people through a slight fictional lens and changing all the names. Hence the proper way to read the novel would be with a key sometimes published within and sometimes released years later, with all the real life figures and their correlating fictional counterparts. Primary Colours was such a novel about the Bill Clinton campaign for the presidency, and the film was released in ’98 during the then presidents second campaign. Nichols has oft commented that the reason he feels the film kind of bombed at the box office was due to the simple fact that people knew everything by that point, four years after the books release and five years into Clinton’s actual term. The womanising and the faux pretence of likeability was no surprise to anyone anymore, aswell as perhaps the factor that the Lewinsky scandal was just starting up and so perhaps the films more comedic approach to some of Clinton’s relations could have been seen as crude or insensitive. Of course the film was made and edited before the scandal broke, but the release was a matter of poor timing. The film finds a place somewhere between the novel and the absolute truth and blends impersonation in some cases with characters wholly created, aswell as blending multiple figures into one in some cases. Overall the film as it stands today, perhaps possibly removed from the real-life factors it, makes for a more intriguing feature. I for one particularly enjoyed it, not necessarily as a wholly fictional account on Clinton, for that’s clearly not what this is, apart from the multiple times where that’s exactly what it is. For instance of course John Travolta as Jack Stanton is quite literally in every way Clinton, the mannerisms and performance, along with the writing lead to no possible removal being made. Same is the case to a lesser extent with Billy Bob Thornton as a Carville kind of figure. However beyond these two performances many of the character creations are their own thing in many ways.
The film received two Oscar nominations, no wins, for May’s
script and for the surprise standout performance of the film, Kathy Bates as
Libby Holden, an amalgamation of two key figures in Clinton’s life, one of
which who met a rather tragic end. What starts off with Bates as a rather
verbose and violently vulgar (and just violent) comedic relief figure, very
slowly turns into one of the most complex and intriguing figures in the whole
film, a character of great depth and wonderfully intriguing complexities. This
brand of political complexity and questions of truth can be found all
throughout the film as a matter of fact. The film is told for instance through
the eyes of Adrian Lester as a new entry onto the campaign, thrown right into
the middle unwittingly and to start with unwillingly too. The general arc of
Lester’s character is something we’ve seen before in this brand of politics
based drama; general workman becomes true believer in cause before realising
the lies of any political figure, before in this case sucking it all up and
going along with it. It’s a rather nihilistic ending that I can only presumed
played especially well in the theatres with the real life current Clinton
affairs of it all becoming even louder and more prescient. The structure and
way this film builds for instance, particular in the relationship of Travolta
and Lester is desperately not unlike that of Lancaster and Curtis in Sweet Smell of Success, or to a more
modern example Gosling and Clooney in the underrated The Ides of March. It’s a complex film to return to, but for my
money it’s a stirring and wonderfully delivered political comedic drama from
Nichols and May and a perfect star-studded affair to conclude Nichols’ 90’s on
film, perfecting the brand of ensemble based dramas that have always been a
large part of the man’s career, but really became his greatest strength as his
career came into its mature final decades of work.
The great sadness as these articles continue, is that of course this is our penultimate. However I don’t wish to once dwell on the fact that we have lost Nichols and his incredible talent, for we will never lose the multiple exceptional pieces of media he gave us. The memories for the audiences of his stage pieces will too go on forever, but for those of us unfortunate enough to never have been graced to sit in a theatre seat for a Nichols show – his many films will suffice in filling that gap.
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Thomas Carruthers
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