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Hawks and Wellman are the forebears, Sirk's The Tarnished Angels is adjusted to the depressed tail end of the Sixties. A Kansas hamlet, "we have a college and a missile base, typical little American town," a trio of barnstorming skydivers passes through. The leader (Burt Lancaster) is a brooder at home nowhere but up in the air, a parachutist's dour freedom to excite and unsettle the longing housewife (Deborah Kerr). The partner (Gene Hackman) shuttles between strip-joint and church and bags himself a waitress (Sheree North), the youngster (Scott Wilson) bears the athlete's existential burden and finds solace with a local coed (Bonnie Bedelia). It all comes to bear on the lethal aerial spectacle that rouses a dull hick spot on Independence Day. "He used to say that jumping was not only a way to live, but also a way to die... Very few things are." A curious mélange of William Inge and Antonioni, seemingly a companion piece to Grand Prix but actually the middle term in a thematic John Frankenheimer trilogy (Seconds, I Walk the Line). Melancholia and fireworks, domestic aridity and rootless leaps, a moment to underline the symbolism of insects immolating themselves on a lawn lamp. Lancaster the Trapeze daredevil in squashed middle age, the From Here to Eternity couple groping in the dark on a suburban couch. Spiraling figures over patchwork rural landscapes, a whooshing silence that descends into holiday fanfare and cheering crowds. (A parallel joke follows the sweaty preparations of the high school band that ends up playing to empty streets.) "Why don't I do it? Because I recognize my limitations. The secret of my success in life." The ending clinches the blend of Old and New Hollywood with a foreglimpse of Rafelson's Five Easy Pieces. With William Windom, Carl Reindel, Ford Rainey, and John Napier.
--- Fernando F. Croce |