Blake Edwards is a good director. S.O.B. (1981), The Party¹ (1968), "10": these are vain comedies about vain people, fed on freedom and the tit of conspicuous consumption. They know how easy it is to love the city of angels. Thus, Edwards is to Hollywood as Woody Allen is to New York: he comments on the life he lives.²

B.E. likes the pratfall a lot -- the physicality begs for attention; surrealism is nascent. He is good at using offscreen space, and if he tries too hard, the comic gift of his actors will sustain him.

Soaking the L.A. atmosphere, B.E. gets at the purr, and the vapid intellectualism. Films like Switch (1991) and Skindeep (1989) echo the characters. Slick and raw, they win us over with the levity of self-examination; they know their pretensions. The "laffs" aren't merely bourgeois. They spell gloom, and cast affection as a result. B.E.'s style is a part of his subject.

"10" is a time capsule. It puts the conformity of "hip" at the end of the 70s, but it does not judge. Rather, it's as lax, spotty and imperfect as the Hollywood toast, for whom eccentricity is a veil. The film is a dual mixture: base and light, serious and profane. And it rises on the performance of Dudley Moore.

George (Moore) is a rich songwriter who has a midlife crisis. Alcoholic, he dives from women to booze to Mexico.

Part of what makes "10" is the way he plays against his build and the English accent. Short and uncomfortable, he can't fit into the oasis of the "stars." George wants to live in a movie (that much his voyeurism makes clear), and Moore sees that the crudeness of the humor is cathartic. Like Inspector Clouseau, he goofs, but there is a touch of despair. He embodies the film's map of depression.

For Moore, each woman is ideal. Julie Andrews is tough and mature; Bo Derek is curvy and blithe; Dee Wallace is sweet, sympathetic, and kind. But he cannot be with them -- not entirely. First he must complete the song in his heart. Still, "10" confirms nothing. Not peace, not love -- nothing. All that's left is a telescopic view on life (and film), "a la" Rear Window.

The movie is full of good choices. The cinematography has a dusk-bitten glow, and the score is wistful. As the neighbor with the face of a mutt, Don Calfa gives the film a horny grin. As the lyricist, Robert Webber turns a sour role into something poignant. And Brian Dennehy, the bartender, is Moore's foil: witty asides and a sly demeanor, he has a lot of compassion beneath the dryness.

"10" is a character piece, a teen flick for adults. Because it's about the arrested development of a bright mind, it's kiddish. But who'd have thought it would be this funny, or this bittersweet?

¹Elvis Presley's favorite movie.

²"10" and Manhattan (1979) should be seen back-to-back.

2003-07-20 - Joe Cormack