Revisiting a pair of '60s classics, the first two films directed by one of our favorites, Mike Nichols, as a biography of him gets released.
THE GRADUATE (1967) (A) - It's still difficult to disentangle this influential '60s box-office smash from the cultural phenomenon that radiated out of it (including the iconic Simon & Garfunkel soundtrack), but it still crackles with visual wit and burrows deep into the ennui not just of its young boomer hero Benjamin (Dustin Hoffman) but into the midlife angst of his parents' postwar generation. It's funny, heartbreaking and challenging.
Director Mike Nichols has fun breaking from convention with unique camera angles, whether it's looking out from the perspective of a scuba outfit or using a stockinged leg to frame (entrap?) Ben, caught in sexual confusion. At times Nichols' groovy perspectives come off like Hitchcock shooting an episode of "Benny Hill." Risque for its time, the narrative holds up over the years as a condemnation of the empty wasted lives of the bourgeoisie.
Anne Bancroft sizzles as the seductress Mrs. Robinson, the wife of the business partner of Ben's father. She toys with Benjamin both during their affair and after, as she maneuvers to thwart his chances to date her daughter, Elaine (Katharine Ross). The heavy subject matter is leavened by the jangly comic script from Buck Henry and Calder Willingham. Hoffman was pushing 30 at the time but he tracks well as a budding college graduate. (Bancroft was only 6 years older than Hoffman but her character was twice Benjamin's age.) Ben is an absurdist creation, mumbling, fumbling, often bursting into sprints out of desperation, and sometimes squeaking in frustration.
Ben and Elaine have no clue what they want, a winking acknowledgment of a new generation scoffing at its parents' conventions. This culminates in perhaps the most perfect ending in movie history, in which the young couple display a range of emotions on their faces, unsure of what the future will bring. Nichols keeps this all fresh and exciting, smart and snarky, syncing his humor with Henry's complementary dry wit.
WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF? (1966) (A-minus) - For his debut, Nichols, recruited by Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, directed the rambunctious couple in Edward Albee's incendiary stage play. They play George and Martha, a foundering history professor married to the university president's daughter, and their toxic relationship ensnares an unsuspecting young couple, a new biology professor (George Segal) and his mousy wife (Sandy Dennis) for a drunken and disorderly wee-hours cocktail party.
Back in the day, heavyweight boxers used to go 15 rounds (instead of 12 or 10 now), and this script's onslaught of poisonous putdowns -- as slung by Taylor and Burton -- reminds me of those classic slugfests. The vitriol and emotional cruelty, even couched in black comedy, is relentless, and it might simply be too much for some viewers. The performances, however, keep this from descending into abject nihilism. Segal makes for a nice preppy punching bag, and Dennis' loopy young spouse injects a necessary fragility. Burton may never have been so darkly funny, and Taylor gives as good as she gets.
As the sun comes up and George and Martha figuratively slump in their respective corners, you might hear echoes of Apollo Creed's vow to Rocky Balboa -- "Ain't gonna be no rematch" -- but with these two, you suspect that this was just another Saturday night, and that their series of bouts will go on.
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