John Ervin: Beyond the Valley of George W. Bush

This June’s long-overdue DVD release of “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls”, the 1970 nugget of visual vitiation and cinematic psychedelia, coincides nicely with the latest round of disappointments dealt to the Presidential Administration that has given us such a bad trip for the last six years. In fact, the particles that make up the brown-acid cabinet of George W. Bush have been so surreal in their incompetence and arrogance that they beg comparison to the corrupted figures in the most popular entry in the canon of the film’s director, the late Russ Meyer. Here now is a simultaneous review of the components of the two-disc set for this sequel-in-name-only to Jacqueline Susann’s flagship novel and film, and analysis of how the characters in “BVD”, as us truly fanatical fans call it, resemble those who support or operate in the scratched, distorted boxed set of a Presidency that one prays never has a “Beyond”, “Return of” or any other form of sequel.

READERS NOTE - AND SPOILERS ALERT!!!: In order to fully enjoy this particular column, it is best to have seen “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls” at least once - not necessarily the DVD set in question (after all I’m reviewing it and the various goodies it come with) but the movie, itself. If you have never experienced this mind-altering, life-changing classic, then I suggest you either rent or buy the DVD, or lay your lunch hooks on a good old VHS, laser disc or 35 mm copy, and then come back to this feature. Believe me, it’ll help to make sense out of my latest political/show-biz rant ... and also prevent me from being arrested by the SPOILERS ALERT Police!

For starters, the three vixens whose adventures provide the scaffold for “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls” - Kelly McNamara, Petronella Danforth and Casey Anderson - have real-life counterparts in Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert, Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist and Department of Homeland Security Chief Michael Chertoff. Like the members of the three-piece “rock” band, The Carrie Nations (or, as they were known back in that high school gymnasium, The Kelly Affair), Hastert, Frist and Chertoff are not only accepted but prized by the Bush Administration and the Christian and corporate right for their TV smiles, lack of intelligence and unregenerate opportunism. Hastert’s performance as the talking dummy for now-fallen Representative Tom DeLay, Frist’s craven bootlicking by going against his own medical training in supporting intelligent design and declaring Terri Shiavo mentally sharp as a tack, and Chertoff’s unwitting tributes to the late Don Knotts in his bumbling attempts to direct rescue operations in New Orleans and other disaster sites make these men bimbos worthy of any lip-synching “girl group.”

Too bad these twerps don’t have the physical proportions of Dolly Reed, Marcia McBroom and Cynthia Myers, all of whom still look stunning as they recall their most celebrated screen roles on the many featurettes on Disc Two of the “BVD DVD.” These mini-movies, which cover the production, the music, the set design and, most importantly, the breasts (with McBroom proudly declaring herself to have the smallest ones ever featured in a Russ Meyer work) are informative and, for the most part, fun. My main gripe concerns the in-your-face editing, scatological sound effects and animated blips of Meyer and Company that resemble those annoying clips shows that make up the bulk of VH1’s broadcast schedule. Before I forget about The Carrie Nations and their Bush Administration and Congressional analogs, I should note the political connections - both filmic and literal - to Cynthia Myers’ character: not only is Casey Anderson the daughter of an influential Senator in the universe of “BVD” but, in real life is the name of the spokesperson for the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence. If this doesn’t prove gun control advocates are hip, I don’t know what can!

Roxanne, the seductive, vampirish fashionista who indoctrinates Casey Anderson - the one depicted in Russ Meyer’s film, that is - in the joys of lesbo love, and pays the price for such progressive maneuvers, could be compared to Mary Cheney and the dwindling number of openly gay conservatives who continue to cling to the sinking Bush-RSVP-Cruise ship. Admittedly, Mary, who recently came out of her publicity closet by putting out a tell-all (or, rather, tell-some) memoir, is the daughter of the Vice President and is, thus, between the same rock and hard place that most children of sitting Presidential Administration members are. Still, the clouds of opportunism, hypocrisy and whimpiness justifiably hang over her fluffy head, as she - like her father - officially supports marriage and other rights for homosexuals, while at the same time making no attempt to stop or even vocally protest the anti-gay legislation of Dad’s “boss” (snicker-snicker) and the Christian right. Unless she, the partner of many years she considers her wife, and those few gay members of the Log Cabin and other Republican bodies who march to the Bush drumbeat get wise and support their true friends in the Democratic Party, they may find their political and social strength blasted away much like the skull of Roxanne at the end (and, come to the think of it, the beginning!) of “BVD.” Erica Gavin, who played Roxanne as well as the title character of Meyer’s “Vixen”, joins the talking heads on disc two’s featurettes. Unlike her co-stars, though, she looks the worse for wear thanks to forty years of anorexia and consuming every drug on the DEA’s list of dangerous narcotics. However, she seems reasonably alert and capable of a good quip or two, and notes the irony in Meyer’s casting her as a gay fashion designer. After all, in real life she would not only become a professional clothier, but a lesbian one, at that. God help us if she’s a Republican!

Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld may not like much of what is said about him in the press, but he can’t help but be flattered by my linking him with “Dolls” super stud Lance Rocke. The analogy is inescapable, as Lance is a creep and a loudmouth who practically bullies women into jumping in the sack with him - and then tries to bilk them of their money before giving ‘em the shaft. Similarly, Rumsfeld helped launch the war in Iraq by lying to the public and scaring the shit out of everyone in his irascible orbit, including his “boss” (snicker-snicker), and then blames the media for the war’s disastrous outcomes and interminable length. Rummy’s pit bull treatment of the press for its unwillingness to report all the good tidings he seems convinced are going on in the war zone, and his insulting responses to those soldiers who have the gall to ask him to send a few more guns and protective armor their way, are reminiscent of Lance’s brazen mistreatment of lead doll Kelly McNamara, as well as his delight in beating the crap out of Kelly’s troubled ex-manager, Harris Allsworth. The way his reputation with even the most militant members of the Republican right is going, Rummy may find his own head rolling, much like Lance’s does towards the end of the film, and without the Twentieth-Century Fox theme accompaniment.

Michael Blodgett, who essayed Rumsfeld’s “BVD” counterpart, and, with his white mane, now looks like Edgar and Johnny Winter’s long lost brother, provides one of the more hilarious anecdotes on one of the disc featurettes. Apparently in the early seventies, a fan of the film, upon seeing the younger, blonder Mr. Blodgett in the flesh, let out a scream. This outburst was not the result of Beatlemania or even Bosomania, but some form of acid flashback. Once the screaming devotee calmed down, he told his startled idol that he had viewed “Dolls” in a theater while tripping on LSD, and was convinced that his head, upon being lopped off with an Excalibur sword, had rolled onto his lap! By contrast, I’m sure more than a few American soldiers would be more than happy to see Rummy’s actual, bloody noggin bouncing across their knees.

Harris Allsworth, the mopey ex-manager of The Kelly Affair who is pounded on by Mr. Rocke, and Ashley St. Ives, the super vamp who tries to lay Harris with as much force as Lance kicks his ass, are reflected, respectively, by the “Chief Executive” (snicker-snicker), himself, and his Secretary of State, Condoleezza Rice. In the same way that Harris spends most of the film brooding and feeling sorry for himself, so too George W. Bush is becoming sullen and snarky nearly all the time - instead of, as was the case in his first term, most of the time. This public mopery, so to speak, is the result of a Congress he thought he had in his pocket blocking his many attempts to override that very body’s authority, a Supreme Court whose newest members he handpicked ruling his military tribunals at Guantanamo Bay illegal, and the New York Times, LA Times and even his fans at the Wall Street Journal revealing his plans to track millions of Americans’ financial records in the name of stopping terrorism. This last slap in the face, which Bush publicly attacked as “disgraceful” (thus echoing the old bag who has the very first line in “Beyond”) put him in such a bad frame of mind that not even his walk across the shag floors of Graceland with Elvis-obsessed Japanese Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi was able to put more than an official smile on his face. In fact, as Koizumi crowed one classic by the King after another, he looked about ready to deck one of his last remaining allies, much like Harris threw the first punch at Lance for stealing his girl (and wearing such a damnably loud shirt!).

Meanwhile, his longtime colleague Condoleezza Rice is exalting in her status as the one member of the Cabinet who still has any standing with the public. Rice is, in fact, proving herself to be a reasonably effective diplomat - at least, she hasn’t messed anything up - as she conducts summits in Europe, Iran, Egypt and other trouble spots (though, strangely enough, not Iraq). And, through all these trips, she never fails to have on a smashing ensemble, much the same way Ashley St. Ives proudly displays her assets in barely existent outfits, and wears her status as a star of “controversial box office blockbusters” - that’s porn flicks, son - on her slinky sleeves. Considering Rice’s rumored personal fixation on the President, it’s possible that one day, when she is alone in the Oval Office with her “husband”, she will pull him aside and snarl Ashley’s most oft-quoted line, “I’d like to strap you on sometime!”

Well, maybe not.

Neither David Gurian, who played Harris, nor Edy Williams, who brilliantly conveyed Ashley, appear on the featurettes or commentary for the DVD. This may be because Gurian dropped off the face of the earth soon after appearing in “Dolls”, and Williams, who married Meyer shortly after the film’s completion and got nothing more than a thankless girlfriend part in her hubby’s follow-up film, “The Seven Minutes”, for her trouble, has been forever bitter about being seen as nothing more than a porn queen. Mind you, her appearances at the Oscars and other ceremonies in outfits even less existent than the ones she sported as Ashley, and with a panther at the end of a leash, her relationship with mobster Mickey Cohen, and her turns in actual skin flicks, probably haven’t helped her defend the virtue she insists she has.

As for those talking heads on the disc who were not connected with the production, they are made up of the usual assortment of critics - including the Village Voice’s Michael Musto, who declares that “Dolls” should be seen three, maybe four times to fully appreciate it (hey, buddy, how about watching it thirty or forty, like moi!) - musicians - including a member of Pansy Division, an all-gay band who, like other members of the gay community, worship the film despite, or because of, its equation of homosexuality with homicidal tendencies - and oddballs - like a visual artist named “Coop” who specializes in pop art illustrations of bodacious women with words such as “boss” tattooed on their bikinis.

Of course, no DVD of “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls” could be complete without a contribution by its screenwriter and biggest fan, Roger Ebert. In addition to appearing on Disc Two, Ebert also provides commentary for the feature on Disc One. Though Good Ol’ Rog has many insightful and humorous things to say about the production of his and Meyer’s brainchild, some of his remarks still raise an eyebrow or two. This particularly applies to his assertion - reiterated by a healthy and well-preserved Harrison Page on Disc Two - that the black characters played by Page, McBroom and James Inglehart were more “progressive” than any that had been featured in films up to that time. Okay, maybe Sidney Poitier and Ossie Davis didn’t run through fields in slow motion like Pet and Emerson, or give people rides on the hoods of their cars like Inglehart’s character, Randy Black (a favorite scene of mine and one, Ebert says, inspired by a similar real-life incident involving football hero Jim Brown) but they didn’t need Russ Meyer to make them hip. The best part of the legendary critic’s commentaries, though, are his recollections of how loyal the director was to the members of the combat unit he fought with in World War II and how good he was at maintaining friendships with Roger and other filmmaking cohorts. Then again, I think what makes Ebert’s reminiscences so effective is that he reflects on this while Roxanne and Casey finally get down to Sapphic business at Z-Man’s pad.

Ah, Z-Man ... Ronnie “Z-Man” Barzel, of course. Anybody who has seen the film, and anyone who has kept track of the Presidency I draw comparisons to, should be able to guess that his prototype can be found in Vice President Dick Cheney. Admittedly, Cheney does not comport himself with the makeup, clothing and Shakespearean sonnets Z-Man does (though he may have roughly the same size breasts Barzel reveals him/herself to have), he has initiated and conducted the carnage in Iraq, given power to corporations at the cost of the environment and economy, and attempted to install a permanent Republican majority in Congress with the same zeal and bloodlust that Ronnie corrupts and kills those around him. Now some might say that “BVD’s” Porter Hall, the transparently opportunistic lawyer who attempts to rob leading lady Kelly of her inheritance, is a more apt model for the conniving Vice. But I feel that the music mogul that Ebert based on legendary record producer Phil Specter - who, himself, went on a killing spree at his own pad that has caused him to currently stand trial and to sport an afro the size of a sycamore tree - is just vicious and two-faced enough to be a better representative of “V-Man.” And while Cheney would not be likely to blurt the most famous line from the film - Barzel’s enthusiastic affirmation, “This is my happening and it freaks me out!” - I’m quite sure that at one time or another he has snarled a variation on Ronnie’s declaration to Lance, after the stud spurns his advances: “You will drink the black sperm of my vengeance!”

John Lazar, who not only appears on the featurettes but also introduces the audience to Disc Two, has fond memories of the latter line, but says he hated the “happening” remark so much he begged Russ to drop it from the script. Meyer, not a man to take “no” for an answer, insisted he say it as written, until finally Lazar relented, a wise decision which led him to be the most quoted actor from the cast. This, however, did not prevent him harboring sour grapes, not unlike those held by Edy Williams, about his involvement with this film, which, as was the case for most of the other cast members, turned out to be the one sign of life in an otherwise dead career. Evidently, by the time of the production of the disc, the Shakespearean-trained actor came to accept that his legacy will forever be tied with “Z-Man” and enthusiastically provides comments and anecdotes. He also looks well, even if he resembles the aging Tim Curry, star of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show”, a vastly inferior cult “classic” which many of the folks mentioned here felt got the fanatical treatment “Dolls” should have. Though I agree with this notion, I think Ebert comes up with a far more useful idea: adding “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls” to the roster of Broadway musicalizations of classic and cult movies. Something tells me this is almost certain to happen.

While I can’t offhand think of who in the world of Broadway or Hollywood would do justice to the very unlikely personages that make up the freak show that is “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls”, I certainly have had no trouble with connecting them to the all-too-real freaks in Washington. Whether its indicted, shiftless lobbyist Jack Abramoff’s striking resemblance to thuggish, shirtless boxer Randy Black, or sadly un-indicted Bush Architect Karl Rove’s takeoff on Barzel’s own Number Two, former Hitler secretary Martin Bormann, Russ Meyer’s greatest film and America’s worst Presidential Administration have so many parallels it makes one want to perpetually be on the acid Michael Blodgett’s aficionado freaked out on. Since even Abbie Hoffman and Grace Slick failed to dose the water supply of DC, all we sensible heads can do is work with our current Senate and House candidates to take Congress out of the “lunch hooks” (damn that Lance Rocke had a way with words!) of the Republicans, and sit back and watch Bush and his operatives shoot themselves in their clubbed feet. Some day, even this Administration will be nothing more than a bad memory captured on DVD - or at least the History Channel - and the defective Dolls who have tried in vein to turn this country into a Christian-based, corporate-controlled theocracy will have been chased off to their own Valleys in Hell.

So, in closing, the only appropriate thing to do is paraphrase a tag line featured in the one set of extras in the DVD that you must not miss, the hyperkinetic theatrical trailers: “This Administration is not a sequel .. there has never been anything like it!”