shoop and what's wrong with The Princess Bride

Now there's a title that reveals somebody looking for a fight, huh? Well, first of all, I should make clear that I like The Princess Bride. It's enjoyable and pleasant. And sure, I even get a little misty when Inigo Montoya finally revenges the death of his father. But there was always something a little... off about this movie for me. I think it took two master critics, Pauline Kael and Leonard Maltin, to help me figure out what went wrong.

Kael, in a relatively short review (especially for her), notes that "you can almost see the marks that it's missing." And for me, that's just what it felt like, including scenes that a lot of people I know absolutely love (and, almost needless to say, can quote by heart). For one thing, there's a distinct disconnect between screenwriter William Goldman's witty badinage (and some of it is pretty snappy) and the actors saying them--big case in point, Andre the Giant. Andre seems a big, affable lug, and he's likable--but he not only has trouble saying his lines, it's pretty clear he doesn't always get his lines. When you give witty badinage to someone who can't deliver witty badinage, it just sounds....weird. But Andre is not the biggest problem. The biggest problem becomes clear in two very, very famous and very, very popular exchanges, both involving the villain Vizzini, played by Wallace Shawn.

Vizzini's catchphrase is "inconceivable!"--you can even get it on a T-shirt. And Inigo Montoya's famous response--"You keep using that word--I don't think it means what you think it means," gets appropriated on any number of inter-nerd exchanges. But here's the thing--there's nothing wrong with the way Vizzini uses the word "inconceivable." It means, among a few other variations, "unbelievable" or "impossible to imagine." So why does Inigo Montoya respond that way? And what's so funny about it? And there's where the fit hits the shan, as it were--the mark that gets missed. To make it clearer, now imagine Groucho Marx saying Montoya's line. Or for that matter, Chico Marx. Or Woody Allen, say from 1965-1979. Or Moe from the Three Stooges. Or Bullwinkle the Moose, for pete's sake. And you see the problem--you need a comedian to say that line. If Groucho had said it, it wouldn't matter if the line was correct or made sense--it would just matter that Groucho was driving another adversary crazy. Director Rob Reiner and screenwriter Goldman could not or would not create a world where the line could work. The way the fine actor Mandy Patinkin (and he really is good here) delivers the line, in the world of the movie that Reiner and Goldman created, it seems to be a reasonable observation that happens to be wrong. And you start thinking things like, "but inconceivable really does mean what Vizzini thinks it means." And that's not funny.

The same thing goes wrong with the equally famous Vizzini death scene. Shawn, as Vizzini, throws out a number of (now heavily-quoted) non-sequiturs that needed a comedian's delivery. "Never get into a land war with Asia"? Really? Why is Vizzini even saying that? But now imagine Boris Badanov, Fearless Leader, or Bullwinkle saying it. Now it's funny. To put the problem into sharper focus, let me paraphrase Leonard Maltin's observation about Billy Crystal and Carol Kane--they seem to have walked in from another movie, or something to that effect. And Maltin's right--the movie they walked in from is the movie The Princess Bride should have been. Because Crystal and Kane are, yes!--comedians. And their scene is funny. There are two more comedians in the movie, Christopher Guest and Peter Cook (Guest is the one who killed Montoya's father; Cook is the Impressive Clergyman), and they're funny, too. In fact, there's a fair amount of funny in the movie--but no comedians in the key roles, and no world where their comedy can reign unfettered. Imagine, for example, Allan Jones and Kitty Carlisle getting all the funny lines in "A Night at the Opera." And that's what's wrong with The Princess Bride.

I understand that AFI has rated the movie as one of the greatest LOVE STORIES of all time, too. Caucasian, please.

Next time, another movie you probably like a lot that I can partially spoil for you, unless I can't think of any more.

shoop and still nothing at stake: Darwin in Malibu

You probably know Inherit the Wind--terrific play and a terrific movie. Well, the Spencer Tracy-Fredric March movie was great--there was a made for TV remake with Jason Robards and Kirk Douglas that was kind of "Inherit the Wind Lite" (Inherit the Breeze?), plus a couple of others that I haven't seen. Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee based their courtroom drama on the historical Scopes "Monkey" trial, and the tide and plot turn on Henry Drummond (the Clarence Darrow figure) catching Matthew Harrison Brady (the William Jennings Bryan stand-in) on a literal Biblical point. It's a great scene where debating the possibility of evolution becomes an elaborate and highly satisfying "Gotcha!" moment--satisfying and dramatic, because not only a man's career, but in a sense, the future of science education in America is at stake.

The other great moment comes at the end, involving E.K. Hornbeck (that is, H.L. Mencken), the snarky reporter who has been Drummond's staunch supporter while laughing at the town and at Brady for being a bunch of ignorant rubes. Drummond kicks Hornbeck to the curb, and it's worth a cheer as Drummond chastises Hornbeck for his sneering cynicism regarding the town, Brady, and the schoolteacher on trial, Cates--"I tell you Brady had the same right as Cates--the right to be wrong!" Would that all snarks could be put down that hard and actually learn something from the experience.

Crispin Whittell wrote Darwin in Malibu, and although the cast of characters includes Darwin himself, his staunch real-life supporter Thomas Huxley, and equally staunch spiritual opponent Bishop Samuel Wilberforce, the story is almost identical to that of Inherit the Wind, from Darwin dissing Huxley to the final consideration that there might be room for evolution and faith. There's even a "gotcha" moment in a discussion between Huxley and Wilberforce, as Wilberforce has to concede that some sort of evolution must have occurred following the Great Flood. So why does this play roll over and die while Inherit the Wind triumphs? The key word in that sentence before last is "discussion"--that's why nothing's at stake, and why this story doesn't matter a bit. Whittell, I would guess, has read of a lot of Stoppard, and puts his historical figures incongruously in a Malibu beach house where they interact with a modern Malibu beach babe with a story (not all that interesting, unfortunately) of her own. But the ideas and the "gotcha" moments are neither electric nor satisfying in and of themselves. I was rooting for this play when I read it and when I later saw it in production, even while it was lying there like a lox both as literature and theatre--I appreciated the cleverness and the off-beat set-up. But if Act I is characters chatting amiably and Act II is characters chatting amiably, there's nothing in the air but fatal predictability--so much so that even when we get a last-minute would-be curveball, it merits no more than a mild "Oh."

For the next few entries, I'm going to look at movies that people like a lot, and talk about what's wrong with them--way to alienate your only followers, there, Shoop.