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Show December, 1979 THE ROSE, starring Bette Midler, Alan Bates and Frederic Forrest; written by Bill Kerby and Bo Goldman; directed by Mark Rydell. Midler as The Rose plays hard-drinkin- g, a late Sixties high-livina superstar, pathetic creature buffetted by fame and fortune, unable to cope with the pressures of stardom and her own insecurities, a h who disguises her fears with trashy talk. But Midler claims she's not playing Janisjoplin. Flapdoodle. The only significant difference between Joplin and the Rose is that Midler (and the script) are occasionally quite funny. But even her clothes are flashier recreations of Joplin's feathers and furs; in fact, Midler's clothes offer one of few clues to the period of this g, loud-mout- film (along with the light show pulsing be- hind her concerts and "The Rose '69 Tour" emblazoned on the nose of her plane). The entire movie looks as if it were filmed last week on a budget of for Midler's clothes and $3 for everything else. $103,000-$100,- 000 The exception to the generally muddled tone is the concert footage: Midler's moves and voice are captured with a clear eye and a keen ear; we feel the siren appeal, the suscitation of getting up on a stage and symbolically stroking several thousand people at the same time. Almost as good as being there. The weakest link is Alan Bates as Midler's Machiavellian manager, a man so nasty and exploitive it's impossible to understand why or how they ever gpt together. They shout at each other for two hours; she not only shouts at Bates, she roars, throws bottles, gets drunk, screws aroundrcries, screams and hollers. It's enough to wear a poor reviewer out. There are only two or three quiet moments in the film, played with her AWOL G.I. chauffeur (Forrest, who's excellent), a beacon of calm masculinity in the showbiz madness. But Midler goes for the jugular most of the time; nuance escapes her (and director Rydell, not known for his subtlety). As one unimpressed patron noted, "it's just two hours waiting for her to OD." It's not surprising that the most effecting moments are the understated ones: while driving through her old neighborhood, she sees her father and mother in the front yard, and immediately hides herself from them; when she finally faces her hometown audience, the Rose returning triumphant, she just stands in the applause for a moment, enjoying sweet and brief revenge for her unappreciated childhood. The Rose will no doubt send hardcore Midler fans to another dimension of ecstasy; it sends the rest of us home, to our albums. Judith Sims RUNNING, starring Michael Douglas and Susan Anspach; written and directed by Steven Stern. The plethora of poorly conceived and amateurishly executed movies to which American film-goe- have been subjected rs lately has grown by one: if Rocky had puppies, Running would be the runt of the litter. It's like this: Michael Andropolis dropout from grad school, marriage to Janet all behind to do what (Anspach), leaving he really wants to do run. And not just from his hole in Manhattan to Janet's (Douglas) is a jobs and a house in Brooklyn, but in the Olympics in Montreal. Encouragement comes from everywhere, including Janet's new boyfriend Howard, a car dealer, who gives Michael a job washing cars. Douglas prebut when pares for the Olympic our hero trains, he doesn't sweat. winners suffers a leg One of the pre-trifracture, Douglas makes the team, and the rest of the film is devoted to: one, getting his marriage back together (we hear a lot of "I love you's"); and, two, running, with many slow motion scenes backed by the most florid, rococo piano since Ronnie Aldrich. The composer, Andre Gagnon, must be deaf. In Montreal Douglas encounters his former coach, who reminds him and us that Douglas once didn't try hard enough during the Pan Am Games and that if he's to prove he's a man, then he'd better finish this race, first or last. To make all this fit the scenario, writer Stern has Douglas drop face down into a pile of leaves, seemingly out of the race with a dislocated shoulder (so Jim McKay, the voice of the Olympics, Mary Beth Hurt &f John Heard in Head over Heels tells us). But, no, hours later he arises like Lazarus and trudges into the Stadium, collapsing into the arms of his waiting compatriots, including a smiling coach and an expressionless wife Janet. The end? Running never really began. Zan Stewart Orchestra Rehearsal, with Baldwin Baas, Clara Colosimo; screenplay by Federico Fellini and Brunello Rondi; music by Nino Rota; directed by Federico Fellini. pre-trial- s, al Through the lens of a TV camera (we never see the crew), we see a oratory, a 13th-centu- ry burial place of popes and bishops, but best known for its fine acoustics. An aged copyist gives us a brief history of the place while he sets up the music on the stands. The players begin to filter in, speaking to the camera; they ramble pretentiously about the merits of their own instruments while disparaging the others. Some musicians complain to the union rep because they aren't being paid extra for appearing on TV. At last the conductor (Baldwin Baas), a German guest artist, comes on to start the rehearsal. It is little short of a fiasco. There is no rapport between conductor and orchestra, and his increased efforts to assert control only serve to make matters worse. Finally the union rep calls a break. The younger players complain bitterly about wasting years in conservatories and call their own instruments ridiculous. The old copyist speaks with rapture about the days when the orchestra had a permanent conductor, a taskmaster who would strike the players' hands with his baton. The con- ductor speaks idealistically of making music, far removed from the practical v:w,;:':i:;,,v-i,-- !::::i::v:;::'::: .V ,"v '...v ' .vwo:;:' y matters involved in running an orchestra. In the meantime, the building is periodically shaken by mysterious tremors . . . Obviously, this short (72 minutes) feature isn't intended to be taken literally. Fellini has included just enough realistic detail here to suit his purpose. Just what that purpose may be is open to debate: is the orchestra a metaphor for modern Italy heading towards fascism, Western civilization heading towards collapse, human endeavor in general, or something else entirely? One can even read into it the history of Federico Fellini, Filmmaker. The first half of the movie, with its deft depiction of human follies, is strongly reminiscent of the young humanist Fellini of Vitelloni and The White Sheik. The second half, in which the conductor returns to finish the rehear sal only to discover revolt and anarchy running rampant, gives us the Fellini of Satyricon, where big gestures and melodramatic images are the rule and humanity the exception. It is Fellini as Doom-Saye- r of the Western World. But don't get me wrong: Orchestra Rehearsal is delightful. This time, Fellini has managed to keep proper artistic distance from his material, so that the movie never gets any bigger than the little parable it's supposed to be. He is aided immeasurably a fine menagerie of by his large cast grotesques and by the score of Nino Rota (his last; he died in April), which, as usual, is a perfect match for Fellini's inten- tions. Witty and provocative, Orchestra Rehearsal is surely the most entertaining movie Fellini has made in years. Sol Louis Siegel HEAD OVER HEELS, starring John Heard, Mary Beth Hurt and Peter Riegert; written and directed by Joan Micklin Silver from the book Chilly Scenes of Winter by Ann Beattie. is, his arsenal of love me" looks can't cute smiles and "please save this movie. We're supposed to accept Endearing as John Heard his undying, passionate for Hurt (who played the middle sister, the whiner, in Interiors), and that's the first problem; Hurt's OK, if you like indecisive neurotics, but she's about as sensuous love and provocative as Ralph Nader, and dressing her up like Annie Hall only under- lines Hurt's and the film's shortcomings. Heard (last seen as Rev. Dim-mesda- le in PBS' The Scarlet Letter) plays a nonentity in a boring government job, his mother is crazy, his stepfather is not such a bad guy after all; his sister is in love with a putz, his best friend gets fired and moves in with him, and Hurt, the woman of his dreams, is married to another man but she can't decide whether to stay married or not. That's the plot, those are the players, and I couldn't care less. I've been assured that this film "tested very well" on college campuses across the country. Depressing thought. Joan Micklin Silver also directed Between the Lines, a meaningless scrap of trivia, and the counter-cultural-journalis- m well-receiv- ed Hester Street. With all the talented and qualified women who could and should be directing films, it's annoying that someone as clumsy and unimaginative as Silver gets all this work. Jutfth Sims |