As someone who likes movies, there is one common complaint that I come across from people every awards season. When dealing with stories that deal with addiction or tragedy, some believe that they don’t go far enough. I for one would equate Judy (2019) to this club if just compared to the stage version that was willing to show Judy Garland as a drug-addled mess, unsympathetic in her horrible behavior. It created a more complicated picture of her and made her ability to overcome struggles far more rewarding. I’m not saying to go “too far,” but having some contrast of chaos allows for normalcy to feel, well, more normal.
That is how one could feel watching Valley of the Dolls (1967), which was Patty Duke’s big break into edgier roles. It focused on the moral decay of Hollywood, where sex, drugs, and violence ran amok. It’s clear that it wanted to be a prestige picture, but in that sense, it lives on in the same camp of Mommie Dearest (1981) where it’s just devoid enough from its message that the characters seem delusional. By the time that Duke finds out that her friends are strippers, her yelling “boobies!” as a criticism should be sad, but it’s honestly just very, very, very funny. At the end of the day, the film’s only major achievement was becoming John Williams’ (yes, that one) first Oscar nomination.
You got to love Hollywood for trying to meet all four quadrants at the expense of a more honest and fulfilling movie. It sometimes works, but there is something to know about the era. Before the 1980s came along, the 1960s was a period that was easy to lampoon because of how sincere it was. TV was starting to become colorized and they exploited the vibrancy to an embarrassing level, the music so go-go and ridiculous at times that you couldn’t tell what was going on. Sure, that’s what all youth entertainment is, but there’s plenty to consider about the late-60s. There was the counterculture, a rebellion of the norms, along with the sexual revolution that nowadays comes across as more tongue-in-cheek (see: Bedazzled (1967)). By the end, hippies would become a noticed subset.
I don’t know everything there is to know about 60s entertainment, but I have slowly become more fond of artists who were able to lampoon the moment so succinctly. Why were we so obsessed with these goofy colors, folk music, and groovy attitudes towards sex? So much of this era has been wiped under the rug for good reason. For one, Laugh-In has aged poorly and should only be remembered for giving the world Goldie Hawn. Also, it’s so artificial that you either buy into it or you don’t. That’s what makes The Monkees’ movie Head (1968) easily my favorite depiction of the counterculture from this era. It’s as much a product of the studio system as it is criticizing its practices.
Valley of the Dolls is ridiculous because it’s not self-aware, having a naïve perspective of what these controversial themes were. I don’t fault Duke, though she clearly lacked a connection to the material. Her over-acting at times is how one who’s never had drug addiction problems would imagine the situation to go. Imagine pretending to be drunk, how exaggerated and unrealistic it is. She barely does better than that. It’s good enough for those who like their tone off-kilter, but it’s clear that nobody involved knew how to make this accessible within a conventional studio drama.
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| It also has weird Batman '66 vibes at times |
This isn’t to say that Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970) knows much better. If you ask director Russ Meyer or writer Roger Ebert what their experience with the counterculture is, you’re likely to get a firm shrug. As it stands, they created this movie not as a proposed sequel, but a flat-out parody of the first. Everything would be bigger, more vulgar, and wild. Unlike the first, everyone would be in on the joke and nothing was off-limits. For what it’s worth, the film begins with the closing credits, including an end scene where murder is about to go down. There’s also some guy dressed as a Nazi running around.
What is this world?
Before I continue, let’s get one of the stumbling blocks out of the way. You’re wondering if that is THE Roger Ebert. The same person who became the first to win The Pulitzer for film criticism. To all of this, I will just say: yes it is.
For a man so noble and loved for his empathetic views on film culture, it’s amazing to note that one of his few dives into screenwriting is Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. It’s one of those films that when Meyer was told that he was getting an X Rating (nowadays an NC-17), he told the studio that he may as well throw in even more nudity. They disapproved of this. With all of that said, the film made $40 million at the box office, so there was clearly an audience for this movie.
If I’m being honest, you don’t need to see Valley of the Dolls to appreciate this, but it does perfectly explain people who want cautionary tales to go further. Meyer’s is practically a parody, at times being as wild and unexpected as Kentucky Fried Movie (1977). It’s a world where everyone is a bit too candid and to enter a new room is like barging in on a new explicit sex scene. The Playboy Mansion was never filmed as vividly as an early mansion scene in this movie, where it’s all so commonplace that nobody is outright miffed. They just accept it as a minor inconvenience.
This is Meyer and Ebert’s parody of the 60s counterculture, presented with exhaustive and excessive detail that blasts through the frame. You can practically see the career of other vulgar auteurs like John Waters being formed in the background of this film. Everyone has lust in their eyes. This is a soap opera where the melodrama is so heightened that you’ll be laughed out of the room if you mistake a single moment as being serious. Even when a character discusses the horrors of the party where people were smoking reefer, there is this exaggeration.
The story focuses on this girl band The Carrie Nation. The singer sounds like Mama Cass and their music forms the underlying draw of the film. They’re touring through Los Angeles, experiencing the horrors of this county, and doing everything to not be caught up in it. Thankfully the music is good enough, managing to have this folk-psychedelic quality that makes you believe that they’re real. They could genuinely be at a party where debauchery is unfiltered. Their innocence can reasonably be lost as they wander the hallways. Everything feels genuine to the tone, and it’s all shot like a 60’s music video, where fades and intercut footage play like self-indulgent music videos. It’s basically holding up a mirror and saying “isn’t that ridiculous?” Perennial 60s band The Sandpipers are also in this if I have any “Come Saturday Morning” fans out there.
It’s amazing that this came from 20th Century Fox of all people, if just because I can’t imagine a major studio releasing a film like this ever in my lifetime. The X Rating may be a bit misleading as there is an actual story and it’s arguably tame by later standards. Still, the salacious amount of detail is astounding, reflecting an excess that cinema of the time would be too sheepish to explore. More than that, Meyer is willing to use this film as a chance to explore a gender fluidity that was still seen as taboo. It’s not the most nuanced, sure, but you do get a sense that Meyer has more on his mind besides shock. He's accepting in ways that mainstream culture, unfortunately, took much longer to be.
This is a story that exists in a kaleidoscope, managing to be random moments of exaggerated fervor. Even within that context, there is a reverence for every character, where their struggles are valued. There is no escape from the tone by any one character. We’re all in this together, and the acceptance that Hollywood is a cesspool allows the soap opera of it all to shine brightly, playing against a memorable soundtrack that only heightens the whole experience. You’re as much admiring the audacity as you are taken in by the story of addiction. You understand why it’s all sexy but also very ridiculous.
There is an old saying by Ebert that a great movie is not what it’s about, but how it’s about. Nowhere has that been more clear than when comparing the two Valley of the Dolls. They’re both telling the same stories, but one has the earnestness to capture what it’s like to be down in the hellscape of parties that offer you drugs, where there is no privacy and everyone is paranoid. In no world would this get an Oscar nomination, but it definitely reflects an atmosphere that is more honest with its subject, allowing a campy, unrepentant takedown of the counterculture that was too self-involved to know why any of this was inhuman.
I won’t go into the third act, which takes drug trip culture to a new and depraved place. It’ the moment where any innocence or being lost in euphoria disappears. Any moment reminiscent of the more family-friendly Beach Party (1963) movies is starting to fade. The sexy girls in bikinis and shirtless men wandering aimlessly on the beach are about to enter something that could be called a Scooby-Doo ending. It’s just as explicit as anything else in this movie, but boy is that sucker whacky.
This movie isn’t for everyone. Some could also argue that Meyer’s legacy hasn’t aged well. After all, he is responsible for a more sexual feel in mainstream movies. Some misconstrue his nudity as having women who were weak, being exploited for the male gaze. While some of that is true, there is this underlying strength in the female characters that show their ability to fight evils trying to get the best of them. The closer to a protagonist that you are, the more likely you are to be given a rich dynamic, observing the excess, and doing everything to stave it off. Some may fall victim to its temptations, but their road there is rich with three-dimensional decisions and cartoonish men.
Beyond the Valley of the Dolls is a dated movie, and one that is hard to appreciate if you’re not looking at it as satire. All I know is that comparing it to films like A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (1966) is to see how differently these two films view the 60s counterculture and the sexual revolution. One is leering while the other seeks to treat carnal desires as something more human and honest. It may be more exaggerated and at times offensive, but it’s a clear vision that gives every character something to do besides be window dressing. It is a film with consequences, as cartoonish as they may be, that plays into the ridiculous impulses of the 60s perfectly, criticizing an era that was spiraling out of control.
I don’t know that it beats Head for being this psychedelic attack on an era, but it definitely feels like one of Meyer’s more accessible movies. It may be overlong, but the style all compliments a fantasy being broken apart and revealing its horrendous interior. There are so many moments that only a filmmaker confident in his own vision, unshaken by studio interference, could pull off. Meyer exists alongside very few directors (Bob Rafelson, Robert Downey Sr.) who pushed buttons and did it so well. The only difference is that he’s arguably inaccessible because of the legacy he produced. He wasn’t always the best director, but every now and then he had a way of winking at the camera and letting you in on this delightful, perverse joy of life. Along with Faster Pussycat Kill! Kill! (1965) and Vixen! (1968), this may be his highest point in a not-uninteresting career.
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