Gunn (Blake Edwards, 1967)

Known at least on the poster as Gunn...Number One! in the hopes of kicking off a franchise that never happened, this feature-length update of Blake Edwards' Peter Gunn television show feels at times like Edwards' attempt to keep up with avant-garde cinema. Before even a minute has passed, we're treated to a spatially, visually, and narratively incoherent image - a shiny half circle into which a distorted pair of eyes enters. Later, Edwards will introduce a scene with a zoom in to a red line painted on the far end of the room. What, was Paul Sharits making him jealous? 

MAJOR SPOILER AHEAD!

The stylistic perversity threatens to overwhelm the story (apparently a rehash of the first Peter Gunn episode) but unfortunately, the story wins especially at the climax when Gunn (Craig Stevens) rehashes the entire crime scheme to the secret villain Daisy Jane (Marion Marshall). Marshall gets a special credit billed as M.T. Marshall presumably because Daisy Jane turns out to be a man in river gambler madam drag. Gunn rips off her wig and Daisy engages him in a death battle, taking her place among the dozens of murderous drag queens in Hollywood history. It's remarkable Vito Russo missed an opportunity to dump on this aspect of the film in his essential The Celluloid Closet: Homosexuality in the Movies (1981) even though 2023 viewers might approach the scene with more nuance (or more vitriol). 

Still, it's a visual treat throughout and Edwards puts Gunn through a series of odd paces - pelted with racquetballs or ensconced in a photo booth while receiving some key information from an informant. And there's plenty of star wattage to help the 94-minute episode go down. Opera diva Helen Traubel plays a saucy proprietor of a nightclub. Laura Devon sings a few torchy numbers. Ed Asner plays Ed Asner. Screenplay co-written by William Peter Blatty. Music by Henry Mancini and, to represent those kooky kids of the day, the Gordian Knot. Good show.

Note: No, of course I didn't see a pristine print of the thing. But I doubt any print would place it above Edwards' next film, The Party (1968). 

Grade: A-minus

You Know What? Two Okay Comedies!

I watched Heartbreakers (David Mirkin, 2001) only because Mirkin's sole other directorial effort is my beloved Romy and Michele's High School Reunion (1997). Predictably, it's not fit to shine Romy and Michele's Pradas. The main problem is that it has a 123-minute running time as opposed to Romy and Michele's 92 minutes, far too long for such a bauble. Still, Mirkin pulls off the neat trick of fashioning a cute film out of a nasty story about mother-and-daughter con artists (Sigourney Weaver and Jennifer Love Hewitt). Featuring the last onscreen appearance of Anne Bancroft and one of the last glimpses of the Twin Towers in a contemporary film. 

Switch (Blake Edwards, 1991) is lesser Edwards about a pieceashit sexist (Perry King) who is murdered by three wronged women. He ascends to Purgatory where God (voiced by a man and a woman) works with The Devil (Bruce Martyn Payne, looking like the love child of Gillian Anderson and Matthew McConaughey) to send him back to earth in the body of a woman (Ellen Barkin, up to the task and then some). If he can get one woman to like him, he will gain entry into heaven. 2022 viewers will twist themselves into a wiener package trying to determine if this film is transphobic or homophobic or whatnot. For sure, its view of gender is pretty rigid. Me, I'm content with the fact that the word "homophobic" is even uttered in the film. It was from the early 1990s, after all, an era which is quickly sliding into a "that's how things were back then" profile. In fact, I just helped it along that path.

Heartbreakers: B+

Switch: B+