Cult Movie #10: Bing. Bang. BOOM!
So, where to even begin? Boom! is a movie that exists entirely within its own mythos of camp, glamor and unchecked ego.
"Artsy-fartsy ballyhoo," complained one film critic.
"A pretentious and self-indulgent mess...almost unwatchable," chimed in another.
"An opulent trainwreck", wrote yet another, "an objectively bad movie...one of the worst films ever made."
These quotes are representative of reviews from contemporary film critics who, armed with hatchets and poison-tipped pens, greeted the film's 1968 release with universal ridicule and derision. Based on Tennessee William's Broadway flop, The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore, the movie rights had already been acquired by Universal Pictures before the play's final curtain came down, surely a move that begs the question: What were they thinking? In 1968 Tennessee Williams had long reigned as one of America's premiere playwrights and, although his career was in significant decline, previous collaborations with Hollywood had proven fruitful for Williams, the studios and those actors lucky enough to star in his vehicles--particularly Elizabeth Taylor. Despite its poor reception on Broadway, Milk Train was not a project Williams was willing to discard--it was, in his mind, his best work (A Streetcar Named Desire, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Sweet Bird of Youth, Night of the Iguana, Suddenly Last Summer, notwithstanding): he was not giving up the ghost on this one. With her own career in a slump, Elizabeth Taylor, along with then-husband, Richard Burton, eagerly accepted the film's leading roles which had, incidentally, been briefly assayed on Broadway by Tallulah Bankhead and Tab Hunter. Yes, you read that right. Tallulah Bankhead and Tab Hunter. Go figure.
Retitled Boom! for the big screen, the film recounts the story of a fabulously wealthy, outrageously attired
Clearly, this is not someone you want hosting your summer vacation, but that's exactly what happens when a suspicious trespasser named Christopher Flanders washes ashore and insinuates himself into Sissy's grotesque daily routine. Flanders claims to be a poet--he arrives bearing a book of his alleged work--but later admits to being a "professional houseguest". To Sissy, he's not to be trusted, a mystery man who must be banished from the kingdom but maybe not before she takes him for a test drive in her sleigh bed. She doesn't like this interloper but her horniness may outweigh that fact. Lacking any sense of empathy or decorum, Sissy is not exactly sure what to do with the man. He's practically begging for food so she gifts him with a Samurai outfit and sword once the guard dog's have ripped his clothes to shreds. Chew on this ya detty behstuhd!
Soon after the arrival of Flanders, Sissy has one of her friends (frenemy?) over to dine on the terrace. The aptly named Witch of Capri (real name: Bill) is hoisted onto the shoulders of one of Sissy's burlier employees and deposited gingerly into the funicular that will carry him up the cliff to Sissy's chaotic dominion. Once within earshot of Sissy, he trades hoots with her before being escorted to the terrace where a vision of unfettered audacity awaits him. Apparently outfitted by the House of Liberace, Sissy's evening wear in this scene alone makes the rest of the movie worth sitting through. By her own admission, Sissy's drag is supposed to be a Kabuki robe--she seems to have a Kabuki fetish--but it looks designed for a very flaming Pope (or perhaps a Cardinal) to flaunt on a high holy day. Stitched through with gold and silver embroidery, it is topped by an enormous, spiky, flowery headpiece that looks like a dead porcupine fell into the hands of a taxidermist-cum-florist. It is both blood-curdling and unholy. It is spectacular!
The meal, of course, is revolting and remains untouched. No one in this film ever seems to eat the food placed in front of them, but then most of the dinnerware winds up in pieces at the bottom of the cliffs. Maybe there's a shortage of paper plates at the local 7-11. I quite enjoyed The Witch of Capri, especially with Noel Coward in the role. He's a mischievous, catty little imp who periodically shows up to annoy Sissy and flirt with Flanders.
Meanwhile, in Flanders' guest room, he's trying to put the moves on Sissy's secretary but the woman is all no, I mean yes, but no, or maybe I will if you promise not to tell, but no, oh no, I simply couldn't. The amused Flanders is simply toying with the young woman and seems more interested in extracting information (from her and others) than seduction. I do love the Chagall-esque mural on the wall behind Flanders' bed, though, and probably would have done him just to get a better look at it.
The ever-screeching Sissy continues her tirade against Flanders, which escalates considerably when she discovers that he has presided over the deathbeds of several society doyennes. Her chief henchman, a Nazi-ish dwarf named Rudi, threatens Flanders with a gun when siccing the dogs on him doesn't seem to have the desired effect, but eventually, Rudi (as well as a few other employees) drops out of the picture and leaves this odd couple to their own devices. By now, Sissy doesn't really know who's coming or going, although, it's a fair assumption that Flanders, the tease, won't be coming since he steadfastly avoids Sissy's carnal entreaties. And Sissy, oh Sissy. Well, her last name is Goforth so figure it out. Go forth. Get it? Sissy is definitely going. On several occasions, Flanders reminds Sissy that they've met before, but she can't remember whether they did or not. It's vexing, which is not a sensation entirely unknown to Sissy. She just can't seem to make up her mind about the man but he very much knows what he wants. Is he, as rumored, the Angel of Death? Is she a murderous Black Widow? What on earth is going on with these two? Well, I'm not going to tell you. And why would you care?
Neither Sissy nor Flanders are characters remotely worth rooting for, although Taylor and Burton seem to relish having the opportunity to rehash their greatest hits. Liz's ceaseless carrying-on as Sissy bears faint echoes of Martha in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? although Martha was a role she inhabited, as opposed to the spectacle on display here. While Liz chews the scenery, Burton swoons about delivering soliloquies that, I suppose, are meant to recall the Shakespearean roles of his West End heyday, but this affectation comes across as empty posturing. I was aghast to read that the two stars took their roles very seriously and weren't secretly giggling at the absurdity of their script. Is it possible that they were so eaten up by their own celebrity that they could no longer distinguish shit from Shinola?
Karl Lagerfeld's costumes (not actually Liberace's) practically scream out loud--they blast forth from the screen, assaulting the senses, entities unto themselves. I kind of like them. We went to a Dolce & Gabbana show in Miami a few months ago and there is no question in my mind that the designers' more outlandish creations were inspired by Boom!.
While there is interesting cinematography (how could there not be, it was filmed in Sardinia), the movie's editing is clumsy and the screenplay is subpar for a writer of Williams' stature. Williams, in fact, was quoted as saying that he'd written a part of himself into all his mad, doomed heroines. Well, he did have a touch of the Banshee about him.
Director Joseph Losey, whose career included such acclaimed films as The Servant, The Go-Between and Monsieur Klein, among many others, considered (like Williams) Boom! to be his best production. Why, for God's sake? All I can come up with is that he must have had a hell of a time partying it up with the glamorous Burtons while on location in the Mediterranean. We haven't talked about Sissy's butt-ugly concrete house with the Easter Island statues out in the yard. Or the pet monkey and talking mynah bird who says nothing of the significance you might expect (a missed opportunity!). I did like the two sitar players providing an incongruous ambience to Sissy's meltdowns.
Boom! has amassed a large cult following, particularly among gay men. Perhaps it's the delirious costumes and La Liz's over-the-top portrayal of Sissy. The self-described Pope of Trash, John Waters lists Boom! as his favorite movie of all time. I can see that. It's easy to imagine him casting Divine and Tab Hunter as the leads. But then, Sissy already seems like an overwrought drag queen so maybe casting Divine would be redundant, although gloriously so. Having watched Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown the night before Boom!, I couldn't help envisioning the sort of film Almodovar might have made at his ecstatic, melodramatic peak. While Waters and Almodovar are on completely different wavelengths, each would almost certainly bring his own unique style to produce a better, infinitely more entertaining film than this.
Finally, if you're wondering where the movie title comes from, boom is the sound of waves crashing on the rocks below Sissy's fortress. Or, according to Flanders, boom is "the shock of being alive". Of course, why didn't I think of that? After viewing this movie, I'd say boom is simply the sound of a bomb going off. Boom! is a tedious thing, indeed, and so far off my gaydar it brings into question my own level of gayness. And baby that ain't good.
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