
Or was that re-making? Where had I seen this before? Of course, one noir's bound to look like another--and that's OK; originality is not as welcome as we'd like to insist it is, at least not when we're at the movies, where the succession of images must at once surprise and fulfill; can I refer to it as "the familiar reborn"? It's Chaplin always wearing the baggy pants and skittering around corners and peering just so at some everyday injustice before taking decisive action; but each time he does so he must work subtle changes to the routine, both satisfying our need for comfort through repetition [1] as well as re-animating our interest. So Hollywoodland's mere devotion to noir wasn't exactly the source of my latest bout of cinema deja vu. No, a melody I already knew was being covered here, and the more I listened to the tune--with just enough vibrato and a hint of down-the-corridor echo to the horns--the clearer it grew.

Hollywoodland is full of such points of contact, from its ripe colors to its mournful soundtrack, from its twisted sexuality to the deep but distant sound one makes when falling into conspiracy's well. But it adds something Chinatown considers only with the most jaundiced of eyes: parenthood. For Polanski's movie, parents and their children are the cause of the problem; in Hollywoodland, they emerge as the solution. Here, the detective matters as much as the dead man; and while we are shown Reeves in extensive and varied flashbacks and what-ifs that compose one of the film's two poles, the pull of the other grows stronger, until the focus of the film becomes Simo and his child. Simo is divorced, with a Leave-It-to-Beaver son who burns up his Superman costume--on the living room sofa, no less--in mute protest over the death of his hero [2]. Simo is as puzzled by this as he is over Reeves' death; and as the movie goes on, trying to solve the second mystery solves the first.
Reeves is also a son, his ghost haunted by his mother [3], still alive and determined to enshrine her superhero--without affection, it seems, and without mourning. Reeves is cut loose from all bonds, both personal and professional; and to expose us to the pain of this unmooring, Affleck gives the performance of his career in a role he seemed meant to play: an affable cipher who knows it, and knows he can fight it for only so long [4]. Reeves gets sadder and sadder, our washed-up double, the Sad Sack/Clark Kent we suspect we might be, once the wrong cards are dealt.

The film's last shot is of Simo approaching his son--but there is no embrace, no swell of violins letting us know everything will turn out. It seems enough that this strange noir narrows the focus at the end just enough to let Reeves be, and to make a step toward something else. Before Simo visits the house that last time, he watches a test reel of Reeves proving to his would-be pro-wrestling backers that he can hack it. It is a grainy, jumpy whisper of another '50s tale of loss, Requiem for a Heavyweight, and as Reeves poses and rolls in his yard, his attitude game but his face betraying a grimace (earlier, he had been injured in a car accident), we can tell that nothing's left. With a final broad stroke of the true noir brush, Simo becomes Reeves' only friend, almost an alter-ego. Or perhaps they both realize they have been Clark Kent all along, driving one to oblivion and the other to reconciliation.

I will not push too hard for the Simo-as-Clark-Kent version; just let me point to the only truly significant moment in the Kill Bill movies, when Bill describes Kent as the imposter, noting that the other superheroes start out as puny Peter Parkers but become super, while Superman's true self is the hero, with Kent merely endured so that Superman can be himself. It is as close as Tarantino gets to a moral concept, one that implies the price you pay for long journeys: You can as easily become an exile as an explorer. In Hollywoodland, both Reeves and Simo pass through this Purgatory of identity; and, sentimental dope that I am, I refuse to leave either of them entirely in the flames. The movie ends with a long, drawn-out sigh--and I think that was me, keeping my fingers crossed that at least one of them gets a chance to wash up and go home. Reeves' girlfriend, Toni Mannix (her real name; noir may be less fictional than we think), [5] tells him, "Nobody ever asks to happy later," but it seems that Simo, at least, is willing to wait.
[1] As our best fiend, Freud, puts it, the urge toward order is simply a manifestation of "the compulsion to repeat."
[2] When his show was cancelled, Reeves also burns his Superman outfit--in the backyard bar-b-que--but with relief.
[3] After a fall while filming an episode of his TV series, Reeves jokes, "I'd like to thank the Academy and the good folks of Galesburg, Illinois, without whom all this would not have been possible." Once again, our fair town is immortalized in the movies--more than you'd think, if you do at all. According to Wikipedia, Reeves' mother was born in Galesburg, although George grew up in Woolstock, Iowa. In the film, his mother arrives by train, presumably from Galesburg. The details of her whereabouts at the time are not clear for me, but all I care about is that Hollywoodland joins that Honor Roll of Movies That Mention Galesburg, the Shining Rail-Gem of the Midwest.
[4] There's another story here in the easy conflation of Affleck and Reeves, producing a kind of brother-son faced with his own tabloid-typecasting, able to reveal himself only as Superman, "a strange visitor from another world," and no kidding. Again, Affleck's performance is a sad and beautiful thing, as he uses Reeves to show us what's been done to him.
[5] And before I forget, Mannix is played with always-true tones by that beautiful person, Diane Lane.

2 comments:
Thanks for the kinds words, ace. As for "spoiler warnings," I must admit I do that myself sometimes; this time around, I assumed anyone interested in Hollywoodland already knows George Reeves committed suicide under suspicious circumstances. And I don't know why other sites warn about spoilers, but I do it as a courtesy to someone who hasn't seen the picture. (In fact, I'll avoid reading a review if it tells me it contains spoilers.) Again, given my inclinations, I guess I should have included a spoiler warning with Hollywoodland; but whenever I do, I promise not to shout.
By the way, my parenthetical comment at the start of the posting was simply to imply that my comparisons to Chinatown may not be original, but since I hadn't read any criticism on Hollywoodland, I could proceed in blissful ignorance of my own un-originality.
By the way #2: The lack of spoilers in this kind of writing may also be due to the convention in scholarly film ciriticism, where "knowing how it turns out" is a moot point. In that world, Hollywoodland and Hamlet get the same treatment. Imagine trying to write an English paper without letting your readers know everyone dies at the end of Hamlet--curses! Spoiled again!
As for Lois Lane: Wikipedia has thorough entries (gee, what a surprise) on everyone associated with the TV series. Phyllis Coates played Lois--and, at George Reeves' insistence, received equal billing with him--for the first season, then was replaced by the Lois everyone knows, Noel Neill. In Hollywoodland we see very little of Lois; there is a funny "outtake" as Jimmy flubs a line and Reeves--ah, but I won't spoil it for you. Suffice to say it's a rare moment of levity in a sad movie. A Lorry Ayers plays Coates in Hollywoodland. THe Internet Movie Database informs us she was "Scarred Older Alessa" (!) in Silent Hil.
Thanks to your post I finally rented Hollywoodland this past weekend... and forgot what you had posted about it. I am happy to see that, rereading it, we both see the parallels to Chinatown. It struck me about an hour into it.
You forgot to mention that in both movies there are characters telling the private eye, "You don't know what you're getting into." That seemed to fall flat in Hollywoodland, however, as it didn't have the payoff Chinatown had (the sister/mother thing).
What you call a parenthood angle, I call a hero angle. After all, every son expects his father to be a hero. And I found it interesting that the call to heroism in the P.I.'s life was mirrored by the Hollywood heroism of Geroge Reeves in his role as Superman. A nice bit of parallelism. That scene where a bemused Reeves greets the kids gathered at the window is memorable. I found myself thinking, "Forget your high-falutin' acting aspirations and just be content to play the hero for those kids. After all, Roy Rogers and Gene Autry did honor to the job."
I also liked that grainy home movie sequence of Reeves doing wresting moves("You watch this and tell me what you think") and the grimace, which led to the PI's acceptance that it was a suicide after all.
Hollywoodland is a great neo-noir. The fact that it seems a lot like Chinatown doesn't detract, in my opinion. - Wes Clark
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