Most people in the younger generation next to mine don't even know who she was. But, if you watch Turner Classic Movies, you do. Doris Day was the Hollywood version of a baseball "five-tool" player. She could do comedy. She could do drama. She could sing. She could dance. And, back in the late 50s and early 60s, she was the biggest box office star of them all. Take that, you Marvel Comics droids.
Luckily, my parents instilled in me a perspective for history, whether it be American, Hollywood, or baseball. So I knew who Doris Day was at a very early age. I watched her TV sitcom with my grandmother. I saw her movies on TV with my mother. I even found my dad chuckling at one of the films at the Elmsford Drive-In.
As I look back at that body of work, I see how reflective it was of a very simpler time. This was an actress who virtually invented what we know today as a "rom com." But not the leering, double entendre, borderline dirty kind. Nope, this was America as we would have liked to live it. Where girl meets boy and boy loses girl and there is ultimately a happy ending for all.
So, naturally, on the day that Doris died, I ambled over to my DVD collection and cranked up the Blu Ray for a showing of one of my truly favorite movies of all time.
Some movies are clearly a product of their era. There is no film that is more keenly a reflection of the quiet and demure Fifties than "Pillow Talk" from 1959.
This is an absolutely delectable 90 minutes of sheer ridiculousness. And it gets more and more silly each time I see it. At the same time, when I finally saw it on a big screen a decade ago (after multiple TV viewings) at the Alex Theater in Pasadena, the place was packed. And nobody caught stop laughing.
Where else but in the world of Doris Day and Rock Hudson could a 30 plus year-old career woman be still saving herself for the right guy? The hell with Steve Carell and his 40 year-old virgin nonsense. Doris takes the honors for keeping the store closed as long as she did. With style, elegance, and fashions that only producer Ross Hunter could find out of the Universal Studios wardrobe department.
Thanks to today's technology, the story is incredibly dated. A case of mistaken identities as a result of two people sharing a party line. When I saw it with a live audience, I actually heard a father explain that whole concept to a rather confused teenager. I guess if this were remade today, Doris and Rock would be slugging it out on My Space. But, indeed, regardless of the now virtually ancient plot line, any remake could never come close to the sheer brilliance of this script, which won an Oscar for screenplay. The dialogue crackles as the actor have fun with a plot that they must know deep down is ludicrous.
In retrospect, it's hilarious to watch "Pillow Talk" now that we are all fully aware of Rock Hudson' sexual orientation. Because, for a good deal of the movie, he pretends to be a man who is very fond of sharing recipes, etc.---you know "the sensitive kind." Wink, wink. Nobody in the movie going audience knew it then, but I am sure everybody in the cast and crew got their jollies as Rock sunk his teeth into those scenes, which are utterly inane and believable at the same time.
Amidst the all important supporting players, Tony Randall lays the groundwork with seeds that will eventually sprout to his portrayal of Felix Unger eleven years later. And no one does "drunk housekeeper" better than Thelma Ritter. I wish my cleaning lady would show up bombed once in a while just so I can have the same razor sharp repartee Thelma shares with Doris.
All throughout the movie, the pastel colors prevail. The wardrobe is luscious. And, above all, there is laughter.
Not bad for a world that really doesn't exist.
But should.
And it will be a world sadly that must go on now without the likes of Doris Day. Thank goodness for my DVD collection.
Dinner last night: BBQ pork from Moon House.
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