The Users: Glossy '70s Trash TV

I grew up in the 1970s, a precocious child and an avid, advanced reader from the age of 8 or 9. I had a voracious need to devour anything and everything I could get my hands on. After blowing through all of The Wizard of Oz books, every Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mystery, Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Wonka series and James & the Giant Peach, I set my sights on my parents’ vast bookshelf that lined the entire back wall of the living room. And, boy, did I ever get an education.

I was indiscriminate in my tastes, as were my well-educated parents. I read Ira Levin’s Rosemary’s Baby and William Peter Blatty’s The Exorcist long before I was ever old enough to see the films that were made from them. I read Updike, Mailer, Harold Robbins, Sidney Sheldon. (The Other Side of Midnight was my favorite.) I read Judith Krantz’s steamy Scruples and thumbed through Alex Comfort’s The Joy of Sex, scrutinizing every detailed illustration. I even read Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying, a tome still potent enough to make grown men blush.

One of the adult-themed books I best remember was The Users by Joyce Haber. It was a seamy, tawdry tale of how a clever young hooker infiltrated the Hollywood movie machine and became a major power player, using her wiles and skills in the art of love. The sex scenes were explicit and graphic, and it was said that all the characters depicted were based on real-life actors and moguls of contemporary 1970s filmdom.

Hollywood gossip columnist Joyce Haber

Along with Rona Barrett, Joyce Haber was a doyenne of 1970s movieland gossip, having inherited the mantle from Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons, who had wielded a tremendous amount of power with their well-read columns in major newspapers during Hollywood’s classic golden era. So I assumed Ms. Haber knew from whereof she spoke as she weaved her page-turning story of Elena Brent née Schneider, closeted gay movie hunk Randall Brent, billionaire entrepreneur Reade Jamison and the making of a big Hollywood blockbuster called Rogue’s Gallery.

Producers Douglas S. Cramer and Aaron Spelling with Lana Turner 

In 1978, the book was adapted into an ABC TV movie of the week, coproduced by Aaron Spelling and Douglas S. Cramer. Spelling, of course, was already a superstar producer, a former actor (I Love Lucy) who found his niche behind the camera, at that time already the creator of the megahit TV series Starsky and Hutch and Charlie’s Angels. Douglas Cramer was also a successful TV producer, with Dawn: Portrait of a Teenage Runaway, The New Adventures of Wonder Woman and the original TV movie version of The Love Boat already under his belt. Together, Spelling and Cramer would team up to produce some of the most memorable and iconic series of the 1970s and 1980s, including Love Boat, Dynasty and Vega$. 

(Joyce Haber happened to be married to Douglas S. Cramer at the time, which may have had something to do with her lucrative TV movie deal for The Users. Later, Cramer and Spelling would also produce the miniseries of Jackie Collins’s Hollywood Wives, which is a better adaptation and a more entertaining guilty pleasure than this version of his ex-wife’s book.)

Jaclyn Smith as Elena Brent—a little too pure!

Not currently available for streaming or on DVD (though lucky seekers may find a bootleg copy uploaded to YouTube), the TV version of The Users is basically a Spelling Productions family affair, headlined by Jaclyn Smith of Charlie’s Angels (the only Angel to appear in all five seasons of the series) as Elena Brent and John Forsythe (soon to be of Dynasty) as Reade Jamison. 

Curtis, Smith and Forsythe: Not the Carringtons or Colbys

The rest of the cast is reminiscent of an episode of The Love Boat, which was famous for giving past-their-prime classic stars a chance to keep working in the medium of television: Oscar winners Joan Fontaine (Suspicion, The Witches) and Red Buttons (Sayonara, The Poseidon Adventure) play the shrewd procuress Grace St. George and sleazy super agent Warren Ambrose. Tony Curtis (Some Like It Hot, Spartacus) is Randall Brent, the former A-list star who marries Elena. Darren McGavin (The Night Stalker) is Henry Waller, gruff and macho author of the book Rogue’s Gallery that’s being adapted into a big film.

Jaclyn Smith's Oscar winning costars: Buttons and Fontaine

Mamas & the Papas alum Michelle Phillips is superstar Marina Brent (whose popularity in the book is compared to the likes of Barbra Streisand and Liza Minnelli), daughter of Randy. Perpetually tanned and laid-back George Hamilton (Love At First Bite) plays director Adam Baker, apparently an amalgam of several hot young directors of the ’70s. Seasoned character actors like the comic Pat Ast (Heat), throaty-voiced Carrie Nye (The Group) and curly-haired Alan Feinstein (Looking for Mr. Goodbar) round out the cast, lending support to the ‘big names.’

Michelle Phillips: Move over Barbra, Liza and Bette

Hamilton: Too handsome to be behind the camera?

The production values are pure Spelling and foreshadow the look and feel of Dynasty a couple of years later: indeed, Jaclyn Smith and her castmates are dressed by none other than the legendary Nolan Miller, who was discovered by Aaron Spelling while he was working as a Beverly Hills florist. 

Designer Nolan Miller and one of his many beautiful leading ladies

I wish I could say that The Users is a great or even good film; it really isn’t, and the movie bears only the most superficial resemblance to the book, which was a bawdy, racy and incisive look behind the screen at Hollywood politicking and deal-making. The TV movie version obviously had to be sanitized to remove references to blue movies, omnisexual West Hollywood orgies and blow-by-blow descriptions of hot and heavy encounters at Hollywood parties. (If you want that, watch 1975’s Shampoo instead.) Unfortunately, without all of Haber’s trashy (and addictively readable) accoutrements, The Users is nothing more than a tepid soap opera, glossed over with those slick and deft touches of a Spelling and Cramer production.

But the story behind the story is kind of fun—and I recommend you read the book and try to guess who’s who in Joyce Haber’s roman à clef. 

(Bonus, thanks to Brian in the comments below – Joyce Haber and ex-husband Doug Cramer on an episode of the 70s game show Tattletales!)

This is an entry in the Spellingverse Blogathon, hosted by the beautiful and talented Gill of RealWeegieMidget Reviews. I look forward to reading all your posts about Aaron and Company. 

X Marks the End of an Era

As a pair of iron gates open and we sweep up the drive to a stately East Coast estate, a feverish piano concerto swells and the opening credits announce her name in a stylized cursive typeface: “Lana Turner” in the title role of Madame X (1966). Fans of Miss Turner will know exactly what to expect--they’ll forget their real-life troubles for a while and immerse themselves in melodramatic splendor and manufactured tragedy for the next couple of precious hours. The movie is no masterpiece, but the actress who plays her is, if not a work of art herself, definitely a piece of work. She is the raison d’etre for the picture.  

Lana Turner, Queen of the Weepies

Variations on this hackneyed plot are as old as the hills, but die-hard fans of its star (like me) will pay no mind. In Madame X, Turner’s Holly Anderson, newly married to a rising young politician,  makes a shameful mistake that could destroy the reputation of her husband and the future of her young son. She agrees to falsify her own death in order to save them from scandal, sacrificing her identity, her own happiness and ultimately her life in the process. Cue the Kleenex box.

As her appeal as sexy sweater girl and smoldering femme fatale of the 1940s began to wane, a still-glamorous Lana Turner reinvented herself to become the queen of the scandalous soap opera in the late ’50s and early ’60s, extending her shelf life far beyond that of the garden variety sex symbol. The over-the-top melodramas that marked this successful second act in her career, from Peyton Place and Imitation of Life, Portrait in Black to By Love Possessed, cemented her status as a lasting film icon--and even seemed to mirror the dramas in her personal life, most notably the 1958 stabbing of her gangster lover Johnny Stompanato (reportedly by Turner’s daughter Cheryl Crane, but audiences could certainly picture Lana herself wielding that knife).  And Madame X is Turner’s swan song as a top-billed, above-the-title star. If only it were a better movie...but does that really matter?   

The fault is not Lana’s. Turner gives it all she’s got, and still looks remarkably well-preserved in the early scenes that depict her as a newly affluent young newlywed, bedecked in chic Jean Louis gowns and dripping with diamonds by David Webb. Her descent into alcoholism and despair is appropriately gripping for the film in which she’s appearing...the trouble is, the mannered and surreal  “imitation of life” style of storytelling is already years out of date.

John Forsythe and Keir Dullea 

Released in 1966, the same year as the searing and groundbreaking Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf and refreshingly risque comedies like Georgy Girl and Alfie, this sudsy, sexless G-rated confection is already hopelessly dated, even for its time. Filmgoers were now interested in gritty realism, social issues, and sex--savvy 1960s audiences were no longer content to be fed pablum served under a veneer of glamour and artifice.

Scene-stealing character actor Burgess Meredith

The ’30s version of this film with the long-forgotten Gladys George rang truer, as did similar films of this genre that were so popular in that decade, most notably Barbara Stanwyck’s Stella Dallas. The 1966 retelling loses touch with reality in favor of gloss, glitz and over-the-top sentimentalism.

A G-rated pas de deux with Ricardo Montalban

Legendary producer Ross Hunter gives Madame X a stylish production. After all, this was the man who gave Doris Day back her sex appeal after a decade of tomboy and matron roles with 1959’s Pillow Talk, and elevated sorrow to tragedy with Turner and Sandra Dee in Imitation of Life--but at its heart the picture, based on an ancient French stage play, is still a hoary old chestnut: a sobber, a weepie, the already-dead movie genre once known as a “woman’s picture.” And without a visionary director at the helm like a Douglas Sirk or even a camp stylist like a Mark Robson, cliched material such as this is bound to fail, even if dressed up with star performances, stylish trappings and an overbearing music score.

The brilliant Constance Bennett in her final film

But what makes this film compulsively watchable is Lana Turner herself. This woman is a pro as she propels her audience through the pedestrian script and bravely attempts to enhance the inanities she must utter with meaning. The lady works her ass off to tell the story, and we applaud her courage, we stay with her, because she promises to deliver in the last reel, and so she does. No wonder poor Madame X is so tuckered out by the end of the picture that she simply drops dead. The final scene in which Lana expires in her son’s arms is pure pathos, and probably failed to elicit a single tear among 1966 audiences. We’ve seen this all before, and more artfully executed. But Lana tries valiantly to make it a movie moment worth remembering. 

The unforgettable dialogue...

"So you've killed your lover, my girl!"

The supporting performances are entertaining, essayed by skilled actors with lots of charisma, but with little help from the threadbare script. Burgess Meredith chews the scenery, adding layers of attention-grabbing business to his role as the two-bit hustler. Ricardo Montalban seduces with his smile and Latin charm. Handsome John Forsythe is a bit wooden (he did loosen up a bit decades later on Dynasty), but his inimitable speaking voice (Charlie: “Hello, Angels”) already seems comfortingly familiar. A young Keir Dullea is earnest and attractive, and as the young public defender, displays good chemistry with Miss Turner as the ailing defendant who turns out to be his long-lost mother. 

Properly deglamorized to show the effects of the "toxic liqueur" absinthe

Practically stealing the film is the legendary Constance Bennett, the classy dame who frolicked with Cary Grant in Topper and countless 1930s films. In this, her last role, Bennett lacerates with studied bitchery as Lana’s still-glamorous but poisonous mother-in-law.

Madame X is forced to protect her identity

Unfortunately, this was Miss Turner’s last major motion picture, although she made several appearances in exploitation films, TV movies, guest shots on series like The Love Boat, and played a recurring role on Falcon Crest before her death at the age of 74 in 1995. Her presentational style of acting was passé, based so fundamentally on her movie star image of female glamour, that she simply could not change with the times. 

Get out the Kleenex...

Contemporaries like Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Olivia de Havilland and Joan Fontaine found their footing as scream queens in successful horror films. Her MGM colleague Elizabeth Taylor had successfully made the transition to character roles starting with the raucous middle-aged Martha in Virginia Woolf. But beyond their allure and razzle-dazzle, those gals had all proven themselves real actresses. Lana Turner had always been more of a sensation and a personality than an artist. She made more headlines for her personal travails than raves for her performances, though she did receive a Best Actress Oscar nomination for Peyton Place. Stripped of her perfectly coiffed blond hair, red lips, high heels and designer gowns, the icon she’d manufactured would cease to exist. So instead, she clung to her accoutrements of glamour and became a bit of a caricature of herself in later years, and worked less and less. 

But in Madame X, Turner commands the screen one last time--and triumphs in her own unique way, while signaling the end of the era of the once-beloved “woman’s picture.”