About a week and a half ago I made a vow to include a “Bunch O' Bob Balaban Breed O' Brilliant Background Beguilers” blog a week. Whew, I always loved alliteration, but I can’t take credit for that title. When my brother-in-law Pablo convinced me to write the original Bowl-a-Rama a few years back, I always knew I wanted a section to celebrate unbelievably talented actors that should be household names but aren’t – starting of course with Bob Balaban himself. That title was another of Pablo’s suggestions. Sadly since that blog about a week and a half ago, I totally forgot about that promise. It’s not that surprising though. Not that I am someone who frequently breaks promises mind you, but my memory is unreliable to say the very least. It’s like that Torchwood (the Doctor Who adult spin-off for those of you not in the know) episode where they think Owen’s fiancé has early-onset Alzheimer’s but really she’s just been infected by sinister aliens living in her skull, which later explode through her head during a surgery planned to eradicate what was thought to be a tumor but really was just aliens...But I digress...And I creeped myself out in the process...Maybe I should go wash my hair...
Anywhoo, I was just watching one of the two most embarrassingly guilty pleasures anyone could watch when I suddenly remembered that promise. Now when I say guilty pleasures, I don’t mean anything naughty because hey, this is a family site. Nor do I mean to say I was watching a guilty pleasure that most people seem to enjoy - like Grease 2 or any MTV reality show displaying the zany antics of slutty gals trying to lure has-been rock stars to wedlock. No, my guilty pleasures are not just guilty. They are nearly mortifyingly stupid to admit. And yet, admit to them I must, because in indulging this evening, I was reminded of the aforementioned vow due to sublime character actor Tom Skerritt’s participation in...drum roll please...Ice Castles.
Again, for those not in the know (and in this case it’s probably a good thing), Ice Castles is a film about a blinded Olympic ice skater whose climactic moment occurs as she triumphantly skates to Melissa Manchester’s mega-sappy “Through the Eyes of Love” but then stumbles over roses thrown to the ice. She can’t see them cuz, you know, she’s now blind. Robby Benson, playing her boyfriend, walks over to help her up, uttering in the best over-dosing-on-syrupy-sweetness voice he can muster, “We forgot about the flowers.” As he clears the way for her, the scene naturally culminates in thunderous applause when the audience realizes what they have witnessed. The cheese value of this film is astronomical but tragically, I admit that not only will I watch this doofusy film whenever it’s on (and yes, Dre, they still play it periodically) but once in a blue moon, like this evening, I feel compelled to seek it out. Luckily, someone else felt compelled to condense the film into the duration of the Manchester tune. Youtube may be one of the greatest inventions ever or I may be a glutton for punishment. I’m not certain. I realize anyone reading this blog born post 1979 will most likely never have heard of this film, but at the time of its release, Robby Benson was everyone’s favorite earnest, droopy-eyed, silly-voiced, safe-for-the-kiddies, teen heart-throb. (This is pre-Beauty and the Beast when he suddenly became cool.) Ice Castles co-starred nubile Ice Capade skater-turned-wannabe-starlet Lynn-Holly Johnson, who later became a Bond girl. Apart from Denise Richards (Charlie Sheen’s ex) as nuclear scientist Christmas Jones in The World is Not Enough, Johnson may be the most outright stupid of all the Bond gals with her stunningly whiney performance as an ice skater in For Your Eyes Only. I know! What a crazy co-incidence she’d play a skater again. At least For Your Eyes Only is still a pretty good film. Ice Castles, not so much. But at the very least, it’s got a sturdy performance from the ever-dependable Tom Skerritt, who played Johnson’s ever-supportive father.
Skerritt’s resume is humongous and although he is nearly always compelling, he rarely gets a leading role. He’s one of those guys though, like I mentioned before, as soon as you see his face you’ll remember a billion things he’s done.
As Hawkeye’s other roommate in the movie version of MASH, he more than held his own against Donald Sutherland, Elliot Gould and Robert Duvall. 
As Shirley Maclaine’s husband in The Turning Point, he managed to convey both tenderness and tenuousness. 
A dozen years after that film he co-starred with Maclaine again, this time playing her gassy nemesis in Steel Magnolias. He stole every scene. In fact, he’s the only thing about that particular schmaltz fest I can watch. Playing his wife in Magnolias, Sally Field rips up the scenery with her version of “give my daughter the shot” when their daughter, Julia Roberts, kicks the bucket; but as Julia’s father, Skerritt’s far more subtle. He doesn’t have the number of scenes Field has and his character is supposed to be more of a comic relief; yet Skerritt still manages to express worry and grief and anxiety with the smallest of gestures. Just before the doctors hand over the paperwork to “pull the plug” on Julia, the camera briefly focuses on Skerritt. The shell-shocked expression on his face and the listlessness of his body communicate more about loss and helplessness in those few seconds than any other actor or any piece of dialogue in the movie. Why is this man not more famous?
I know right now he periodically turns up on TV’s Brothers and Sisters playing, once again, Sally Field’s husband (albeit dead this time round.) I don’t watch that show, however, despite everyone around me slowly getting hooked on it. One by one. First my mom. Then one of my sisters. Then a friend of mine. Then another one of my sisters. They all try to tell me how great it is but I don’t know. There’s something very weird and pod-peopleish about the way they all seem to be indoctrinated by the show. Can’t put my finger on it. Maybe I’m just hypersensitive to pod-people type behavior because I DO have an alien thing in my skull infecting my memory??? Or perhaps infecting my judgment since I actually made that comment in a public venue...
Ahem...so anyway...yes, Tom Skerritt. Brilliant, consistent, engaging. Visit your local Blockbuster and rent a movie of his today!
Oh but before I sign off today, if you were wondering, my other guilty pleasure is 1981’s Victory starring a paunchy Michael Caine and post-Rocky, pre-Rambo Sylvester Stallone as World War II POWs trying to escape the Nazis during a soccer match.
I can’t help it. The music, which sounds as if it was an amalgam of ripped off musical bits from The Great Escape, The Dirty Dozen and The Magnificent Seven, makes me incredibly giddy nevertheless. And what can I say. The bicycle kick. When Max von Sydow stands up to applaud Pelé after a few slo-mo repeats, I’m standing too. Go Pelé. You beat those Nazi jerks with your mad fútbol skills. Ole ole ole!!!
No comments:
Post a Comment