Set and Setting: Timothy Leary’s Essential Safety Measure for Trying Psychedelics
- Alexandra A. Smith
Psychotropic Cinema: Beyond the Valley of the Dolls
Psychotropic Cinema: Beyond the Valley of the Dolls
By the end of the 1960s, the old-school Hollywood system had broken down, the majority of the audience preferred television, and the prudish standards of the production code had been abandoned
for a brand-new content rating system. The European films of the decade not only influenced the style of filmmaking but also the content of what was allowed on screen. The major Hollywood studios were baffled at the unexpected successes of “Bonnie & Clyde” and “The Graduate” in 1967, and by 1969, it seemed as if the lunatics had taken over the asylum. A small, low-budget, low-risk biker movie named “Easy Rider” ended up winning awards and making serious money. In its wake, the conservative old-school dream factories were desperate to court this new untapped youth audience, giving the green light to any crazy idea that any young filmmaker with ambition wanted to pitch.
The conservative old-school dream factories were desperate to court this new untapped youth audience, giving the green light to any crazy idea that any young filmmaker with ambition wanted to pitch.
MGM, the biggest studio of them all, was as clueless as the others, but they understood finances. This is how they came to agree to make a “sequel” to a popular film, itself an adaptation of a best-selling novel by Jacqueline Susann. “Valley of the Dolls” (1965) was directed by Mark Robson and is a standard melodrama about the corruption of three innocent girls by the cruelty of show business. The film was fairly successful, so the studio wanted to take a gamble on the sequel, by making a film
explicitly for this new, permissive audience. It is a measure of how clueless the executives at the studio were that they gave the project over to director Russ Meyer, who had made a living as an independent producer making exploitation films that pushed the boundaries of permissible onscreen activity. Meyer’s films featured big-breasted, sexually aggressive women and lurid storylines. The hiring of Meyer was not because the suits appreciated his aesthetic—what impressed them was how cheaply his films were made for, and how much money they brought in. Beyond the mandate of the title, Meyer was left alone with no interference from the studio brass. Meyer brought in novice screenwriter Roger Ebert, at the time only a few years into his tenure as a film critic.
The plot is easily understandable—a group of young performers move to Hollywood and try to make it in showbiz, only to be corrupted by the industry and destroyed. And that is the only thing the film has in common with the original Susann novel and its film adaptation.
The film that they made is a truly idiosyncratic, incredibly strange hybrid that defies simple explanation.
It is simultaneously a satire, a serious melodrama, a rock musical, a comedy, a violent exploitation picture, a skin flick, and a moralistic expose of the dark side of Show Business.
So, what does the finished movie have to do with psychedelia? It’s there in the original songs, written by Bob Stone, Stu Phillips, and Lynn Carey. It’s there in Carey’s Janis Joplin-like vocals that are heard on the songs attributed to The Carrie Nations, played in the movie by Playboy Centerfolds Dolly Reed, Cynthia Meyers, and Marcia McBroom, who all lip-synch and mime their songs with conviction. It’s there in the wild parties given by their manager & producer, Z-Man, a Phil Spector-like unstable genius. It’s there in
It is simultaneously a satire, a serious melodrama, a rock musical, a comedy, a violent exploitation picture, a skin flick, and a moralistic expose of the dark side of Show Business.
the many references to (at the time) illicit substances (“reefers”) and the shrooms that Z-Man feeds his invited guests at the film’s climax. It’s there in the cameo by Strawberry Alarm Clock, performing three songs themselves. It’s there in the violence of the conclusion, with five murders which are an echo & refraction of the previous summer’s Manson murders. It’s there in the film’s gonzo sensibility, its adherence to & subversion of tropes and cliches. It’s definitely there in the cinematography, editing, costume & production design, and stylized performances. But unlike Dennis Hopper & Peter Fonda, Meyer & Ebert were not counterculture warriors, psychedelic true believers. They make as much fun of the hippies seeking enlightenment (“Come with the Gentle People” they sing) as the squares who rail
against them. Meyer directed his actors to play everything sincerely, investing the ridiculous melodrama with an emotional weight that makes it even funnier. The film revels in its own artificiality, and so fits the definition of “camp” (exaggerated; theatrical; flamboyant). Do not expect nuanced shading in the performances—this is a live-action cartoon with some delightfully quotable lines, like “This is my happening & it’s freaking me out!” (quoted by Austin Powers) or “You will drink the black sperm of my vengeance”. My personal favorite is spoken by Edy Williams playing the sexually voracious Ashley St. Ives, who says to her conquest: “You’re a groovy boy; I’d like to strap you on sometime”.
The film was given an X rating, and the studio was embarrassed by its existence, not really doing any publicity, and it wasn’t until years later that it became a Cult Classic. Seen today, it is a fascinating glimpse into the studio’s attempt to bridge the generation gap and the unintentional hilarity of pandering to youth culture. And I haven’t even brought up the many other noteworthy aspects of the film, from its treatment of its Black characters to its nonsensical transgender twist to the heightened language used, the absolutely hilarious epilogue with its portentous narration, the literal Nazi, the extreme violence
It is a fascinating glimpse into the studio’s attempt to bridge the generation gap and the unintentional hilarity of pandering to youth culture.
mixed with sardonic humor. During the film’s violent climax, as one character has their head chopped off, the 20th Century Fox fanfare is played. Tongue-in-cheek satire filtered through session musicians playing psychedelic pastiches. A certain mindset is required to appreciate the film’s charms, but don’t
judge the film too harshly for the unenlightened way it deals with gay and lesbian characters, the obvious objectification of its frequently naked female stars, or its shallow refraction of the music industry. It is not meant to be taken seriously in any way, shape, or form. But it is 110 minutes of candy-colored
outrageous entertainment.
Beyond the Valley of the Dolls is available for streaming on multiple platforms; a DVD/BluRay version is available from The Criterion Collection.
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