So It Goes

Right now there must be a million How-Kurt-Vonnegut-Changed-My-Life-When-I-First-Read-Him-As-A-Teenager stories clogging the intertubes, so I'll spare you mine. I will say I was sufficiently entranced and haunted by Slaughterhouse-Five that I successfully begged to be allowed to see the necessarily-at-least-R-rated movie adaptation of the book that came out in 1972, when I was twelve. I had believed that Alain Resnais was the only guy who could handle the book's "unstuck in time" structure; in so doing, I seriously underrated the very deft George Roy Hill (not to mention screenwriter Stephen Geller, who won a special prize at Cannes for his adaptation; Hill won a Jury prize there as well). I was moved and dazzled by the movie, and a not-overly-precocious portion of my preteen self was very happy with Valerie Perrine's depiction of Montana Wildhack.

Slaughterhouse-Five was the second movie adaptation of a Vonnegut work (the first being a misbegotten version of his play Happy Birthday Wanda June in 1971, starring Rod Steiger and directed by Mark Robson.) It remains, I think, the best, although two first-rate pics come in behind it—not many, I know, but more than I initially remembered. There's Jonathan Demme's inspired 1982 American Playhouse mini-feature Who Am I This Time?, starring Christopher Walken, and Keith Gordon's ambitious, gutsy 1996 Mother Night, with Nick Nolte.

I know that the worst Vonnegut adaptation is Alan Rudolph's 1999 Breakfast of Champions, the most blatant betrayal of a literary work since Hollywood's upending of Bernard Malamud's The Natural back in 1984. And at least The Natural presented lots of pretty pictures and nice music before totally inverting Malamud's vision. Breakfast forces you to suffer throughout, and then completely pisses on Vonnegut's conclusion. Vonnegut has a cameo in the picture, which suggests an approval of sorts, but you know, a lot can happen between a set and an editing room. (Rudolph mentor Robert Altman wanted to make a film of Breakfast in the mid-'70s, and cast Sterling Hayden as Kilgore Trout.) I say I know it's the worst without ever having seen 1982's Jerry-Lewis-starring Slapstick (of Another Kind), which is reputed to be monumentally awful. Which it may well be. (Any commentors out there seen it? Fire away!) I insist it cannot be as bad as Breakfast is bad in the way that Breakfast is bad.

Vonnegut's most well-known film cameo is as himself in 1986's Back to School—rich old undergrad Rodney Dangerfield hires him to explain Slaughterhouse-Five. It was on that set that Gordon, who plays Dangerfield's son in the picture, first approached Vonnegut about adapting Mother Night.

I know I shouldn't say this, but I'm both horrified and impressed that Vonnegut remained a smoker to the end. When I saw him speak at William Paterson College way back in the day, I noticed he was a Pall Mall man, too. You ever smoke a Pall Mall? I'm getting a heart attack just thinking about it.

Comments

[Griff]

The repellent SLAPSTICK OF ANOTHER KIND is arguably a worse picture than the awful Rudolph movie of BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS... but one could argue that SLAPSTICK is a relatively minor and weak Vonnegut work while BREAKFAST is one of the author's finest books -- it's a toss-up as to the damage done. Put it this way: the idea of having to see either picture again is unthinkable.

I kind of admire the crazy risks taken by Jerry Lewis and Madeline Kahn in SLAPSTICK -- even the grotesque make-up they wear in some scenes is pretty nervy -- but the movie is just terrible; seeing it made me want to see something else right away to get it out of my head. Steven Paul had acted as a child in HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WANDA JUNE and as a youthful filmmaker, approached Vonnegut for the screen rights to his novel; in a weak moment, the author (who was known to think little of his 1976 book in the first place) agreed. [He was reportedly not displeased that Paul's film received little distribution.]

BREAKFAST is such a fiasco that I'm curious whether it much resembles the script that Altman and Rudolph reportedly wrote in the mid-'70s. Altman seemed quite a good choice to bring the book to the screen, and actors (as usual) were practically lining up to play the key roles. [Unfortunately, the dismal response to the costly BUFFALO BILL & THE INDIANS sank Altman's chances of making this and RAGTIME.] Rudolph has had an interesting career, but this is a horrifyingly bad adaptation and even worse as a film. [I can't even think where to begin to describe it.] It outrageously betrays almost everything of worth in the novel and, on top of that, it's pretty dull. A lot of usually good performers flail around (many are simply miscast) and don't help matters much. What were they all thinking? Vonnegut was reportedly (and understandably) not pleased with this one either, and refused to discuss the picture when Nick Nolte once asked him about it. [Vonnegut had earlier praised MOTHER NIGHT and the actor's performance in it.]

Any discussion or praise for the excellent George Roy Hill film of SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVE should also include special mention of film editor Dede Allen, whose brilliant assembly of this extremely complex picture really made it work; Hill once said he would have been lost without her on the movie. I watched this again last night -- it remains a brilliant, intelligent and deeply moving adaptation, certainly among the finest film versions of an outstanding novel ever produced. The author loved and endorsed the picture, once musing, "There are only two American novelists who should be grateful for the movies made from their books. I am one of them. The other one? Margaret Mitchell, of course." If you look closely during one of the hospital scenes, that's the late production designer Henry Bumstead as Eliot Rosewater; while talking to Lucille Benson (Billy's mother), he's holding a Kilgore Trout paperback.

MOTHER NIGHT -- probably the only Vonnegut narrative that actually lends itself to filming -- is quite good; Keith Gordon captured the book's tone and unique flavor extremely well. Much of the little, tellingly essential details were correct and the cast was largely ideal. [Though it's a relatively small role, I must point out that John Goodman was a perfect incarnation of the novel's mysterious "Major Frank Wirtanen."]

The Demme adaptation of WHO AM I THIS TIME? is indeed a gem, with a sensational Walken performance -- he brings that guy to life! -- and a fine Sarandon. [I miss AMERICAN PLAYHOUSE -- it's hard to believe now, but our own PBS actually financed, produced and aired this excellent little film. Gone are the days.]

Hello. Farewell.

[Filmbrain]

SLAPSTICK is indeed awful, but in that so-awful-it-has-to-be-seen way. Come on, any film that can boast Merv Griffin, Sam Fuller and Pat Morita in its cast can't be all bad, can it?

Like BREAKFAST, it too strays quite a bit from the source material, which is a shame.

I'd give anything to get my hands on BETWEEN TIME AND TIMBUKTU, a '72 TV film based on several of Vonnegut's works (with Bob & Ray, no less). I saw this years ago at the Museum of Broadcasting, and was really impressed.

[Talking Moviezzz]

Also have to add that SLAPSTICK is much worse than CHAMPIONS. Painful film.

And I didn't know that about Keith Gordon and BACK TO SCHOOL. Gordon is also said to have taken a minor acting role in I LOVE TROUBLE just to talk to Nick Nolte on the set and get him to star in MOTHER NIGHT.

Looks like most of his acting jobs involved getting that movie made! Great film.

[crazysummerswithbrigitte]

It would have broken my heart if you, Monsieur Kenny, had not found a way to allude to the sorrow we share at Kurt Vonnegut's death. You did not disappoint.

[Joe Butler]

I've had the pleasure of knowing a few members of the Paul clan. One must remember Steven made "Slapstick" while still in his 20's. Spielberg at that age was no Orson Wells either. All in all Steven has become a respectable director. Let us not forget he worked on NYPD Blue its entire run and directed quite a few episodes. Bochco didn't give him the job simply because they share the same first name. Reserve your hatred for someone who deserves it. George W. Bush.