It would have been so easy to make the 100th celebration of Hollywood touching and sincere. It took me thirty seconds to plan out half a dozen better ideas than writers William Moritz and Hildy Parks did in the two-and-a-half hour television special in 1987. It hardly even felt like a tribute to Hollywood, since classic bits you'd learn in any film history class weren't even mentioned. In fact, the opening musical number (which was basically "The Liza Minnelli Hour") contained a massive historical inaccuracy: doesn't everyone know "Hollywoodland" was its original title? All the large production numbers featured one or two soloists who told a fictional tale of their quest for fame in Hollywood, with backup dancers knocking themselves out and impressive set pieces showing glitz and glam. But the spectacles had nothing to do with Hollywood! I never found out who wrote the atrocious original songs, but musical director Elliot Lawrence probably should have refused to associate his name with them. Screaming and belting notes that have no relationship with each other does not constitute a good song - and it certainly doesn't remind audiences of old Hollywood.
One would think that a one-hundred-year celebration would celebrate all one hundred years, but this special spent hardly any time paying tribute to the silent era. Forty of the supposedly celebrated years were used making silent pictures, and the vast majority of the special showed clips and named references of films from the 1970s and 1980s. A handful of clips showed the 1940s (like Casablanca) and 1960s, and an even less amount showed the 1930s and 1950s. The reason was obvious: it was more of a moneymaker to get audiences revved up watching an action montage that included clips from Romancing the Stone and Indiana Jones, than clips from The Mask of Zorro and Captain Blood. After all, Tyrone Power and Errol Flynn were deceased and no longer making movies; but Michael Douglas and Harrison Ford were viable box office draws in 1987.
Certain film montages (which I thought would have been more plentiful) showed promise of being thoughtful and a true celebration of Hollywood. A brief "in memorium" montage showed photographs of icons lost through the years, but major stars were left out. Fred Astaire, Bing Crosby, and Judy Garland were missing - how is that possible when Ginger Rogers, Bob Hope, and Liza Minnelli were on the stage? Burt Reynolds gave a speech about renowned stuntman Hal Needham, the only one to have received an Honorary Oscar, followed by a montage of stunts - but once again the montage was heavy on the '70s and '80s. And what about paying tribute to A. Arnold Gillespie, one of the greatest special effects creators of all time (both versions of Ben-Hur, North by Northwest, The Wizard of Oz, Green Dolphin Street, They Were Expendable, The Beginning or the End, Valley of Decision, and San Francisco to name a few)?
There was a needless ten-minute medley tribute to Johnny Mercer's songs, performed by Sammy Davis, Jr. And Debbie Allen, who were hardly known for their films. Not a single other songwriter was mentioned. Irving Berlin, Paul Francis Webster, Burt Bacharach, the Bergmans, the Gershwins, the Shermans, or the illustrious team at Disney, could have had an entertaining medley; why was Mercer singled out? In one little speech, the speaker literally told the audience that movies would be nothing without music in them; then the subject was dropped and there was never any mention of the great composers who transformed films. Pioneers Alfred Newman, Max Steiner, John Williams, Erich Korngold, and Elmer Bernstein all went ignored in the birthday celebration.
The only director given a special honor was Busby Berkely, as a needlessly long and impossible to remember musical number showcased "hundreds of girls". John Ford was mentioned in an aside during John Wayne's montage (incidentally, Wayne was the only actor to receive his own montage), but no one else was even given so much as a shout-out. Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, D. W. Griffith, William Wyler, Orson Welles, Alfred Hitchcock, Frank Capra, Billy Wilder, Otto Preminger, Stanley Kramer, Stanley Kubrick, and Ingmar Bergman were all ignored. Screenwriters - without whom the spotlight-seeking actors would have nothing to say - were forgotten about. Editing could (and should) have been the subject of a historical speech, because of the changing nature of the profession. Women used to literally scissor-cut and paste strips of film together with pieces of tape. What about the invention of sound, the change of black-and-white to Technicolor, or other technical changes like aspect ratio? "You ain't heard nothin' yet," the most famous spoken line in film history, wasn't included in any montage. Instead, a ten-minute production number was given to Bernadette Peters as a hypothetical starlet who works her way up to the top, with Van Johnson narrating and Treat Williams as her leading man. As interesting as it was to learn Treat was a song and dance man, and as nice as it was to hear Van singing decades after his heyday, it was a complete waste of time.
The entire production catered to self-serving actors and actresses who wanted a bit of limelight and a plug for their latest movie. Several actors "phoned in" and taped a video message wishing Hollywood a happy birthday, but they all stated what movie they were filming so the audience could make note of it and keep an eye on the theaters. Youngsters who had no business participating in a historical celebration were given the opportunity to wave, speak, or present a montage: Aly Sheedy, Drew Barrymore, Marlee Matlin, Henry Winkler, Tony Danza, John Ritter, Alan Thicke, etc. While Katharine Hepburn, the great female icon of the screen, gave a taped video promoting an old folks home. How insulting is that? Old timers like Luise Rainer, Lillian Gish, Cesar Romero, Ruby Keeler, Alice Faye, and Arlene Dahl, were given about five seconds to wave at the camera during a group chorus number. After the Busby Berkeley segment, how could they not bring Ruby Keeler, star of 42nd Street, up on the stage to speak?
Quite frankly, the entire production was appalling. In the time it took me to write this scathing review, I could have planned out an entirely different lineup, done rough-cut edits of coordinating film montages, and sent email invitations out to more fitting Hollywood artists (of all professions, not just actors) to introduce them.
One would think that a one-hundred-year celebration would celebrate all one hundred years, but this special spent hardly any time paying tribute to the silent era. Forty of the supposedly celebrated years were used making silent pictures, and the vast majority of the special showed clips and named references of films from the 1970s and 1980s. A handful of clips showed the 1940s (like Casablanca) and 1960s, and an even less amount showed the 1930s and 1950s. The reason was obvious: it was more of a moneymaker to get audiences revved up watching an action montage that included clips from Romancing the Stone and Indiana Jones, than clips from The Mask of Zorro and Captain Blood. After all, Tyrone Power and Errol Flynn were deceased and no longer making movies; but Michael Douglas and Harrison Ford were viable box office draws in 1987.
Certain film montages (which I thought would have been more plentiful) showed promise of being thoughtful and a true celebration of Hollywood. A brief "in memorium" montage showed photographs of icons lost through the years, but major stars were left out. Fred Astaire, Bing Crosby, and Judy Garland were missing - how is that possible when Ginger Rogers, Bob Hope, and Liza Minnelli were on the stage? Burt Reynolds gave a speech about renowned stuntman Hal Needham, the only one to have received an Honorary Oscar, followed by a montage of stunts - but once again the montage was heavy on the '70s and '80s. And what about paying tribute to A. Arnold Gillespie, one of the greatest special effects creators of all time (both versions of Ben-Hur, North by Northwest, The Wizard of Oz, Green Dolphin Street, They Were Expendable, The Beginning or the End, Valley of Decision, and San Francisco to name a few)?
There was a needless ten-minute medley tribute to Johnny Mercer's songs, performed by Sammy Davis, Jr. And Debbie Allen, who were hardly known for their films. Not a single other songwriter was mentioned. Irving Berlin, Paul Francis Webster, Burt Bacharach, the Bergmans, the Gershwins, the Shermans, or the illustrious team at Disney, could have had an entertaining medley; why was Mercer singled out? In one little speech, the speaker literally told the audience that movies would be nothing without music in them; then the subject was dropped and there was never any mention of the great composers who transformed films. Pioneers Alfred Newman, Max Steiner, John Williams, Erich Korngold, and Elmer Bernstein all went ignored in the birthday celebration.
The only director given a special honor was Busby Berkely, as a needlessly long and impossible to remember musical number showcased "hundreds of girls". John Ford was mentioned in an aside during John Wayne's montage (incidentally, Wayne was the only actor to receive his own montage), but no one else was even given so much as a shout-out. Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, D. W. Griffith, William Wyler, Orson Welles, Alfred Hitchcock, Frank Capra, Billy Wilder, Otto Preminger, Stanley Kramer, Stanley Kubrick, and Ingmar Bergman were all ignored. Screenwriters - without whom the spotlight-seeking actors would have nothing to say - were forgotten about. Editing could (and should) have been the subject of a historical speech, because of the changing nature of the profession. Women used to literally scissor-cut and paste strips of film together with pieces of tape. What about the invention of sound, the change of black-and-white to Technicolor, or other technical changes like aspect ratio? "You ain't heard nothin' yet," the most famous spoken line in film history, wasn't included in any montage. Instead, a ten-minute production number was given to Bernadette Peters as a hypothetical starlet who works her way up to the top, with Van Johnson narrating and Treat Williams as her leading man. As interesting as it was to learn Treat was a song and dance man, and as nice as it was to hear Van singing decades after his heyday, it was a complete waste of time.
The entire production catered to self-serving actors and actresses who wanted a bit of limelight and a plug for their latest movie. Several actors "phoned in" and taped a video message wishing Hollywood a happy birthday, but they all stated what movie they were filming so the audience could make note of it and keep an eye on the theaters. Youngsters who had no business participating in a historical celebration were given the opportunity to wave, speak, or present a montage: Aly Sheedy, Drew Barrymore, Marlee Matlin, Henry Winkler, Tony Danza, John Ritter, Alan Thicke, etc. While Katharine Hepburn, the great female icon of the screen, gave a taped video promoting an old folks home. How insulting is that? Old timers like Luise Rainer, Lillian Gish, Cesar Romero, Ruby Keeler, Alice Faye, and Arlene Dahl, were given about five seconds to wave at the camera during a group chorus number. After the Busby Berkeley segment, how could they not bring Ruby Keeler, star of 42nd Street, up on the stage to speak?
Quite frankly, the entire production was appalling. In the time it took me to write this scathing review, I could have planned out an entirely different lineup, done rough-cut edits of coordinating film montages, and sent email invitations out to more fitting Hollywood artists (of all professions, not just actors) to introduce them.