The Michigan Daily-Wednesday, September 14, 1977--Page 5 Quinlan can't save mad potboiler By CHRISTOPHER POTTER The small-budget film has never managed to carve out what one could define as an honored niche for itself in the ar- chives of American cinema. Whereas the Europeans have been pulling off this feat of financial arid' artistic conden- sation for years, and masters likesunuel and Bergman have often raised it to the level of high art, our domestic producers and audiences have traditionally regarded the concept of smallness with a measured distrust, as something vaguely distasteful, impractical, even unpatriotic. Thus are we beset by the successful-means-huge doctrine of movies, a totally inevitable byproduct of the biggest-and- best syndrome which has been and remains an obsession of the American mind throughout this century. Thus have the brightest talents and most of the coffers of our film industry been largely sacrificed on the alter of inflated expense ac- counts, bigger-than-life got nothing to do with real life, we gotta send folks home happy, don't we?" And so we find the much-scorned, immaculately-avoided land of the low budget primarily occupied by the representa- tives of Garbage Cinema - the sex flick, the cheap sci-fi flick, the horror flick and more recently, God help us, the CB flick. While every now and then a small film of care and craf- tsmanship achieves a level of prominence (The Pawnbroker or Mean Streets), more often than not such pictures suddenly find themselves buried in such a din of pre and post-release -publicity hoopla (as witness Rocky or, two decades earlier, -Marty) that their quality of independent innocence gets suf- focated in all the roar. Given this bloated state of American cinema past, present and most probably future, I sometimes feel almost duty- bound to root hard for any new domestic film of modest means and aspirations. Alas, the sad truth is that smallness in and of itself is no guarantee of integrity; the ostensibly .quiet closet drama can prove every bit as phony as Ch9rlton Heston in a chariot or Julie Andrews on a mountaintop; wit- ness the current appearance of I Never Promised You a Rose -Garden and You Light Up My Life, both films minute of scale and both largely unbearable. Rose Garden is, of course, derived from Hannah Green's _novel of a teen-aged girl's hospital-encased struggle toward the real world and away from an often-sadistic fantasy king- dom concealed in the inner sanctums of her mind. The -original book achieved notable cult status during the 60's, a fact which doesn't guarantee good writing any more than it does good filmmaking. While Green's efforts to depict a jour- :ney out Qf madness seemed earnest enough, her prose stylistics were so unrelentingly turgid that I found myself unable to persevere beyond the first forty or so pages.. Some- times a bad novel can improve when transposed to screen, but the filmed Rose Garden flunks the test; it retains all the book's crudeness yet manages to eschew virtually all of its genuine, however plodding, sincerity. This in spite o one overwhelming asset: an absolutely as- tonishing performance by a young actress named Kathleen Quinlan. As the teen-age Deborah, Quinlan nimbly resists every temptation to over-emote in a part which would have seduced a hundred lesser talents into hysterical garnishness. Exuding a wisdom of restraint certainly beyond her years, she creates a character that fluctuates between such linbear- 'able anguish and such manic joy that one finds oneself exalt- ing in her simple and singular triumph over her own mate- rial. The 'most damning commentary on Rose Garden is that Quinlan's performance, revelatory as it is, is still not enough to save the film, which relentlessly counters her honesty with a step-by-step campaign of neutralizing falseness. Every cliche and stereotype of a dozen previous asylum films is dutifully trotted out and frenetically paraded for us: the un- comprehending, misguided parents, the saintly, all-wise psy- chiatrist, the sensitive, dedicated staff of attendants coun- terbalanced by the one sadistically brutal attendant, etc. Holding center stage, of course, is the obligatory troupe of mad-eyed impatient gargoyles hamming their way through the standard screaming, grunting grotesqueries which have inundated every film of the loonybin genre from The Snake Pit to Cuckoo's Nest. Such venerable cellulois battle-axes as Signe Hasso and Sylvia Sidney each get their standard allot- ment of chances to perform their assigned psycho shticks, each straining pantingly, orgasmicany to out caricature the other. No matter that most mental patients carry their de- lustions in introverted, silent agony - such non-exhibition- ism wouldn't make a good show. Hackneyed though they are, the inmates are given a good run for insipidness honors by the-characters of Deborah's fantasy universe. They could have come across effectively as pseudo-dream or even invisible creatures, but are portrayed instead in almost clownishly literal fashion. A dull, drum- beating cross somewhere between Tartars and American In-, dians, they lurk blatantly around each corner of the hospital, grinning satanically at our heroine, inducing her into terrible acts. The effect is so unsettingly ludicros that each time a demon appeared my inclination was to burst out laughing rather than gasp in horror. One detects in all this the sweaty hand of producer Roger Corman, the longtime king and chief tastemaker of'Garbage Cinema. While Rose Garden could be viewed as his belated attempt to go respectable, it is apparent Corman's heart is still in the land of Bloody Mamma and Pyromania, his left eye still on the cash register. The only way to dredge up any real satisfaction from this cheat of a film is to watch it the way one watched Bette Davis emerge artistically unscatched from that myriad of woebegone potboilers of the thirties and early forties. Miss Quinlan will surely prove a comparable survivor. See SMALL, Page 10 -AP Photo Leopold Stokowski, world-famous conductor died yesterday at his home in Hampshire, Eng. land. The cause was given as a heart attack; was 95. APPLIANCE CO. 'Take It Along Wherever you go, wherever you are -- school, office or in your car. Calculators to figure with, CB's to communicate with, car stereo music to travel with. Choose from a large selection of brand name handy calculators, CB radios, car stereos, speakers and accessories at Highland's low prices. You receive Highland's 30-day low price protection plus service from our own service department. Arkin's 'Fire Sale' not hot, not even lukewarm NOVUS "QUIZ KID" MATH EDUCATOR Calculator makes math fun! Puzzle & games book. With tote bag. Kids leam math tho exciting way. T-01. *988 By MICHAEL BROIDY" Physical comedy is perhaps the most difficult comedic technique to master, particularly in the cinema. The Marx Brothers, Laurel and Hardy, and more recently Mel Brooks and Wpody Allen, quickly come to mind as comedians who have mastered the art of physical comedy and escaped its various prat- falls. The dividing line between the beautifully orchestrated antics of the Marx Brothers and the sometime point- less barbarics of the Three Stooges is a thin one indeed, and it takes an innate understanding of the medium 'by both director and stars to make sure that the finished product ends up on the right side of this line. Which, alas, the new film Fire Sale fails to accomplish. Ostensibly it is the story of the Fikus family, an incredibly obtuse clan. The patriarch of this dim- witted bunch (Vincent Gardenia) plans to burn his failing department store to the ground in order to redeem his fire insurance policy. Son Russel (Rob Reinder); unknowing of his father's 'plans, has previously cashed the policy in order to re-stock the store with new merchandise. Another son, Ezra (Alan Arkin), is about to be run out of town by irate students of the local high school because of their basketball team's rather lackluster record under Ezra's "guidance." In desperation, Ezra "adopts" a black 16-year-old giant who promises to be the next Kareem Abdul- "Jabbar. Sounds hilarious, right? Wrong. Fire Sale, while chock-full of lunatic char- acters, is burdened with a sleazy type of humor: Russell's asthma, is poked fun at continually and relentlessly, and the stereotypes portrayed in the film are too numerous to mention. Images and dialogue of questionable taste are often a staple of cinematic comedy, but the good filmmakers know when to stop. Adapter Robert Klane obviously doesn't; his lack of finesse cheapens the film's enjoyment and destroys any comedic credibility which the perform- WEDNESDAY is... Y BOTTLE NIGHT featuring: Andecker and Olympia Gold at a Great Price!I ers so desperately try to obtain. Only Sid Caesar as the wonderfully wacky Uncle Sherman, a World War II veteran who still thinks the war is going on (and who is enlisted by his brother to blow up the store), can overcome the script's -limitations. Caesar's isreally the only character that is fully realized, The rubbery-faced Caesar is simply amazing. His face at one point takes on at least four or five contortions in the space of ten seconds. The image of the comedian racing down a highway in a stolen electric wheelchair leaves one in stitches and is not likely to be forgotten. -Fire Sale is full of huge amounts of energy, but it is all unbalanced. This is chiefly the fault of director Alan Arkin whose static (or at best sluggish) cameratork along with his boring com. position ieave the performers totally on their own. Inlight of such recent break- through films as Annie Hall and Silent Movie, Arkin's somnambulistic direc- tion is all the more regrettable. TI-30SP STUDENT TEXAS INSTRUMENTS Scientific notations! 8 digits. Memory! Percents, parens, roots, powers re- cips. 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