I was in a "Bye Bye, Birdie" mood all day Saturday....well, all of the day up until I put another DVD into my machine as a prelude to an evening's entertainment.
I SHOULD HAVE started with "Bye Bye Birdie"...yes, indeedy.
But what did I start with?
Oh, foul mood-killer!
"Die! Die! My Darling" destroyed any and every joyous fiber of my Saturday evening being.
It's not that it isn't well-made. It's not that Tallulah Bankhead isn't magnificent as a scenery-chewing lunatic.
But that lunatic was also a holier-than-thou Biblical-verse-spewing control freak...and who did she control? Well, Yootha Joyce for one person.
I ask you...did Yootha Joyce DESERVE to play Tallu's housekeeper?
Did Yootha Joyce DESERVE to have such an oaf for a husband?
And did Yootha Joyce MERIT having a fool of a son as played by an impossibly young and foolish-looking Donald Sutherland?
I should say not.
And why am I singling out Yootha Joyce?
I just love her name.
Yootha!
Joyce!
Actually, of all the characters, the one who truly irritated me was played by Stefanie Powers.
Don't get me wrong...I love Stefanie Powers. I fell in love with her in her "Hart to Hart" days with Robert Wagner.
HERE! She suffers the fate of all terror-movie princesses -- total loss of awareness that things are TERRIBLY WRONG -- at least before it's too late. She should have left the house after the first five minutes.
If not then, she should have left the house after the "service."
If not then, she should have left the house when she was ordered to remove her "lipstick."
If not then, she should have left the house when she discovered her dinner had been taken away and she would not get anything to eat.
If not then, she should have left the house the next morning when she was ordered to change out of that demonic "red" sweater.
By that time, I was hoping she'd suffer an immediate and terrible demise...but 'twas not to be.
But here....HERE! Holy crap! Here she is this frail creature totally unable to strike any kind of blow for herself, always at the mercy of anyone who comes at her.
She certainly looked healthy enough.
Where was her knee when it needed to be swiftly raised into the crotch of Yootha Joyce's husband?
Where were her fingernails when she could have used them to claw at Yootha Joyce's bullying ways?
Where was her DIGNITY? Why such a frail, fragile flower in a house dominated by two tough women?
I have to tell you..."Die! Die! My Darling" totally put me off "Bye Bye, Birdie".
And I'm still put off it.