Directed by Mike Nichols. Screenplay by Buck Henry and Calder Willingham, from Charles Webb's novel. Starring Dustin Hoffman, Anne Bancroft, and Katharine Ross. At the Castro Feb. 14-27, and the UC Theater in Berkeley Feb. 21-27.
The Graduate rematriculates in movie theaters this winter, 30 years after its mixture of cheekiness and sappiness created a box-office sensation on a par with square epics like The Sound of Music. Produced by Joseph E. Levine's faltering Embassy Pictures with $3.1 million of (as one employee put it) "Chicago money," the movie featured two unknowns, Dustin Hoffman and Katharine Ross, as mixed-up post-college kid Benjamin Braddock and his true love, Elaine, and a terrific non-superstar actress, Anne Bancroft, as Ben's sexmate and Elaine's mother, Mrs. Robinson. It also had a simple, salable premise -- "the madcap adventures of a well-heeled young man and his 'family affair' with two generations of pulchritude" (to quote the cover of the hardback reissue of Charles Webb's 1963 novel).
Because of the movie's sprightly assembly, viewers hooked by that line didn't feel cheated when they found the "madcap" laced with anomie and melancholy. And the film had two hot cultural properties: the director, Mike Nichols, who'd trumped his Broadway-comedy Golden Boy image with a prize-winning film version of Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?; and, on the soundtrack, Simon & Garfunkel, who were in the ascent as purveyors of tuneful alienation. Put these pop-art question marks and exclamation points together and what you got was an inexorable pull factor -- naughtiness wrapped in an ambience of "class" and cutting-edge attitude. (I'm indebted to the Criterion Collection's superb laserdisc edition, which includes a letterboxed transfer of the film and an array of details about everything from its development, financing, and production to its promotion and reception.)
Embassy's cunning logo for the film was a college man in baccalaureate robes and mortarboard framed in the crook of a woman's leg adorned with nothing but a half-off high heel shoe. Sex and smarts are what the movie promised. Although it did turn cuddly and lose its nerve (just as the novel did), the movie never lost its cleverness -- it kept promising sex and smarts up to the final shot, which handed audiences a topic of nightcap conversation: "Are Ben and Elaine really going to be happy?" (After all, unlike Ben and Mrs. Robinson, they barely know each other; they haven't even slept together.) With its flashes of nudity and its undeniable sophistication (Nichols could nail the frat world better in one shot than the National Lampoon guys could in a whole movie), The Graduate managed to stake out "mature" new American film territory while enthralling undergraduate (and high school) audiences. Columnists used the movie to explain America's young to grown-ups, while impressionable pre-graduates thought it explained themselves to themselves.
These days, the scenario of a neglected wife having an affair with the son of her husband's law partner would be too tame for a TV talk show. In The Graduate, the wife, Mrs. Robinson, is treated as a monster, though she's the most sensual and complex character in the movie. Nichols wanted Jeanne Moreau for the role, but he got something more apt: Bancroft here is a sensational American Moreau, with a quicksilver erotic ambience plus tinges of warmth and lightness that cement her crack bits of comedy. The running joke in the movie is that Benjamin wants to talk and have what future cosmopolites would call a "relationship," while Mrs. Robinson wants sex. But Bancroft at least shows that Mrs. Robinson likes the sex: Rubbing her hands over her lover's chest, she expresses the pleasure this woman takes in being close to a strong young body. When Benjamin disrupts the church where Elaine has just married a med student, Mrs. Robinson smiles and says, "He's doing it," as if approving his attempt to save her daughter from a false, empty institution. Soon, though, she's snarling like a banshee. From the source material on, the story is conventional; the unfaithful woman must be punished, the true lovers must have their day. (Novelist Webb went so far as to object to the mildly racy alteration of Benjamin's wresting away Elaine after she says, "I do.") No matter how effectively it peddles youthful romance, The Graduate doesn't have the inner coherence of a great film; you can feel its freshness fading away as the filmmakers demonize Mrs. Robinson.
But, amazingly, the farce elements of The Graduate haven't faded. Despite the Berkeley setting of the third act, Nichols ignored any repercussions of the Vietnam protests or the Free Speech movement, so the film has no befuddling topical references. Its view of Benjamin's and the Robinsons' ritzy L.A. milieu is both exact and heightened -- a stylized fantasy of wealth. And Nichols and Buck Henry's appropriations of Webb's seduction scenes (Henry shared screenplay credit with Calder Willingham) still effervesce. The Mrs. Robinson sequences (the comic ones, anyway) really do blend intelligence, sensuality, and high jinks -- that's where Nichols' work has had a benign influence on young filmmakers, as Flirting With Disaster writer/director David O. Russell said it did on him, as Albert Brooks acknowledges when he riffs on Simon & Garfunkel's "Mrs. Robinson" in his dreary Oedipal-nightmare movie Mother. On the other hand, Joe Ruben, director of such biting horror comedies as Dreamscape and The Stepfather, once told me that The Graduate made him want to get into movies because he, like Benjamin, fell in love with Katharine Ross. In his own career, Nichols has often served up sentimental corn (Working Girl, Regarding Henry), and rarely returned to the prime satiric form of the best parts of The Graduate. Even in his recent smash, The Birdcage, his characters laugh through tears until the brisk, spoofy climax featuring Nathan Lane as Barbara Bush.
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