False Idols

A Face in the Crowd

Josie and the Pussycats

Howdy, fellow hicks and rockstars, I hope the end-of-August humidity isn’t keeping you down too much. Now is the time of year when I begin to get a little antsy and impatient, as the heat persists and I anxiously await the return of Autumn, and any sprinkle of cool weather. I grow tired of the long days, my body craves a sweater, my tongue is tempted with pumpkin spice, and I have to once again remind myself that there is still another full month until October… And to make matters worse, we’re in an election year, which means tensions are even higher and the impending spooky, cozy, cool season feels unenthused and truncated for the sake of a persistently-disappointing political parade. With all due respect to September, I already have my October double features selected and perfected, which leaves these next few weeks in a very random territory of movie-watching—which isn’t always bad, but may come off a bit disjointed. That’s why, for this final August double feature, I decided to surrender my overthinking, over-categorizing nature and let fate choose what my theme would be, and I’m not sure if I’ve ever been so pleasantly surprised by the kismet results. I’d been dying to see Elia Kazan’s 1957 film A Face in the Crowd for some time, and when I finally watched it, I realized just how well it paired with an all-time favorite film of mine that was begging to be rewatched. A Face in the Crowd, adapted by Budd Schulberg from his story Your Arkansas Traveler, is one of those frighteningly-prescient films that could easily seem quaint and of-its-time on the surface. We’re placed right into the center of a hum drum hillbilly town in Arkansas, where a young woman named Marcia (Patricia Neal) who works for the local radio station is out scouting for captivating content. She hosts a show called “A Face in the Crowd” and giddily marches into the small pen of an old school jailhouse, microphone and recorder in hand, hoping to gather a sampling of colorful, country wisdom. What she discovers instead is an ornery, off-putting, drunken, and immediately callous individual named Larry Rhodes (Andy Griffith) who couldn’t care less about Marcia’s Sarah Lawrence education or her condescending plight for listenership, but he goes along with it any way as his jail-mates encourage him to pick up his guitar. He takes a swig from his flask and says “a guitar will beat a woman any day” before playing a riveting, riotous anthem for the “outcasts, hobos, and nobodies” he’s so acquainted with, as Marcia just watches in awe, quickly realizing that she’s just discovered a star. Marcia’s not the only one enchanted by Larry’s innate charisma and salty sweetness, as her boss and the audience are hungry for more and more. She gives him the stage name of “Lonesome” Rhodes, pleads with him to do a segment on her show full time, and before this small town of Arkansas can say “sooie” Larry becomes a local legend with a lot of influence. Everyone listens to what has become Lonesome’s solo show, and everyone hangs on every single word he says. At first this manifests as just pure, country hijinks like sabotaging the sheriff’s campaign for mayor and getting the local kids to go swim in his boss’ pool, but soon, more media outlets become aware of Lonesome’s powerful, booming voice and want a piece of the action. Even though Larry “Lonesome” Rhodes is as sleazy, grimy, and good-for-nuthin’ as they come, he appeals to the blue collar working man, he sympathizes with the hardworking housewife, and his chaotic sense of rebellion and whimsy can seemingly enthrall any audience. He gets a television gig in Memphis, Tennessee, equipped with an expensive set and an entire writer’s room to distill and edit his hillbilly acuity, but soon, Lonesome outgrows this scope as well. By the time he lands in New York City, Lonesome has already become keen to his effortless sway, and his and Marcia’s budding romance becomes just as unwieldy and unpredictable as his rising star. His humble style and anti-establishment attitude can’t be tamed, and he continues to piss off each of his respective media bosses as their station’s viewership grows. He brings a black woman on camera and tells everyone to raise money to build her a house, he turns the camera at the crew and other cameras to give the audience a meta morsel of how this operation works, and speaks from the heart instead of following any script he’s given. When he begins to improv the product advertisements he’s meant to read verbatim, is when things really take a twisted turn for the troubling, as brands and companies are eager to siphon a sample of Lonesome’s unique spin. Just as quickly as he became known as an admirably off-beat, famous free-thinker, Lonesome becomes a peddler for some of the most questionable pharmaceuticals, food products, and trends—and he does it all with such unnerving ease and joy. Even when the censors sweat and the studio heads are furious with his off-script defiance, Lonesome knows he holds the rapidly-growing audience in the palm of his calloused hands, and all he has to do is flash a toothy grin or let out his bellowing laugh to get his way. Marcia begins to look concerned, realizing she’s lost control of the situation as this once-local folk hero evolves into something limitless, rich, and empty. But the money just keeps rolling in, the viewers keep demanding more, and the hollow-hearted characters who require a dose of Lonesome’s impact become more deplorable. Lonesome’s crass, country ascendancy eventually finds its way into the political world, as a presidential candidate is desperate to be liked even a tenth as much as Lonesome is. I hesitate to mention any more details of A Face in the Crowd, though I’ve already said so much, because this film and its pitch-perfect, pitch-black script must be experienced for ones self. The writing feels firmly planted in the 1950s American sensibility, and yet some of the dialogue could’ve been written today. Walter Matthau, who plays one of Lonesome’s writers, was likely unaware of how remarkable and timeless it was when he tells Marcia that power is dangerous. He couldn’t have predicted how prophetic it would be when he tells Lonesome that no matter what he does or who he pisses off he’ll be fine because humans have a short memory and morbid curiosity. But damn, these moments just hit my ear in such a disturbing, relevant way. The cast was utter perfection, between Patricia Neal’s understated but increasingly-chilling performance as she discovers the monster she created, and Andy Griffith’s truly horrifying presence as a cold, chaotic, relentlessly power-hungry pawn for capitalism. Having only previously known Andy Griffith as his beloved cop (oxymoronic, I know) persona on his iconic television show, The Andy Griffith Show, it was wild to see him play this freakishly frenzied, immoral character, to say the least. Hearing him say, “I’m gonna start shooting people instead of ducks” during commercial breaks, seeing how much he relies on the ratings of his self-described “sheep” was not only unsettling, it reminded me all too well of a certain tv-personality-turned-politician we’re still dealing with. A Face in the Crowd managed to cover so many timeless topics and truths to our everlastingly oversaturated and salacious American spirit in such a short, accessible amount of time. It would pair very well with the likes of a dark film like Sweet Smell of Success, but as I gazed at A Face in the Crowd’s bold takedown of an insurmountable, money-hungry, power-playing, scary-subliminal messaging in media and consumerism, I only thought of one film that could possibly be compared, and that is one of my favorite movies of all time: Josie and the Pussycats. I say this is one of my favorite movies of all time, but it’s not just that—it is written into my genetic code, it is weaved into the follicles of my hair and intertwined with my vernacular and my voice and my very being and sense of self. It is also objectively one of the greatest films ever made, and that is largely because it dares to challenge the same corruption that A Face in the Crowd ventured to confront back in the 1950s—but this time, with an even more biting sense of humor, and a bit more fun. Where to begin with Josie and the Pussycats. I could begin with listing the impeccable, immensely-talented cast that includes, Rachael Leigh Cook, Rosario Dawson, Tara Reid, Alan Cumming, Parker Posey, Paulo Costanzo, Missi Pyle, Donald Faison, Breckin Meyer, Seth Green, Eugene Levy, Tom Butler, and Justin Chatwin, that, I’m not joking, I just listed from memory. But merely reading these names doesn’t convey their individually-intelligent contributions to this astoundingly-smart film, nor does it do this film’s script justice to tell you that Deborah Kaplan and Harry Elfont who created Can’t Hardly Wait, also crafted this masterpiece. To put it simply, Josie and the Pussycats is a clever adaptation of some second-tier Archie comics characters that tackles the predatory and puzzling music industry’s domination over our society and our psyches. To put it a bit more complexly, Josie and the Pussycats is an appropriately absurd and refreshingly comprehensible oral and visual history of humanity’s complicated desire for money, control, perfection, and the ways in which different industries have a calculated hand in our culture’s toxic obsession with the cult of celebrity. Like many masterpieces in cinema, this film was misunderstood and improperly categorized solely as a “chick flick” back when it was released. And while I adore and respect and understand importance of chick flicks, Josie and the Pussycats is so much more. I was tempted to do my senior thesis/capstone in college on this movie, but I was intimidated, just as I am now, to condense this galaxy-brained bonanza of truth and consequence into any coherent kind of synopsis or analysis. But this past Sunday, when I saw this film on the big screen with my mom for the first time since she took my sister and I out of school to go see it back in 2001 (this film provided us with a far better education than school would), I knew I had to pay my respects—even if it comes off clunky, overly-impassioned, or overwrought with love. Josie and the Pussycats is always going to be the funniest, realest, most brilliant film. It couldn’t be made today and yet it was entirely ahead of its time and timeless. It’s one of those movies that just appreciates in value and its messaging is forever salient. It makes me crave more scathingly critical movies that are also electric and endearing and vividly fun, but very few movies have been able to achieve this. And to say nothing of the impeccable music, the memorable and legitimately chic costuming—I really think that the greatest irony of this film is that when I watched this as a child, I instantly wanted all of the Josie and the Pussycats merch I could get my hands on (and still want that tbh.) When I met Rachael Leigh Cook a couple years ago (the final autograph I needed for my signed poster), I told her that this film is my Citizen Kane. It is so profound but accessible, it captures a specific moment in time while encapsulating an everlasting American ethos, it is everything anyone could want in a film and more. I was probably less eloquent when I attempted to tell her this, but in my defense she’s a fucking rockstar!! What a treat it was to see this on the big screen! I was singing along, quoting along, trying not to cry lowkey, just experiencing it on this scale and with this large of a crowd donned in cat ears felt so incredibly special. I felt like I was 4 again, but this time, I got all the jokes :,) I actually refuse to speak on this film and its specific brilliance until more people see it and appreciate it for the triumph that it is, so I’ll wrap it up for now and beg and plead you to watch this film by any means necessary. Even if you have seen it, it’s probably been awhile, and you probably will notice things that you hadn’t before. It captures our uniquely-American but still-global tendency to worship false idols, it hits a cynical nerve regarding our simultaneous discomfort and desire to be adored, and it does all of this with a style and humor and some of the catchiest music you’ll ever hear in your life. It’s such a good movie, that I broke my rule of only writing about movies that are new to me, but I hope you can see my vision and appreciate both of these wildly wonderful films for all that they are and will continue to be. Thank you for reading along this week, dear reader, and for putting up with my ramblings once more. Signing off now, with peace, love, and eternal admiration for the Pussycats. 🫡