Onomatopoeia On Screen
Boom!
Splash
Ahem! Y’all mind if I nerd out about language and linguistics real quick? Because I’ve been wanting to explore a titular trend in cinema that makes use of one of my favorite pieces of figurative language: the onomatopoeia. Onomatopoeia, from the Ancient Greek compound ὀνοματοποιία meaning “name-making”, is defined as a word that imitates sounds—also known as onomatopoeic, onomatopoetic, imitative, or echoic. Onomatopoeia can differ by language, and conforms to some extent to the broader linguistic system. Therefore, the sound of a clock is expressed differently across various languages: tick tock in English, tic tac in Spanish and Italian, dī dā in Mandarin, kachi kachi in Japanese, or ṭik-ṭik in Hindi, Urdu, and Bengali. Some languages flexibly integrate onomatopoeic words into their structure(s), making them evolve into a new word entirely, to the point that it is no longer recognized as an onomatopoeia. (For example, the English word “bleat” for the noise sheep make.) It is not typically possible to determine the meaning of a word purely by how it sounds. However, in onomatopoeic words, these sounds are not arbitrary; they are connected in their imitation of other objects or sounds in nature. Onomatopoeia, while a facet of language, is also, in a sense, outside of the confines of language. I had a teacher once, who said that implementing onomatopoeia is a juvenile way to get your point across. So I guess she was calling Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allen Poe, William Shakespeare, James Joyce, Charles Dickens, John Milton, Charlotte and Emily Brontë, juvenile. There is power in the onomatopoeia, no matter how simplistic, it just gets the point across. It works in the sense of symbolizing an idea in a phonological context, not necessarily constituting a direct meaningful word in the process. And yet, some linguists believe that these words/sounds may have been the first form(s) of human language, which is pretty meaningful! How interesting is that? It may only be interesting to me, but I think it’s cute that human beings came up with this. And in this ASMR-loving era, I’d bet you have some favorite onomatopoeia—whether it be the various “zap”s and “bang”s from comic books, Tic Tacs, ska music, Snap, Crackle, and/or Pop, or any of those featured in John Prine’s song “Onomatopoeia.” I find films to be fascinating and I find unique words to be fascinating, so when the two come together? BAM! It’s magic to me. Certain film titles just hit my ear in a satisfying, electrifying way, and can make a less-than-memorable movie way more memorable. I have only covered onomatopoeia in cinema a few times—Crash, tick, tick, BOOM!, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, and Knock Knock, as well as some slight onomatopoeic references like Slap Shot, Howl, Whip It, and Ginger Snaps. So let’s do this fabulous piece of figurative language some justice by exploring a couple of expressive, explosive films with titles that match.
Up first is a real zinger of a good, bad movie directed by Joseph Losey, this is his 1968 flop-turned-favorite: Boom! Tennessee Williams adapted the script from his own play The Milk Train Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore, in an attempt to revitalize his and Elizabeth Taylor’s ailing careers. Boom! transports us to a shimmering Italian seaside estate that is so beautiful it is downright otherworldly. This pristine palace, decorated with eclectic art and furniture and more space for anyone to handle, sits atop a steep cliff and houses another otherworldly beauty—the cantankerous and crestfallen Flora “Sissy” Goforth (Elizabeth Taylor), along with her coterie of servants and assistants. Sissy is sick with something dreadful that causes her to fall into fits of pain and intense sorrow at the drop of a hat. And though her many house attendants cater to her every desire—massages, exotic meals, and every variety of pill—nothing seems to bring Sissy any relief. She wakes in agony, and anguishes from one perfect corner and idyllic balcony to another, while she monologues to her assistant, Miss Black (Joanna Shimkus), who is taking dictation of every word for Sissy’s memoir. On the coast of this blindingly-blue sea, a mysterious but handsome man (Richard Burton) arrives one day, seemingly out of nowhere, and makes the treacherous climb up to Mrs. Goforth’s mansion. He traverses the steep incline of sharp rocks and uneven surfaces, only to be greeted by Sissy’s dogs, who tear at his clothes and flesh until he is saved by Miss Black. He reveals that his name is Christopher Flanders, a poet, who claims to have met Sissy long ago. But Sissy doesn’t wish to see him, and has her servants put him up in a pink villa on her estate—the decor of which is just as bizarre and stunning as the rest of her plot of land. Christopher tells Miss Black that he wishes to see Mrs. Goforth, but Miss Black warns him of her abysmal condition and attitude, bluntly stating, “Mrs. Goforth is a dying monster.” Miss Black reports back to Sissy that this man claims to know her and desperately wishes to see her, but Sissy denies his request, and every subsequent request—including that he be granted something to eat. She doesn’t desire to see this tan-skinned, broad-shouldered man from her past, though she continues to moan about her overwhelming loneliness, moping, “You know what I need to get over my depression this summer, you know what would do more good than all the shots and pills in the pharmaceutical kingdom? I need myself a lover.” Mrs. Goforth is clearly a complicated woman—so complicated that the film wouldn’t dare try to make her make any sense at all, so it instead indulges in every confusing impulse of hers, just as her servants are directed to do. She slurs and spurts out half-assed Italian, makes outrageous demands that contradict her previous demands, her assistants rightfully call her a “bitch” behind her back, all while a mind-numbing sitar plays in the background and Richard Burton starves. One of Sissy’s only friends and neighbors, whom she lovingly refers to as “The Witch of Capri” (Noël Coward), comes over for dinner one night, and fills her in on the latest rumors of the island—the most pressing of which is the modus operandi of Mr. Flanders, who is nicknamed “L’Angelo della morte” aka the Angel of Death. Allegedly, Christopher Flanders has a type: wealthy, dying women, who may or may not provide inspiration and expensive gifts in return for sexual favors. All of this is only implied of course, in the most extravagant and hilarious way that only Noël Coward could. Finally, a very hungry and exhausted Mr. Flanders comes face-to-face with Mrs. Goforth, both dazzling in their winged eyeliner and bronzed complexion, respectively, and he says, “…Some years ago, you said if I were ever in Europe I should drop in and see you”, to which Sissy responds, “Yes, well, passports expire and so do invitations.” Sissy continues to say iconic line after iconic line that immediately entered my lexicon like, “Did somebody tell you I was dying this Summer?”, and Mr. Flanders periodically says, “Boom”, and “the shock of each moment, of still being alive” as if that makes any sense. All the while, the music intensifies, Sissy’s pet monkey and bird both screech, the servants grow increasingly angry, and Mr. Flanders still hasn’t consumed more than coffee, cigarettes, and a few grapes. It truly started to make me hungry as I watched, but I know Miz Taylor wasn’t hungry, for she was satiated by all the scenery she was chewing. Elizabeth Taylor is known for her over-the-top performances, but here she was extra extra. It’s not so much that she acted well, but she certainly acted a LOT, if that makes sense. And even though she was far too young for this part and Richard Burton was far too old for his, the two had a palpably combustive chemistry—on account of their real-life marriage (the first one, which lasted longer than their second marriage.) Did this movie make a ton of sense? No. Was it wildly entertaining and strange in that special, 1960s-on-the-brink-of-the-70s way? Absolutely. Boom! is a melodramatic, melancholy, overwrought nothing of a story with a distractingly-gorgeous backdrop and a vibe that often compelled me to say, “what” out loud. Everything in this movie sparkles—from the jewels on Elizabeth Taylor’s many headpieces, to the beads of sweat on Richard Burton’s neck. Every garment worn, every view shown, every detailed painting and piece of artwork adorning this estate was impossible to look away from—which, for this critic, absolves Boom! of some of its nothingness. The film was shot on location in Sardinia, where a mansion set was constructed for $500,000. Production was delayed after Taylor contracted bronchitis on the first day of filming, and when they finally did begin, Taylor’s pet monkey stole a $1,600 jewel case (it was missing for a year.) Additionally, the trailer that served as Liz Taylor’s dressing room came loose from its moorings only a few seconds after she stepped out of it, and plunged over an 150-foot embankment into the sea. Despite numerous challenges during production, the film was made in under seven weeks, and stayed under budget somehow, too. But miraculous film feats aside, Boom! was a spectacular flop, critically and commercially. Time wrote “They display the self-indulgent fecklessness of a couple of rich amateurs hamming it up at the country-club.” Newsweek referred to it as a “a pointless, pompous nightmare”, The Hollywood Reporter called it an “ordeal in tedium”, but my favorite review came from Richard Schickel, of Life: “the title could not be more apt; it is precisely the sound of a bomb exploding.” Even still, Tennessee Williams claims that this was the best-executed adaptation of any of his works, and eventually, the film gained a cult-following—particularly when John Waters expressed his profound love for this film, calling it, “beyond bad. It’s the other side of camp. It’s beautiful, atrocious, and it’s perfect..” I don’t know if I followed every morose monologue of Miz Taylor’s, but I still think I saw the vision of this movie, or at least, what it wanted to be.
An onomatopoetic film that wound up being even better than what it wanted to be is tonight’s next topic of discussion, a movie that, like last week’s showing of Who Framed Roger Rabbit, was technically a staple of my childhood—though I have almost zero memory of it—this is Ron Howard’s 1984 film Splash. This blog is really just an excuse to watch movies I’ve never seen before, but sometimes I have to make an exception, for an extremely exceptional movie that fits my extremely niche theme. Though I only remember flashes of Splash, I was immediately taken back to my early, early childhood when the opening credits of this film began, and I gazed at the familiarly flowy and glimmering font that is a trademark of this movie. We need more fun fonts in movie credits, and we need more silly, sweet romances like Splash. The film opens in a sepia-toned Cape Cod, 20 years ago, where a young Allen Bauer is on a boat tour with his family. While his older brother Freddie tries to look up the skirts of various women aboard, Allen gazes out into the boundless ocean, beckoned by something not yet known. Suddenly, he jumps overboard, into the unrealistically-clear waters, and finds a young girl under the sea, smiling at him. They hold hands, and for a brief moment, Allen can inexplicably breathe underwater—that is, until he is ripped away and taken back to dry land. The little girl sobs and swims away, revealing her mermaid tail as she fades into the blue. We then cut to “New York City, this morning”, where a now-grown-up Allen (Tom Hanks) co-owns a bustling wholesale fruit and vegetable business, along with his brother, Freddie (John Candy.) Allen is busy running the hectic show around him: organizing, buying, and eventually taking a call from his girlfriend, who is so fed up with him that she breaks up with him over the phone. Allen laments that something must be wrong with him, if in all of his relationships over the years he hasn’t found true love, and his womanizing brother Freddie, of course, isn’t the best man to give him advice. After attending an employee’s wedding, Allen and Freddie get completely wasted, and while Freddie somehow charms some women into hanging out with him, Allen decides the best way to get over his lovesickness is to go back to Cape Cod. He takes a cab from New York to Massachusetts, still in his sloppy tux, and arrives at the wrong beach, hoping this nerdy stranger with a boat will give him a ride to the correct beach. This nerdy stranger is Dr. Walter Kornbluth (Eugene Levy), and he’s too busy preparing for a scientific diving excursion to help Allen out. Through trial and error and a dingy dingey with a broken motor, Allen (who cannot swim) finds himself stranded at sea, near-drowning, until he miraculously awakes on the sand. In true The Little Mermaid fashion, our mermaid (Daryl Hannah) watches Allen from afar at first, but then she greets him with a wordless kiss before diving back into the sea. Allen yells out for her to come back, cursing his lack of swimming ability, unaware that his wallet has fallen to the ocean floor, and his underwater mystery girl now knows where to find him. Dr. Kornbluth, coincidentally in the same corner of the sea, catches a glimpse of this magnificent creature and her glowingly-red tail, and hopes to gather proof of her existence for his studies. Back from his brief madness-induced hiatus, Allen is now at work again, dealing with the latest messy business deal his messy brother has set up, when he gets call that a naked woman has been found at the Statue of Liberty, with his wallet as her only possession. Allen speeds down to the police station, picks up his dreamgirl, and takes her back to his apartment. She doesn’t say her name, she doesn’t say anything at all in fact, she just wants to kiss Allen, but he begrudgingly goes back to work after some implied love-making. Left alone in his apartment, she watches TV for hours before deciding to go out and explore, eventually finding her way to Bloomingdales. Dressed in one of Allen’s oversized suits, she explores this mystical place—where she buys herself some new clothes and learns even more from the TVs in the appliance department. After some panicked searching, Allen finds her doing Richard Simmons workouts, and with the newfound ability to speak English. She learned to speak from watching TV (relatable) but she still doesn’t have a name (at least one that can be pronounced with a human tongue) so as Allen and her walk around the streets of New York, she spots the sign for “Madison Avenue” and chooses the name Madison for herself. Allen remarks that this is not a name, which was true at the time, but this would soon change—according to the Social Security Administration, the name Madison became one of the most popular names in the United States for girls by1990. The rest of the film is a lovely and goofy montage of Allen getting know everything about Madison beyond the fact that she’s a mermaid, and she eventually warns him that she only has a few short days with him before the moon is full—before she has to return home forever. Horny and head over heels in love, Allen doesn’t question this, and though she eats lobsters with the shell on, buys him a giant mermaid fountain for his apartment (which was already equipped with multiple aquariums), and hides from him while she takes a bath, he somehow never comes to the conclusion that she’s a mermaid. While mermaids haven’t been proven to be real (yet), I found that hardest part of this film to fathom is the fact that Tom Hanks never assumes she’s a mermaid. And even though Tom Hanks was at the peak of his dopey cuteness in Splash, I found John Candy’s obnoxious character and Eugene Levy’s conniving character to be more understanding and romantic in the long run, for reasons that I can’t go into without major spoilers. Of course I loved Splash upon finally revisiting it again, and of course its logic doesn’t really hold water, but its humor does. I think it’s hilarious that, for years, I’d assumed this was a kid’s movie, since I watched it as a kid, because this film is incredibly adult. I mean, it was still produced by Disney and is rated PG, but the word “bitch” sure does get a lot of use here. All I really remembered from this film was Daryl Hannah’s stunningly blonde, legendarily-crimped hair, which I desperately wanted as a child, but had to settle for crimping my Polly Pocket’s hair instead. I remembered nothing of the legitimately stressful stakes of this film, or how annoying Tom Hanks’ character is with his near-constant complaining, but I was able to move past this and ultimately really enjoyed this film. I’ve already expressed my love for mermaid tales on this blog, but I loved Splash’s “modern” take on this typically-tragic fable, and I’m not sure if I’ve seen this type of story pulled off so successfully since (except for maybe Enchanted.) This film not only invented and popularized the name “Madison”, it also popularized Tom Hanks, Daryl Hannah, and Eugene Levy, it was the first movie released under Disney’s Touchstone Pictures label (which was created so the studio could release more adult-oriented fare), and it even served as the inspiration for the name of Disney’s theme park ride “Splash Mountain.” This movie was such a hit, that when Disney released The Little Mermaid just a few years later, they changed Ariel’s original blonde hair color to red to distinguish their film from this one. I love when a silly, romantic movie has a massive impact, and Splash is no exception. And even though, on paper, some of its premise seems entirely designed for and by the male gaze, nothing about this movie feels cheap or exploitative or without heart. It’s all just a fun, frenetic, fishy good time, and I can’t ask for much more than that. If you’re looking for two extraordinary onomatopoeic movies to watch this Summer, then ding ding ding! Here they are. Thank you for reading along this week, my dear sea-legged reader. I’d love to end this post with a BANG, but all I’ve got for you is a Boom Boom Pow.
