Shirley MacLaine

What a Way to Go!

Being There

As the year winds down, as the temperatures finally drop, I often find myself in a wintry daze just trying to process every month and moment that lead us to December. But when I feel most uninspired, most overwhelmed, I often turn to cinema, and I often feel at ease. There have been a multitude of actresses and their filmographies explored on Double Feature Thursday, but I’m not sure if any of these performers have made more organic, unplanned appearances here than Shirley MacLaine. From Steel Magnolias to The Apartment to Bernie, I’ve gotten to see how MacLaine’s ability to light up the screen truly transcends age, archetype, and film genre. An actor, singer, and dancer of the stage, screen, and television, a political activist with viewpoints both banal and controversial, a fifteen-time published author of both memoirs and explorations of the spiritual and metaphysical—to call Shirley MacLaine a mere actress feels reductive. She was born a Taurus (three years before her younger brother Warren Beatty) in Richmond, Virginia, and was named after actress Shirley Temple (although Ms. Temple was only six years old at the time, she already had quite the prestige.) Despite her height and weak ankles, Shirley became known for her dancing abilities, as well as her singing and acting talents. Once, before a ballet production of Cinderella, she broke her ankle, tightened the ribbons on her pointe shoes, and completed the entire performance before she went to the hospital. Shirley was scrappy and tenacious in her early career—acting as the understudy for many female leads in many Broadway shows like Oklahoma! and The Pajama Game—but her tenacity would fuel the rest of her career as an entertainer. She earned her first Best Actress nomination from one of her first starring roles—Some Came Running—but wouldn’t win that award for another 25 years (with Terms of Endearment), even after several more nominations and working on a diverse plethora of prestigious projects. She can embody joy and sorrow with the same amount of ease, she could bring a sense of humor to a dramatic film and bring a sense of humanity to a comedy. She would make playful cameos in Sinatra movies like Can-Can and in the original Oceans 11, while also appearing in significantly dramatic and controversially queer films like The Children’s Hour alongside Audrey Hepburn. She worked with several legendary leading men—and allegedly fell in love with every single one except Jack Lemmon and Jack Nicholson. She could never be placed into an archetypal box or one kind of film genre, she was constantly surprising audiences and industry-types, like former Hollywood Reporter columnist Mike Connolly—who wrote about MacLaine’s contractual beef with producer Hal Wallis—which triggered Shirley to march down to the Hollywood Reporter offices and punch him in the mouth. (Icon.) Shirley’s career would have many highs and lows, but at the height of her early success, Shirley would replace Marilyn Monroe in a couple of roles that Monroe was unable to complete before her untimely death—Irma la Douce and tonight’s first feature: J. Lee Thompson’s 1964 filmWhat a Way to Go! What a Way to Go!—based on the story by Gwen Davis—begins with a pink-tinted version of the 20th Century Fox logo and introduces Shirley as a chicly-dressed and sobbing widow named Louisa, who has $211 million she wants to get rid of. She tries desperately to give this money to the US government, but the Internal Revenue Service cannot understand why this rich woman would want to give up all of her money, and subsequently sends her to a shrink. Louisa recounts the events of her life and the way it was shaped by the five men with whom she’s been engaged, to which this psychiatrist (and the audience watching) listens in awestruck disbelief. Louisa explains that she grew up poor in a small house in Ohio, with each detail of this small house and town brought to life in a colorful and cartoony vision that only becomes more fantastical with each flashback sequence. Louisa’s mother says to her, “You turned out beautiful, so you have something to sell, sell it now!” and the slimy, dirtbag businessman who runs their town, Leonard Crawley (Dean Martin), is happy to be the one to buy Louisa. But Louisa has no interest in the greasy but good-looking charms of Mr. Crawley, and instead pines after the poorest, goofiest businessman in town—Edgar Hopper (Dick Van Dyke.) Louisa and Edgar do get married, and for awhile they live a sweet but shabby wedded bliss, until Edgar unfortunately meets his demise. Louisa is heartbroken and eager to be independent, so she ventures off to Paris to be on her own—until she meets her next short-lived but spectacular lover: a tough taxi driver and brilliantly-crazed artist named Larry Flint (no relation to Hustler Magazine tycoon Larry Flynt)(Paul Newman.) Larry is exciting and creative and unspoiled in the way that Louisa loves, but much like Edgar, Larry’s ambition becomes deadly. Money and the pursuit of money become the root of all of Louisa’s problems, so when she meets Rod Anderson (Robert Mitchum)—a billionaire maple syrup tycoon—she ponders the possibility of being with someone who no longer needs to run in the rat race, and therefore is less likely to die trying to “make it.” I wish I could say that this was the case, but then we’d never meet Louisa’s fifth and final fiancé: Pinky Benson (Gene Kelly) who performs as a clown. Throughout all of these vibrant vignettes, we witness several gorgeous, Edith Head-designed costume changes—the most glamorous of which come from her time married to the billionaire—and we’re exposed to several very innovative death scenes. Each marriage pays homage to different eras and genres of films—the humble Dick Van Dyke slapsticking his way through a silent film era-esque sequence, the cultured Paul Newman brooding his way through a chic French New Wave-esque sequence, Robert Mitchum charming his way through a fashionably big-budget Hollywood Blockbuster, and Gene Kelly dancing his way through a warm-colored gay Hollywood Musical. I loved the way that What a Way to Go! honored these cinematic staples, as well as lovingly making fun of them. I loved every single garment and frock that adorned Shirley MacLaine’s body—from her pig-tailed flannel fashion on the farm to her dazzlingly sparkly gowns at the billionaire’s high-rise. Every costume, every set, every single switch-up in design and aesthetic and tone was immaculate and clearly done with so much care. Nothing about What a Way to Go! is serious, and yet the attention-to-detail and overall visual storytelling of this film is seriously painstaking. The comedy of this film is relentless—it is the kind of film where you may miss a joke or a pun or a parodic reference because you were laughing at the one before it. No matter how absurd or appalling of a situation that Louisa found herself in, though, Shirley MacLaine handled each hilarious hurdle with consideration and sincerity. Her passion, her hope, her bewildered sense of confusion and despair really make this the garishly iconic movie that it is. And while Shirley MacLaine possesses many admirable qualities as an actress, one of her most defining skills is her ability to cry beautifully. All throughout What a Way to Go! we see poor Louisa shed tear after tear after husband after husband, but never once does she look overwrought or ugly. Shirley could have tears completely streaming down her face and she would still look like the coolest one in the room, which makes me wonder if this is part of the reason why Miss MacLaine stars in so many sad movies. One film where Shirley also elegantly models tears as an accessory is Hal Ashby’s 1979 film Being There. Many critics and film fans might consider Being There to be a predominantly Peter Sellers movie since he’s the lead, but considering the fact that Shirley gives an unforgettably show-stopping performance here, and the fact that my mom has been begging me to watch this movie for years, we cannot rule this out as a Shirley MacLaine movie. Being There is based off of Jerzy Kosinski’s novel of the same name, and follows a middle-aged gardener named Chance, who lives and works at a large estate in Washington, D.C. (coincidentally, where most of What a Way to Go! is set as well) In every room there is a television, and every moment Chance is not gardening, he is watching tv. In every synopsis and review of Being There, Chance is described as “simple-minded”, but watching it under the 2023 lens, it is clear that Chance is likely autistic. Chance is quite content flipping channels and watching as much tv as possible, but when the owner of the estate passes away, the lawyers overseeing the liquidation of this house inform Chance that he must vacate the premises. Louise, the maid who’s worked alongside Chance for years, suggests that Chance go out and meet a nice lady to take care of him, but Chance has never been outside of this estate, ever. His whole life, all he’s known is gardening and tv-watching, until the day he’s forced to step out into the world and learn its harshest lessons. Chance wanders the city aimlessly, carrying a briefcase full of a dead man’s suits in one hand, and a television remote in the other—all while a groovy version of “Also Sprach Zarathustra” (the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey) plays in the background. I tend to hate these moments in films where vulnerable people are forced to be more vulnerable, so I feared for poor, unaware Chance. But thankfully, through a random strike of good luck, Chance is hit by the chauffeured car of one of the wealthiest women in town—Eve Rand (Shirley.) Eve, in her elegant fur coat (for most of the film is wearing the silkiest, softest-looking rich-people clothes I’ve ever seen), gets out of the car, apologizes to Chance and insists that she take him to the hospital. But then Eve decides, who wants to go through that whole rigamarole? Chance should just come back to her house, where her old and dying husband is being seen by one of the best doctors in the country. Chance, the male Amelia Bedelia of his time, silently agrees, and continues to silently agree to things that he does not understand—as when Eve asks him his name and offers him a drink, which he mistakenly thinks is just water and chokes his way through pronouncing his name and occupation, which Eve mishears as “Chauncey Gardiner.” Thankfully for Chance, or Chauncey as he is now known, he is taken to an estate so large and well-staffed, it makes his former employer’s house look like a shed. Within this ludicrously cavernous castle lives Eve and Ben Rand (Melvyn Douglas)—an aging business mogul who often serves as an advisor to the President of the United States. Chauncey quite literally only knows gardening, and the limited knowledge he’s received from watching television, and yet everyone he interacts with—especially Ben—is so impressed with his simplistic but effective way with words. When Chauncey is speaking about gardening, Ben and even the President mistake this proclivity for plants to be a metaphor, and consider Chauncey to be a genius. And Eve, who steadily gets to know Chauncey and all of his quirks and tv preferences, begins to fall in love with him. Chauncey effortlessly casts a spell on everyone he encounters, not only because his ignorance is misread as fearless conscientiousness, but because everyone around him has their head so far up their own asses. When the President quotes Chauncey in a televised address, Chauncey soon finds himself on his own tv appearance, which his former coworker Louise sees and rightfully exclaims “It’s for sure a white man’s world in America. I raised that boy since he was the size of a piss-ant. And I'll say right now, he never learned to read and write. No, sir. Had no brains at all. Was stuffed with rice pudding between the ears. Shortchanged by the Lord, and dumb as a jackass. Look at him now! Yes, sir, all you've gotta be is white in America, to get whatever you want. Gobbledy-gook!” Chauncey can “make it” in America because he is white, he’s a man, and he never knew what he couldn’t do, and therefore can do it all. And yet, all Chauncey cares to do is watch tv. He never asked for power or respect or esteem, it’s the men all around him who impress all of these things upon him, take his literalness as humor, and take his tendency to repeat what he hears as direct support. Being There is a comedy of errors and a parade of misunderstandings that was just as entertaining as it was heartwarming. The ridiculous circumstances that this simple, blank slate of a character endured underscored many truths: that all you’ve gotta be is white in America to get what you want, people will perceive you however they choose to, and Shirley MacLaine is one of the best comedic and dramatic actresses of all time (only rivaled by the likes of a Meryl Streep.) Even though this film is a showcase of Peter Sellers’ comedic and dramatic acting prowess (although Sellers came to hate the funny outtakes that close out the movie because he believed that detail cost him the Oscar that year…) the person who shines the brightest here is Shirley MacLaine. She really made every funny moment funnier, every nonsensical scene more nonsensical. She is once again donned in the most stunning costumes you’ve ever seen, and she is once again the prettiest crier in the room—even with tears and snot trailing down her face, she just can’t help being chic. I was expecting Being There to be more upsetting and more poignant, but it was just the right amount of sweet, and just the right amount of stupid (a winning combo, in this critic’s opinion.) Though in real life Shirley’s actions have been questionable (her estranged Mommie Dearest relationship with her only child being just one of the problematic aspects of Shirley’s story), on screen Shirley commands attention with her whimsical, short-haired charm and scrappy ability to fit into any kind of story. Throughout her career, Shirley defied expectations and typecasts, she outlived studio heads and old schools-of-thought, and found her way into timelessly iconic roles, an honorary Rat Pack membership, and a lasting legacy as one of Hollywood’s greatest it-girls. Shirley’s story is so wild and noteworthy and full of way more UFOs than you’d think, that I unfortunately cannot include all of it here, but you really should read more about her on your own. Thanks for reading along this week, my ingenues, and I hope you’re as perplexed by this leading lady’s life as I am. Ta ta for now!