Photos courtesy of Netflix
Don’t mind the massive mobile, just pay attention to the singing.
There have been a lot of great things that came out of the ’60s: “The Pink Panther” series, platform boots, the moon landing, civil rights and the never-ending rivalry between Rolling Stone and Beatles fans just to name a few. Jacqueline Susann’s novel “Valley of the Dolls” has sold over 30 million copies since its publication in 1966, making it one of the best-selling books of all time. The facts make the book sound enticing all by itself, but Mark Robson’s 1967 film adaptation killed any interest I had in picking up a copy.
The film tells the story of three women making their way in different parts of show business. Anne Welles (Barbara Parkins) is a naive small-town girl who finds secretary work at a legal firm specializing in theatre. Neely O’Hara (Patty Duke) is a talented vaudevillian, rising from humble beginnings to being Hollywood’s most sought after 
actor and singer. Jennifer North (played by Sharon Tate, one of Charles Manson’s victims) also came from humble and poor beginnings, and uses her good looks and body to make up for her lack of talent. These three friends of circumstance succumb to the pressures of relationships, the male-run entertainment industry and the comfort of “dolls” — pills.
It’s a fairly standard plot: a classic tale of love and woe and the consequences of drug abuse. “Valley of the Dolls” would have been successful if it just wasn’t so depressing and dull. The 36 percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes is an accurate one.
That’s a red flag if I ever heard one.
Judging from the voice-over exposition at the beginning of the film, it’s safe to assume that Anne is intended to be the main character. But with a voice straight out of finishing school and a near-void expression leading up to an occasional smirk, she’s the least compelling character. Even Lyon Burke (Paul Burke), the tall, dark and handsome lawyer who leaves her time and again and refuses to marry, has more charisma. Whatever struggles she has pale in comparison to those of Jenny and Neely — not that being heartbroken is something to dismiss, but she makes it easy — and her addiction doesn’t last more than a few minutes of screen time. If we were supposed to feel at all sorry for her, it didn’t work.
Then there’s Neely, full of talent and ambition; we love her spunk and “take-no-bull” attitude at first, but she becomes
*Sigh.*
obnoxious and petulant as the fame and fortune get to her head. We first see Neely at rehearsal during a Helen Lawson (Susan Hayward) show, where she’s quickly cut in fear that she’ll outshine the headliner. She’s the first to become dependent on pills and booze after she’s pressured to perform by the people around her. Neely cheats on her husband, yells at the help and refuses anyone’s advice. She’ll then turn on a dime and beg for people’s affection like a child clinging to her mother’s skirts. Like Anne, we’re supposed to feel sorry for her; but as she turns out worse than the woman who denied her fame in the first place, it’s hard to dish out a little sympathy. The over-acting on Duke’s part makes the situation more jarring than pitiful.
Good Parenting 101: mooch off your kids and insult them.
Thankfully, the film has two things going for it. First thing, they hired Ben Nye as the makeup artist. Second is Jenny; sweet, charming and compassionate Jenny. Out of the three women, I rooted for her the most and her ending broke my heart. Jenny has understood from an early age that she was nothing but a burden on her family, and that her only talent was her cup size. She finds love and solace in Tony Polar (Tony Scotti), a night club singer. Sadly, illness comes between them, and Jenny has no choice but to star in raunchy French art films, directed by an abusive and controlling director, to support her husband’s medical expenses and her mother’s growing list of fiscal demands. In the end, all her efforts and her good nature are lost to the value of her measurements. It’s a damn shame.
“Valley of the Dolls” has the stunning visuals you’d expect from ’60s-era film along with casual homophobia, and I can’t deny that the actors try their hardest but the whole thing is mediocre at best. There are a few bright moments that catch your attention, but don’t be surprised if you have to rewind more than once because something more pressing was distracting you (a hangnail, maybe).
If you do choose to watch this, I recommend watching “The Graduate,” or any of Peter Sellers’ movies to regain your faith in the decade’s cinema.
