Some Call it Loving (USA, 1973) 103 min color DIR-PROD-SCR: James B. Harris. (Based on the short story, “Sleeping Beauty” by John Collier.) MUSIC: Richard Hazard. DOP: Mario Tosi. CAST: Zalman King, Carol White, Tisa Farrow, Richard Pryor, Veronica Anderson, Logan Ramsey, Pat Priest.
“I bought a sleeping beauty- I just thought I should let you know.”
Listen.
One of the most intimate, haunting, and thereby perfect, screening experiences I’ve ever had was on a summer night several years ago: one of those times where I’d wake up in the middle of the night, realize that I wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon and would randomly pick something to watch. That night’s choice was Some Call it Loving, which evolved into a rapturous experience. The film, with its onscreen shadows and darkness, seems made to be viewed during those final hours of night. I cannot imagine seeing this picture in any other circumstance.
To call this a perfect viewing experience does not however suggest that the movie itself is perfect: one-of-a-kind projects seldom are, at least in conventional terms. One must forgo the usual criteria of judging cinema with such a delicate object as this. To examine this movie strictly for its plot or acting is to strip away all that is unique about it; the effect is similar to the mystery and allure of night being burned away by the morning sun, or someone turning on the lights during an act of lovemaking. This is cinema for the senses: as such, Some Call it Loving is an unforgettable visceral and emotional experience. But still, we must slavishly discuss its narrative in order to put its true virtues into context.
Jazz musician Robert Troy (Zalman King) lives in a mansion with two women, Scarlett (Carol White) and Angelica (Veronica Anderson). The three constantly perform role-playing games to the degree that Robert can no longer distinguish what is real life. His one chance at a “normal” existence in the “real world” occurs during a nocturnal prowl when he encounters a carnival sideshow featuring a real-life “sleeping beauty”. Her host, a doctor (Logan Ramsey), basically a carnival barker in a white lab coat, sells kisses to eager participants for a dollar a smooch, to try and awaken the slumbering girl, and live happily ever after. In truth, the doctor gives her drugs so patrons will never arouse her- in literal or figurative terms. Have we ever expected honesty in the carnival midway? Those bowling pins we knock down are glued to the stand. Nonetheless, Robert is so taken by the girl, that he buys her from the doctor and takes her home!
When the medication wears off, sleeping beauty Jennifer (Tisa Farrow) awakens into Robert’s world, and becomes a willing participant in the bizarre rituals performed at the mansion, perhaps to his consternation. Was his purchase of the sleeping beauty out of infatuation, or to have someone of his own to control in these weird parlour games? Either ambition would result in despair.
Any fairy tale is an allegory of yearning for a normal life by freeing oneself from whatever fantastic element shackles them, whether they’re a frog prince or with long hair. And yet, there is no “happily ever after” in this tale- or, are we being deceived? Are these characters happier in their bizarre role-playing? While Robert makes clear his intention of having a normal life with Jennifer, their escape into the “real world” only reminds him of the cage in which he lives. (No more blatant example of that can be seen than when the couple arrives at a hotel named “Fantasy”.) His one true connection with the outside world is his drug-addicted friend Jeff, who hangs around the nightclub. It is not logically wrong to include these scenes with this mumbling, sweaty, barely coherent character, as Jeff also lives in a fantasy world, albeit chemically induced. However, all of these scenes with Robert’s friend are incongruous with the otherwise carefully structured narrative. Further, because Jeff is played by Richard Pryor, who had similar problems offscreen, his part is perhaps too uncomfortably close to reality.
One could quibble about how a jazz musician can afford to live in a mansion, much less spring fifty grand for the sleeping beauty act. (Maybe his housemates are loaded- who knows?) But the movie has the elliptical nature of a dream: it is less about logic or reason, more about repetitive patterns. Some scenes are repeated verbatim, albeit with different players. Even the carnival patter is echoed in the bittersweet finale. One could interpret Jennifer’s journey as one long, continuous role-playing game. (Tellingly, she always calls Robert by his surname, as though he’s her master.)
Much of the film is set during the hours when most of the world slumbers. The movie is in near-perpetual darkness, and the figurative characters are in a somnambulistic state, enacting dreams in a concrete world. Few films better understand the erotic allure and mystery of night. (Robert is a jazz musician, and one can scarcely have a more nocturnal occupation than that.) Mario Tosi’s woozy cinematography perfectly captures the characters’ waking dream world: the luminous, over-exposed lighting of the carnival and jazz club, the expressionistic candelabra lighting of the cavernous mansion and the neon emanating from the juke box during the scenario’s rare attempt at romance.
The latter scene in which the would-be lovers dance to Nat King Cole’s chilling “The Very Thought Of You” instead evokes sadness and unrequited desire. Robert’s pursuit of a conventional relationship results in the sad realization of the web he cannot escape. Because the bulk of the film unfolds in darkness and shadows, its few daylight scenes are revealing: it is then we learn more about these characters once their masks are off, and most tellingly, daylight pervades most of the sequence with Robert’s ill-fated attempt in escaping to the “real” world with Jennifer.
The scant filmography of James B. Harris, which dates all the way back to the 1950s producing for a young Stanley Kubrick, includes a handful of films which he wrote and directed: Some Call it Loving is perhaps his best. And yet, it is the one in his oeuvre whose success owes the least to the conventions we usually employ to judge a film. We could quibble about the one-note performances- yet like many things in this serpentine movie, they too could be by design. (What better way to convey characters who are soulless?) Nothing is what it first appears to be: complex ideas materialize as one further ponders the film.
Like any unique work of art, one must be willing to appreciate it on its own terms. Just like the sunlight that strips away the hypnotic enigma of night, and reveals the ugly truths of our characters, scrutinizing this movie in conventional ways would shatter its fragile beauty. If seen with an openness to the world it creates, its rewards are large.
Some Call it Loving was originally available on VHS by Monterey Home Video. For years after, it was viewable only on muddy bootlegs or (if one was lucky) in a fleeting appearance on the late show. Vinegar Syndrome released a sparkling restoration for DVD and Blu-ray on their sadly discontinued Etiquette Pictures label. This title is unfortunately now out of print, but it is well worth the effort to find a copy. Once you do, please wait to see it in the wee hours: I hope your experience will be equally pleasurable.