It's been a few weeks since I laid eyes on it, but there's something still making me a bit sick whenever I think of THE KILLING OF SISTER GEORGE. So I have to share it, get if off me chest.
For those who don't know it, the film stars Beryl Reid as George, an obnoxious tweed-wearing bull dyke storming drunkenly around 1970s London, and making her baby dyke paramour, poor Childie (Susan George), eat cigars. With its garish London hues and unrepentant nastiness, it's like the BAD SANTA of its day, or even the MY FAVORITE YEAR. We're supposed to laugh because this lady is so nasty and she plays a prim church lady on the daily soaps (Sister George, of the title).
For the positive take on Aldrich's film, I recommend Gary Morris' excellent review in Bright Lights #28. He astutely points out that:
..though some commentators have seen it as homophobic in portraying George as a monstrous version of a lesbian and Childie as a goofy, unevolved babydyke. But it’s ultimately less a comment on lesbianism (though it is that) than an exegesis of the human condition.
While I agree I'd also point out that though its not directly anti-gay, the story freely presumes the "in for a penny in for a pound" theory of sexual transgression (Childie is a masochist who lets George abuse her and obsessively collects icky porcelain dolls; George guzzles gin, molests nuns and hangs out with the neighbor prostitutes). I'm not blaming Aldrich, whose love for the grotesque by then was etched in the celluloid unconsciousness (he must have been scared by a porcelain doll as a child). I'm merely pointing out that the film buys into the idea of homosexuality as an aberration. The sickness surrounding the characters here is perversion and emotionally arrested self-absorption first and foremost, with lesbianism thrown in, as far as I can see, for added shock value, and little more.
This especially refers to the climax, where the conniving new dyke in town, Mercy Croft (Laurel Brown) and Childie get it on. In this long, hideous scene, Childie gyrates and alternately recoils from and accept the Nosferatu-like attentions of Miss Croft, who looms over Childie in bed, staring down at her in expressionistic contortions representing naked desire. This is the controversial sex scene of the film and worse than amoral or shocking it's guilty of the crime of being "ugly." We are treated to long close-ups of a sweaty, excited Ms. Croft looking down at her squirming prey; we see the beads of sweat forming under Croft's thick white drag queen makeup; she looks like she just crawled in from a hard day of drinking on the set of Fellini's SATYRICON.
I don't see anything wrong with older and younger people getting together, but I can't imagine seeing a long horror show sex scene like this if it was a hetero couple, say, Danny De Vito and Hillary Duff. That's not cinema! We didn't have to see Henry Fonda and Kate Hepburn in ON GOLDEN POND! Kee-rist!
My point is that I think Aldrich intends us to recoil in horror at the thought of any two girls kissing, not just this freaky pair, and so he amps up the squirm factor to 11. Watching this sex scene gives us the same sense of discomfort Aldrich gave us watching Bette Davis sing and dance for a smilingly horrified Victor Buono in BABY JANE. It's the same discomfort that, well, if you ever wound up in bed with someone who physically disgusted you and had to just fake your way through for whatever reason, then you will recognize what's at play.
Certainly, SISTER GEORGE may have helped crack the glass on the gay visibility issue, one that would one day explode with Rock Hudson's AIDS. But dammit, I want my cinematic lesbians to be sexy!
If anything, KILLING OF SISTER GEORGE makes you realize why attractiveness and love are so important for the movies. Strip away the beauty and the delusion and this is what you are left with: trashed sets, hurt feelings, ugly, arrested egos; nauseous stomachs, and an angry, ugly old woman mooing into the void. That may be art, but I sure as hell don't want it in my house! MoooOO!
3 comments:
I really enjoy this movie - it's a gallery of grotesques, for sure. "She looks like she just crawled in from a hard day of drinking on the set of Fellini's SATYRICON." You say that like it's a bad thing! MOO!
One note - it's not Laurel Browne, it's Coral Browne, wife (and supposed beard) of Vincent Price. A second note - you can see Beryl Reid give nearly the same performance as a crusty starship captain in the 1982 Doctor Who episode "Earthshock" (highly recommended).
Good Job! :)
Hey Erich,
Well, your fascinating post made me try to think a bit about why I like this movie so much and why I disagree with some of your assessment. A few points come to mind.
In addition to being hilariously funny, one thing that impresses me about the film is Sister George's ruthless honesty; she's practically got x-ray vision when it comes to the exploitative Mercy Croft, the utter fakery of the BBC smarmfest she's on, the phoniness of her co-star, etc. Her self-knowledge seems a bit less, but that makes her a more complex character. You'd hardly want a totally self-actualized character here lecturing dispassionately on the joys of cross-generational lesbianism. She's enthusiastically sexual, a veritable "horny old broad," a hardly repentant alcoholic, anti-religious, which is always refreshing (it's not quite clear that she "molests" – as opposes to, say, tickles – those novitiates, but who could resist at least messing with these wide-eyed innocents a little?). Her theatricality ("They should be scourged in their cells!") is thrilling to behold, and Aldrich appropriately makes the film equally theatrical (I don't mean that in the sense that it's based on a play) – high-pitched, ultra-dramatic, every minute bristling with life however rude and raw. Part of George is as much "babydyke" as Childie – "unevolved" to the degree she doesn't/can't accept society's niceties and surface conformities and so storms through every situation trying to make her presence felt, her desires met, her life meaningful and "real." And she does it with such style! Beryl deserved an Oscar for pulling off the incredibly difficult feat of making this character human despite the shrill and, yes, sometimes unsavory, antics. Can you imagine anyone else in this role? (Think of Bea Arthur!)
I'm also not averse to audience discomfort (hey, I once sat through a Doris Wishman triple bill with nary a peep), and frankly had no big problem with the admittedly squirm-inducing scene of Mercy's "unmerciful" encounter with Childie. Maybe as a gay guy I have less invested in the turn-on factor of two dykes getting it on than you do. (I'm also trying to envision your example of Danny and Hillary getting down; that might be a career boost like no other! Of course, we have Harry Earles and Olga Baclanova for that particular frisson of the wildly mismatched "couple" in flagrante, or teasing us with it.)
Aldrich certainly met his match with this property, and rises to the occasion. Have you ever seen it in on the big screen in widescreen? It's absolutely stunning – Sirkian in its claustrophobia and the crush of objects against the characters. Thematically it's pretty rich and typical Aldrich I'd say. (This is his richest period for me – with Lylah Clare and The Grissom Gang nearby.) Aldrich's stock in trade (or one of 'em) was exposing social and institutional bullshit, to say this is how people are or can be, deal with it! He does that beautifully here. I'd also argue that her Moo sequence is one of the great endings in cinema, oddly akin (at least to these bleary eyes) to Leatherface's out-of-control wielding chainsaw dance at the end of Texas Chainsaw Massacre or Royal Dano's sudden, horrifying wail as he becomes articulate just before his death in Man in the West – the life force asserting itself in pain and frustration.
Thanks for your post, Erich. I appreciate your take in spite of my disagreements. And anyway, you've reminded me it's time to dust off the ol' DVD and gather a few pals for a Fourth of July screening. No fireworks needed!
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