THE LOVE MACHINE 1971lecinemadreams.blogspot.com/b/post-preview

"The Waiting Is Over...The Love Machine is on the Screen!"

So declared the graphically austere poster ads (a gold ankh against a simple black background) heralding the arrivalof The Love Machine —sorry, Jacqueline Susann's The Love Machine— to movie theaters in 1971. Hard to believewhen looking at the film now, but there was a degree of anticipation attending the release of The Love Machine, thebig screen adaptation of Susann's 1969 best-selling follow-up novel to the phenomenally successful, Valley of theDolls.

A considerable amount of this anticipation was due to so much having transpired in the four years since 20thCentury-Fox first released Valley of the Dolls to big boxoffice and a flurry of lousy reviews in 1967. First and mostsignificantly, Jacqueline Susann had proven herself a viable boxoffice name in her own right, capable of sellingtickets regardless of the relative artistic or critical merit of the project. Secondly, movies themselves had grownincreasingly permissive in terms of nudity and language since 1967 (Fox's own Myra Breckinridge had seen to that);thus there existed, at least among Jacqueline Susann's broad fan base, the hope that the film of The LoveMachine would have license to be every bit as tawdry and smutty as the source novel.

Naughty, NaughtyIn the 70s, gay characters in movies were shorthand for decadence and "with it"

sexuality.Here we have David Hemmings (r.) in full flame as fashion photographer Jerry

Nelson, with his blow-dried inamorato, Alfie Knight (Clinton Greyn).

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In the minds of many there also existed the misplaced and misguided confidence that The Love Machine was goingto be a better film than Valley of the Dolls. Why? Well, putting aside for a moment the obvious assumption that itwould be near impossible to make a film that could be worse; it was Jacqueline Susann herself (who had nevermade secret her dislike for the movie version of Valley of the Dolls ) who assured her fans that both she and herhusband, Irving Mansfield, were going to take steps to guarantee their creative input in bringing The LoveMachine to the screen.

Indeed, thanks to a lawsuit filed by Susann against 20th Century-Fox pertaining to Beyond the Valley of the Dolls(1970)—that unofficial, unauthorized, non-sequel—Susann and Mansfield were able to take The Love Machine tothe greener pastures of Columbia Pictures. There, Susann acquired $1.5 million for the rights, a possessive author'scredit, and Mansfield was granted the title of executive producer (apt enough, given that he was a TV producer byprofession and The Love Machine was all about the television industry). The Susann-Mansfield household washolding the reins to this project.

The Hitchcock of CoarsenessJacqueline Susann makes another cameo appearance in one of her films.

(That's L.A. newsman Jerry Dunphy on the left)

An author's possessive film credit of the kind exemplified by the clumsy title, Jacqueline Susann's The LoveMachine, is most certainly rooted in vanity and product branding; but it also carries with it the implication the that thefilm is a true representation of the author's intent and vision. Well, as anyone will attest who's seen Stephen King'sabominable self-penned 1997 TV-movie adaptation of his novel, The Shining (he disliked the many alterations andomissions in Stanley Kubrick's 1980 film); an author's participation in the adaptation of their work is in no way areliable gauge of anything resembling quality.

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John Phillip Law as Robin Stone

Dyan Cannon as Judith Austin

David Hemmings as Jerry Nelson

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Jodi Wexler as Amanda

Maureen Arthur as Ethel Evans

The Love Machine tells the story of the swift rise and fall of Robin Stone, an ambitious local news anchor whoruthlessly muscles his way into the job of network television president. Despite looking thin, wan, and desperately inneed of a blood transfusion; Robin is an irresistible ladykiller who leaves a trail of broken-hearted lasses clad in bluebathrobes in his wake. With Nielsen ratings and audience-share figures where his heart should be, Robin Stone islike a male version of Faye Dunaway's character in Network (1976), crossed with Valley of the Dolls' Helen Lawson,with a little of Stephen Boyd's Frankie Fane from The Oscar (1966) on the side.

As with most of Jacqueline Susann's characters, Robin Stone is allegedly based on a real-life individual. In thiscase, the late CBS TV executive, James Aubrey - the man responsible for The Beverly Hillbillies and a host of otherlowbrow moneymakers during the '60s. Like his movie counterpart, Aubrey is said to have been a calculatinglyshrewd cookie who held the TV viewing audience in contempt and made a fortune banking on the public's insatiableappetite for mediocrity. Judging by the popularity of today's Jersey Shore/Kardashians train wrecks, you can't saythe guy wasn't something of a visionary.

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The Love MachineIn all but the most archly ironic circumstances, Jackie Susann was unsuccessfulin getting anyone else to take on the word "dolls" for barbiturates. She didn't faremuch better in persuading the American public to adopt "The Love Machine" as

slang for TV sets (because it "sells love, creates desire"...you see).

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILMMy fondness for a certain brand of bad film is as difficult to explain as it is to defend. It's not like I just get off onmaking fun of them. On the contrary, most of these films are very professional, well-made films in every department.What I think I respond to is that scary zone in the creative arts where the attempt fails to match the execution.Where all the talent, creativity, and hard work on one end just somehow ends up being 100% opposite of whatanyone intended. It fascinates me because I believe it can occur at any moment, no matter how heavily the deck isstacked for success. For example: take the idea of Marlon Brando putting cotton in his cheeks in The Godfather.That's something that could have turned out disastrous, but instead became iconic. Or what about Al Pacino's Cubanaccent in Scarface. Wasn't that a huge risk? It could have derailed the entire picture!

No, Robin Stone doesn't pay a visit to Pee Wee's Playhouse. This is just a horrificexample of 70s chic decor

The point I'm making is that the collaborative art of film is often like a dance on a wire: fiasco or triumph issometimes based on tiny, intangible miscalculation or moment of blind overconfidence. Something which can't beknown or sensed until after the film is already in the can. Hindsight makes it all seem like it could have beenavoided, but that's just not the case. the crap shoot of it all is what fascinates me.

If it's true in life that we learn most from our failures, I believe there to be a similar lessons to be gleaned for the filmbuff confronted with a well-intentioned mess. When you watch a film that cost millions, involved hundreds of

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decisions, hours of hard work, the collaboration of many talented individuals...and the result is sometimesdeplorable, you staring straight into the face of the elusiveness of excellence. That or perhaps hubris, too manycooks spoiling the broth, or maybe (worst of all) professional cynicism: films which don't really care if they're good,so long as they make money.

Ambitious Robin Stone goes head-to-head with network programming executive Danton Miller (Jackie Cooper)

The Love Machine tries to be a hard-hitting, cynical, claw-his-way-to-the-top drama along the lines of The SweetSmell of Success and The Young Philadelphians; but for all its faddish clothes, bare bosoms, and cuss words, it'sfundamentally a creaky Fannie Hurst melodrama. It feels as though it's striving hard for sensation and daring, butit's focus needs adjusting. It's too shallow for a character drama, too superficial for a TV expose, and far too cliche-ridden to work effectively as drama. The Love Machine's utter cluelessness about how old-world it actually is makesfor addictive viewing.

The real star of The Love Machine is Robin's collection of blue bathrobes.It got so that I started to miss them if they failed to show up in a scene.

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John Phillip Law's lifeless performance isperhaps in part due to his stepping in at the last

moment for originally-cast actor Brian Kelly(star of TV's Flipper) who was injured in amotorcycle accident. In several scenes it's

obvious Law is wearing ill-fitting clothes cut forthe shorter-in-stature Kelly.

PERFORMANCESRobin Stone is portrayed with remarkable ineffectualness by the late actor (and last-minute replacement) JohnPhillip Law, last seen sporting angel's wings and a feather diaper in Barbarella. By all accounts a terribly nice guy inreal life, Law latches onto Robin Stone's closed-off, inexpressive side and gives a performance too stiff even for acharacter referred to as a machine. Susann had wanted Sean Connery for the role.

Dyan Cannon has always been a favorite of mine, but her performance here (no great shakes, but heads above therest of the cast) is consistently undermined by the jaw-dropping, high-fashion get-ups she's called upon to wear.Given that's she's not really provided a believable character to play, her bizarre fashion sense always takes centerstage. According to a Jacqueline Susann bio, Cannon was so struck by a case of the giggles during a preview ofThe Love Machine (inspired by both her performance and the film), shehad to excuse herself.

The lovely Dyan Cannon, playing the wife of a television executive, decides towear a test pattern

THE STUFF OF FANTASYFor anyone finding the film hard going (it's rather slow by today's standards) I beg you to stick around for theclimactic "Hollywood party fight scene." Here Ms. Cannon (balancing 23 pounds of teased hair) finally abandons herheretofore starchy acting style and lets loose with that infectiously raucous laugh of hers, setting in motion a trulymemorable free-for-all that should have become a YouTube camp highlight by now. In trying to top Valley of theDolls' infamous wig-down-the-toilet scene, The Love Machine finally does something right.

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Xanadu by FabergeSamples were given away at many

theaters showing The LoveMachine

THE STUFF OF DREAMSWhen The Love Machine was first released to theaters, I was a mere 13 years old. Too young to see the much-ballyhooed motion picture, but old enough to take my mom's paperback novel to school and pore over the "dirtyparts" with my schoolmates. I'm not sure what my problem was at such an early age, but I was very much into thesleazy but entertaining novel, and went out and bought an "ankh" ring just like on the paperback cover. (In mydefense, I grew up in San Francisco during the hippie era, and ankhs were kind of all over the place.) I alsounsuccessfully tried to persuade my sister to buy that Faberge "Xanadu" perfume that was cross-promoted in thefilm (ads for which recommended you mark "his" favorite spot with an "x").In spite of my unseemly youthful preoccupation, I didn't actually see The LoveMachine until I was well into adulthood. I'm happy to say that I wasn'tdisappointed. While not nearly as much fun as Valley of the Dolls, The LoveMachine has more than enough in the way of over-the-top fashions, poky dialog,and questionable performances to rank high among my favorite guilty pleasures.

"...and when you put it on, you'll live forever. And love me forever."

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Copyright © Ken Anderson

About Ken Anderson: LA-based writer and lifelong film enthusiast. You can read more of his essays on films of the’60s & ‘70s at Dreams Are What Le Cinema Is For

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