CARNAL NATION

For me, one of the most riveting moments at the Academy Awards this year occurred during the Hollywood love fest’s annual tribute to those who’ve passed on to that great multiplex in the sky, as I waited to see if the gloriously notorious Bettie Page had made the cut.  Though destined to be remembered as the “Queen of Pin-Up” who never transitioned to movie star like her contemporary Marilyn Monroe, Page nonetheless served as sexual muse to Tinseltown’s smart set in the same way Hugh Hefner’s Playboy provided divinely debauched inspiration for an up-and-coming literary scene. Bettie Page was the thinking man’s wet dream.

Which is why on the surface it would seem that cerebral Mary Harron would be the perfect director to craft a biopic from the many dueling facets of the mother-of-all-fetish-models’ life. Unfortunately, as I’ve written before, brainy Harron also has a terrific knack for choosing the most interesting, sexy subjects and just draining the life out of them. Watching both I Shot Andy Warhol and The Notorious Bettie Page, I found myself thinking, "the book would have been better" – if only there were a book.  It’s the same feeling I get sitting through French "provocateur" Catherine Breillat’s films.  Having intellectually astute women at a flick’s helm is a grand idea in theory, but often all this thinking just gets in the way of an entertaining story.

For the only thing "indie" about Mary Harron is her attraction to marginalized artists on the fringes of society. Her filmmaking itself is as predictable as any Hollywood hack’s.  She even begins Bettie Page with a scene perfectly suited to the Lifetime network, in which the teenage Bettie’s father flashes a "come hither" look then asks to see poor Bettie alone (wink, wink). Not surprisingly, the main problem with Harron’s take on Page starts with the script. The eponymous character is so underwritten that the often-unclothed Gretchen Mol as Bettie has nothing to work with. Writer Guinevere Turner has literally left the poor actress bare-ass naked inside and out!  And in an effort to make Bettie the wholesome girl next door, Harron renders her as much a bland, two-dimensional caricature as any of Hugh Hefner’s mostly interchangeable centerfolds. Besides, I don’t buy that this debate team member and high school salutatorian would be as naïve as a starlet like the young Marilyn Monroe. I would hazard to guess it was Page’s lack of naïvete–her utter, painful awareness–that caused the existential crisis (does Jesus disapprove of ball gags and latex boots?) that led her to eventually fall into the arms of the church. Perversely, Mol is all the more engaging because Harron’s Bettie Page is not.  It’s always fascinating to see an actress struggle so hard, grasp at the slightest detail that could transform her character into a living, breathing human being.

Which brings me to perhaps the oddest thing about The Notorious Bettie Page–that the lives of the colorful secondary characters prove much more intriguing than that of the central pin-up queen. I’m talking about siblings Irving and Paula Klaw–the godparents of fetish photography–who were taken down by the government at the same time Hugh Hefner avoided punishment for his new publication Playboy.”  The Klaws distaste for nude photos (as if birthday suits were more immoral than corsets and whips), and nude photographer Bunny Yeager’s mutual distrust of the Klaws and their deviant pics is the real salacious subject.  (And one that foreshadows today’s ridiculous sex industry rivalries–doms looking down on escorts and vice-versa–as if Jesus approves of strap-ons but not blowjobs!)  The look on Lili Taylor’s face towards the end as her Paula Klaw burns the pornographic "evidence" is nothing short of heart-wrenching. Paula Klaw’s fetish photography was her life’s work and the government forced her to destroy her own art like an American Gestapo. Indeed, Bettie Page’s life paled in comparison to the drama that swirled all around her. Now if only Mary Harron had stopped analyzing that drama long enough to start seeing it.