#but like i can't tell any difference between the regular swept back style he's got and i cant justify spending the gold

[kacitus-tilgore]

Really digging the beard + popped collar biker vest tbh

[duanecbrooks]

A Sight For Sore Eyes     It's what could be called an old-time flick, having been released in--steady yourself--1969.       It features two leads who have long, long, long since gone off the radar, namely Jacqueline Bisset and Jim Brown (Actually, Brown has only sunk from sight as an actor. He has for some time had a third-act career--he began as a pro-football heavyweight, remember?--as an entrepreneur).         Having been released in, as was mentioned, 1969, its filmic style and the motivations of its characters would, in this overflowing-with-political-correctness age, likely be dismissed as greatly dated, even rather philistine.               However...     As the theatrical film The Grasshopper, which first unspooled in said year and which stars said folks--and which, in a leonine change-of-pace, I saw not on DVD but (and this is not a typo) on YouTube--proves, it is very much worth re-visiting, being--say what you will about it being Old Hat--an incisively-written, maturely-directed and, its strongest suit, sensitively-performed drama about following dreams, dealing with what life throws at you while you pursue those dreams, and, at last finally, is a cautionary tale concerning the fate of those who thoroughly, totally surrender their positivism, who allow themselves to be entirely swept up in all the crap that comes their way. The long-popular assertion goes: "Be careful what you wish for, for you might well get it." What The Grasshopper, with considerable style and genuinely impressive intelligence, says is: "Be sure to have a realistic perspective about what you wish for, otherwise there'll be hell to pay."             Let's get to the picture itself.                 We open with its heroine, 19-year-old Christine Adams (Bisset), sneaking down the steps of her house and outside--the latter after leaving a good-bye note for, as we'll come to discover, her parents--carrying luggage and, eventually, getting into a convertible and driving off. After she goes a distance, we see her car conk out and Christine having to hitch a ride. As she and her driver are riding along, she fills him, and us, in on her story: She's going to L.A. to hook up with her boyfriend, who works in that city. Also: Her past home life was far from tranquil, as is demonstrated via a flashback, wherein Christine thinks back to her incessantly warring parents. It all culminates in Christine giving her driver, and us, a verbal sketch of what she wants her life to be ("It's very simple. What I want is to be totally happy, totally different, and totally in love"). In time she's taken up by one Danny Raymond (Corbett Monica, a stand-up performer who was quite popular at the time), a Las Vegas-based comic whose humor fails to impact our girl (He freely acknowledges: "I'm not too funny, but you can't expect brilliance in the middle of the desert").           We press on. While transporting Christine, Raymond stops off at his employment base, namely Vegas, where he attends to some business and Christine takes in the sights and, in time, is summoned back to Raymond's side (He has the hotel announcer intone: "Will Christine The Hitchhiker please report to the front desk?"). Eventually she, and we, meet Tommy Marcott (Brown), a former pro-football star who is employed by the hotel as, well, a lure, as a celebrity whose fame is used to bring in customers. We also see Raymond trying to get close to Christine and she firmly resisting ("No, Danny. I like you. You're a lot of fun") but Raymond not being in the least dissuaded ("Stick around a few more minutes. I hate to be alone"). At last finally Christine gets to L.A. and Eddie, with whom she entreats to have a baby with her. Yet life with Eddie turns out to be far from the Paradise Lost she imagined and hoped it would be, as her job as Eddie's sister bank teller, she finds out to her dismay, is routine and boring (In an attempt to put some life into her life, she hands a customer the following note: "This is a hold-up. Give me your money and don't touch the alarm"). At one point she goes for a walk and, gazing into the windows of the other apartments, she sees the inhabitants fighting between themselves and otherwise engaged in the kind of dullish, mind-numbing activities she hates with a passion. Thus our gal leaves Eddie and returns to Vegas and Raymond.             To go forward: At first Christine's hooking back with Raymond turns out to be very pleasant for both of them (We see Christine happily lying in bed next to Raymond and his saying into the phone: "I gotta go now, 'cause there's this gorgeous girl just dyin' for my body"). Yet it all ends when Christine is informed by Raymond that his ex and their offspring are coming to visit. Next we see our heroine audition for a position as a showgirl. At first her auditioner is quite skeptical (Christine: "I did Little Women in school." Auditioner: "Did you do it nude?"), telling her: "Showgirls gotta have gigantic tickets [breasts]." Christine doesn't shirk at the least upon hearing this, firing back: "In my hometown I was considered one of the over-developed girls." At last finally Christine unbuttons her blouse and proudly shows her auditioner her "tickets," which causes the auditioner to happily hire her (The auditioner asks Arnold, his barber at the time: "Would you pay $12.50 to look at that [Christine's fully-exposed bosom]?" When Arnold smiles affirmatively, that to the auditioner is the deciding factor, which causes Christine to say: "Thank you, Arnold"). From there we witness our girl as part of the hotel's regular showgirl line-up and getting the 411 from a sister showgirl ("There are only two kinds of dancers in this line: great dancers and girls with friends") and, later, catching a performance by the hotel's resident rock group, The Ice Pack, wherein she becomes fast friends with a devoutly homosexual member of the group. Their friendship develops to the point where Christine informs him of her hopes and dreams ("I was thinking of becoming a stewardess...I like people. Maybe I'll meet a nice guy") and, after debating whether God did indeed create the world or whether the human race evolved from monkeys, standing side-by-side one night and gazing at the stars (Christine: "When you look out there, there's got to be a God." Homosexual buddy: "Or one hell of a monkey").     Going on: Christine's former beau Eddie comes to town, accompanied by his wife and their baby, all of whom, after a visit with Christine, make her quite wistful. Afterward she has further association with Marcott, who makes it abundantly clear that he kowtows to nobody unless he absolutely has to ("I used to be eight years old...I don't say anything unless I mean it"), and rebels when, during a conversation with some financiers, his employer casually manhandles him ("Don't do that, man. You make me feel like a piece of meat"). We then see Christine and Marcott riding a merry-go-round and the former further contending what she wants and expect regarding her life ("Sure I know what I want out of life. No, I don't. Yes, I do") and the workings of her inner self ("No matter where I am or what I'm doing, somewhere in the back of my head I'm thinking somebody is having more fun than I am"). They talk more and they exchange dialogue on Christine's priorities concerning her romantic life (Christine: "I hurt that guy I grew up with [Eddie]. And he hurt me." Marcott: "Everybody gets hurt"). Christine fervently urges that she and Marcott live together rather than get married but he loses no time shooting down that notion ("I've been that route. I don't want a chick to shack up with. I don't want a pad, I want a home"). At long last they decide to elope, which, when the woman at the Vegas chapel they turn to sees them with another couple, makes her quite antsy (Woman, into the phone: "I'm serious, Ted. A white girl, a Negro, a Jap, and a sissy").             Grasshopper moves forward. Now Ms. Tommy Marcott, Christine sets herself to getting her new hubby a less degrading job with the hotel. While swimming, she pushes to one of the aforementioned hotel's bigwigs for Marcott to given higher standing and, when the bigwig balks, she flatly spits water in his face. Next we see her with another hotel higher-up making the same case and, again, being unsuccessful (Higher-up: "Only your husband is special at shaking hands." Christine, walking angrily away: "You're a bastard"). The ante is upped when Roosevelt Decker (Ramon Bieri), a particularly wealthy financier, enters Christine's life. She--unwisely, as she, and we, will come to discover--accompanies him to his hotel suite and, not surprisingly, Decker loses no time in making a play for her. Also not surprisingly, she fully rebuffs him ("Mr. Decker, I really enjoy talking to you. Can't we just be friends?"). Decker, alas for her, doesn't take this well, first openly disparaging Christine's hubby ("I'm as good as any nigger"), then going on from there to literally beat the crap out of her. When she arrives home afterward, she shuts herself up in the bathroom. When Marcott forcefully orders her to open the damned door ("If you don't open the door, I'm gonna break it down"), she does and he, along with us, get a full view of her battered and bruised face. Cut to Decker playing golf and Marcott coming after him right there on the greens. Decker runs away but Marcott soon catches up to him and gives him the same aggressive beating that he gave Marcott's wife. The very next scene has the Marcotts in a car, hubby at the wheel, driving away from Vegas and he making it fulsomely clear that from now on their lives are going to be very different ("I'm gonna find myself a job where I don't have to play the clown. And you're gonna be my wife").             We continue. We next see our young lady at a laundromat, washing clothes and unmistakably bored peeless. In an attempt to enliven things, she spreads laundry detergent upon the floor and does an impromptu dance for the others doing their laundry. Following is a scene where Christine's old buddies, The Ice Pack, sneak up on her and following that are scenes wherein she had the same blast with them as before. It all bleeds into her growing disenchantment with her life with Marcott and it culminates in her flat-out confronting him (Christine, standing defiantly over him as he's sitting in a chair: "You don't really like my friends [The Ice Pack], do you?" Marcott: "Look, Chris, are you trying to start a fight?" Christine, still defiantly: "Yeah, maybe I am. Anything to liven things up around here"). Yet Christine comes to shake off her antagonism toward her husband and open herself to him ("I thought if I loved you, everything would be all right"). Things, however, go badly when Marcott, in the midst of shooting hoops on outdoor basketball grounds, is fatally gunned down, no doubt by a fellow specifically hired by Decker. This of course devastates Christine, who deals with her mega-anguish by, during the ride back from the funeral, ordering the driver to stop and pick up these two hippie types whom she sees standing around ("I don't give a damn what you think! Pick them up or I'm gonna jump out!"). We proceed to see Christine pouring her heart out to her homosexual pal ("The worst part is, I can't even grieve for Tommy...If only I knew [my crying] was for Tommy and not for me") and said buddy coming clean regarding whether or not she'll get justice concerning Marcott's murder ("I don't think [the authorities are] even gonna touch Rosie Decker"). Having experienced the real deal in the aforementioned way, Christine returns to Vegas and her former employer, who offers her financial assistance--which she adamantly refuses ("Wait, let me get my tin cup"). Her ex-boss then suggests that she go back to hometown and try for "civilian" work--a suggestion she also rejects ("And be a secretary for $300.00 a week?...I don't want my life to be a cliche"). It's here where her former boss-man throws down the gauntlet: "You're not that talented. You got a pretty face and a nice body...You're an average girl. Why are you knocking yourself out [to Be Somebody]?" Our heroine's response cuts right to the heart of the matter: "Why not?"             Going forth: Christine next hooks up with one Richard Sherman (Joseph Cotten), a highly rich older man who gives her a fur coat. Christine, naturally overjoyed at receiving such a present, hugs Sherman--which brings forth a lighthearted admonishment from him ("Christine, you'll break something!...There are certain rules you must follow when you're dating an older man"). Christine, for her part, solemnly assures him that he really and truly is The One ("I think what I've always wanted was a mature man, someone with whom I can have a real relationship"). Yet we next see the utter insincerity of her words, as we see her making out bare-ass-naked in the shower with Jay (Christopher Stone), a singer with The Ice Pack, who's also jaybird-naked. Christine, along with the rest of us, get the inside skinny on Jay's doings since Christine last saw him ("I didn't leave [The Ice Pack]. They fired me") and she gives him, and us picturegoers, the inside skinny about her actual needs ("I need someone. I'm lonely, Jay. I want to be in love"). Next: Christine is back with Sherman, who warmly extols her ("I'm not going to bore you with the old story of my wife not understanding me...You saved the day"). Afterward we see Chris back with Jay, who angrily lights into her ("Do you love me, Christine, or do you just think you do?...[W]hy don't you try the only thing you were ever any good at--balling?"). Jay winds up leaving Christine a "Dear John" note, and Christine, having reached the end of her rope emotionally/psychologically, gets this pilot to sky-write "Fuck it." (This being 1969, we natch don't see the full statement) As Christine is being taken in by the cops, she's asked how old she is. She replies rather listlessly: "22," which says volumes about all she's been through and the emotional/psychological toll it's all taken on her.             There's The Grasshopper, a skillfully-made cautionary tale about what happens to those who don't take care while pursuing their dreams. Ramon Bieri wholly chills the blood as Christine's eventual assaulter. The men in her life--Brown, Cotten, Monica, Stone--are all virile and appealing, each in their own ways, to make you see why Christine stayed with them as long as she did. The then-red-hot writing team of Garry Marshall and Jerry Belson (also Grasshopper's producers) come up with many engaging characters and many heart-tugging romantic entanglements. And as director, Jerry Paris--who would work with Garry in the future, helming many a Happy Days episode--deftly pushes the proceedings along, never, ever allowing even an iota of schmaltz or grandstanding to show. And one of the picture's key numbers, "Used To Be," is sung with impressive feeling by the intensely-beloved Carol Burnett sidekick Vicki Lawrence.               And at last finally there's Jacqueline Bisset. She is, quite simply, radiant. With her stylish beauty, her beauty-queen charm, and her lightning-rod energy, she absolutely walks off with the picture. Her smooth good looks and her volcanic sexiness positively dominate every scene she's in, easily heralding her breakthrough performance in her signature theatrical film The Deep (Fess up: Is there any one of us men who, when we look back on said picture, does not mightily drool at the memory of the opening when, while underwater, Bisset exposed her oh-so-succulent breasts?). Indeed, it's Bisset's Grasshopper portrayal that brings out this unarguable fact: Motion pictures were the most effective as a visual medium, when they entirely eschewed aesthetic considerations and presented luscious, well-bodied players who enchanted us with their vitality and their charm. It was the 1950s cinematic sexpot Ava Gardner who, in her classic personal/professional memoir, freely acknowledged, concerning her heyday: "I wasn't an actress--none of us kids at Metro [-Goldwyn-Mayer] were. We were just good to look at." In point of fact--and Bisset in Grasshopper abundantly proved this--pictures were at their best when they sidestepped artistic aspirations and simply gave us performers who "were...good to look at." (Television is, in the main, fantastically moronic. But the redemptive factor regarding it is that it's a visual medium. There's none of this crap about the director or about how some star "fell in love with the script." All that's necessary is to put Pamela Anderson or Carmen Electra or whoever on camera showing skin--or to put Kerry Washington on camera, period--and the battle is won)                     It was the fiercely-esteemed big-screen director Bruce Beresford who, in a forward to a compilation of picture reviews by a then-well-known critic, asserted: "I know it's not politically correct to say it...but...watching beautiful girls can do a lot to relieve tedium." It is "watching" Jacqueline Bisset, the "beautiful girl" of The Grasshopper, that "does a lot" to keep said picture from becoming "tedious." And how glad we are to have that specific "relief."