by Richard Brooks, 1958.
Starring Judith Anderson, Jack Carson, Larry Gates, Burl Ives, Paul Newman, Madeleine Sherwood, Elizabeth Taylor.
Rating: 7.5/10, 9/10.
I never know where to start with a movie like Cat On A Hot Tin Roof. In a movie with plot, I can start by explaining that plot; but this is Tennessee Williams we’re talking about, so there’s not so much plot as a bunch of characters reacting to one another. In a flawed but good movie, I can talk about what’s good and then talk about the flaws. Cat On A Hot Tin Roof is not flawed in any way that I saw. All I have to talk about is how good it was, and where do I start?
The writing, sure. I mean, c’mon, it’s Tennessee Williams; if you need to come to me to find out if the writing is good, then, well, not only are you way out of touch, you’re also kind of talking to the wrong person. I know the dialogue is brilliant, but I certainly can’t tell you why. It’s got a certain gleeful distance from reality that I like, as in this (very very paraphrased) exchange between Maggie (Taylor) and her husband, Brick (Newman), the one that gives us the title:
Maggie: I feel like a cat on a hot tin roof.
Brick: Then jump off, Maggie, jump off. Cats jump off of roofs all the time and land on their feet.
Yes, it’s great writing (ok, so the way I have it it's not all that great), and especially in the mouths of Taylor and Newman it’s very effective. But to say that it bears any resemblance to the way people actually speak is to lie. The way people spoke in extended metaphors reminded me a lot of The West Wing, only, y’know, not that funny.
The performances, yes. But again—it’s Paul Newman and Elizabeth Taylor, do you really need me to tell you that they’re great actors? Newman has a great understated emotion; we can tell he wants to say (and show) much more than he does, but can’t (because, you know, it’s 1958—or is it before that?). Also, to allow myself a moment of shallowness, he is dead gorgeous. I’m not usually attracted to men from older movies, but wowee, he’s dreamy. Taylor’s desperation and strong intelligence come across as only she can do it.
Fortunately, though, it’s not just Taylor and Newman. Jack Carson (who I really thought was Ronald Reagan for a second) as Brick’s brother Gooper (by the way, no wonder the family got so messed up—I mean, with parents who would name their children Brick and Gooper, what did anyone expect?) gives a solid performance, though he always seems in the background next to the fabulous Madeleine Sherwood. She plays his wife Mae to squirrelish, conniving, interfering, eavesdropping, annoying extremes, and yet somehow does not come off as just ridiculous. In the alternate universe where I’m in charge of the Oscars, Sherwood gets best supporting actress for 1958.
This leaves us with the parents—Big Mama and Big Daddy. Judith Anderson’s performance as Big Mama is one of the most emotionally affecting I have ever seen. At her entrance, she seems to be a happy woman who has every reason to be happy—and then we watch as all those reasons are taken away from her, one by one. I admire an actor who can do this, and she can do it. Maybe there can be a tie for that best supporting actress award. Burl Ives as Big Daddy is even better, and let me just say this about him: I don’t know if I can ever listen to "The Ugly Bug Ball" the same way.
Of course, by muttering vaguely about the dialogue and then going through a list of the actors and saying how good they all are, I have said nothing whatsoever about the film. You may have picked up on the fact that that’s my way of avoiding saying anything important about movies that stump me.