Peyton Place
I just did something shameful. Well, at least at an earlier time in my life I would have thought it shameful. In adolescence I probably felt both fear and guilt when I read ‘the dirty parts’, but for years, even decades, after that, I would have avoided the book because I would have considered it, being a slave to the conventional wisdom, too lowbrow for my high-toned taste. But now, one month before my 79th birthday, in the age of Biden, when nothing matters any more, I’ve done it. I just read Peyton Place.
But why Peyton Place? Why Grace Metalious? I suppose I could say that it has to do with my autodidact program. That is after all part of the reason for this blog; it fits the kind of autodidactism I’m into. There’s the thing about high-brow versus lowbrow. I’ve been discussing that, and do find it interesting, for many reasons not just the one about illustration vs. fine art, which, if I haven’t already, I intend to milk to death.
And, along with that comes ‘the novel’. The novel, as far back as I can go, has always been art. That, I’m sure it goes without saying, implies certain parameters as in middlebrow, highbrow. Lowbrow literature being something else; most likely shelved somewhere along with porn and gothic romance.
So I’m already
comfortable with the idea of the novel being art, and I’ve done my share of art
appreciation in that vein, as well as consumed my share of literary
criticism. At the moment that would be Lachman on Colin Wilson; Connolly on Ian Fleming.
Before I met my wife and settled down I had more than a few girlfriends. I loved them all. There were no exceptions. Or, there were different reasons for loving. Each one was the best of all possible worlds in her way. Stop me if you've heard this one. Oh, you have? Well then. One more thing and then I'll drop it: They all thought that they had good taste.
I don't think I ever said once, to any of them, or to any human being, period; that if they had good taste I would know it because mine is better. But, I'm sure I thought it; every time. I was born a critic. I honed my skills before I could walk. (I talked before I walked).
Leaving aside whether I'd ever read Peyton Place before; I think I looked for the dirty parts, sixty some-odd years ago, but I just finished giving it a good solid read yesterday and I found it quite enjoyable. Oh, and it does seem to me that the original publication did plant a seed in my young mind about lifting the roof off a small town like Amagansett, NY circa 1955. I already knew enough about the hidden life of its inhabitants, from rumors and gossip and the occasional slip of the tongue; it was Peyton Place all over again. And through my young years as I leafed through the Saturday Evening Post and The New Yorker and read Cheever and John O'Hara and Styron and J.D. Salinger, expecting tons of supposed "real life", I remember on many occasions thinking I'd caught wind of the faint whiff of Spic n' Span.
I have to say, especially as I'm in the middle of reading Gary Lachman deconstruct my old favorite Henry Miller,* that there are usually good reasons for leaving out the more prurient items; number one probably being that it can throw off the sensibility of the reader, he/her thinking that the whole book was about the one blow job. [Exc. Fr.]
But I'll say it again. I thought it was a pretty damn good book! Middlebrow? O.K. sure why not. I'm not a fanatic anyway, for Christs-sake. (Merry Christmas.)
I don't remember the movie, so just to make it easy for us, let's go to the Show Biz Newspaper:
Variety Dec. 31, 1956
In leaning backwards not to offend, producer and writer have gone acrobatic.
On the screen is not the unpleasant sex-secret little town against which Grace Metalious set her story. These aren’t the gossiping, spiteful, immoral people she portrayed. There are hints of this in the film, but only hints.
Under Mark Robson’s direction, every one of the performers delivers a topnotch portrayal. Performance of Diane Varsi particularly is standout as the rebellious teenager Allison, eager to learn about life and numbed by the discovery that she is an illegitimate child. Also in top form in a difficult role is Hope Lange, stepdaughter of the school’s drunken caretaker. As Varsi’s mother, Lana Turner looks elegant and registers strongly.
Lee Philips is another new face as Michael Rossi, the school principal who courts the reluctant Turner. Pleasant looking, Philips has a voice that is at times high and nasal. Opposite Varsi, Russ Tamblyn plays Norman Page, the mama’s boy, with much intelligence and appealing simplicity.
Robson’s direction is unhurried, taking best advantage of the little town of Camden, Me, where most of the film was shot.
1957: Nominations: Best Picture, Director, Actress (Lana Turner), Supp. Actor (Arthur Kennedy, Russ Tamblyn), Supp. Actress (Hope Lange, Diana Varsi).
Production: 20th Century-Fox. Director Mark Robson; Producer Jerry Wald; Screenplay John Michael Hayes; Camera William Mellor; Editor David Bretherton; Music Franz Waxman.
Crew: (Color) Widescreen. Available on VHS. Running time: 166 MIN.
With: Lana Turner, Hope Lange, Lee Philips,
Lloyd Nolan, Arthur Kennedy, Russ Tamblyn.
Camden Maine! Wow, maybe I will see it, just to see Camden in 1956. Camden was where the Saturday Evening Post brass and owner-family summered. (Great tennis sweaters!)
*Lachman > Miller; Gary Lachman; Two Essays on Colin Wilson: World Rejection and Criminal Romantics and From Outsider to Post-Tragic Man. [Colin Wilson Studies #6]
