It's
that time of year again, folks -- the
first week of January, and you just know
what that means. E'yup, that's right.
Hail to the Kind, baby! As we continue
the tradition of celebrating m'man Elvis
Presley's birthday here at 3B Theater
by skewering another one his *ahem* fine
feature films, today we're going to take
a look at the first film he made after
he got out of the army: G.I.
Blues --
oddly appropriate,
and it proved to be a turning point in
his film career.
Unfortunately,
for the King, it was the wrong turn.
We
open somewhere in West Germany, observing
the 3rd Armored Division on combat
maneuvers. Our focus centers on a certain
tank and a very familiar looking gentleman
manning the gun. Receiving his orders, Cpl.
Tulsa MacLean (Elvis
Presley) locks on the objective,
fires, and the target is obliterated.
Cookie (Robert Ivers),
Tulsa's loader, brags up the gunner's
skill while jamming another shell into the
breach. Rick (James Douglas),
the tank's driver, agrees, but thinks
Tulsa is better still when dealing with
the opposite sex. Sgt.
"Dynamite" Bixby (Edson
Stroll), the tank commander, gets
them refocused and moving again. But it's
hard top stay focused when there
is constant chatter on the radios about
the companies impending transfer to
Frankfurt -- and all the frauleins found
therein. Ja! Tulsa then breaks the
news to Cookie and Rick that he won't be
able to play with them at the club later
-- he'll be too busy saying goodbye to
several local ladies. Cookie gets him to
reconsider. Their combo, the Three
Blazers, worked hard to get the gig so
they can't back out now. When the exercise
ends, the tanks rumble back to base. Along
the way, their tank breaks a track thanks
to Rick and his subplot about some girl
named Marla. First Sgt McGraw (Arch
Johnson), affectionately known as
Sarge, pulls up in a jeep and berates them
for goofing off and wrecking the tank.
Sarge also demands the $300 dollars Tulsa
owes him. Apparently Tulsa's prowess at
the con isn't half bad either as he easily
gets Sarge onto a different subject --
women. (Okay
it wasn't that hard.)
Sarge excuses Dynamite from fixing the
tank when he promises to fix him up with a
date. Compared to Dynamite, Tulsa is a
lowly private when it comes to the women.
Later,
the
Blazers get some bad news at the club. The
owner has changed his mind and doesn't
want them to play. When they offer to play
for free, that magically changes his mind.
Taking up their instruments, the Blazers
crank up the cadence for "GI
Blues" -- a hideously
infectious song that will be stuck in your
head for about a year and half.
(And sharp eyes will notice that the
back-up band, decked out in frills and
lederhosen, consists of Scotty Moore, Bill
Black and DJ Fontana.) The audience
goes berserk for them -- I guess they
can't get the song out of their heads
either, and the owner is so excited he
decides to pay the boys anyway. Tulsa takes
the money, but Sarge is back on target and
wants his $300 -- the sum total of Tulsa's
pay. Working his magic again, Tulsa gets
the money back by offering Sarge a
partnership in the Three Blazers Nightclub
back in Oklahoma once they're discharged. (What?
His name is Tulsa? Did you think it was
gonna be in Ohio?)
The Sarge finally agrees when Tulsa says
he can be in charge of the dancing girls.
As their set continues, Dynamite
comes through with a girl for the Sarge (although
she seems more interested in Tulsa.)
And I'm amazed that we're only
about thirteen minutes into the feature
and we're on our fourth song already...The
trio starts up a slow ballad, but one of
the GI's in the audience doesn't like it
and puts a nickel in the jukebox, and then
punches in B-47: Elvis Presley's "Blue
Suede Shoes." The
Jukebox drowns out the band, who take
umbrage with this development, so we all
know where this is headed. Tulsa decks the
GI by the jukebox, triggering a brawl. The
fight continues until they hear the MP's
coming. Gathering up their instruments,
the Blazers skedaddle out the back way.
The
next day, while the company waits for the
train to Frankfurt, Tulsa tries to fleece
the other $300 they need to get the lease
for their Nightclub, but the Sarge isn't
biting today. He breaks the bad news to
Cookie and Rick, but Rick is to
preoccupied with his Marla subplot to be
bothered with that now. Tulsa and Cookie
move on to see what all the commotion is
over by the trains. The
company they're replacing has arrived, and
Dynamite is having a testosterone pissing
contest with Turk (Jeremy
Slate). The dueling lotharios are
legendary in the 10th Armored, and word
has gotten around that Turk struck out in
Frankfurt with a certain dancer at the
Cafe Europa named Lilly. Turk claims she's
an ice queen and no one can spend the
night with her. When Dynamite
claims he can defrost her, they make a
bet: $50 to the winner if Dynamite can
spend the night at Lilly's pad alone. Turk
even gives him a week to get this
accomplished. This wager brings plenty of
side bets, and Tulsa sees a quick way to
double their $300 to the $600 they need.
Their bet is placed, and with Dynamite on
the prowl, they can't lose. Their Captain
assembles the men before boarding, and
lectures them on the proper conduct during
their tour of duty in Frankfurt. Singling
out Dynamite as as example of how NOT to
conduct yourself, the Captain says his
womanizing will no longer be tolerated --
so he's being transferred, immediately, to
Alaska, where he can work his magic on the
polar bears.
With
that development, seeing their club going
up in smoke, the Blazers try to talk Turk
into letting them out of the bet, but it's
no go. But Turk is pragmatic enough to
allow them to substitute someone for
Dynamite. There's only one man for the
job, and Cookie manages to talk Tulsa into
being the super-sub as they board the
train to Frankfurt. And since they're on a
train to Frankfurt, and this is and Elvis
movie, Tulsa sings a song about a train
going to Frankfurt. Upon arrival, they
decide to indulge in a little Frankfurt
decadence right away. Rick heads off to
take care of his subplot while the others
head to the Cafe Europa just in time to
see Lilly's act. After
her lengthy number, Lilly (Juliet
Prowse) wants to go un-spool
herself out of her kinky Barbarella
costume, but a lecherous audience member
latches on to her. So she pours a pitcher
of beer over his head to cool him
off.
And
I could be wrong, but I think this letch
just might be Colonel Tom Parker -- and
if it was, she should have busted the
thing over his head, or at least
transfer him to Alaska where, hopefully,
a polar bear will eat him.
Watching
all of this, Tulsa realizes his work is
more than cut out for him. He moseys up to
Lilly at the bar, and things start out
earnestly enough until Cookie fouls things
up by trying to help. He volunteers Tulsa
to sing a song just as the ice was
starting to break. While he sings,
Lilly tries to sneak off, but the club
owner wants her to apologize to the
customer she drenched. She gets out of it,
saying she promised to spend the evening
with two American GIs. Which is why Tulsa
and Cookie, figuring they've struck out
already, are surprised when Lilly comes
back. While Tulsa encourages
Cookie to get lost -- before he tries to
help again, Lilly spots the manager
looking for her and asks Tulsa to take her
somewhere else. They wind up at another
cafe, but Tulsa winds up singing yet
another song -- this time accompanied by
several accordions (and
nothing says romance like a Stomach
Steinway.) Finding
the American very charming, Lilly decides
to stick with him and they move on. He
begs to go somewhere where he doesn't have
to sing, and she suggests they go back to
her place where she can make him a
sandwich of liederkranz und
pumpernickel.
Das
ist gut, ja? Ja. Farfergnugen!
When
they reach her apartment, Tulsa thinks
he's got the bet in the bag on the first
night -- only to find Cookie already
inside putting the moves on Tina (Leticia
Roman), a waitress he fell for
back at the Europa. Lilly and Tina are
roommates, and the bet says Tulsa has to
be alone with Lilly -- so the evening's
golden opportunity is blown. The men
quickly bow out, saying they have to
report back to the base, but promise to
meet up again once they score another
pass.
Back
at the base, Tulsa manages to get out off
guard duty and finagles three three-day
passes for himself, Cookie and Rick from
the Sarge. Rick disappears into his
mysterious Marla subplot again, while
Tulsa and Cookie conspire to get Tina out
of the apartment. Lilly and Tulsa hook up
again, and the film is padded out with
some scenic travelogue footage of
beautiful Frankfurt -- sister city of
Copenhagen, perhaps? Ooo-ooo, maybe
Reptilicus will attack here, too,
and Elvis can work his kung-fu on him!
After a lengthy boat ride, Tulsa
commandeers a puppet show to profess his
growing affection for Lilly. (He
has to use puppets for this? The man
definitely has communication issues. Me? I
think hand-puppets are just creepy.)
Their adventure ends on a sky-tram
where the couples affection for each other
is mutually confirmed. On
the way back, Tulsa is
uncharacteristically silent. He's starting
to feel guilty about the wager. This
endeavor started about money, but he's
really falling in love with Lilly. She
mistakes his sullenness for being tuckered
out after a long day, and promises him a
quiet night at her place after she
performs at the club. The guilt-stricken
Tulsa didn't need to hear that.
That
night, while she prepares to go on, Tulsa
enters Lilly's dressing room and breaks it
off. Using the excuse that with his
situation, always moving around in the
army and all, it's better to end it now
before it gets more complicated. The
bottom line is, he doesn't want Lilly to
get hurt. But I think it's too late for
that. After leaving the shell-shocked
Lilly alone, Tulsa
finds Cookie waiting for him. He got rid
of Tina for the night, but he's soon
shell-shocked, too, when his friend tells
him the bet's off. Tulsa then gets a
message that Rick's been looking for him.
Rick? Rick who? Oh, yeah. That guy.
Finding Rick at an apartment, the Marla
subplot finally springs upon us. It seems
Rick has been looking for Marla (Sigrid
Maier) for awhile because he wanted
to marry her. Fearing he was going to
marry someone else, Marla left to have
their baby alone. Yes, Rick is a father,
and he didn't even know it. He asks Tulsa
to baby-sit baby Junior while he and Marla
go off and get hitched, making everything
nice and legal. Even though there's
nothing in the GI Manual about taking care
of kids -- but it can't be that much
different than field-stripping an M-1
Carbine, right? -- Tulsa agrees. Marla
assures him that Junior will probably
sleep the whole while they're gone. But
comedy dictates that as soon as they
leave, the baby immediately starts crying.
The GI Manual fails on all fronts, and he
can't use judo on the infant, so Tulsa
tries to feed it -- but the milk bottle
winds up broken. Desperate for help, Tulsa
calls Lilly at the club. She hears the
baby crying in the background and tells
them to come over to her place. Now, I
would question why she doesn't she go to
them, but it's plot-essential that they go
to her place. Why? Hang on, we're getting
there.
Cookie
overhears this, but doesn't know about the
baby, so, thinking the bet is back on, he
runs interference with Tina and sends the
rest of the tank crew to see if Tulsa can
pull it off. Taking up position across
from her apartment, they watch a cab pull
up and Tulsa gets out, carrying a basket.
They can't see it's a baby and assume it
must be food. Inside
the apartment, Lilly talks Tulsa into
singing Junior a lullaby while she warms
up some milk -- bringing our song count up
to a whopping total of ten. Soon,
the baby is sound asleep, and Tulsa thinks
he'd best take him home while he's out.
Lilly agrees, but neither one of them
really want to part. She goes to get
Junior's things, and while she's gone,
Tulsa nudges Junior -- who wakes up
crying. Lilly gets excited hearing the
cries, and they both happily agree that
they should stay put. When the sun comes
up the next morning, the weary GIs across
the street watch as Tulsa leaves the
apartment. He gets into a cab, but
promises to meet Lilly later that
afternoon at the rehearsal for the Armed
Forces show. The other GIs still don't
know about the baby and figure Tulsa just
*ahem* "deflowered" Lilly,
meaning they won the bet. One of the crew
bet against Tulsa, and while he pays up,
Lilly overhears all this with growing
concern.
At
the rehearsal, Sarge gets Tulsa in more
hot-water while talking about the bet with
Turk in front of Lilly. Worse yet, the
Captain has gotten wind of it and plans to
take disciplinary action against Tulsa for
fraternizing with the locals. Tulsa can't
make Lilly believe that he really did call
the bet off, but she storms off, thinking
he just used some baby to win the bet.
While the MPs round Tulsa up, Lilly hears
a baby crying. She finds Marla and baby
Junior, and the mother confirms Tulsa was
telling the truth. Together, they explain
to the Captain that there was no
hanky-panky that night, and they were
really and honestly just baby-sitting. The
Captain is swayed, and asks them if
they're free to sit his twins the next
weekend.
So
all is well. Tulsa wants to ask Lilly
something, but he can't quite put it into
words. She helps him out by agreeing to
marry him. Tulsa can't believe it. Lilly
also promises, that tonight, after the
show, he most definitely will be
winning that bet.
Hail
to the King, baby.
The
End
When
Elvis got out of the army, Frank Sinatra
hosted The
Frank Sinatra-Timex: Welcome Home Elvis
Special
at the Fountainbleau Hotel in Miami.
Sinatra, a former Elvis basher, welcomed
him back and they even sang a duet
together. This détente quickly ended,
though. Sinatra was engaged to Juliet
Prowse during the filming of G.I.
Blues
and resented all the attention these two
were paying to each other. Prowse is
another one of those starlets, along with
the likes of Sophia Loren, who everyone
else tells me are beautiful, but I think
they're just funny looking. Not ugly, mind
you. Just funny looking. Elvis wasn't
really ecstatic about this film, either.
He had just gotten out of uniform, and now
he had to get right back in one for the
entire eleven-week shoot. But producer Hal
Wallis and the Colonel wanted to cash in
on Elvis's time in the army. And before he
even got out of the army, Wallis sent a
second unit over to West Germany to film
some scenes. So in all those long shots,
that's not Elvis or Prowse, but two
stand-ins.
Wallis
turned to scriptwriter Edward Beloin, who
had written most of Bob Hope's spy
comedies during the '40s, and seasoned
director Norman Taurog to helm the
picture. Taurog would go on to ramrod over
nine Elvis movies, including Tickle
Me
and Blue
Hawaii.
The film was a hit, and unfortunately,
Wallis and Parker used it as a template,
meaning most of the films that followed
were basically just a carbon-copy of G.I.
Blues.
The formula broke down thusly:
-
Elvis
would play a race-car driver, a
cliff diver, a roustabout, a chopper
pilot etc.
-
Elvis
was usually either the offspring of
wealth who was trying to strike out
on his own, or the polar opposite --
someone who came from nothing who
tries to escape the trappings of
fame and fortune after hitting it
big.
-
The
film would take place in an exotic
locale like Hawaii, Acapulco, Hawaii
or, um, Hawaii etc.
-
Elvis
had to use his kung-fu skills on
somebody at least once before the
first reel ended -- usually Red
West.
-
Elvis
always had to have a comedic foil or
odious comedy relief to play off of.
-
Elvis
would have to spontaneously combust
into song, no matter where he was or
what the situation might be,
approximately once every 7.8 minutes
during the film.
-
Elvis
had to find a girl, and then lose
said girl due to some simple or
trivial misunderstanding until the
grand finale when the truth is
revealed, bringing them back
together again.
The
rest, as they say, is cinematic history.
The formula came up sevens for Wallis,
Parker and Elvis because they made a ton
of money, but any hope of a real film
career soon went up in smoke.
Now
G.I.
Blues
isn't a terrible film. I like it quite a
bit. The songs are catchy enough, and the
story is okay -- except for a few clumsy,
plot-specific hiccups, but there is plenty
of fun to be had here. It's part of
Elvis's Silver Age of Movies that includes
Flaming
Star,
Viva
Las Vegas
and
Wild in the Country.
This followed the Golden Age of Loving
You
and King
Creole.
After the Gold and Silver Ages, we plummet
straight to the Stone Age with the likes
of Follow
that Dream,
Harum
Scarum
and Kissing
Cousins.
In
Last
Train to Memphis: The Rise of Elvis
Presley, Peter Guralnick's
exceptional biography of the late icon,
when the author talks about why he wanted
to write the book, he makes this very
poignant observation: "I wrote about
him [Elvis] a number of times over the
years, seeking in one way or another to
rescue him from both his detractors and
his admirers." Wanting
to ignore the fame and the infamy,
Guralnick gets down to the essence of
Elvis -- his music. The author rightfully
points out that those who were close to
him, and the audiences who loved him -- no
matter what he did or how bad he got --
did more damage than those who openly
criticized him or fed him pills.
I
should plead guilty to this, too, but I
really didn't get into Elvis until long
after he was dead. And yes, he is
dead. I blame my mother, mostly -- and
that damned "Moody Blue"
8-track that played constantly at our
house when I was a younger brattling back
in the '70s. It wasn't until later that I
truly began to appreciate the guy for what
he was and what he did. I don't
think I belong to the lunatic fringe of
Elvis fanatics. Honest. Heck, I admitted
he was dead didn't I? The only time I get
a little crazy is when I have to defend
him to some cretin who only know him from
the end times, when he was drugged,
bloated, and destined to die on the
toilet, trying to pinch one off. This
usually winds up with me beating them into
something that resembles a wet prune.
In
music, there is definitely an argument to
be made that others were better musicians
than Elvis. In everything else, though,
Elvis is the King. Was that the Utah
Chapter of the Flying Bob Dylans
who parachuted in at the end of Honeymoon
in Vegas?
Is Bruce Campbell playing an aged Jim
Morrison fighting a mummy in Bubba-Ho-Tep?
And most important of all, Elvis had
absolutely nothing to do with unleashing
Yoko-Ono on the world. For chrissakes VH1
says Oprah -- not Elvis, or even The
Beatles, was the biggest icon of the
last century. Oprah. Oprah?! OPRAH?!? What
the @#%*?!? Save me from these freaking
heathens.
Oh-god,
I did it again didn't I...Let's try to
refocus and move on. All apologies to
everyone. Okay, okay. Maybe I do belong to
the lunatic fringe.
It's
just that this a subject of which I am
very passionate. The reason I like Elvis
so much is very simple: The man could
sing. And he sung with a lot of heart and
soul and resonance -- no matter what he
was singing about. He could be singing
gospel, about loves lost, or even clams,
and it would strike a chord with me. You
can throw out all the other crap -- the
lifestyle, the Cadillacs, the Memphis
Mafia, the countless B-Movies, the '68
Comeback Special, his downward spiral,
and tragic death and eventual resurrection
as pop icon right out the door. The man
had true passion, and you can hear it in
his voice, and it's something to be
reckoned with if you'll just shut-up and
listen.
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