Adapted by celebrated
literary figure Kurt Vonnegut Jr. from his own play, Happy Birthday, Wanda June is a laborious farce with elements of
absurdity, social satire, and tragedy, tackling themes ranging from male ego to
the pointlessness of big-game hunting. Yet Happy
Birthday, Wanda June is more effective as a conversation piece than as an
entertainment experience. The characterizations are silly, the integration of
fantasy elements is awkward, and the tonal shifts feel unearned, as if Vonnegut
meant to beguile audiences with rapid-fire jokes before sandbagging them with
heaviosity about dead children, Nagasaki, suicide, and the Third Reich. There’s
something admirable about the sheer audacity of the storyline, and Vonnegut was
unquestionably a hip cat, but, man, this thing jumps all over the place. Rod
Steiger’s shouty performance in the leading role doesn’t help, because while the
main character was likely envisioned as having animalistic charm, Steiger can’t
muster the complexity or gravitas of, say, a Sterling Hayden or a George C.
Scott.
The picture is primarily set in the New York City apartment occupied by
Penelope Ryan (Susannah York) and her young son, Paul (Steven Paul). Seven
years ago, Penelope’s larger-than-life husband, big-game hunter Harold
(Steiger), disappeared while on safari. He’s been presumed dead ever since.
Nonetheless, Paul entertains fantasies of a homecoming, fetishizing all the
animal heads and skins that decorate the Ryan household. One night, Harold
returns, accompanied by his bizarre little friend Looseleaf Harper (William
Hickey), one of the pilots responsible for dropping an A-bomb on Nagasaki,
Japan. Much of the film concerns light romantic farce, since Penelope has moved
on and is now courting two different men, whom Harold predictably berates and
intimidates. Another thread concerns Paul’s change of attitude toward his
father, from hero worship to something far less flattering. And then there’s
the absurd stuff. The film regularly cuts to Heaven, where a little girl named
Wanda June (Pamelyn Ferdin) cavorts with Nazis and other unlikely occupants of
the afterlife. (This stuff more or less makes sense in context, but it’s too
convoluted to explain here.)
Demonstrating his special skill for blending
comedy and tragedy to create offbeat social commentary, Vonnegut writes Wanda
as an upbeat ambassador for mortality who says that death was the best part of
her life, or words to that effect. In some way that never quite connects,
Wanda’s remarks are meant to complement copious amounts of dialogue exploring
the nature of Harold’s big-game hunting. Imagine a lot of angst about killing
for the sake of killing, and you’re headed down the right track. While most of
the performances in Happy Birthday, Wanda
June are energetic, York and costar George Grizzard strive to ground the goofy
goings-on in some semblance of recognizable human emotion. Unfortunately, this
creates dissonance: Is Happy Birthday,
Wanda June a fever dream, or is it a realistic piece with exaggerated
flourishes? Thanks to flat direction by Hollywood veteran Mark Robson, best
known for action pictures and soapy melodramas, it’s hard to tell.
Happy Birthday, Wanda June: FUNKY
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