The
celebrated writer Maya Angelou only penned two original screen stories in her lifetime,
the script for this obscure theatrical feature and the teleplay for a 1982 TV
movie called Sister, Sister. (Make
what you will of the similar titles.) Georgia,
Georgia is thoroughly discombobulated. In some scenes it’s an interracial
romantic melodrama bordering on camp, complete with a subplot about a queeny
manager romancing a hotel clerk who looks like a Swedish version of Dracula. In
other scenes, Georgia, Georgia is a
dead-serious meditation on issues related to the Vietnam War. And every so
often, the picture leaves reality behind for impressionistic passages linking
pretentious images with odd sonic counterpoints. Notwithstanding the presence
of the same actors and characters from beginning to end, Georgia, Georgia seems like a collection of clips from several
different movies.
Georgia Martin (Diana Sands) is an American pop singer
traveling through Sweden with her manager, Herbert (Roger Furman), and her
caretaker, Mrs. Anderson (Minnie Gentry). News of Georgia’s arrival sparks
interest among a community of American deserters, all of whom are black,
because they hope to involve her in their cause, with the ultimate goal of
persuading the Swedish government to grant political asylum. Meanwhile, Georgia
participates in a photo shoot with Michael Winters (Dirk Benedict), an American
living in Sweden. He’s white, so when Georgia begins to demonstrate romantic
attraction to Michael, Mrs. Anderson becomes concerned. No interracial
hanky-panky on her watch.
It’s possible that some gifted director could have
guided Angelou through revisions and thereby pulled the disparate elements of Georgia, Georgia together. Stig Björkman
wasn’t the guy for the job. (In his defense, Björkman rarely makes films in
English—which, of course, raises the question of why he was hired in the first
place.) For long stretches, Georgia,
Georgia is painfully dull because the character motivations are nonsensical
and the onscreen actions are repetitive. Furthermore, many supporting actors
give amateurish performances—and to note that Benedict is not in the same
league as Sands is to greatly understate the situation. Then there’s the
dialogue. Periodically, Angelou gets incisive, as when Mrs. Anderson says that
Georgia “kinda kicked the habit” of embracing blackness. Yet for every line
that works, a dozen don’t. For instance, Georgia exclaims, “I’m not gonna do
anything but stay black and die!” That’s a good line for a character who hasn’t
already been established as denying her African-American identity.
It gets
worse. During a love scene, Michael says to Georgia: “You taste like mystery.”
At
its most ridiculous, Georgia, Georgia
gives both leading characters Bergman-esque contemplation scenes. In Georgia’s
vignette, she wears a cape and walks by a lake at dusk while Sands recites
poetry on the soundtrack. In Michael’s vignette, he stares into the mirror
while raunchy burlesque music plays. However, these scenes aren’t nearly as
bizarre as the ending, which won’t be spoiled here. Suffice to say that the
finale elevates Georgia, Georgia from
muddled to outrageous. For seekers into the cinematic unknown, this picture’s
out-0f-nowhere ending makes the whole viewing experience worthwhile. Georgia, Georgia might be a mess, but
when it matters, the movie isn’t timid.
Georgia, Georgia: FREAKY
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