Review By: Ryan Piccirillo
RyanPiccirillo@TheCinemaSource.com

Jacqueline Susann’s Valley of the Dolls is a book almost as widely read as the bible. Religion is apparently only rivaled by our celebrity-drenched voyeurism. How paradoxical our obsessions are. We’re just a wacky bunch, aren’t we?

The book’s movie adaptation opens with a disclaimer that reads something like this: any similarity between any persons and the characters portrayed in the film is not intended. I smell the shit of a bull. You will too. It’s very apparent that Susann’s characters are far from pure fiction. Interweaving stories of three women and their struggle with or rise to fame is transparently based on Susann’s own experiences and those surrounding her. However, they don’t seem near to her at all in their presentation on the big screen.

Pharmaceutical abuse, swollen egos, and mental crises all live at the core of Susann’s depiction of show business in the early to mid-60s. Threatened starlets cope with the harsh realities of stardom with speed and downers (dolls). Actresses who can’t quite make it in the movie business resort to the false track to fame, making a name in French “nudies.” These things surely exist, even today, but they had yet to be explored in such depth until Valley of the Dolls came around. Susann, no doubt, had an in, but the movie demonstrates a very distant view of characters who seem too typical of the subject. We are unable to grow any attachment to the characters. We don’t care for them, because they feel artificial: puppets deliberately functioning to articulate a boring story masked by melodrama.

The poorly arranged script detaches itself from real storytelling, providing glimpses into events that carry no weight. The narrative never gives us enough time to feel sympathy for these women with the exception of Anne (Barbara Parkins). That sympathy is quickly relinquished when her focused point of view is ditched for disjointed stories of other women you can’t grow to love nor hate. The spotlight should have been on Anne but instead turns slightly towards Neely (Patty Duke). Neely’s chaotic celebrity life fused with drugs and alcoholism appears juvenile. Making it juvenile was an intriguing choice, but because its staging is also juvenile, you can’t take her situation seriously. We couldn’t care less about these women whose superficiality takes precedent over genuine sentiment. Welles’ romance, for instance, feels so staged that none of us can connect. What would be real emotion in the Dolls is forced by laughable dialogue and clumsy performances.

‘Laughable’ suggests campy. Valley of the Dolls is campy. It’s overwrought with silly exaggerations imparted by everything from the acting to the 60s mod cinematography. I’m a big appreciator of camp, whether intentional (John Waters) or accidental (Ed Wood). I gave Mommie Dearest an A- if you don’t believe ...