Reflections on ... The Only Game in Town (1970)

 

Recently watched: The Only Game in Town (1970). Tagline: “Dice was his vice. Men hers.” 

/ Pictured: George Stevens and Elizabeth Taylor during production of The Only Game in Town /

Director George Stevens and leading lady Elizabeth Taylor triumphed collaborating on A Place in the Sun (1951) and Giant (1956). Far less well-remembered is this downbeat Las Vegas-set character study about two losers tentatively embarking on a love affair. I say “losers” – the two main characters are portrayed by ultra-glamorous and photogenic international movie stars Taylor and Warren Beatty. Joe Grady (Beatty) is a jaded lounge pianist saddled with crippling gambling debts. (The role was originally intended for Frank Sinatra). Fran Walker (Taylor) is a chorus girl who’s been waiting for her wealthy married business executive lover to leave his wife for the past five years. (To establish that Fran is a showgirl, Stevens clumsily splices fleeting close-ups of Taylor in sequins “dancing” into long shots of a huge lavish production number. It is unintentionally hilarious). Both yearn to leave Vegas and start over. 

/ Above: the leading man and leading lady of The Only Game in Town / 

(An aside: if you do any researching on Game, you’ll frequently see Fran described as an “ageing showgirl”. Taylor would be only 36 years old here! Thank God the parameters of “ageing” have changed over the years. But in this regard, Game has thematic parallels with the 1973 made-for-TV Kim Novak movie Third Girl from the Left and, more recently, The Last Showgirl (2024) starring Pamela Anderson). 

Fascinatingly, the budget for this small-scale and intimate comedy-drama promptly spiraled to $11 million. Game was made when Taylor and then-husband Burton – as author Lee Server wrote – were at “their jet-setting, conspicuously consuming, bad-movie-making height.” Taylor was still able to command her mega-star $1.125 million salary and demanded Game be filmed in Paris where Burton was currently making his own flop movie (Staircase (1969)), necessitating the construction of an “ersatz Vegas” on a French sound stage. (I’m hypnotized by the fake rear projection view of the Sahara casino from Fran’s living room window). As Wikipedia concludes: “The Only Game in Town was the second-worst financial failure for Fox, behind Cleopatra, also starring Taylor. Stevens did not direct another film.” 

/ Miss Taylor's wigs by Alexandre of Paris! / 

Anyway, Game is inconsequential and wispy but suffused with retro charm (the décor of Fran’s apartment, her groovy wardrobe of ponchos, muumuus and mini dresses. Taylor’s wild coiffures and wigs are via Alexandre of Paris). The contrasting acting styles of Taylor and Beatty is fascinating (he’s only five years younger, but Beatty embodies “New Hollywood” whereas she’s old-school). The melancholy opening montage of Fran walking through a seedy neon-lit and deserted (actual) Vegas by night is gorgeous.

Watch The Only Game in Town here:

/ Further listening: the reliably excellent Karina Longworth devotes an installment of her You Must Remember This podcast to the late-period career of George Stevens here. 

Reflections on ... Leigh Bowery! at Tate Modern

 

/ Portrait of Leigh Bowery by Nick Knight, 1992 /

“In his brief life Bowery was described as many things. Among them: fashion designer, club monster, human sculpture, nude model, vaudeville drunkard, anarchic auteur, pop surrealist, clown without a circus, piece of moving furniture, modern art on legs. However, he declared if you label me, you negate me and always refused classification, commodification and conformity. Bowery was fascinated by the human form and interested in the tension between contradictions. He used makeup as a form of painting, clothing and flesh as sculpture and every environment as ready-made stage for his artistry. Bridging the gap between art and life, he took on different roles and then discarded them, presenting an understanding of identity that was never stable but always memorable. Bowery embraced difference, often using embarrassment as a tool both to release his own inhibitions and those of people around him. He wanted to shock with his looks and performances. At a time of increasing conservative values in Britain, Bowery refashioned ideas around identity, morality and culture. At times, this caused offence ...” 

This is the introductory text at the exhibit Leigh Bowery! at Tate Modern. (Boy, is that exclamation point warranted!), which probes the life and times of debauched post-punk drag monster, performance artist, nightclub promoter, fashion designer, artist’s model, muse, musician, Australia’s twisted gift to the world and all-round visionary Leigh Bowery (1961 - 1994). I visited it on Sunday, and it scrambled my brains in the best possible way. I’m still processing it! The images Bowery created remain freaky, nightmarish and beautiful, un-mellowed by the passage of time. (Even “off-duty”, Bowery sought to freak out the squares, wanting to resemble “the weirdo on the street that you tell your mum about”). I was particularly struck by his collaborations with bad boy of dance Michael Clark and ferocious post-punk band The Fall and a video clip by Charles Atlas of Bowery miming to an old Aretha Franklin song, a pair of novelty red lips from a joke shop affixed to his face with safety pins. The exhibit is on until 31 August 2025. Here are my pics!