Goodbye, Columbus: the first R-rated movie from this reviewer

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Goodbye, Columbus: Say hello to Richard Benjamin and Ali McGraw as the American Jewish princess in sausage curls.

What was the first movie to receive an R rating from the MPAA? Not The Graduate, which was rated adult only, but The Split, a crime drama starring Jim Brown and Diahann Carroll. Do you remember your first R? It was a sweltering July night when Dad put an end to the pleading and took me to Goodbye, Columbus, the movie that featured moviegoers Richard Benjamin and Ali McGraw.

Goodbye Columbus (1969)

Any Jew worth his salt was eager to see how Hollywood would film the National Book Award winning novel by Philip Roth. Roth called it a story of tribal secrets; members of the Jewish community, horrified by the perpetrators spreading dirty laundry, called him a disgusting anti-Semite of himself. In the decade between the publication and adaptation of screenwriter Arnold Schulmans, America entered a sexual revolution and a war that was becoming more and more unpopular by the hour. The book describes Neil Klugman (Benjamin) as a Korean War veteran. Schulman doesn’t mention Vietnam in his update, choosing to downplay the news in favor of the romance between the American Jewish princess and the Nebulous Frog who, even after receiving her kiss, will never turn into a prince.

The exclusive Old Oaks Country Club, a paid playground located in aptly named Purchase, New York, was a world Neil was only allowed to enter once a year, and only at the invitation of his cousin Doris (Kay Cummings). Imagine Doris’ shock when Neil shows up the next day as a guest of pampered Radcliffe student Brenda Patimkin (Ali McGraw). Hers is a land marinated in the absurdity of the nouveau riche, where nose jobs are obligatory parts of the effort to make what is already pretty even prettier. The two lead roles are performed perfectly and the film is pleasant to watch, thanks to the light localization work of cinematographer Gerald Hirschfelds (Fail Safe, Young Frankenstein). All he needed was a director, a task Larry Peerce clearly wasn’t up to. The foreground we see is a tight close-up of a rippling navel, of a sizzling pool on the edge of a greased hotplate waiting for a beach ball to fall on it. When faced with a crowd, Peerce does his best to make his way out of things or whole ass scenes in a literally annoying way. Zoom on the overheating of an engine: cut on Neils Aunt Gladys lifting the lid of a pot of steaming peas. He later interrupts love in the attic by juxtaposing it with a slice of red meat.

The poster slogan “Every Father’s Daughter is a Virgin” was not suitable for printing. “Chicago Tribune”, July 13, 1969.

During the year following his release, Neil worked as a librarian. Assigned to the reception, he is approached by a young African American boy (Anthony McGowan), who asks Neil to direct him to the art section. A moralizing colleague who, the day before, had the child ejected, claims that he caught the boy in the piles, indulging himself with the paintings of Gauguin de Tahiti. Neil intervenes before his colleague follows through on his threat to alert the authorities. It turns out that the kid is suspicious of library cards, thinking they are a way to track him or even a form of punishment. He wonders why Neil encourages him to bring the book home. Don’t you want me here? he asks.

The exchanges are sincere, the performances convincing, and the dialogues 100% Roth, except for one word. The F-word was still about a year away from making his big screen debut in M ​​* ASH, and the thought of a 9-year-old summing up Gauguin’s work with, Man, ain’t that fucking life was never going to fly. And under Peerces ‘watch, we hear the boys second, isn’t that life spoken under Neil entering Klugmans’ circular four-car driveway. FYI: The Bren in Brenda means fire in Yiddish, an idea art director Emanuel Gerard was clearly aware of. There is almost as much red in the Patimkin house as there is the Harrys Bar in Vertigo. At first glance, the driveway and exterior of the Westchester Mansion are ablaze with crimson: a sports car, shingles, and the front door bleed in Technicolor red. The curtains in the dining room are so red that they could catch fire and no one would notice. On another spectacular (and perfect) production design note, may I draw your attention to the pinnacle of ’60s chic, a wood-paneled basement game room with a wet bar, ping-pong table and a refrigerator stocked with orchards worth of fresh fruit.

My high school English teacher was a fiercely progressive educator, and with staples such as The Catcher in the Rye and Romeo and Juliet, Ms. Rosow sprinkled her curriculum with the seemingly taboo tastes of Erich Fromms The Art of Loving and Germaine Greers The Female Eunuque. Having read the book shortly after seeing the movie, I was delighted to see Goodbye, Columbus on her must-read list. I knew I could ask Ms. Rosow anything, so I did. There was a moment in the movie that didn’t appear in the otherwise faithful adaptation that I needed help with. As he walks away after a frustrating romance session in the front seats, Neil stops the car and runs to the trunk. There he shakes and cleans the bumper as if it were a bar. Ms Rosow explained that physical exertion is the fastest way for a man to lose his erection.

The wedding scene alone was enough to spark outrage: slobbering guests on a buffet table like pigs in a drinking trough. This was my first sighting of Jack Klugman, and I couldn’t have been more thrilled to meet this hunter. As Brenda’s father, Ben, he uses the palm of his hand like a cork to shake the dressing bottle when the cork is out of reach. And that’s nothing compared to the barbarian Ben using a knife and a Ritz cracker to behead a chopped liver chicken. Alas, Peerce has no idea how to time a gag, and so wastes what could have been a closely watched climax in favor of a free-for-all.

One of the most problematic aspects surrounding the film’s release was the poster’s slogan: Every father’s daughter is a virgin. Newspapers refused to show it in their advertisements. Cinema owners would snip the poster with duct tape to cover up the offending word. But the theater dad and I attended left the poster hanging uncut. Larry lingered on the poster, but by then we had already parked the car and there was no way to turn around. Even the old jagoff at the ticket office couldn’t get in my way. This is adult material, he warned before punching our tickets. Are you sure you want your child to see it? He read the book, Dad answered, handing him a five. All this, and he obligingly fell asleep during the naked bath. Thank you dad!

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