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We
open somewhere near an army base in West Germany, where our focus centers on
the crew of an armored tank out on maneuvers,
especially the very familiar looking gentleman
manning the gun. Receiving his orders, Cpl.
Tulsa MacLean (Elvis
Presley) locks on the objective,
fires, and then watches as the target is obliterated.
With another direct hit to notch on his
belt, as Tulsa's bestest bud, Cookie (Robert Ivers),
brags up
our boy's shooting skills while jamming
another shell into the breach, Rick (James Douglas),
the tank's driver, agrees with this
assessment but thinks
Tulsa has even better hand-eye coordination
when dealing with
the opposite sex. With that established the tank
commander, Sgt.
"Dynamite" Bixby (Edson
Stroll), tries
to get his men refocused on the task at
hand, but it's kinda hard to stay alert
with the constant cross-chatter on the radio about the
companies' impending transfer to Frankfurt
-- and all the frauleins found therein.
Das
ist gut, ja? Ja!
And since he'll be too
busy saying goodbye to several local
ladies, Tulsa breaks the bad news to Cookie and
Rick that he won't be able to play with
them at the club later. But since their combo,
The Three Blazers, worked
so hard to get that gig, meaning they can't back out
now, with a little cajoling, Cookie gets him to
reconsider as the exercise
ends. With that, the armored patrol rumbles back to
base, but along
the way, their tank breaks a track, thanks
to the easily distracted Rick and his subplot about some girl
named Marla, drawing the wrath of First Sgt. McGraw (Arch
Johnson). After berating these goldbricks for goofing off and wrecking
Uncle Sam's property, McGraw also demands the $300 dollars Tulsa
owes him. Well, apparently, Tulsa's prowess at
the con isn't half bad either as he easily
gets McGraw onto a different subject --
namely women. (Okay
it wasn't all that hard.)
And when Dynamite offers to fix his
superior up with date later, McGraw
eagerly excuses him from the exercise, leaving
the other three behind to fix the tread. Seems
that compared to Dynamite, when it comes
to women, our boy Tulsa is a lowly
private.
Later,
the Blazers get some bad news at the club,
where apparently, the owner has changed his mind
until they offer to play
for free, which magically changes his mind
again in the trio's favor.
Taking up their instruments, the Blazers
crank up the cadence for "G.I.
Blues" -- a hideously
infectious song that will be stuck in your
head for about a year and half.
(And sharp eyes will notice that the
back-up band, decked out in frills and
lederhosen, consists of Scotty Moore, Bill
Black and DJ Fontana.) When the audience
goes berserk for them -- I guess they
can't get the song out of their heads
either, the owner is so pleased he
decides to pay the trio anyway. But as
Tulsa takes
the money, McGraw is back on subject and
wants his $300, the sum total of the
Blazer's pay. Working his magic again, Tulsa
tries to get the money back by offering the Sarge a
partnership in The Three Blazer's Nightclub,
that'll open back in Oklahoma once they're discharged. (What?
His name is Tulsa? Did you think it was
gonna be in Ohio?)
McGraw
finally agrees to terms when Tulsa promises he can be in charge of the dancing
girls, and as their set continues,
I'm amazed that we're only
about thirteen minutes into the feature
and we're on our fourth song
already, a slow ballad, that a few other G.I.s
in the audience don't like. Wanting
something more up tempo, one of them puts a nickel in the jukebox, and then
punches up Elvis Presley's "Blue
Suede Shoes." And
as the
Jukebox drowns out the band, who take
umbrage with this development, I think we all
know where this is headed ... After Tulsa decks the
Joe by the Juke, triggering a brawl, the fight continues until they hear the MP's
coming. Gathering up their instruments,
the Blazers safely skedaddle out the back way.
The
following morning, while the company waits for the
train to Frankfurt, Tulsa tries to fleece
the other $300 they need to get the lease
for their Nightclub, but McGraw isn't
biting today. As he breaks the bad news to
Cookie and Rick, Rick is too
preoccupied with his Marla subplot to be
bothered with that now. When
the company they're replacing arrives, Dynamite
is drawn into a testosterone-fueled pissing
contest with Turk (Jeremy
Slate). Seems these dueling lotharios are
legendary in the 10th Armored, and word
has gotten around that Turk struck out in
Frankfurt with a certain dancer at the
Cafe Europa named Lilly. When Turk claims she's
an ice queen that no one can thaw, Dynamite
counters, and bets $50 that he can defrost
her and spend the night at Lilly's pad.
Taking that bet, Turk
even gives him a week to get it done. This wager,
of course, brings plenty of
side bets, and Tulsa sees a quick way to
double their $300 to the $600 they need;
for with Dynamite on
the prowl, the trio can't lose. But just as
the bet is placed, their Captain
assembles the men before boarding and
lectures them on proper conduct during
their tour of duty in Frankfurt. Singling
out Dynamite as as example of how NOT to
conduct yourself, and since his kind of womanizing will no longer be tolerated,
he's being transferred, immediately, to
Alaska, where he can work his magic on the
polar bears.
With
that development, seeing their club going
up in smoke, the Blazers try to talk Turk
into letting them out of the bet, but it's
a no go. However, Turk is altruistic enough to
allow them to substitute someone in for
Dynamite. And there's only one man suited for
that
job, right?
It's
that time of year again, folks, the
first week of January, and you all know
what that means, right? E'yup, that's right.
Hail to the King, baby! as we continue
our tradition of celebrating m'man Elvis
Presley's birthday by skewering another one
of his fine fractured feature films. And
this year, we're gonna take
a look at the first one he made after
he got out of the army: G.I.
Blues --
oddly appropriate, but it also proved to be a
turning point in his film career.
Unfortunately,
for the Big E, it was the wrong turn.
As
Presley's hitch in the army came down to its
final few weeks, producer Hal Wallis
visited him in Germany to hash out the
details of their next film and to get some
needed footage of the tank maneuvers.
Frankly, Presley wasn't really thrilled
about the subject matter of his comeback
feature, complaining that he was about to
get out of uniform, and now, Wallis and
Colonel Parker, wanting to cash in on the
built in publicity of his impending
discharge, were going to put him right
back into one for the scheduled
eleven-week shoot. On top of all that,
Presley was seriously distracted by
something else occupying his mind at the
time, namely winning his way into the good
graces of Air Force Captain Paul
Beaulieu and gain permission to date his
daughter, Priscilla.
Wallis,
meanwhile, turned his attention to scriptwriter Edward Beloin, who
had written most of Bob Hope's spy
comedies during the '40s, and seasoned
director Norman Taurog, who would go on
to ramrod nine more Elvis productions, to helm
G.I. Blues. When this collaboration
resulted in a huge box-office smash, Wallis and Parker, unfortunately,
saw no need to rock the boat and would go
on to use it as a template set in
concrete,
meaning almost all of Presley's films that followed
were nothing more than a carbon-copy of G.I.
Blues,
a formula that broke down thusly:
-
Elvis
would play a race-car driver, a
cliff diver, a roustabout, a chopper
pilot etc.
-
Elvis
was usually either the offspring of
wealth who was trying to strike out
on his own, or the polar opposite: someone who came from nothing who
tries to escape the trappings of
fame and fortune after hitting it
big.
-
The
film would take place in an exotic
locale like Hawaii, Acapulco, Hawaii
or, um, Hawaii.
-
Elvis
had to use his kung-fu skills on
somebody at least once before the
first reel ended -- usually on Red
West.
-
Elvis
always had to have a comedic foil or
odious comedy relief to play off of.
-
Elvis
would have to spontaneously combust
into song, no matter where he was or
what the situation might be,
approximately once every 7.8 minutes
during the film.
-
Elvis
had to find a girl, and then lose
the girl due to some simple or
trivial misunderstanding, usually
involving an older woman wanting to
get her hooks into our boy, until the
grand finale when the truth is
revealed, bringing them back
together again.
The
rest, as they say, is cinematic history as
this formula constantly came up sevens for Wallis,
Parker, and Presley, who all made a ton
of money, since people kept buying tickets
to see the same damned thing over and over
again, and any hope of a more substantial film
career went up in smoke. As for who was
truly at fault for this impending train wreck
come to pass, the "blame net"
needs to be cast far and wide. In Last
Train to Memphis: The Rise of Elvis
Presley,
volume one of Peter Guralnick's
exceptional biography of the late icon,
when the author talks about why he wanted
to write the book, the author makes this very
poignant observation:
"I wrote about
[Elvis Presley] a number of times over the
years, seeking in one way or another to
rescue him from both his detractors and
his admirers."
Wanting
to ignore the fame and the infamy,
Guralnick gets down to the essence of
Elvis -- his music. The author also rightfully
points out that those who were closest to
him and the fans who loved him -- no
matter what he did or how bad he got, even
when he became a grotesque caricature of
himself --
did more damage as enablers than those who openly
criticized him, pimped him out, or fed him pills.
To this, I should plead guilty, too,
albeit posthumously, as I really didn't
get into Elvis until after he was dead.
And yes, he is dead. For this I blame my
mother, mostly, and that damned "Moody Blue"
8-track that played constantly at our
house when I was a younger brat back
in the '70s. It wasn't until later that I
truly began to appreciate the guy for what
he was and what he did. I don't
think I belong to the lunatic fringe of
Elvis fanatics. Honest. Heck, I admitted
he was dead didn't I? The only time I get
a little crazy is when I have to defend
him to some cretin who only knew him from
the end times, when he was drugged,
bloated, and destined to die on the
toilet, trying to pinch one off. But, we
aren't at that point yet. And though the
ultimate end may be an inevitable
disaster, at the time of its production, G.I.
Blues marked the Big E's return to the
big screen. So, for now, let's just enjoy
the ride while we can...
On
the long train ride to Frankfurt, Tulsa
worries he hasn't got the right stuff to
*ahem* deflower Lily, but with Cookie's reassurance, our boy
is soon ready to rock and roll. And since
they're on a
train bound for Frankfurt, and this is and Elvis
movie, Tulsa sings a song about a train
going to Frankfurt. Upon arrival, Rick
peels off to
take care of his Marla subplot while the others
head to the Cafe Europa to catch Lily's act. After
completing her lengthy number, when Lily (Juliet
Prowse) tries to return to her
dressing room, so she can un-spool
herself out of that kinky Barbarella
costume, a lecherous audience member
latches on to her. And after
all attempts to politely extricate
herself go for naught, Lily takes up a pitcher
of beer and dumps it over Mr. Grab-Fanny's
head to
cool him off.
And
I could be wrong, but I think this letch
might be Colonel Tom Parker -- and
if it was, she should have busted the
thing over his head, or at least
transfer him to Alaska where, hopefully,
a polar bear will eat him.
Watching
all of this, Tulsa realizes his work is
more than cut out for him as he moseys up to
Lily at the bar, where things start out
earnestly enough until the always helpful Cookie fouls things
up by volunteering Tulsa
to sing a song just as the ice was
starting to break. For while he sings,
Lily tries to sneak off until the club
owner steps in, wanting her to apologize
and make nice to the
customer she drenched. Thinking fast, Lily
gets out of it,
saying she promised to spend the evening
with two American G.I.s, which is why Tulsa
and Cookie, figuring they'd struck out
already, are so surprised when Lily tracks
them down. After Tulsa encourages Cookie to get
lost -- before he tries to help again,
Lily asks to be taken somewhere else
before the manager changes his mind.
They wind up at another cafe, where Tulsa
winds up singing yet another song, this
time accompanied by several accordions (--
'cuz nothing says romance like a Stomach
Steinway). Finding
the American very charming, Lily decides
to stick with him, and as they move on,
Tulsa begs to go somewhere he won't have
to sing again. When she suggests they go back to
her place, where she can make him a
sandwich of liederkranz und pumpernickel,
Tulsa thinks that's a swell idea ... When
they reach her apartment, Tulsa can
hardly believe that he's going to win the bet
on the first
night as they head inside -- only to find Cookie already
there, putting the moves on Tina (Leticia
Roman), a waitress he fell for
back at the Europa. Apparently, Lily and Tina are
roommates, and since the bet explicitly says Tulsa has to
be alone with Lily, the evening's
golden opportunity is blown to
smithereens. With that, the men
quickly bow out, saying they have to
report back to the base, but promise to
meet up again once they score another
pass.
Back
at the base, Tulsa manages to get out off
guard duty and finagles a trio of three-day
passes for himself, Cookie and Rick from
the gullible McGraw. Rick, of course,
quickly disappears into his
mysterious Marla subplot again, leaving Tulsa and Cookie
to conspire on how to get Tina out
of the apartment so our boy can hook up
with his mark again. But its Tulsa and
Lily who leave the apartment as the film is padded out with
some scenic travelogue footage of
beautiful Frankfurt -- sister city of
Copenhagen, perhaps? Ooo-ooo, maybe
Reptilicus will attack here, too,
and Elvis can work his kung-fu on him! No?
Ah,
well. A guy can dream ... After a lengthy boat ride, Tulsa
commandeers a puppet show to profess his
growing affection for Lily. (He
has to use puppets for this? The man
definitely has communication issues. Me? I
think hand-puppets are just creepy.)
And when their afternoon adventure ends on a sky-tram,
the couple's affection for each other
is mutually confirmed. On
the way back to the apartment, Tulsa is
uncharacteristically silent. Seems he's starting
to feel guilty about the wager. This
endeavor may have started over money, but he's
really falling in love with Lily. When the
girl mistakes his sullenness for being tuckered
out after a long day and promises a
quiet night at her place after she
performs at the club, this is the last
thing the guilt-stricken
Tulsa needed to hear.
That
night, while she prepares to go on stage, Tulsa
enters Lily's dressing room and breaks it
off cold. Using the excuse that with his
situation, always moving around in the
army and all, it's better to end it now
before things gets too complicated. The
bottom line is, he doesn't want to see
Lily get hurt -- but I think it's a little
too late for that concern ... After leaving the shell-shocked
Lily, Tulsa
finds Cookie waiting for him. Unaware of
his friend's change of heart, he offers
that he got rid of Tina for the night, but
is soon
shell-shocked, too, when his friend admits
the bet is off. Before he can explain, Tulsa
gets a
message that Rick's been looking for him.
[...Rick? Rick who? Oh, yeah. That guy.]
And after tracking Rick down, the Marla
subplot finally springs upon us. It seems
lovelorn Rick has been looking for his
beloved Marla (Sigrid
Maier) ever since she disappeared after finding out she was pregnant.
Well, the [nine-month long] search has
finally ended and now they need Tulsa to baby-sit
Rick Jr. while the parents go off and get
hitched. And even though there's
nothing in the G.I. Manual about taking care
of infants -- but it can't be that much
different than field-stripping an M-1
Carbine, right? -- Tulsa agrees. Assured that Junior will probably
sleep the whole time they're gone,
however, as comedy often dictates, as soon as they
leave, the baby immediately starts crying.
And when the G.I. Manual fails on all fronts, and
since he
can't use judo on the infant, Tulsa
calls Lily at the club for reinforcements. Hearing the
baby crying in the background, she tells
him to come over to her place. Now, I
would question why Lily doesn't go to
them, but it's plot-essential that they go
to her pad. Why? Hang on, we're getting
there.
Overhearing
all of this, Cookie, who doesn't know about the
baby, and thinking the bet is back on, runs interference with Tina
while sending the
rest of the squad back to the apartment to
see if Tulsa can
pull it off. Taking up a position across
the street, the men watch as a cab pulls
up and Tulsa gets out, carrying a basket.
They can't see it's a baby, either, and assume it
must be food. Inside
the apartment, Lily talks Tulsa into
singing Junior a lullaby while she warms
up some milk, bringing our song count up
to a whopping total of ten. Soon,
the baby is sound asleep, and Tulsa thinks
it would be best to take him home while he's
still out. Lily agrees, but neither one of them
really wants to part company. So, when she goes to
round up Junior's things, Tulsa quickly nudges
the basket until the baby wakes up. In the
other room, hearing the baby start to cry,
Lily gets excited, and they both happily agree that
they should all just stay put ... When the sun comes
up the next morning, the weary G.I.s across
the street watch as Tulsa leaves the
apartment, who promises to meet Lily later that
afternoon at the rehearsal for the big Armed
Forces show. The other G.I.s still don't
know about the baby and figure Tulsa *ahem*
deflowered
the lily,
meaning they won the bet. One of the crew,
however, bet against Tulsa, and while he pays up,
Lily overhears all this with growing
concern. And later, at the rehearsal,
McGraw gets Tulsa into even more hot-water
by talking about the bet with Turk in front of
Lily. As Tulsa tries to make her believe that he
honestly called the bet off, Lily doesn't
want to hear it, thinking this smarmy cad
would stoop to using someone's baby to win
a seedy bet. Worse yet, the
Captain has gotten wind of this and plans to
take disciplinary action against Tulsa for
fraternizing with the locals. And while the MPs round
up Tulsa, Lily hears
a baby crying and finds Marla with baby
Junior. When the mother confirms that Tulsa was
telling the truth, together, the women explain
to the Captain that there was no
hanky-panky that night, and they were
really and honestly just baby-sitting. The
Captain is swayed, and asks if they'd be free to
watch his twins the following weekend.
So
all is well -- except Tulsa really wants to ask Lilly
something, but when he can't quite put it into
words, she helps him out by agreeing to
marry him. A gob-smacked Tulsa can hardly believe
it, and then Lily
also promises, that tonight, after the
show, he will most definitely be
winning that bet with Turk.
Hail
to the King, baby.
The
End
Before
filming commenced on G.I. Blues, Frank Sinatra
hosted The
Frank Sinatra-Timex Welcome Home Elvis
Special,
held at the Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami.
Sinatra, a former Elvis basher, welcomed
his rival crooner back, and they even sang a duet
together. This détente quickly ended,
though. At the time, Sinatra was engaged to
Elvis' co-star and resented all the steamy
and unseemly tabloid attention these two
were getting, and the engagement was soon
called off over irreconcilable differences.
Prowse would later admit to an affair with
Presley during shooting, but just like
with Sinatra, it wasn't destined to last
for very long. It should also be noted
that Wallis sent a
second unit crew over to West Germany to film
some inserts, and all those long shots of
Tulsa and Lilly running around Frankfurt
are just two anonymous stand-ins.
Now,
G.I.
Blues
isn't a terrible film and I like it quite a
bit. The songs are catchy enough, and the
story is okay -- except for a few, clumsy,
plot-specific hiccups, but there is plenty
of fun to be had. It's part of
Elvis's Silver Age of Movies that includes
Flaming
Star
and
Wild in the Country.
This, of course, followed the Golden Age of Loving
You
and King
Creole.
But after the Gold and Silver Ages, we plummet
straight to the Stone Age with the likes
of Follow
that Dream,
Harum
Scarum
and Kissin'
Cousins,
where even a few flashes of brilliance
like Viva Las Vegas couldn't right
the floundering ship.
If
this write up comes off as a tad bit
bitter to you, you're absolutely correct.
This is a subject of which I am
very passionate. Sometimes, blindly. The reason I like
Elvis Presley so much is very simple: the man could
sing. And he sung with a lot of heart and
soul and resonance -- no matter what he
was singing about. He could be singing
gospel, about loves lost, his shoes, or even
to clams,
and it would strike a chord with me. You
can throw out all the other crap -- the
lifestyle, the Cadillacs, the Memphis
Mafia, the countless B-Movies, the '68
Comeback Special, his downward spiral
and tragic death, and his eventual resurrection
as pop icon right out the door. The man
had true passion, and you can hear it in
his voice, and it's something to be
reckoned with if we'd all just shut-up and
listen.
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