[whispered] In case you haven’t noticed, this film is [screaming] DELICATE! Delicate like the wings of the titular “dragonfly,” in fact, as the poster helpfully informs us. Identically named, and apparently, as similarly “unforgettable” as Kevin Costner’s recent foray into sudsy sub-Shyamalan supernatural shammery, this sweet little who-knows (certainly not I) is evidently from none other than Gilbert Cates—yes that Gilbert Cates, the one who’s produced the Oscar telecast since 1990, the year that drove Miss Daisy to the Piggly Wiggly and millions of viewers to scratch their own eyes out. “Another dud from Beau Bridges!” yelled the top imdb comment as I did further research, which then had me trying to recall Beau Bridges films that don’t also feature Jeff Bridges (I just came up with one: Norma Rae! Further discussion one day about that film’s infamously chipper poster, which has always struck me as inappropriate for a somewhat gritty film about union organizing.)
But not to get off topic: Dragonfly is “a story of love (with a young and presumably bug-eyed as ever Susan Sarandon) and fear” (does a dragonfly the size of a Hawmp swoop down and eat them? Or at least lop off Beau’s head like Q: the Winged Serpent in mid-kiss?) I’m guessing the title is more metaphorical, judging by the PG rating and the general heart-shaped locket feel of the poster. In fact, my bets are on the narrative revolving on a dragonfly-shaped brooch or necklace, given to Susan S. the last fateful summer before reality came crashing in. Or something. Too bad I’ll never be able to find out, as this chestnut (file it maybe under Sensitive, Brooding Backwater Romances) seems to be unavailable; that’s unfortunate, since this poster, with its barely discernible shadow figures and morose grays, really had my pulse racing.
Something to kick off Halloween week. Or is it something to kick off Larry-David-Goes-a-Stabbing week? I’m not sure from this poster whether this neighborhood butcher kills what he loves or if he just loves to kill, but with its art-deco lettering, beige-and-blood painted canvas, and pair of really round, really oversized sunglasses with reflections of posed sexy sex right out of Morgan Fairchld’s The Seduction, this is a pretty beautiful piece of filth.
Yep, that’s Gene Hackman, Dennis Quaid, and some mustachioed guy (not John Ratzenberger, in fact) trying to put their hands up Barbra Streisand’s billowing dress while she slides down a pole. Some may assume that Babs, ever the shrinking violet, designed this poster herself (she who in her three-film directing career has included not one but two shots of a camera panning slowly up her own gorgeous gams); others may believe it was designed by the same wayward souls who tried sexing Streisand up in Superman shirts and, uh, water; but most will simply be left scratching their heads about the existence of this quickly forgotten 1980 goofy-gal-and-straight-laced-guy caper, a description which might be completely inaccurate since I have never seen it. Should I do a quick imdb check? Nah. I’ll just take in the pleasures of this stunning Streisand one-sheet, a category that is quickly becoming its own Poster of the Week subgenre (anyone remember Up the Sandbox? If not, I won’t spoil it for you….).
Back to the issue (cough) at hand: Dennis Quaid’s “aww, what the heck” goofy grin has suddenly taken on a weird malevolence as he gazes directly at what is presumably Babs’ bubbe briefs. My favorite touch, though (and it’s a bad touch): Gene’s fingers, which are way too close for comfort. Meanwhile, Fireman Ted just doesn’t want to be there. But sweet Babs is always game, even when her supposedly seductive, come-hither glance is reminiscent of a certain other sexy celeb.
Is there anything sadder?
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