As the Summer cinema season gives way to the Fall, yet another compelling feature documentary joins a most impressive 2018 roster. And as with several earlier releases, it is part of the show biz sub-genre of docs. It’s main focus (and marketing draw) is an insider look into the “golden age” of studio movies, though close to its waning days after the end of WWII and into the mid-fifties, when television began to chip away at their luster. But this is no flowery puff profile waxing nostalgic about those glory days of iconic “larger than life” movie stars. That’s because many of them had to “act” all the time, in and out of the sound stages, carefully evading any hint of scandal. We saw a bit of this is the fictionalized story of a studio “fixer” a couple years ago in the Coen Brothers’ HAIL CAESAR. This is the unvarnished “real deal” from, not a fixer, but an “arranger”, a man, now in his 90’s, who’s “spilling the beans” and naming names. Be prepared, all you TCM (Turner Classic Movies) fans, brace yourself, here comes SCOTTY AND THE SECRET HISTORY OF HOLLYWOOD.
The title name is the affectionate moniker of Scott Bowers, a spry, beloved senior citizen still working as a private party bartender in the Los Angeles area. But mixologist was not always his main profession. As the film begins, he’s promoting the paperback release of his scandalous “tell all” memoir “Full Service”. And what is he telling? After serving as a Marine in World War II, Scott decided that he would not return to his hometown of Ottawa, Illinois. Instead he went from combat in the Pacific to a job on the Pacific Coast, specifically working as a “grease monkey” at a Richfield Oil gas station in a prime location on Hollywood Boulevard right across from the entrance gate to a big movie studio. The handsome young vet soon caught the eye of a closeted screen actor, who invited him to “cool off” at his private swimming pool. It wasn’t long before pumping gas became Scotty’s “cover job”. He was the paid paramour of stars of both genders. The station itself was a meeting place for the “discreet elite”, with its restrooms an “action hot spot”. And when Scotty became too “busy” he recruited several of his old service pals who he sent out on “jobs” (of course Scotty got a “taste”). And somehow he avoided scandal, though Confidential magazine did allude to perhaps his most astounding escapade (Ava and Lana, together). As the film studio system faded in the early sixties, still rugged Scotty became a property manager for a lover who later willed his houses to him. The film makers follow Scotty on his daily routines to these houses, along with side trips to visit with former members of his stable. And as he remembers those wild times, we learn how Scotty has somewhat settled down, enjoying a decades long marriage to cabaret singer Lois, who doesn’t really care about her hubby’s notorious past (“What Scotty did before I met him doesn’t matter”). As yet another birthday nears, Scotty must come to terms with his mortality while riding high on a new wave of fame and controversy.
In addition to being part of the “Show biz” feature documentary sub-genre, SCOTTY is part of another select group: the doc that starts its focus on one thing or direction, then changes course during the filming (often due to outside influences). For example, THE QUEEN OF VERSAILLES started as a loose kitchy comic look at the tacky plans of a too wealthy family then turned into a dark tale of greed and a family straining under a financial crisis. WEINER was to be an “underdog” political comeback tale of triumph, until the title subject’s moral weaknesses led to disaster. In this film’s bouncy first half hour or so, director Matt Tyrnauer presents us with a charming hustler who’s not slowing down when others are shuffling to the rockin’ chair. He delights in lifting the veil on the rose-colored views of the past, while Tranauer punches up these tales with fast-cutting photo and film montages. As we see those golden icons flash past we gasp, “Her? Him? I never thought! He was really..?” as Scotty goes against the grain of his “greatest generation” by denouncing old taboos and scandals. It’s fun to revisit his partners in play, who seem to grow more youthful with each spicy anecdote. Then comes the dark detour. As Tyrnauer tags along with Scotty on his daily rounds it becomes obvious that this free spirit is now a prisoner of a common compulsion: hoarding. Scotty slows as he sees a toliet near an alley trash pick-up (“The wife would throw a fit, but…it’s in pretty good shape”). Then at the garages, we see his boxes and tubs nearly collapse upon him as he opens the door making the old radio shows gags about Fibber McGee’s overstuffed closet lose their levity. This spills into his home , leaving the couple only two or three places to sit while exterior repairs are ignored. We’re then treated to the parts of Scotty’s mind that aren’t so bubbly and joyous. He’s still haunted by the losses of his first wife and his big brother. In this time of “MeToo” and clergy abuse headlines, Scotty’s belief that his coupling with several priests was not a bad thing (“I knew what I was doin’. I was in control.”) will make your head spin. In the last scenes we see that Scotty is fighting his own mortality, thinking that the years won’t slow him down. In one of the cinema year’s most nail-biting sequences (equaling any Tom Cruise stunt in the newest MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE), the ninety-something subject climbs a rickety ladder to walk about a roof (two or three stories up) and inspect the shingles (I imagine audiences muttering “Get off there” in hushed tones). Yes, the breezy “tinsel-town” tales of SCOTTY AND THE SECRET HISTORY OF HOLLYWOOD are fun, but it’s the story of how one man comes to terms with his last days that will resonate much longer.
4 Out of 5
SCOTTY AND THE SECRET HISTORY OF HOLLYWOOD opens everywhere and screens exclusively in the St. Louis area at Landmark’s Plaza Frontenac Cinemas
