Tashlin and Grossman’s standard romp makes for valuable instruction on where John Williams comes from, historically and creatively.
Should you ever have the chance to meet John Williams in person, there’s a non-zero chance he’ll call you “baby.” He says “baby” a lot, in fact. He called JJ Abrams “baby” (at least once) while recording The Force Awakens. After all, Williams honed his craft playing piano in New York jazz clubs in his 20s, likely still wearing the same black turtleneck he sports today. At his heart, John Williams is a beatnik, and his earliest forays into film composition reflect that easygoing cool. Valley of the Dolls is light and springy. A Guide for the Married Man beams with Herb Alpert and sunshine pop influences. Unsurprisingly, his gigs slumming for B-movie junk more than bested the actual on-screen dreck like Daddy-O.
In hindsight, it seems obvious that Williams would more than rise above some of the material he was cutting his teeth on; “Johnny Williams,” as he was often credited especially during his TV years, also feared he’d be confused with the English thespian of the same name. Both apply to Bachelor Flat, the Frank Tashlin/Budd Grossman comedy playing this Sun in the Chazen Art Museum. An English paleontologist (Terry-Thomas) crashes at his fiancee’s apartment while she’s out of town. Much to the detriment of Professor Patterson’s civility, his bride-to-be’s daughter Libby (Tuesday Weld) ends up overstaying her welcome, posing as a troublesome orphan while managing to attract the romantic interests of Patterson’s amorous neighbor (Richard Beymer).
The loose morals and bad manners at play are amusing enough, and Weld has a tremendous energy to her performance. What makes Bachelor Flat notable though is just how rare its music is. Apart from Intrada Records’ out-of-print double-release with How to Steal A Million (Williams’ real break in Hollywood), nabbing yourself a recording of this score is pretty tough.
For the desperate, there’s YouTube, specifically a soundtrack suite. A sassy 1-2 sax-driven mambo mixes up the early ornamental sections as an eccentric accompaniment for Gladys (a marvelous Francesca Bellini), who tries to pierce Patterson’s stoicism with an impromptu picnic. Williams also dials up the color for a slow grind of a swing for Libby to tap to her heart’s content while cooking up an unsuspecting breakfast.
Libby’s actual theme then is less showy, a sweet, sinking four-note motive that Williams is keen to repeat and vary. When she and Beymer’s Mike Pulaski fall for one another, it punctuates a kiss on the beach. A slower, sadder iteration is teased when Libby tries to leave the professor, and a more fraught, searching version plays when Pulaski figures out her “dangerous juvenile” act.
The first 20 minutes are filled to the brim with music, a decent a chunk of which is front-loaded in the suite’s opening march, but Tashlin and Grossman allow their gags and slapstick scenarios room to breathe. Bachelor Flat is standard operating procedure, and it’s a good standard, a valuable instruction on where John Williams comes from, historically and creatively. As Mike’s dachsund (who also gets a credit) drags Professor Patterson’s prized dinosaur bone through the California sands, a samba blares out a full-throated brassy groove. As indulgent numbers go, it’s dynamite, baby.
- UW Cinematheque presents Bachelor Flat on Sun, Feb 12 at 2:00p in the Chazen Art Museum. Admission is FREE and open to the public.