“A MIXED CAN OF SPINACH”

By Raymond Benson

When I first saw Popeye on the big screen on its initial release in December of 1980, I was disappointed and a little appalled. I was (and still am) a huge Robert Altman fan, and I had been expecting great things. The film touted the first motion picture appearance by Robin Williams as well (although he’d had in a small role in a 1977 picture). Anticipation was high.

Popeye received very mixed reviews, but it made a decent amount of money at the box office (however, it was considered a flop by Paramount and Disney, the studio that co-produced the picture), and became an object of derision in Hollywood for years. Altman was unable to get big studio backing for over a decade, so he moved to Europe and made small pictures there.

Then—home video turned the movie around. Popeye became a best-selling VHS tape for children, and its reputation improved. Audiences started to admit that there were some rather good things about Popeye. Now a 40th Anniversary Blu-ray disk from Paramount has been released, and the movie’s charms can be appreciated even more.

There’s no question that Popeye is a mixed bag of spinach. Altman’s directorial style always involved much improvisation, a messy mise-en-scène, overlapping and sometimes indecipherable dialogue, and a quirky sensibility. In Altman’s best works, these traits are assets. In Popeye, not so much. There are also sequences that drag on too long, especially the climactic sequence that involves a chase involving two extremely slow-moving boats. The script, by Jules Feiffer, is also decidedly weak, but there are some clever moments and funny lines (it’s unknown if these were ad libs).

That said, Altman’s vision for the movie was downright brilliant, and the designers and actors rendered that concept with remarkable success. Altman set out to make a live-action cartoon that captured the original E. C. Segar comic strip and the early Fleischer animated shorts. By hiring inventive actors who could transform themselves into the surreal characters, and costuming them appropriately, Altman accomplished the task of truly creating another world. It also helped that the entire village of Sweethaven was built on the island of Malta, where the production was made (that village still exists today as a tourist attraction). The production/sets and costume designs deserved Academy Award nominations, but that didn’t happen.

Popeye (Williams) is searching for his “pappy” (Poopdeck Pappy, played by Ray Walston), and he arrives by rowboat in Sweethaven. There Popeye is immediately taxed for everything, including for asking questions, by the Taxman (Donald Moffat). He “renks a room” from the boarding house run by the Oyl family—Cole (MacIntyre Dixon), who continually spouts that everyone “owes him an apology,” his wife Nana (Roberta Maxwell), Castor (Donovan Scott), their son, and, of course, Olive (Shelley Duvall), their daughter. Olive Oyl is engaged to be married to Bluto (Paul L. Smith), the meanest man in town and enforcer for the “Commodore,” the unseen authoritarian of the village. Olive doesn’t want to marry Bluto, but she makes the motions to do so. Then, Olive and Popeye find an abandoned baby—the scene-stealing Swee’Pea (played by Wesley Ivan Hurt, who is Altman’s grandson). Olive and Popeye bond over Swee’Pea, and the story then becomes one of Popeye attempting to win over the villagers, defeat Bluto, discover the identity of the mysterious Commodore, and find his pappy.

Robin Williams does an admirable job and is quite winning in the role, although his mumblings and mutterings, ad libbed or not, are often unintelligible (it helps to turn on the subtitles on the Blu-ray disk—something we couldn’t do in the cinema in 1980!). The standout in the entire movie is Shelley Duvall—as Altman proclaims in the “making of” documentary on the disk, Duvall was “born to play Olive Oyl,” and this statement is absolutely correct. It was a great year for Duvall, who had earlier starred in Kubrick’s The Shining. These were two wildly different roles. Her Olive Oyl serves to prove that Shelley Duvall is an underrated, wonderful actress who should have been recognized as a major talent.

Smith as Bluto is appropriately villainous. Walston is a hoot as Pappy. Paul Dooley is perfectly cast as Wimpy, who insists he will pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today. The real gems, however, are the extras in the village portrayed by circus performers, acrobats, and clowns who can perform jaw-dropping physical stunts. The great Bill Irwin especially shines as Ham Gravy, who is constantly kicking his hat along the paths, unable to retrieve it.

Then there is the music. Yes, Popeye is a musical. The songs were written by Harry Nilsson (!) and arranged and conducted by the talented Van Dyke Parks. They are performed by the non-singer actors. There is a certain charm to them, but the songs are rather weak and unmemorable. In 1980, I felt that the music was what sunk the ship—however, on the recent revisit, I found the songs appropriately eccentric and fitting. Beatles fans alert—look for Klaus Voorman (collaborator with the Fab Four in the 1960s) as the conductor of the onscreen band.

Paramount’s new Blu-ray sports a beautiful restoration that looks fantastic. Supplements include an interesting behind-the-scenes documentary on the making of the film; a featurette on the different players and their approaches to the characterizations; a slideshow from the film’s Hollywood premiere (spot the celebrities on the red carpet!); and the ability to play each song from the movie separately. The late Robert Altman and late Robin Williams appear in interviews shot in 1999 and 2014, respectively.

Popeye is worth a return visit, certainly for Shelley Duvall and little Wesley Ivan Hurt. There are genuine laughs to be had, and the movie is a curiosity that isn’t nearly so bad as the picture was first made out to be. It’s got charm and wit and is a visual delight. So, go holler, “Blow me down,” have some spinach, and enjoy.

(The Blu-ray also includes a digital download version.)

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