Dominick Dunne, name-dropping novelist and celebrity journalist, managed to produce a few films in the seventies between dinner parties. I seem to recall reading that after he had produced "Ash Wednesday" he cleaned up his act and stopped drinking and drugging. Note the preposition used here: after. One can deduce that he wasn't operating at optimal performance when he did produce this 1973 Liz Taylor vehicle, and that may have contributed to its limited appeal.

The story is the classic crisis that befalls married women of a certain age. La Liz is over fifty, looks it, and scoots off to an Italian clinic for a little nip and tuck. I must admit that the makeup artist who aged Liz did a terrific job. (However, in real life, even when at 180 lbs., Liz never had so many wrinkles and sagging flesh and never will.) We watch her recover with all the other turbaned, scab-faced clients, and she befriends a lively, charming gay friend (Keith Baxter). Of course, once healed, she looks, as her 30-year-old daughter (Margaret Blye) later tells her, "absolutely fabulous." And why shouldn't she? Liz was a ripe and glorious forty at the time of filming.

Most of the time we're with La Liz as she waits for her stateside lawyer husband to join her at a chi-chi ski resort. We watch her obey--and break--the golden rules of anti-aging, as specified in the film: no smoking, restrict drinking, simple diet, shield yourself from the sun, and get cell therapy injections. To relieve her boredom, she schtups a handsome young stud (Helmut Berger) and is surprised she enjoys it. Hubby Henry Fonda finally arrives, and they celebrate Mardi Gras. However, even though she endured painful yet wildly successful surgery, he brings up the D word and lets her know he wants to divorce her for a younger woman. He leaves the next day, and La Liz's Fat Tuesday marriage is over. She now has to accept that today is Ash Wednesday, when she needs to repent her indulgent ways and start life anew.

The most controversial and bizarre part of this movie occurs during Liz's transition from frumpy hausfrau to femme fatale. Within the first twenty minutes, you're watching close-ups of surgical cuts, flapping skin, and flesh being stitched. Nowadays we're accustomed to seeing such things on the Health Channel or in your run-of-the-mill horror gore flick, but 1973 "women's pictures" didn't feature such stomach-churning scenes.

After the intensity of the gore, Liz does little to make us care about her. You see, La Liz is a bore, a needy, terrified bore. And director Larry Peerce doesn't give us any more Liz meat to gnaw on, just her relentless neediness and her self-delusion that surgery can save her marriage. It's easy to see why her husband is leaving her, but it's tougher to swallow that her fun-loving, gay facelift buddy would waste a fleeting thought on her. Liz's character reminds me of some of my friends who've spent hours over cocktails telling me how much--yawn--wisdom they have. (I obviously don't have it, because I sat and listened to their tripe.) Her only real appeal in this film is as a mannequin for the divoon furs and Valentino ensembles, because she totally lacks any personal charm.

Toward the end of the film, when the hubby makes it clear he wants out of the marriage, she does show signs of juicy, melodramatic life. It's then she demands he look at her surgical scars. "Each stitch is for you!" And then she grabs her breasts. "Aren't they beautiful?" Now why couldn't the film have been as over-the-top throughout? Why did it have all those quiet close-ups where characters spoke but said nothing worth remembering? She should have been smashing mirrors and champagne glasses and boinking a conga-line of studs while waiting for Henry the hubby. Now, that is La Liz!

The dialog in this sudsless soap lacks the garnishing of a good score to give it dramatic lift. Instead the theme song, which sounds haunting at first, is repeated ad nauseum until it's as stirring as a drippy faucet. But, although this fashion showcase cum romance movie has lifeless writing, it does offer eye candy over and above La Liz's Mimi-blue eyeshadow and orange lip color. The resort's interior decor was littered with flocked fleur-de-lis amidst lattice and fern patterns. Yes, this was the height of ugliness in the Ugly Decade, when designs were excessive and eclectic, and you can actually picture the real-life Liz and occasional hubby Dickie Boy Burton hurling four-letter words and throwing punches within such Eurofab walls for a grateful paparazzi.

I suppose we should thank Dunne for his wanton ways, because without them, this silly, cold, and gory film may never have graced the silver screen. There are so few films which offer surgery and ugly interior design as their strengths that "Ash Wednesday" deserves to be in a category all its own.

Postscript:
La Liz was nominated for a Golden Globe for this role.

Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: VHS
Video Occasion: Good for Groups
Suitability For Children: Not suitable for Children of any age