Some Call It Loving


1h 43m 1973
Some Call It Loving

Brief Synopsis

A wealthy musician buys a sleeping woman from a carnival but gets a surprise when she awakens.

Film Details

MPAA Rating
Genre
Romance
Drama
Fantasy
Release Date
1973

Technical Specs

Duration
1h 43m

Synopsis

A lonely man goes to a carnival and buys a woman who has been sleeping for eight years. When he wakes her up, he gets a surprise.

Film Details

MPAA Rating
Genre
Romance
Drama
Fantasy
Release Date
1973

Technical Specs

Duration
1h 43m

Articles

Some Call It Loving -


Spectators who like to keep their fairy tales innocent, their pornography sordid, their allegories obvious and their dreams intact," wrote critic Jonathan Rosenbaum in the pages of Film Comment in 1975, "are bound to be disconcerted by James B. Harris' haunting Some Call It Loving... which pursues the improbabilities of dream logic to clarify rather than mystify, and tough-mindedly concerns itself with the processes and consequences of dreaming." At that point, Rosenbaum was championing a movie that had screened to considerable favor at the 1973 Cannes Film Festival and had received high marks from the French critics only to tank dismally upon the occasion of its American premiere. Buried by its distributor, Some Kind of Loving nosedived into celluloid limbo, resurfacing eventually on VHS tape in a big box eyesore that seemed to occupy every dusty bottom shelf of every video store in the land; about the only attention paid to the film in retrospect came from Mr. Skin's Skincyclopedia: The A to Z Guide to Finding Your Favorite Actresses Naked.

Though the negligible box office of Some Kind of Loving did not kill the career of producer-director James B. Harris, it did him no favors. Harris had enjoyed considerable acclaim and no small degree of success between 1956 and 1963 as Stanley Kubrick's producer, helping Kubrick to secure funding, material, and talent for such films as The Killing (1956), Paths of Glory (1957), and Lolita (1962). The partners had parted company with Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964) when Kubrick elected to take the sober-sided source material (British author Peter George's 1958 atomic panic novel Two Hours to Doom, aka Red Alert) in a satiric direction. Convinced that Kubrick had lost his artistic mooring, Harris made his own nuclear disaster film, The Bedford Incident (1965), which marked his directorial debut. As subsequent projects went into turnaround and the years began to tick by, Harris remembered a short story collection he had thumbed through during production of Lolita.

British writer John Collier's Fancies and Goodnights had been published in 1951 and his elegantly ironic stories had drawn from literary critics favorable comparisons to Charles Dickens and Roald Dahl. Numbered among the tales collected in that volume was "Sleeping Beauty," the story of a dissolute Englishman with more pedigree than liquid assets who nonetheless makes the capital acquisition of a sideshow somnambulist, a beautiful young woman seemingly straight out of the eponymous fairytale. Harris saw in the story a parable about desire and denial and began crafting what would be his sophomore directorial effort, relocating the action from a Regency house in southern England to a castle poised above the craggy coast Southern California. To play his conflicted protagonist, Harris cast TV actor Zalman King, then best known as the star of the short-lived The Young Lawyers, a weekly legal drama that had run for a single season on CBS. As the object of King's affection, Harris took a gamble on Tisa Farrow, kid sister to Rosemary's Baby's Mia Farrow, who had had an ornamental role in René Clément's 1972 heist film And Hope to Die (1972). Supporting roles were doled out to comic Richard Pryor (who had not yet established himself as an actor), British actress Carol White, and former The Munsters trouper Pat Priest.

Principal photography got underway late in 1972 under the working title Sleeping Beauty, until the threat of legal action from Walt Disney Productions prompted Harris to go with the interim title Dream Girl before settling on Some Call It Loving. Shot at various compass points along the Pacific Coast Highway by Italian cinematographer Mario Tosi (whose picaresque career runs the gamut from the softcore 1964 "nudie cutie" Sinderella and the Golden Bra and American International Pictures' 1972 revenge-of-nature thriller Frogs to Brian DePalma's Carrie [1976] and Richard Rush's The Stunt Man [1977]), Some Call It Loving plays like an American spin on the erotic works of such cult impresarios as Jess Franco and Jean Rollin or the sensual excesses of Bronx expatriate Radley Metzger, albeit channeled through the unmistakable aesthetic of James B. Harris. Very much the wild card in the deck of Harris' brief but impressive directing CV, Some Call It Loving nonetheless reflects Harris' abiding interest in the power of fantasy to by turns empower and destroy the dreamer.

Several of Harris' subsequent projects would fall victim to executive caprice or studio regime changes; his only other credit through the 70s is as a producer of Don Siegel's so-so 1977 Charles Bronson programmer Telefon -- interestingly, about Soviet "sleeper" agents embedded in American society. He returned to the public eye with Fast Walking (1982), a flinty prison drama/crime caper starring James Woods. Harris and Woods would reteam for Cop (1988) - the first feature film based on a book by James Ellroy - and Harris' final directing credit to date is the French-financed Boiling Point (1993), starring a post-comeback Dennis Hopper and a pre-stardom Viggo Mortensen. Despite the relative paucity of his résumé (and the barracking he had received from the likes of Molly Haskel and Andrew Sarris over Some Kind of Loving), Harris capped his career with remarkable critical currency. "Harris' films are inglorious, pipe-dream-beleaguered gutterdives, with the cheap integrity of bygone pulp fiction," wrote Michael Atkinson in 1999. "Harris has kept faith with the basic principles of genre without succumbing to neo-anything, homage, or pretension."

Sources:

James B. Harris interview by Nick Pinkerton, Film Comment
Furious Cool: Richard Pryor and the World That Made Him by David and Joe Henry (Algonquin Books, 2013)
Ghosts in the Machine: Speculating on the Dark Heart of Pop Cinema by Michael Atkinson (Hal Leonard Corp., 1999)
Some Call It Loving -

Some Call It Loving -

Spectators who like to keep their fairy tales innocent, their pornography sordid, their allegories obvious and their dreams intact," wrote critic Jonathan Rosenbaum in the pages of Film Comment in 1975, "are bound to be disconcerted by James B. Harris' haunting Some Call It Loving... which pursues the improbabilities of dream logic to clarify rather than mystify, and tough-mindedly concerns itself with the processes and consequences of dreaming." At that point, Rosenbaum was championing a movie that had screened to considerable favor at the 1973 Cannes Film Festival and had received high marks from the French critics only to tank dismally upon the occasion of its American premiere. Buried by its distributor, Some Kind of Loving nosedived into celluloid limbo, resurfacing eventually on VHS tape in a big box eyesore that seemed to occupy every dusty bottom shelf of every video store in the land; about the only attention paid to the film in retrospect came from Mr. Skin's Skincyclopedia: The A to Z Guide to Finding Your Favorite Actresses Naked. Though the negligible box office of Some Kind of Loving did not kill the career of producer-director James B. Harris, it did him no favors. Harris had enjoyed considerable acclaim and no small degree of success between 1956 and 1963 as Stanley Kubrick's producer, helping Kubrick to secure funding, material, and talent for such films as The Killing (1956), Paths of Glory (1957), and Lolita (1962). The partners had parted company with Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964) when Kubrick elected to take the sober-sided source material (British author Peter George's 1958 atomic panic novel Two Hours to Doom, aka Red Alert) in a satiric direction. Convinced that Kubrick had lost his artistic mooring, Harris made his own nuclear disaster film, The Bedford Incident (1965), which marked his directorial debut. As subsequent projects went into turnaround and the years began to tick by, Harris remembered a short story collection he had thumbed through during production of Lolita. British writer John Collier's Fancies and Goodnights had been published in 1951 and his elegantly ironic stories had drawn from literary critics favorable comparisons to Charles Dickens and Roald Dahl. Numbered among the tales collected in that volume was "Sleeping Beauty," the story of a dissolute Englishman with more pedigree than liquid assets who nonetheless makes the capital acquisition of a sideshow somnambulist, a beautiful young woman seemingly straight out of the eponymous fairytale. Harris saw in the story a parable about desire and denial and began crafting what would be his sophomore directorial effort, relocating the action from a Regency house in southern England to a castle poised above the craggy coast Southern California. To play his conflicted protagonist, Harris cast TV actor Zalman King, then best known as the star of the short-lived The Young Lawyers, a weekly legal drama that had run for a single season on CBS. As the object of King's affection, Harris took a gamble on Tisa Farrow, kid sister to Rosemary's Baby's Mia Farrow, who had had an ornamental role in René Clément's 1972 heist film And Hope to Die (1972). Supporting roles were doled out to comic Richard Pryor (who had not yet established himself as an actor), British actress Carol White, and former The Munsters trouper Pat Priest. Principal photography got underway late in 1972 under the working title Sleeping Beauty, until the threat of legal action from Walt Disney Productions prompted Harris to go with the interim title Dream Girl before settling on Some Call It Loving. Shot at various compass points along the Pacific Coast Highway by Italian cinematographer Mario Tosi (whose picaresque career runs the gamut from the softcore 1964 "nudie cutie" Sinderella and the Golden Bra and American International Pictures' 1972 revenge-of-nature thriller Frogs to Brian DePalma's Carrie [1976] and Richard Rush's The Stunt Man [1977]), Some Call It Loving plays like an American spin on the erotic works of such cult impresarios as Jess Franco and Jean Rollin or the sensual excesses of Bronx expatriate Radley Metzger, albeit channeled through the unmistakable aesthetic of James B. Harris. Very much the wild card in the deck of Harris' brief but impressive directing CV, Some Call It Loving nonetheless reflects Harris' abiding interest in the power of fantasy to by turns empower and destroy the dreamer. Several of Harris' subsequent projects would fall victim to executive caprice or studio regime changes; his only other credit through the 70s is as a producer of Don Siegel's so-so 1977 Charles Bronson programmer Telefon -- interestingly, about Soviet "sleeper" agents embedded in American society. He returned to the public eye with Fast Walking (1982), a flinty prison drama/crime caper starring James Woods. Harris and Woods would reteam for Cop (1988) - the first feature film based on a book by James Ellroy - and Harris' final directing credit to date is the French-financed Boiling Point (1993), starring a post-comeback Dennis Hopper and a pre-stardom Viggo Mortensen. Despite the relative paucity of his résumé (and the barracking he had received from the likes of Molly Haskel and Andrew Sarris over Some Kind of Loving), Harris capped his career with remarkable critical currency. "Harris' films are inglorious, pipe-dream-beleaguered gutterdives, with the cheap integrity of bygone pulp fiction," wrote Michael Atkinson in 1999. "Harris has kept faith with the basic principles of genre without succumbing to neo-anything, homage, or pretension." Sources: James B. Harris interview by Nick Pinkerton, Film Comment Furious Cool: Richard Pryor and the World That Made Him by David and Joe Henry (Algonquin Books, 2013) Ghosts in the Machine: Speculating on the Dark Heart of Pop Cinema by Michael Atkinson (Hal Leonard Corp., 1999)

Richard Pryor (1940-2005)


The scathing, brilliantly insightful African-American comic who proved himself on many occasions to be a highly competent screen actor, died of a heart attack on November 10 at his Encino, California home. He was 65. He had been reclusive for years after he publicly announced he was suffering from multiple sclerosis in 1992.

He was born Richard Thomas Pryor III on December 1, 1940 in Peoria, Illinois. By all accounts, his childhood was a difficult one. His mother was a prostitute and his grandmother ran a brothel. His father was rarely around and when he was, he would physically abuse him. From a young age, Pryor knew that humor was his weapon of choice to cut through all the swath he came across and would confront in his life.

After high school, he enlisted in the Army for a two-year stint (1958-60). When he was discharged (honorably!) he concentrated on stand-up comedy and worked in a series of nightclubs before relocating to New York City in 1963. In 1964, he made his television debut when he was given a slot on the variety program On Broadway Tonight. His routine, though hardly the groundbreaking material we would witness in later years, was very well received, and in the late '60s Pryor found more television work: Toast of the Town, The Wild Wild West, The Mod Squad ; and was cast in a two movies: The Busy Body (1967) with Sid Caesar; and Wild in the Streets (1968) a cartoonish political fantasy about the internment of all American citizens over 30.

Pryor's career really didn't ignite until the '70s. His stand up act became raunchier and more politically motivated as he touched on issued of race, failed relationships, drug addiction, and street crimes. His movie roles became far more captivating in the process: the piano man in Lady Sings the Blues (1972); as a wise-talking hustler in a pair of slick urban thrillers: The Mack (1973) and Uptown Saturday Night (1974); the gregarious Daddy Rich in Car Wash; his first pairing with Gene Wilder as Grover, the car thief who helps stops a runaway train in his first real box office smash Silver Streak (both 1976); and for many critics, his finest dramatic performance as a factory worker on the edge of depression in Paul Schrader's excellent working class drama Blue Collar (1978).

On a personal level, his drug dependency problem worsened, and on June 9, 1980, near tragedy struck when he caught fire while free-basing cocaine. Pryor later admitted that the incident, was, in fact, a suicide attempt, and that his management company created the lie for the press in hopes of protecting him. Fortunately, Pryor had three films in the can that all achieved some level of financial success soon after his setback: another pairing with Gene Wilder in the prison comedy Stir Crazy (1980); a blisteringly funny cameo as God who flips off Andy Kaufman in the warped religious satire In God We Tru$t (1980); an a ex-con helping a social worker (Cicely Tyson) with her foster charges in Bustin' Loose (1981). He capped his recovery with Live on the Sunset Strip (1982), a first-rate documentation of the comic's genius performed in front of a raucous live audience.

In 1983, Pryor signed a $40 million, five-year contract with Columbia Pictures. For many fans and critics, this was the beginning of his downslide. His next few films: The Toy, Superman III (both 1983), and Brewster's Millions (1985) were just tiresome, mediocre comedies. Jo Jo Dancer, Your Life is Calling (1986), was his only attempt at producing, directing, and acting, and the film, which was an ambitious autobiographical account of a his life and career, was a box-office disappointment. He spent the remainder of the '80s in middling fare: Condition Critical (1987), Moving; a third pairing with Gene Wilder in See No Evil, Hear No Evil; and his only teaming with Eddie Murphy in Harlem Nights (1989).

In 1986, Pryor was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a degenerative disease of the nervous system that curtailed both his personal appearances and his gift for physical comedy in his latter films. By the '90s, little was seen of Pryor, but in 1995, he made a courageous comeback on television when he guest starred on Chicago Hope as an embittered multiple sclerosis patient. His performance earned him an Emmy nomination and he was cast in a few more films: Mad Dog Time (1996), Lost Highway (1997), but his physical ailments prohibited him from performing on a regular basis. In 1998, The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington gave Pryor the first Mark Twain Prize for humor. It was fitting tribute for a man who had given so much honesty and innovation in the field of comedy. Pryor is survived by his wife, Jennifer Lee; his sons Richard and Steven; and daughters Elizabeth, Rain and Renee.

by Michael T. Toole

Richard Pryor (1940-2005)

The scathing, brilliantly insightful African-American comic who proved himself on many occasions to be a highly competent screen actor, died of a heart attack on November 10 at his Encino, California home. He was 65. He had been reclusive for years after he publicly announced he was suffering from multiple sclerosis in 1992. He was born Richard Thomas Pryor III on December 1, 1940 in Peoria, Illinois. By all accounts, his childhood was a difficult one. His mother was a prostitute and his grandmother ran a brothel. His father was rarely around and when he was, he would physically abuse him. From a young age, Pryor knew that humor was his weapon of choice to cut through all the swath he came across and would confront in his life. After high school, he enlisted in the Army for a two-year stint (1958-60). When he was discharged (honorably!) he concentrated on stand-up comedy and worked in a series of nightclubs before relocating to New York City in 1963. In 1964, he made his television debut when he was given a slot on the variety program On Broadway Tonight. His routine, though hardly the groundbreaking material we would witness in later years, was very well received, and in the late '60s Pryor found more television work: Toast of the Town, The Wild Wild West, The Mod Squad ; and was cast in a two movies: The Busy Body (1967) with Sid Caesar; and Wild in the Streets (1968) a cartoonish political fantasy about the internment of all American citizens over 30. Pryor's career really didn't ignite until the '70s. His stand up act became raunchier and more politically motivated as he touched on issued of race, failed relationships, drug addiction, and street crimes. His movie roles became far more captivating in the process: the piano man in Lady Sings the Blues (1972); as a wise-talking hustler in a pair of slick urban thrillers: The Mack (1973) and Uptown Saturday Night (1974); the gregarious Daddy Rich in Car Wash; his first pairing with Gene Wilder as Grover, the car thief who helps stops a runaway train in his first real box office smash Silver Streak (both 1976); and for many critics, his finest dramatic performance as a factory worker on the edge of depression in Paul Schrader's excellent working class drama Blue Collar (1978). On a personal level, his drug dependency problem worsened, and on June 9, 1980, near tragedy struck when he caught fire while free-basing cocaine. Pryor later admitted that the incident, was, in fact, a suicide attempt, and that his management company created the lie for the press in hopes of protecting him. Fortunately, Pryor had three films in the can that all achieved some level of financial success soon after his setback: another pairing with Gene Wilder in the prison comedy Stir Crazy (1980); a blisteringly funny cameo as God who flips off Andy Kaufman in the warped religious satire In God We Tru$t (1980); an a ex-con helping a social worker (Cicely Tyson) with her foster charges in Bustin' Loose (1981). He capped his recovery with Live on the Sunset Strip (1982), a first-rate documentation of the comic's genius performed in front of a raucous live audience. In 1983, Pryor signed a $40 million, five-year contract with Columbia Pictures. For many fans and critics, this was the beginning of his downslide. His next few films: The Toy, Superman III (both 1983), and Brewster's Millions (1985) were just tiresome, mediocre comedies. Jo Jo Dancer, Your Life is Calling (1986), was his only attempt at producing, directing, and acting, and the film, which was an ambitious autobiographical account of a his life and career, was a box-office disappointment. He spent the remainder of the '80s in middling fare: Condition Critical (1987), Moving; a third pairing with Gene Wilder in See No Evil, Hear No Evil; and his only teaming with Eddie Murphy in Harlem Nights (1989). In 1986, Pryor was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a degenerative disease of the nervous system that curtailed both his personal appearances and his gift for physical comedy in his latter films. By the '90s, little was seen of Pryor, but in 1995, he made a courageous comeback on television when he guest starred on Chicago Hope as an embittered multiple sclerosis patient. His performance earned him an Emmy nomination and he was cast in a few more films: Mad Dog Time (1996), Lost Highway (1997), but his physical ailments prohibited him from performing on a regular basis. In 1998, The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington gave Pryor the first Mark Twain Prize for humor. It was fitting tribute for a man who had given so much honesty and innovation in the field of comedy. Pryor is survived by his wife, Jennifer Lee; his sons Richard and Steven; and daughters Elizabeth, Rain and Renee. by Michael T. Toole

Quotes

Trivia

Miscellaneous Notes

Released in United States on Video 1987

Released in United States Winter January 1, 1973

Released in United States on Video 1987

Released in United States Winter January 1, 1973