overcoming his fear of heights – see ‘Phobias’, p.84) to wrap Vivian in his arms and sweep her off to a new life of wealth, privilege and everlasting love.
This fairy-tale ending makes no dramatic sense whatsoever, but audiences swooned to its ‘Love Conquers All’ message, turning the movie into a global phenomenon. In the wake of Pretty Woman’s extraordinary box office success, studios suddenly started throwing money at the romcom genre in the hope of repeating its magical winning formula. Indeed, it’s arguable that the resurgence of romcoms as one of the most reliably lucrative staples of modern cinema was down to Pretty Woman – and its happy, sappy ending.
Other examples of producers wanting to leave the audience smiling are rather more subtle. In 1997, British director Iain Softley filmed a brilliant adaptation of Henry James’s The Wings of the Dove which drew critical plaudits for its strong performances, insightful screenwriting and outstanding production values. The film follows an increasingly embittered early twentieth-century love triangle between the scheming Kate Croy (Helena Bonham Carter), the terminally ill Milly Theale (Alison Elliott) and the morally wavering Merton Densher (Linus Roache). Holidaying together in a ravishingly picturesque Venice, Kate persuades long-time suitor Merton to seduce Milly in order to secure a place in her will. But when left alone with the goodhearted Milly, Merton finds his affections unexpectedly engaged. By the time Kate and Merton finally get what they thought they wanted, their dreams have melted into dust.
Intelligently scripted by Hossein Amini, Softley’s film finished on a boldly nihilistic note: a scene of lovemaking notable for its sense of desperation and darkness, a daring and provocative finale to a richly insightful adaptation. Miramax mainstay Harvey Weinstein loved the film, and thought it had Oscar potential. But he was also anxious about the whole ‘desperation and darkness’ thing – particularly since it was the film’s parting shot. Working on the basis that audiences leaving a theatre can only remember the very last thing they saw (a maxim which has proved surprisingly enduring in Hollywood), Weinstein thought that it would be a good idea to remind viewers what a lovely, scenic time they had had in Venice before everything turned to moral torpor and desolation back in Blighty; to get them talking about the ravishing costumes and eye-catchingly romantic settings which he believed to be one of the film’s major selling points.
Thus, Hands-on Harvey ‘suggested’ to Softley that instead of the final fade to black which currently ended his movie, the screen should return once more to an image of Venice, leaving the audience with a vision of the beautiful Milly in a shimmering gondola while an out-of-context voice-over spoke of love from beyond the grave. Softley resisted, knowing that such a coda was hardly in keeping with his carefully constructed vision. But Weinstein pushed the matter, insisting that unless moviegoers left the theatre with thoughts of upbeat romance (rather than downbeat moral squalor) the all-important ‘word of mouth’ would suffer. Eventually, Softley relented and devised a way of including the Venetian footage without spoiling his otherwise flawless film. Duly appeased, Weinstein threw his far-from-inconsiderable weight behind The Wings of the Dove, which went on to bag four Oscar nominations and five BAFTA nods.
Of course, the problem with artificially enhancing a film’s happy-quotient is that, like antidepressants, the effects can be short lived. Would Love Story (1970) have stood the weepy test of time if Ali McGraw’s Jenny had been miraculously cured of her illness at the end? Would teenage girls have flocked to see Titanic (1997) time and time again if Kate Winslet’s Rose had found a piece of wood big enough for two, and Leo hadn’t sunk like a stone to the bottom of the ocean? Would Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) have achieved its classic status if our heroes had managed to give the Bolivians the slip? (In fact, the famous freeze-frame ending of George Roy Hill’s much-loved Western was already a concession to positivity, replacing the brutal, bloody death scenes which were originally planned.)
Perhaps the most celebrated case of a nonsensically changed ending is that of Adrian Lyne’s Fatal Attraction (1987), which got a whole new third act after preview audiences decided that they couldn’t be doing with Glenn Close’s bunny-boiler taking her own life and then framing Michael Douglas’s philandering husband from beyond the grave – which is what happened in James Dearden’s original script. Already tweaked prior to filming (he’s arrested, but then his wife finds evidence proving his innocence), Fatal Attraction dismayed test viewers who wanted to see Anne Archer ‘Kill the bitch!’ before closing on a reassuring close-up of a happy family photo (group hug, everyone!). The revised ending is terrible, but proved horribly effective, helping Fatal Attraction to become a box office smash around the world. Except in Japan, where they got the original (and better) ending, on the grounds of enhanced ‘cultural compatibility’ . . .
Really.
In the end, we are left with the question of whether it’s always better to be happy, or whether there is a time and a place for good honest misery. Should movie doctors prescribe antidepressants willy-nilly just because they may improve a film’s box office potential, even if doing so means effectively lobotomising the movie? Do we really want our entertainment to arrive with the rictus grin of enforced jollity, or should directors be able to claim that it’s their party and they’ll cry if they want to?
Frankly, when it comes to cinema, happiness is overrated.
THIS WON’T HURT A BIT
We Need to Talk About Needles
Come in. Nice to see you. Do sit down. Roll up your sleeve. It’s just a brief exchange in your local surgery, but you know what’s coming next. You’ll just feel a little prick . . . And that’s precisely the point at which you run kicking and screaming through the waiting room. Or you stamp on the hypodermic needle, breaking it in two. Or maybe fight the nurse for the syringe before plunging it deep into her neck . . .
This is why we need to talk about needles. We know you aren’t one of those crazed anti-vaxxers – that would be ridiculous. There are many who suffer from trypanophobia and have no one to turn to for comfort and treatment; you have the Movie Doctors. We have hit upon a rather extreme treatment which may well not be to everyone’s taste, but we believe it works. We have found three of the most extreme needle-related movie scenes. If you can survive these, then the next time you need a vaccination you won’t be so weedy. Watch with the lights on, the sound low and holding hands with your honey.
PULP FICTION (1994)
You’ve just snorted something that wasn’t a nasal spray (you being Uma Thurman, by the way). Turns out it wasn’t cocaine either, but heroin. You are a class A chump. When your friend realises what you’ve done (he’s John Travolta, obviously), he whips out a syringe and (after an excruciating delay while he indulges in some typical Tarantino dialogue) stabs you in the heart. He then injects you with Adrenalin and you instantly recover. The science here is dodgy to say the least, but the fact that you’d actually be dead is not our main concern (you weren’t really in any shape to point out that there is no treatment in modern medicine that requires a medic to stick a needle in your heart). What you need to focus on here is the lingering, loving close-ups of the super-sized, 6-inch needle dripping with ‘Adrenalin’ (it’s actually Epinephrine, but could be 7 Up for all you care).
Lesson learned When you are next in the surgery, your experience will not be like this. You won’t be on the floor unconscious, you won’t be stabbed in the chest, you won’t come round with the hypodermic still deep in your rib cage. Time to move on.
DEAD AND BURIED (1981)
So you’ve survived the heartache of Pulp Fiction, now you’re ready for the next step in your desensitising. Keeping the lights on (actually turn them up, maybe plug in some more), let’s try the 1981 horror film Dead and Buried. A number of gruesome murders have taken place in a small town called
