For about half the running time of 1958’s Lonelyhearts, I had Robert Ryan’s William Shrike shot, tagged, and bagged as a true Asshole of the Cinema. Okay, maybe not at the level of Richard Benjamin in Diary of a Mad Housewife, but still quite respectably awful. He was bitter, unfair, cynical, mean-spirited, and had the sheer nerve to berate the eternally lovely Myrna Loy. But as the film progressed, I knew I was falling in love. Yes, Bill Shrike is a top to bottom prick of the highest order, meaning that if there’s a negative trait of 20th century masculinity, he long ago secured the patent. But if a man speaks truth (self-serving truth, but still the genuine article) can he really be an asshole?
Shrike is a newspaper editor. Totally small potatoes, but an editor nonetheless. His rag is pure fish wrap, and he knows it, but being an editor has its perks; namely, that he can hire and fire at will, humiliate horribly paid writers, and act smug and superior any goddamn time he feels like it. Hell, the promotion was worth it solely because he still commands attention whenever he storms into a room. His paper long ago stopped changing the world, and now he’s pretty much at the helm of a sinking ship that relies on an advice column to keep readers engaged. A Lonelyhearts column. Miss Lonelyhearts, even if the dispenser of wisdom is Montgomery Clift, looking and sounding as if he’s but a short taxi ride to the nearest booby hatch. But in Adam (Clift), Shrike senses a compliant stooge; a man who will take orders, boost circulation, and submit to having his ass chewed out whenever he dares get uppity. Or moralistic. Which is too often for Shrike’s taste.
Most assuredly, Hollywood has always been chock full of know-it-all newspaper editors. Hell, the 1930’s would have seen its output cut damn near in half without such an archetype. But Shrike is a new breed. Far from obsessed with work, he spends most of his time at a nearby watering hole, wife in tow for no other reason than to have someone to eviscerate in public. Seems Shrike cannot – and will not – forget his wife’s affair from a decade prior, one assumes because he’s either impotent or a closeted homosexual. In either case, he feels more than justified in raging against anyone younger (and more talented) as a perceived threat to his kingdom. His very existence seems devoted to picking his wife’s bones clean, but if he’s this bad, what does that make the woman who asks for seconds?
Let’s get one thing out of the way before we proceed: Robert Ryan has never been better. It’s a crime against nature that Oscar stood mute in the face of this raw power, but when a man like Edward G. Robinson never got so much as a nomination over several decades of impeccable work, it’s hardly surprising the best get left behind. Ryan’s Shrike pumps poison into every open wound, but he never so much as gets his hair mussed. He’s perfectly tailored and coiffed, and he refuses to resort to an elevated volume. His words, softly yet confidently delivered, are enough. Here’s a man who has clearly given up but stays above ground because dying would put a damper on his sadism. He sticks around solely to ruin everyone’s day, which is a better reason than most of us have for waking up in the morning.
In the end, his insistence on an advice column is simply to afford him the opportunity to mock humanity’s tragic state. He’s not even above encouraging suicide as a solution to one’s woes. They’re all saps anyway, waiting for the nuclear fallout, so what’s the point in actually addressing their needs? Brutal, yes, but for a moment, imagine a world without need of therapists, doctors, or shoulders to cry on. Everyone healthy and happy and facing the day. Joyous celebration? Perhaps, but equally: shuttered bars, bursting populations, and art so rote as to be unnecessary. As much as it’s the pain and sadness that gets folks to both write to and read advice columns, it’s that same grief that fosters our very engagement with life. Lose it, and we drift away into the ether of indifference. Shrike knows it. Hell, it’s always topic one at office parties. Perhaps it’s time we pulled up a chair and listened.
Leave a Reply