The first indication of potential trouble regarding HBO’s documentary on the legendary actress Faye Dunaway (simply titled Faye) was something I noticed even before I pressed play: the running time. At 90 minutes, the question that quickly comes to mind is how in the world are you going to tell a deep and meaningful story that encompasses the entire career of Faye Dunaway in an hour and a half? Sadly, my conclusion (despite some enjoyable and occasionally insightful moments), at least based on this film, is that you can’t.
Maybe you could do justice to a documentary film entirely about Bonnie & Clyde, Chinatown, or Network in that length of time, but for the woman who starred in all three of those films, who was revered during the late ‘60s and all of the ‘70s, and who is an icon in her own right, 90 minutes seems about 90 minutes too short. Years ago, I spoke to a director who shall remain nameless, and he commented that most of the time streamers want documentaries to run no more than an hour and a half. I guess they think that’s as much as our viewing attention spans can handle. I mean Netflix has a whole category of films to select from that are 90 minutes or less, which sounds like an ad for a quick turnaround dry-cleaning service. The trouble with setting such tight constraints is what you lose, specifically the room for a film to breathe, to not only share information, but to dig deeper beneath the surface and provide you with a fulsome view of the subject.
The documentary starts off in such a conventional way and stickers largely chronological order with the typical talking heads set up (one of which is Dunaway herself, who seems more than willing to be forthcoming), giving way too much time to her early biography and not nearly enough to her accomplishments. Of course, some biography is necessary, but in the bland presentation delivered here, it feels like an inefficient use of time. To give you some idea of what I mean, the film uses up 20 of its 90 minutes before getting to her career-making role, Bonnie & Clyde.
Unfortunately, and this becomes a consistent theme, these landmark pieces of cinema (of which she was integral), are moved on from just as they start to get interesting. Apparently, co-star and producer Warren Beatty didn’t want Dunaway. He had a different shortlist in mind (including Jane Fonda). Beatty was, quite correctly, overruled by director Arthur Penn. But why didn’t Beatty want Dunaway? There’s not even a real hint as to why.
Similarly, with Chinatown, Dunaway was viewed as being difficult on set. One anecdote revealed that she required Blistex to be applied to her lips before every scene. Are we supposed to believe that’s what made her difficult? Apparently, she clashed frequently with director Roman Polanski (no easy piece himself), but aside from referencing their general inability to get along, there’s only one story that explains their rift: about a misplaced hair on Dunaway’s head. A story that isn’t all that interesting and could have been told with more efficiency. In which case, we could learn more about why Jack Nicholson lovingly, but seriously, called her “Dread.”
Network received much the same treatment, but in the best moments of discussing her role in that film, Dunaway offers genuine insight into how her and Lumet developed the character. When Dunaway read Paddy Chayefsky’s screenplay, she couldn’t find any vulnerability in “Diana,” a shameless TV exec who will do anything for ratings. Lumet replied, “She has none. And if you try to put it in, I will cut it out.” Dunaway’s trust in Lumet was greatly rewarded, but the film could have used a lot more quality observations of that sort.
Oddly (or maybe not) the most interesting portion of the film covering her career is when the doc turns to Mommie Dearest. Despite the film’s cult classic appeal, Dunaway now considers taking the role of Joan Crawford a mistake. In a surprise move for a film that otherwise plays it incredibly safe, the fault of Mommie Dearest is laid at the feet of the film’s director Frank Perry. As one industry friend essentially stated, she gave the right performance, but it was filmed all wrong. I would also add that the side-by-side of one of Joan Crawford’s head shots with a Dunaway head shot made to look up like Joan, is uncanny. She was all in, but Perry was so given over to melodrama, that there was no grounding of the performance in reality. Mommie Dearest could have been a great film, instead of just great camp.
After Mommie Dearest, Dunaway’s career never caught fire again, but there is a nice bit on her terrific 1987 performance in the movie Barfly, directed by Barbet Schroeder and co-starring Mickey Rourke. Rourke himself contributes to the documentary and speaks glowingly of Dunaway.
All well and good, but also so much of Faye feels like a greatest hits album. Dig if you will the idea of owning Prince’s Greatest Hits and nothing else. No 1999, no Purple Rain, no Sign o’ the Times, nothing more. While on a surface level, streaming that album might be enjoyable enough, it doesn’t get to where he was in his mind and in his craft while making the albums those hit songs came from. It’s familiarity and nostalgia over depth.
The same can be said of Faye. If you’re going to talk about her and McQueen making eyes at each other over a chess board in The Thomas Crown Affair, tell us how that scene developed, not just that it happened and that it was sexy. That’s news only to those who haven’t seen the film. It would have also been nice to see more coverage of films she made that were overlooked, like Puzzle of a Downfall Child, The Yards, or Arizona Dream. All of which are touched on briefly, but that is the problem: almost everything is touched on briefly aside from Dunaway’s early youth, her admittedly lovely relationship with her son, and her battle with bipolar disorder—all of which are given significant time, but the use of those minutes feels decidedly unremarkable.
Hell, I couldn’t believe it, but while there’s a scene of Redford and Dunaway in Three Days of the Condor, it’s nearly a blink and you’ll miss it moment. The film is never talked about or even mentioned by name, despite being one of the most successful films on her resume.
Much has been made (and much should be) of the famous photograph of Dunaway by a hotel pool the day after she won the Oscar for best actress for Network. A glamorous but sleep-deprived Dunaway sits at a table with her Oscar atop, trade papers scattered at her feet, and an expression that, by Dunaway’s own current day admission, seems to say, “Is that all there is?”
Sadly, when the credits rolled on Faye, I was left asking myself the same question.
