The Fall of Society
Grace Kelly's last film before she became Her Serene HighnessThe Princess of Monaco, was High Society. High Society is a remake of The Philadelphia Story, which is about waspy rich people who misbehave. Grace Kelly is the spoiled rich girl with an icy heart. Before her wedding to a fussy and uptight man, Frank Sinatra shows up as a writer for the trashy tabloid Spy magazine. Yes, Spy magazine, but not the 1980s one. Bing Crosby is Kelly's ex-husband and happens to be throwing a jazz festival with Louis Armstrong. It's wonderfully Hollywood. Everything in the house is brand spankin' new and big. I love the incredibly hip patio furniture that was obviously on a set in Culver City. The film looks fantastic. The songs, when not sung by Kelly, are swell.
But there is a giant elephant in the room. Bing Crosby is the true romantic interest for Grace Kelly, but he's older than her grandfather. It's creepy. And Frank Sinatra is lurking around the property leering at Kelly. The reality of a dusty old mansion with ancient broken lamps that shock you when turned on doesn't fit here.
I would like to remake High Society, but with realism, like Trainspotting. This is how it could work: The main character (played by Evan Rachel Wood) is divorced and bitter, with a filthy mouth. She lives with her hateful sister and alcoholic mother at the family estate with cat urine and a filthy kitchen. Her ancient, creepy ex-husband, who moved next door, (Harry Dean Stanton), stares at her through windows. "I liked it when you dried yourself with the pink towel," he could say. The tabloid reporter (Philip Seymour Hoffman) is an immoral opportunist, who spends a good deal of the film secretly playing with the family dachshund in both an abusive and almost sensual way. I'd drop the songs, they get in the way of the scenes with screaming followed by tense silences. Of course, the film cannot end with the heiress reuniting with the ex-husband. It will be left open for interpretation, with a final scene of the heiress standing on the verandah with broken rattan furniture and empty Mountain Dew cans, staring at herself in the reflection of a window.