Robert Mitchum’s Charisma Can’t Save ‘Nice Girls Don’t Stay for Breakfast’ [Venice Review]

Hollywood has changed. While the days where the silver screen was solely occupied by chiseled Caucasian detectives and doe-eyed femme fatales stand as a quaint reminder of the past, there is certainly something to say for the actors during the golden age of cinema. Without the rampant nosiness perpetuated by publications like TMZ or an ensemble of late-night talk shows to offer everyday Americans in the 1940s a transparent look into the secretive celebrity spotlight, actors evolved into modern folk heroes — attractive urban legends cloaked in mystery, where the line between reality and fiction blurred beyond recognition.

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Generally speaking, it was anyone’s guess who Humphrey Bogart really was off-camera and the ability to stay informed of Audrey Hepburn’s whereabouts via an Instagram account, obviously, was not an option. Nevertheless, despite this sheen of mystique, very few actors seduced their way into the hearts and minds of filmgoers more than Robert Mitchum.

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Known for his standout performances in pulpy neo-noirs and rugged westerns — oh, and let’s not forget “Night of the Hunter” — Mitchum embodied the persona of the bad boy heartthrob from day one, earning himself a reputation as the actor that every man wanted to be and every woman wanted to be with. Armed with a mischievous grin and a loose-hanging cigarette, Mitchum retained his unmistakable persona both when performing on set and while starting fights in bars. With several stints in prison and drug charges to his name, the actor brought something a bit more cutting edge to the table than his prim-and-proper peers, and audiences adored him for it.

Conversely, director Bruce Weber’s documentary “Nice Girls Don’t Stay for Breakfast” seeks to shine the spotlight on Mitchum’s tender side, portraying the actor as both a lovable rebel and misunderstood artist.

Weber, whose resumé consists of fine art photography, the occasional documentary, and several sexual assault accusations, takes an unobtrusive approach of relaying the narrative. The pacing on display is surprisingly meditative, with no clear destination in sight, and relies more on mood than an overt message. Nearly all of the archival footage depicting Mitchum near the end of his life — most of the footage shows the actor recording an unreleased album and relaxing with friends — is shot on 16mm and 35mm. This stylistic choice coincides visually with the snippets of Mitchum’s film career, allowing for Hollywood fantasy to transition perfectly into the real world.

‘Nice Girls’ works best when it functions as an examination of masculinity, a theme that occasionally pops up from time to time, but is never fully explored and falls by the wayside. Similarly, Weber hints at toying with the notion of contrasting Mitchum as an aging icon with the unruly sex symbol of his youth, but the idea dies out before it manages to breathe.

Instead, audiences are treated to first-hand accounts of fan encounters from the likes of Johnny Depp and Benicio Del Toro as well as romantic remembrances from co-stars Brenda Vaccaro and Polly Bergen. Although these interstitials are pleasant enough to watch, the majority of the interviews fail to serve a purpose and only add to the sense of aimlessness that almost cripples the film entirely.

Put simply, the documentary is a scattershot pastiche of hero worship. The narrative, what little there is, walks in circles, and despite its beaming potential and fascinating subject matter, ultimately fails to leave an impression. ‘Nice Girls’ falters due to the absence of forward-moving momentum, a symptom brought about by the lack of linear storytelling. Moreover, the work is nearly devoid of any details related to Mitchum’s past and the rare mentions of the actor’s controversial public image are abruptly skimmed over, two characteristics that benefit a well-rounded character study, but also give off a distinct feeling of detachment.

Nevertheless, the work does feature several memorable moments. Polly Bergen describing her first scene with Mitchum on the set of “Cape Fear” is a genuinely insightful segment, while Carrie Mitchum — the actor’s granddaughter — tearfully recollecting on the time when Mitchum nearly committed suicide in front of her is equally revealing and heartbreaking.

If “Nice Girls Don’t Stay for Breakfast” proves anything, it’s that charisma and talent can leave a legacy that will endure forever. Sadly, Mitchum never quite received the amount of respect that he was owed in his time. At one point, Weber mentions that the current generation is entirely unaware that Mitchum ever existed, a sad, albeit accurate fact. Nevertheless, despite its flaws, the documentary does offer those unfamiliar with the actor’s work an entry point into his wide-spanning filmography, in addition to a private and occasionally touching portrait of a complex man. Even if the actor may have deserved a more worthwhile biopic, the film in many ways is a perfect representation of Robert Mitchum as he lived: Charming, understated and entirely carefree. [C-]

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