STS Ch-55

“Noah!” Randal Kleiser’s voice cut through the theater lobby as he strode over, his arms open wide. He pulled me into a tight, earnest hug. “It’s so good to see you!”

Just behind him, Julie offered a small, familiar smile and a gentle wave. These last few days, Julie and I had been inseparable on our shared promotional tour, so her presence was no surprise. Randal, however, was a different story. As the director, he hadn’t been part of the press circuit; this wasn’t an era where directors mattered much to the public. This was our first meeting since we’d wrapped filming last year.

“The feeling’s mutual, Randal,” I said as he released me, a big grin present on my face. I owe this man my film career. “I caught the film a few weeks ago, and I’ve got to say, it’s beautiful. Julie and I look amazing.”

“Thank you,” Randal replied, his grin turning knowing. “I guess being a model, that’s all you care about, eh? Looking good?”

I couldn’t genuinely praise the direction, the acting, or even the story, because those weren’t the film’s strongest points. He’d know I was lying in a heartbeat. But I couldn’t tell him the blunt truth, either. So I shifted gears. “Of course not. I’m a filmmaker myself now. Remember? But the look you have achieved for this film is something that I can’t easily replicate.”

“Fair enough,” he said, his expression softening. “Julie was just telling me about your second film with her. I’d really love to see it.”

“I’ll definitely call you over when it’s ready for a viewing,” I promised, glancing toward the theater doors where a trickle of guests was entering. “Now, let’s go in and start the show so the others can also enjoy [The Blue Lagoon].”

“Sure, let’s,” he nodded, leading the way. Julie and I followed him into the dimming auditorium, where a sense of anticipation filled the air. We were shown to three seats together: Julie on my right, Randal on my left.

Usually, at premieres like this, actors sit with family. For this film, even with Mom and Frank present, I had no intention of doing that. The thought alone was too embarrassing. Heck, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t even be sitting through this screening with an audience. Unfortunately, the producers wouldn’t take kindly to me walking out. So I steadied myself, fixed a polite smile, and resolved to persevere.

(Break)

Roger Ebert was curious about [The Blue Lagoon]. For one, Columbia Studios was claiming its two leads would be the biggest debutantes in recent cinematic history. That could easily be written off as clever marketing, but a second, more compelling detail piqued his interest: the movie’s own legacy.

It had been remade twice before. The first version, a silent film from the 1920s, was lost to time, its existence now just a mention in the archives. The second, released in 1949, was a decidedly tame interpretation of the original material, but that was no surprise, as it was crafted under the strictures of the Hays Code, which banned explicit content of any kind.

Now, the biggest buzz surrounding [The Blue Lagoon] was a provocative Rolling Stone photoshoot featuring its two young stars, who had boldly claimed in the accompanying interview that the film itself was even more daring.

Roger just hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be a teen sexploitation movie or downright softcore porn.

The film began predictably enough. Two young children, Richard and Emmeline, were aboard a ship with Richard’s father and a full crew when a sudden fire erupted. The children and an old cook named Paddy were separated from the others and shipwrecked on a stunning, secluded island.

The camera swept across lush greenery and pristine beaches, and Roger couldn’t help but admire the genuinely beautiful scenery. The cinematography was so captivating it almost made you want to live there.

But as soon as the story resumed, Roger felt a groan building in his throat. The plot felt painfully plain.

“You mustn’t eat those berries!” Paddy shouted at a crying Emmeline. “They’ll kill ya!”

It didn’t take a genius to guess those berries would become a plot point later, given how heavily they were emphasized.

Time passed as the children adapted to island life, even constructing an elaborate, picturesque hut.

Roger leaned over to his partner, Gene Siskel, and whispered, “If they’re so worried about natives on the other side of the island, why build such a big, beautiful hut? Why not just hide in a cave or something?”

Gene just chuckled and shook his head. “With some movies, I try not to think too logically, or I’ll be disappointed.”

Roger knew that, of course, but this felt plainly stupid. Why introduce the threat of natives at all?

As the movie progressed, Paddy died after drinking himself into a stupor, leaving the two children completely alone. Initially, it was a struggle, especially emotionally, but Richard, being the older of the two, took charge as the hunter-gatherer. A beautifully shot montage followed, showing them cooking, improving their hut, and swimming naked in a lagoon.

This admittedly gorgeous sequence helped transition the characters from children to teenagers, now played by Noah Hunter as Richard and Julianne Moore as Emmeline, who were both 18 during filming. The transition was seamless.

Instead of children, it was now the teenage characters swimming and playing together in the water. The camera lingered on the beauty of the coral reef, the schools of fish, and the unselfconscious joy the two shared, utterly unconcerned by their nudity.

Unlike most films, which would discreetly cut away, [The Blue Lagoon] did not shy from full-frontal nudity. A soft, collective gasp rippled through the theater as Noah swam to the ocean floor to retrieve a clam, revealing more in the periphery than Roger had any particular interest in seeing.

“Holy moly,” Gene said under his breath, sounding appreciative. “Someone’s packing.”

Roger chuckled softly before glancing around. As far as he could see, every woman in the audience had her eyes locked on Noah as he emerged from the ocean completely naked, his wet hair adding a certain undeniable charm to the display. Someone in the theater even let out a loud, appreciative whistle.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t be another sexploitation film,” Roger murmured as the camera lingered on Noah’s frontal body longer than was strictly necessary. “But that’s all it seems to be.”

When Noah’s character finally wrapped a loincloth around his waist, more than a few disappointed sighs whispered through the darkened theater.

As Richard, Noah walked over to Emmeline, and their playful banter began.

“It was you!” she accused, pointing at him with mock indignation. “You put these marbles here.”

Noah shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye, before giving her a playful shove. She shoved him right back. One push led to another, and soon they were both sprawled on the sandy floor, laughing uncontrollably. Watching that moment unfold, Roger felt certain that part of the scene was improvised. Perhaps the camera wasn’t even meant to be rolling. That laughter, that pure, unguarded joy of being with someone you adore, wasn’t a feeling you could fake.

If it was scripted, then Noah and Julie possessed an astounding, effortless chemistry. It wasn’t revealed in grand gestures, but in the small, intimate ones: his fingers casually intertwining with hers, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around her followed by soft, shared smiles. These subtle connections spoke of chemistry far more convincingly than any staged kiss ever could.

Noah wasn’t the only one filmed naked for the audience’s gaze. Soon, Julie was in a similarly bare state, bathing in a sun-dappled lagoon. This scene, however, was handled with more artistry. While her nudity was obvious, the cameraman shot her against the light, cloaking her in a soft, ethereal glow. She looked like a goddess bathing far from prying eyes.

Suddenly, she started bleeding, a thin trail of blood tracing down her thigh. In a panic, she called out for Richard, who came running. But by the time he arrived, she had realized what was happening and hurriedly sent him away.

He left reluctantly, bewildered by this sudden, private mystery. He was visibly upset when she chose to keep this part of her life secret from him.

The story meandered through their daily life and squabbles on the island, punctuated by frequent, lingering scenes of skinny-dipping.

During an exploration, Emmeline ventured to the far side of the island and discovered the grim statue of a god, the same one where tribal people had performed a sacrifice earlier. Haunted by it in her dreams that night, she sought comfort, initiating a kiss with Richard.

Aroused and impulsive, Richard deepened the kiss, his hands wandering over her body until she’d had enough and pushed him away. Stung, he stormed off. The next morning, Emmeline awoke to find Richard sitting naked on a rock, his back to her, his arm moving in a telltale, rhythmic motion in front of him.

Caught in the act, he shouted at her to go away, his embarrassment sharp and angry.

The tension between them was at a breaking point, and one final incident would push it beyond any return.

A ship drifted perilously close to the shore. They had an understanding: if either saw a vessel, they would light a signal fire immediately. But Emmeline, in a moment of childish indecision, did nothing. By the time Richard saw it, the ship was already receding on the horizon. His rage was volcanic, surpassing anything he’d shown before. Their argument escalated fiercely until, in a fit of fury, Emmeline hurled a coconut at his head. Stunned and seething, Richard retaliated by throwing all of her belongings out of the hut he had built.

Banished, the girl retreated to a damp cave, where she soon contracted a fever. When Richard finally checked on her, he found her burning up and delirious. In her weakness, she pleaded with him to take her to the other side of the island, to the stone god. Reluctantly, he agreed. The camera followed him in a relentless, fluid sprint across the beach and through the jungle, a seamless shot that ended with him collapsing before the grim statue, praying desperately for her recovery.

“Nice use of the Steadicam,” Roger noted aloud, the technical achievement cutting through his frustration. “Seriously, I’m baffled. The story and direction are paper-thin, but the cinematography and these complex shots make me wonder if the film was shot by two different people.”

Gene Siskel nodded in the dark. “True. If they’d paid even half this much attention to the screenplay, it could’ve been a much better film.”

Emmeline recovered, and the rift between them healed into something deeper than normal. One moment they were sharing a piece of fruit, and the next, they were kissing as if it were the most natural conclusion in the world. The kiss deepened, and as the camera panned out, it revealed they wore no clothes at all.

Richard lay over Emmeline as they consummated their relationship. Roger had to give credit where it was due. Unlike most films that focused on mechanistic thrusting and moans, this scene was infused with a tentative, genuine tenderness. The focus stayed on their locked gazes and searching hands, not on gratuitous anatomy.

What followed was a montage of the two exploring their new intimacy, in the water, on the beach, in the hut, even playfully coming down a natural slide. The scenes were shot through a lens of affection, emphasizing love over raw lust.

Then came the inevitable result for two teens having unprotected sex daily: Emmeline grew pregnant and later gave birth to a boy. They named him Paddy, after the cook who’d ensured their survival long ago. With the baby, Richard and Emmeline settled into a blissful routine, teaching their son, playing with him, and rediscovering their own childhood by covering themselves in mud from head to toe.

It was at that exact moment, coated in drying clay, that Richard’s father’s ship again drew near to shore. But the captain, peering through his spyglass at the mud-caked family, dismissed them as natives. “It can’t be him,” he sighed, and ordered the ship to turn away.

Richard and Emmeline later visited the small island where old Paddy had died. While Richard went to gather bananas, Emmeline fell asleep in their beached boat. The tide loosened it from the sand, and as they drifted, Baby Paddy threw one of the oars into the water. When Richard rushed into the surf to reach them, a shark’s fin cut through the water, forcing Emmeline to save him by hurling the remaining oar at the predator. They tried desperately to retrieve an oar, but the shark circled relentlessly.

By the time it finally left, they had drifted far from shore with no way to paddle back. Unbeknownst to his parents, young Paddy had picked some of the island’s poisonous berries, the very kind old Paddy had warned them about. Somehow, neither parent noticed the small, deadly cluster on the boat, and they could only watch in horror after their son had already swallowed some of the poisonous berries.

In despair, they made a heartbreaking decision. They split the remaining berries between them and swallowed every one. Then, clinging to each other, they huddled around their child as a family and closed their eyes. Just as Roger believed they would drift into oblivion, the familiar ship from earlier finally spotted them and drew near.

Richard’s father peered down at the still forms in the boat. “Are they dead?” he asked, his voice tight.

“No, sir,” a sailor called back after checking. “Just asleep.”

The crew helped the unconscious family aboard as the scene faded. Credits began to roll, compelling the premiere audience to rise and offer polite applause, a gesture of courtesy, not conviction, that would never have happened in an ordinary theater because of how mediocre the film was.

“So, what did you think?” Gene asked Roger as the house lights came up.

“Honestly? It could’ve been much worse,” Roger replied, gathering his coat. “I went in expecting a cheap sexploitation film. It surprised me more than once.”

“True,” Gene agreed. “It’s still a sexploitation film, but it’s one of the better ones.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Roger said. “And the chemistry…the two leads were remarkable together. Julie, especially. Noah could use some acting lessons, but given it’s his first film, I’ll cut him some slack. He more than makes up for his shortcomings in… other areas.”

Gene laughed. “I think it was just bad direction. Randal Kleiser’s [Grease] had some over-the-top performances, too. It’s a director’s job to recognize when an actor’s pushing too hard and reel them in. He didn’t.”

Roger nodded in agreement. “Do you think it’ll be a hit?”

Gene rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I think it’ll definitely recover its budget and maybe make half again as much. Beyond that, it’s hard to say. A lot depends on how Columbia handles the controversy from Noah and Julie’s photoshoot.”

“Ah, yes, the ‘controversy,’” Roger said, making air quotes. “They’re going to need that buzz, because I’m not giving this a positive review anytime soon.”

“Me neither,” Gene agreed, turning toward the exit. “Let’s get out before it gets crowded.”