The Secret of My Success (1987)

November 19, 2008

On Demand, Seattle, WA

*** / ****

By Scott Muoio

Only in the world of ‘80s cinema can a movie’s “secret” be that Brantley is Whitfield and Whitfield is Brantley. And only in the 1980s could “success” be defined by sleeping with one’s Aunt, faking one’s way out of the mailroom and into the executive lounge, and finally pulling one over on your sleazy, womanizing Uncle and Herman Munster while liberating the “suit” hating mail boy into wearing a suit, himself. Yet that is precisely the case in the crudely funny Michael J. Fox screwball comedy corporate love story bonanza, The Secret of My Success.

So here’s what happens:

Twenty four year old Brantley (Michael J. Fox) leaves small town Kansas for New York City in the hope of making lots of money and “doing something with his college education.” Once he arrives in The Big Apple, Brantley makes contact with his tyrannically slimeball Pembco conglomerate CEO Uncle, Mr. Prescott (Richard Jordan). One thing leads to another, Prescott throws the kid a bone, and Brantley lands a job in the mailroom. What ensues is the fastest rags to riches story in cinematic history.

While keeping his job in the mailroom Brantley pulls the old Superman changing in the phone booth routine posing as a junior executive named Whitfield, making his play for the only female executive in the company (Helen Slater), and somehow figuring out every aspect of the immense Pembco beauracracy in less than two weeks. And like those subsequent classic ‘80s farces (think Weekend at Bernie’s and Working Girl), the charade only lasts so long before everyone in the company is hot on the trail of the requisite Whitfield, or is it Brantley?

The pitiful realities of big business are always ripe for farce and Success slides its way into funny corporate folly. Any modern review of The Secret of My Success is sure to snub its nose at the film’s dated ‘80s look, feel, and chauvinistic outlook on romance and working one’s way up the corporate ladder. And indeed, those factors are key to the film’s ridiculousness. Yet it is precisely those obviously offensive stumbles that are responsible for Success’s undeniable cuddliness in the face of all we’ve pretended to overcome in the realm of love and business.

While generally lingering on slapstick, the casting and performances make the stereotypical script much more enjoyable than it has any right to be. Michael J. Fox as Brantley expertly channels Three’s Company’s Jack Tripper (John Ritter) providing the necessary boyish silliness Ritter made famous with his innuendo, misunderstanding, and physical comedy shenanigans. Margeret Whitton as Aunt Vera matches Fox with her feisty chutzpah as the long neglected, old money trophy wife with a twist who is not afraid to get what she wants when she wants, everyone else be damned. And Richard Jordan as Mr. Prescott is a suitably cranky, conniving, and clueless almost-foil who perfectly balances the others’ flamboyant antics with his own brand of earnest dimwittedness. Along with the robotically alluring Christy Wills (Helen Slater), the female exec. both Brantley and Prescott have the hots for, the quartet carry the laughs from the first frame to the mind bogglingly absurd conclusion.

Too idiotic to believe, too goofy to take serious, and too feverish to catch its breath (save the inevitable overdramatic ‘80s interludes) Success is go with the flow, suspension of disbelief fun that gets more entertaining the more you’re able to loosen your collar and laugh at its ludicrousness. With tracks by Night Ranger, Katrina and the Waves, and Yello holding the whole package together, there should be enough insanity to entertain almost anyone even twenty years after the fact. And when it comes to sitting back, relaxing, and enjoying the ride, The Secret of My Success is a joy to behold.

Director: Herbert Ross

Producer: Herbert Ross

Writer: AJ Carothers, Jim Cash, Jack Epps, Jr.

Music: David Foster

Starring: Michael J. Fox, Helen Slater, Richard Jordan, Margaret Whitton, John Panckow, Fred Gwynne

Copyright 2008, Scott Muoio and Undependent Media. You may link to this review but may not reproduce it in full for your own means.