ScreennAn Upright Farce and a Cheerful FibnHouse Calls; directed by HowardnZieff; written by Schulman &nEpstein; Universal Studios.nAmerican Hot Wax; directed bynFloyd Mutrux; written by John Kaye;nParamount Picturesnby Eric ShapearonA . trifle of a movie about a widowednsurgeon (Walter Matthau) whonfinds happiness with a divorcee (GlendanJackson) loaded with human and femininenvirtues. It doesn’t fare too well as ancomedy, even less as a farce: an exceptionallynvulgar scene on the acrobaticnpotential of sexual intercourse deservesnspecial notice as the most doleful attemptnto extract slapstick from carnal techniquesnin the history of the cinema. Butnthe overall message is one of the charmsnof monogamy and the joys of fidelity.nMatthau and Jackson do everything possiblento overcome the cheapness of thenscript and plot and bring to life the oldfashionednidea of relishing one person innthe stead of many. They do it by way ofnthe new sexual pseudo-smartness, and ifnthis is a signal of a Hollywood drift tonneo-normalcy, we approve. ApparentlynHollywood senses that the sleazy romanticismnof one night stands is on the wane,nbut it is still reluctant to jettison fourletter-wordnand sexual hipness. As annamiable, prosperous physician, Matthauncan have any gal in town—and the townnhappens to be L.A.—but opts for a 32year-oldn(on screen, of course) Jacksonnwith a teenage son. She insists on exclusivitynand monopoly, to boot, and getsneverything. Thereby, poetic justice isnrendered to maturity, the “moral” isnpreserved, while endless talk about sexualnfeats whirls around, securing the movienits immediate, socio-historical “relevance.”nBefore it was transmogrified into thenspecious art of social protest, rock’n’rollnwas all spontaneity and exuberance. Innthe late ’50s, it was still a lower-middlenclass phenomenon, the music of Italiannbutcher boys in Brooklyn, truck driversnin Mississippi, black high school studentsnin Harlem. Elvis had already been canonized.nLittle Richard was considered annartist, and Fats Domino was still rankednas a hipster, not a trivial square. It wasnessentially petit-bourgeois music, itsnrambunctiousness notwithstanding. Itnflexed the fattish muscles of prosperous,noverfed, Eisenhower America and raisednthe decibel level of its daily beat: rock’n’roll’snbeat was big but no longer poignantn— as jazz had been when it erupted andnengulfed the American musical culture.nIn spite of its rhythm-and-blues origins,nrock’n’roll had corroded the musical andnpoetical dramatics of the blues.nA Cleveland disc jockey by the namenof Alan Freed was an early entrepreneurnwho saw the potential of this subculturalnphenomenon: he was involved in pushingnit on the air, organizing mammoth concertsnin New York City and taking payolanfor any kind of promotion—a practicenwhich landed him in court. Now a movienhas been made, in full accordance withnthe Zeitgeist, and Freed emerges from itnas a sort of Brooklyn Saint Sebastiannwho was martyred by the local D.A. andnpolice for his idealistic quest to bringnJournalismnHigh Times’nNeo-HitlerismnUnder the title “Rock and Hitler,”nHigh Times, a monthly dedicated to thenextermination of American youthnthrough the unrestricted use of drugs,nprints the opinions of a certain DannynFields, manager of the Ramones, a punknrock group:n”… Can you blame a generation bornnnnmusical redemption to the “kids.” Thenfact is that rock’n’roll was, from its outset,nthe anthem of boisterousness and rowdyism,nthere were stabbings at musicalnshows and before long the drug trafficnmade its appearance. Nonetheless, it isnfatuous to discuss repression, “vigilantism”nof the police and Mr. Freed’snsainthood through martyrdom when onentakes into account rock’s historicallyndocumented (and financially evident)ntriumph. Thus, the movie is pure falsification,nexcept for the music itself whichnis of course pure nostalgia. Mr. Mutruxndisplays talent in handling couleur local,nthat is the cheerful seediness of thenBrooklyn rock’n’roll milieu which henportrays with a sure hand and effective,nthough broad, strokes. Perhaps one ofnthe most obvious of the falsehoods whichnconstitute the fiber of the story is thatnMr. Freed is given credit for havingninvented the term rock’n’roll—displayingna shoddy ignorance of the history of Afro-nAmerican musical patterns. This expressionnwas used as early as the turn of thencentury in New Orleans by the honkytonknmusicians, and by the “professors,”nthat is the pianists who entertained innthe World War I StoryviUe brothels. Andnit had a variety of meanings, some quitenremote from playing or singing. Dnafter the end of World War II for beingnfascinated with what was certainly thenmost insane episode in the history ofnmankind.’ Can anyone who thinks about,nsober or stoned, not be intrigued —evennobsessed — with what the hell went downnwhen a runtish madman invented annentirely new civilization in his own imagenand then nearly conquered the world.'”n”Nazi Dog (a successful rock group) hasnno intention of turning your grandmotherninto a bar of soap. These contemporarynartists, and most nonartists of their generation,nare just digging into a body ofn19nChronicles of Culturen