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Leçon de cinéma at New College, case study of the putz (Keith Gordon) who's "an extra in his own life." Dad (Vincent Gardenia) is a serial philanderer, Mom (Mary Davenport) is a suicidal wreck, older brother (Gerrit Graham) is a dedicated chauvinist engaged to a recovering sensualist (Nancy Allen). Up a tree in blackface camo "right out of the divorce detective handbook," the babe undressing one window over is merely a projection. The Maestro (Kirk Douglas) invites himself in, pushes direction, suggests subtitles. "Star therapy is truth. The camera never lies." Tucked away amid the gloss of luxurious thrillers, a revealing bit of 16mm oedipal slapstick from Brian De Palma and his students. In the chaos of family life, the lyrical slow-mo of the ingénue who richly savors a clandestine burger. (She comes home to her paranoid fiancé's hawk profile in foregrounded silhouette, moments later he's crawling on the chessboard floor sniffing out hints of mustard.) Emphasis on the medium's paraphernalia in tandem with the stripping of the mise en scène, the impression of slap-happy amateurishness sought and achieved. "Spartanetics 101," excursion into meathead glory, "man as a god," a theme beloved by Riefenstahl, Milius... Facing your id means getting to know your rabbit, the heroine works up an emotional crescendo with her hand up a puppet-bunny's ass. (Chunks of Hi, Mom!, Carrie and The Fury also turn up to get the screwball treatment.) The De Palma self-portrait, a characteristic split—hapless boy wonder, or overbearing overlord? "Those who know... know." With Theresa Saldana, Captain Haggerty, and Loretta Tupper.
--- Fernando F. Croce |