Needed Some Laughs
The Patsy (1964) by Jerry Lewis, directing and starring, deals with a bellboy, Stanley Belt, becoming an entertainer after recruitment by six former behind-the-scenes colleagues of a big time entertainer killed in a plane crash, in Alaska of all places.
Stanley is pure Jerry Lewis; cross-eyed faces, mouth contortions, sudden cries rising in pitch, a weird way of walking when he's surprised by a fresh piece of information, such as when he's offered $175 a week to learn comedic, singing, and dancing techniques, not long before his nightclub and TV debuts. He bombs in the nightclub; Lewis's performance here is funny and painful. Nobody laughs or applauds, no one even heckles him. The nauseating failed comedy routine happens in silence punctuated by Stanley Belt's barking way of talking. His handlers sit embarrassed and disgusted at a table, looking up at what they've wrought. Only Ellen (Ina Balin), a tranquil, kind-hearted black-haired woman who digs Stanley from the beginning (she was the secretary of the dead comedian) shows any sympathy on her face.
Stanley Belt's comedy is from himself, without writers, a realization the six have after they see his performance on The Ed Sullivan Show, Sullivan, as himself, gripping his upper arms sometimes as he talks, had what Simon Cowell of American Idol fame lacks: a strong stage presence, doing exactly his job and nothing more, plus an acceptance for and presentation of every act, treating them with equal enthusiasm. I saw a clip once of Sullivan talking to the members of Steppenwolf, a row of, I assume, stoners wearing non-establishment clothing as the emcee asked one of them which musical groups he liked.
The musician replied, "The Fugs."
Sullivan nodded and walked away, saying "The Fools."
He may have thought he heard "The Fucks," and wanted to cover that possibility by saying another name beginning with F. That's a professional, and a square who didn't know there really was a band called The Fugs, and the Steppenwolf band member didn't curse on television.
That has nothing to do with The Patsy, but why not write about it? It's a piece of video that's stuck in my mind for twenty years. In addition, it's Covid-19 time, I'm living in my house, laid off temporarily, not going out much like much of the rest of the human population. I haven't written for a long time in this blog, the other one, or anything else. Maybe I forgot how to stick to the subject in a movie review, but when have I ever stuck to the subject, as if there can only be one.
And shouldn't there be a band called The Fucks, if there isn't such a group? If there isn't already a band with that name, I offer it for free. Free The Fucks.
Jerry Lewis's directing style included wide shots of comedic action, a technique unusual in American films of that period, but seen in movies in the 1930s and 1940s, and with the soundstage look of films of the late 1920s and early 1930s.
The film is a grab bag of craziness, gags, pratfalls, and a tremendous breaking of the fourth wall at film's end, something Godardian in its boldness.
Phil Harris as Chic Wymore, the joke writer, is excellent in this movie, a big guy with a puffed up face, a cigarette always between his fingers or in his mouth, an actor just on the screen, not apparently doing anything although he has some impatient moments with Stanley. I watched Phil Harris throughout the film. For some reason I couldn't identify, he's very good, as is Ina Balin, who plays an angel of compassion-type to counteract the male energies of the rest of the team busting their balls
converting a bellhop into a major star in just a few weeks.
My parents reviled Jerry Lewis. Too strong a word perhaps, but they couldn't tolerate his comedy, yet, my father loved the Three Stooges. Near the end of her life, one night as she sat watching Turner Classic Movies, I heard her laughing hard. I went to the kitchen where she always watched TV. A Dean Martin/Jerry Lewis film was on, one of the early ones. Lewis was doing his usual not-quite-adjusted-to-reality schtick. My mother laughed and laughed.
I thought, "Mom, it took you ninety-four years to realize Jerry Lewis is funny. I'm glad you know."
The Patsy (1964) by Jerry Lewis, directing and starring, deals with a bellboy, Stanley Belt, becoming an entertainer after recruitment by six former behind-the-scenes colleagues of a big time entertainer killed in a plane crash, in Alaska of all places.
Stanley is pure Jerry Lewis; cross-eyed faces, mouth contortions, sudden cries rising in pitch, a weird way of walking when he's surprised by a fresh piece of information, such as when he's offered $175 a week to learn comedic, singing, and dancing techniques, not long before his nightclub and TV debuts. He bombs in the nightclub; Lewis's performance here is funny and painful. Nobody laughs or applauds, no one even heckles him. The nauseating failed comedy routine happens in silence punctuated by Stanley Belt's barking way of talking. His handlers sit embarrassed and disgusted at a table, looking up at what they've wrought. Only Ellen (Ina Balin), a tranquil, kind-hearted black-haired woman who digs Stanley from the beginning (she was the secretary of the dead comedian) shows any sympathy on her face.
Stanley Belt's comedy is from himself, without writers, a realization the six have after they see his performance on The Ed Sullivan Show, Sullivan, as himself, gripping his upper arms sometimes as he talks, had what Simon Cowell of American Idol fame lacks: a strong stage presence, doing exactly his job and nothing more, plus an acceptance for and presentation of every act, treating them with equal enthusiasm. I saw a clip once of Sullivan talking to the members of Steppenwolf, a row of, I assume, stoners wearing non-establishment clothing as the emcee asked one of them which musical groups he liked.
The musician replied, "The Fugs."
Sullivan nodded and walked away, saying "The Fools."
He may have thought he heard "The Fucks," and wanted to cover that possibility by saying another name beginning with F. That's a professional, and a square who didn't know there really was a band called The Fugs, and the Steppenwolf band member didn't curse on television.
That has nothing to do with The Patsy, but why not write about it? It's a piece of video that's stuck in my mind for twenty years. In addition, it's Covid-19 time, I'm living in my house, laid off temporarily, not going out much like much of the rest of the human population. I haven't written for a long time in this blog, the other one, or anything else. Maybe I forgot how to stick to the subject in a movie review, but when have I ever stuck to the subject, as if there can only be one.
And shouldn't there be a band called The Fucks, if there isn't such a group? If there isn't already a band with that name, I offer it for free. Free The Fucks.
Jerry Lewis's directing style included wide shots of comedic action, a technique unusual in American films of that period, but seen in movies in the 1930s and 1940s, and with the soundstage look of films of the late 1920s and early 1930s.
The film is a grab bag of craziness, gags, pratfalls, and a tremendous breaking of the fourth wall at film's end, something Godardian in its boldness.
Phil Harris as Chic Wymore, the joke writer, is excellent in this movie, a big guy with a puffed up face, a cigarette always between his fingers or in his mouth, an actor just on the screen, not apparently doing anything although he has some impatient moments with Stanley. I watched Phil Harris throughout the film. For some reason I couldn't identify, he's very good, as is Ina Balin, who plays an angel of compassion-type to counteract the male energies of the rest of the team busting their balls
converting a bellhop into a major star in just a few weeks.
My parents reviled Jerry Lewis. Too strong a word perhaps, but they couldn't tolerate his comedy, yet, my father loved the Three Stooges. Near the end of her life, one night as she sat watching Turner Classic Movies, I heard her laughing hard. I went to the kitchen where she always watched TV. A Dean Martin/Jerry Lewis film was on, one of the early ones. Lewis was doing his usual not-quite-adjusted-to-reality schtick. My mother laughed and laughed.
I thought, "Mom, it took you ninety-four years to realize Jerry Lewis is funny. I'm glad you know."
Vic Neptune
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