The Libertarian Review March 1980 - Libertarianism.org

48the Russian Embassy by thewife ofAmerica's most influentialzillionaire, whosmiles when the Ambassadortosses off a phrase inRussian, obviously mustknow Russian perfectly. Aswell, of course, as eightother languages. A man whotells that same lady, whenshe comes to throw herselfat him and asks what helikes, that likes to "watch,"which means to him watchtelevision, must surely meanwatch her masturbate..Andshe does, while he watchesmore television. Such alover! A man who talks toAmerica in the vocabularyofa twelve-year~old througha medium allegedly gearedto the twelve-year-old mentalitymust be the ultimate,the consummate master ofpopular communication,and if that, why not the greathope for his country?And what if this Mr. Gardinerhas no past? If his pedigreedoesn't pop out of thepresidential computers?Rank incompetence on thepart ofthe intelligence agencies!"What do you meanhe's got no background? Iquoted him on national televisiontoday! He's a verywell known man!"Being There slid intoNew York and Hollywoodat the tail end of' the year,only now landing in theprovinces, thus too late to fitinto most of those requisitebest-of-the-yearlists. Butthefilm bursts·with merit. ShirleyMacLaine and MelvynDouglas are, respectively,sensuous and outrageouslyopinionated as the Rands;and Jack Warden's PresidentBobby, who can'tperformwith the First Lady, soexcited ishe by his brilliantnew find, the economicswizard Gardiner, carries satireas far as it can go beforethe characterization lapsesinto buffoonery. Atthe centerofthis world ofmistakenidentity stands, barely movingexcept to switch channels,scarcely modulating anemotion except as he mighthave seen it portrayed on thetube, Peter Sellers's Chance,a.k.a. Chauncey Gardiner.Sellers never misses a,beat.He has nowhere to go, nothingto do, no wants except anice garden to tend, no experiencesto draw on to dislodgehis equanimity: thisChance passes leisurelythrough life, and BeingThere accommodates itselfto his· pace.The movie is funny becauseof what happens toChance; it is often heartrendingbecause of whatChance happens to be. PeterSellers, liberated at lastfromPink Panther sequelitis,shows here his mastery ofpersona. He must at once actlike a dimwit and inspire inothers the belief thathe is astoundinglycomplex. Sellersmust put before us a manwho has enough holes in hisbackground to run Amtrakthrough, while never causingus todoubtfor an instantthat his wholly unintendedcharade could go on forever.The universe out there, outof his garden, never bothersto listen, at least never staysput long enough to interpretwhat is manifest: that asimpleton is a simpleton.But is the success of ChaunceyGardiner really so impla~siblein a country thattook Jimmy Carter straight?All That Jazz is fabulous,too, a fable for our time aswell as an astoundingly finemovie. Joe Gideon is Mercuryhimself compared toChance's stately calm, andthis thinly disguised- hell,virtually undisguised-BobFosse autobiography is, likeBeing There, entirely out ofthe stream of conventionalcinema fare these days. It isan'extended flashback fromdeath, of the over-working,over-playing, over-extendingof a monumental ego.Told through dance, song,dialogue, spectacle, allegory,the swift decline of abrilliantly talented manfrom vigor to rigor mortisbecomes in Fosse's hands anexhilarating excursion intoprecisely the other side ofthat make-believe worldJessica Lange as Angelique and Roy Scheider as Joe Gideon, the"scrappy, funny and graceful" anti-hero of All That Jazz.that has formed all, howeverlittle there is, of Chance thegardener. Image is all,hoopla is king, glitter bedecksplaster, and there's nobusiness like snow-job business.You can imagineChance casually flipping thedial with his remote controlgizmo, coming at last to aJoe Gideon production, andsettling in with it for theevening. The films havenothing whatever in common,other than their excellence,but the worlds theydepict are impossible withouteach other. Chancecouldn't thrive without JoeGideon, Joe Gideon couldn'ttriumph in a spectaclestarvedAmerica withoutChance and all the Chancesout there, glued to whatthey're witnessing, absorbing,admiring, emulating.Joe' Gideon is everythingBob Fosse is, except, at leastas ofthis writing, dead. He isendlessly re-editing a filmabout a night-club comic(Lenny), he is casting a newshow by winnowing out thedross (Chorus Line), he isrehearsing a magnificentnew stage production andhorrifying the stuffy moneymen with his' erotic numbers,he is driving his mistressnuts and fitting hisbrief affairs into the slots betweenthe rest of his doings,he is trying to be a goodfather to his daughter and apleasant ex-husband to hisex-wife, and he is keeping allhis balls in the air simultaneouslyby popping uppers.Dexedrine, something forthe hang-over, drops for redeye, and a masochistic leapinto the cold shower: thedays begin alike. They endalike. He ends.All That Jazz reachesfarther than it can grasp, buteven in the lapses it thrills bydaring. We are at one momentwith the teenage JoeGideon in white tie and tailsin'a sleazy club, tap dancingto drunks', teased by chippies;in the next minute weare furiously rushing to keepup with the adultJoe Gideonas he races through hisTHE LIBERTARIAN REVIEW