Hinter dem Rampenlicht - All that jazz

One of the most gleefully indulgent, self-loathing films ever made- yet watchable as a train wreck, thanks to its bravery, wit and overall excellence.

Scheider is unexpectedly effective as the director's mirror image, a talented louse who deserves what he gets. I can only imagine the smirk that must have been on Fosse's face throughout this production. He doesn't ask for forgiveness, he doesn't try to justify Gideon's behavior, and he certainly didn't encourage Scheider to be sympathetic. "You're right, I'm a bastard," he seems to be saying.

While catchy and professional, the musical numbers (particularly the art direction and costumes) range from tasteless to bombastic- as they were intended, I think. The choreography is precise, the editing masterful, and the performances in sharp focus. These elements, plus the acerbically mournful script, make for a fascinating deconstruction of self to an extent rarely, if ever, seen in the movies.

Not every artist should think himself so interesting, but thankfully, both Fosse's professional and personal life merited such honest examination. I can't think of any of our more iconic filmmakers today who have been turned the camera back on themselves in such unflinching fashion.

Note: Among the direct parallels to Fosse's actual career are "The Stand-Up" to "Lenny", and Lithgow's snooty Lucas Sergeant to theatre's estimable Harold Prince.