Writers, be they Philip Roth or Jacqueline Susann, invariably complain about how Hollywood makes a mess of their work when bringing it to the screen. Norman Mailer was different. Rather than let Hollywood ruin the movie version of his novel "Tough Guys Don't Dance," he chose to ruin it himself. That his movie has the ingredients to be a camp classic yet still falls short is all you need to know about Mailer's skills as a director.
And yet Mailer comes so close to making this disaster enjoyable. Just the dialog alone — an awkward mix 1940s gangster patois, writerly pretensions and gutter vulgarity, usually combined in a single sentence — should make this a must-see. The dialog doesn't sound like it would ever be uttered by actual people yet it's highly quotable (though not here). The only movies I've seen that refer to male genitalia as much as this one were gay porn videos, which is kind of surprising given the gay panic coursing through "Tough Guys" (second only to the misogyny). Or maybe it's not so surprising.
The cast of "Tough Guys Don't Dance" does its part to turn Mailer's movie into campy fun. Ryan O'Neal pounds the last nail into the coffin of his career as Tim Madden, the alcoholic would-be writer who can't quite remember if he's responsible for all the blood in his Jeep or the head buried with his marijuana stash. Though I kept thinking Nicolas Cage would've been so much more fun, O'Neal is actually effective in the role. Too bad his performance can't overcome that awful "oh god oh man" moment on the beach. A miscast Isabella Rossellini delivers her lines as if embarrassed to say them, but in her defense she does have to say things like: "He must have the biggest c—k in all Christendom." If Elizabeth Berkley of "Showgirls" fame were to play Maggie in a dinner theater production of "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" it might look something like Debra Sundland's portrayal of Madden's money-hungry ex-wife Patty Lareine. And yet Sundland is never quite that awesome. John Bedford Lloyd plays the part of Patty Lareine's bisexual ex-husband Wardley like a Southern belle suffering from a case of the vapors, so maybe it's perfectly natural that he would use a word like "imbroglio". But it's Wings Hauser who steals the show as the lunatic Capt. Alvin Luther Regency, the police chief—and seemingly the town's sole law enforcement officer—breathing down Tim's neck. Hauser doesn't chew the scenery; he unhinges his jaw and swallows it whole. Only Lawrence Tierney, as Madden's father Dougy, emerges from this movie with his dignity intact.
With a director blinded by ego, over-written dialog and over-the-top acting, "Tough Guys" should be in the same league as "The Oscar," "The Concorde-Airport '79" and the remake of "The Wicker Man." But with the exception of Hauser's performance, it never quite takes off to such giddy lows. It's a movie that's more fun to talk about than actually watch. I remember reading an article about the making of this movie in the late '80s, the lurid plot description – sex! drugs! violence! – enough to make me seek it out when released on video. I was profoundly disappointed. I expected trash, but I didn't expect it to be boring. I re-watched it recently and while I found it more entertaining, I was still disappointed. But Mailer didn't make this movie to please me, or anyone else. As made clear by trailer to his movie, in which the smirking author/auteur reads the scathing comment cards from test screenings, Mailer doesn't care what you think. The only opinion that matters is his, and in his own opinion "Tough Guys Don't Dance" is a good movie. You're just too dumb to appreciate genius.
