Tough Guys Don't Dance

If you have an insatiable appetite for movies and want to get into something unusually tasty then serve yourself this movie tonight!

Important sidebar: if you've already read a critique posted on this site that nay-sayed this piece please do yourself a favor and etch-a-sketch that memory away. Though well-worded, Jack Sommersby's review of Tough Guys Don't Dance is just as equally misguided. For instance, the same gentleman who waxes that he was summarily summoned into Sleepyville three times before he was capable of viddying this work from beginning to end also asserts that it is a film that "you can't quite take your eyes off of." Believe me, you won't have a problem making more than "a bit of sense" from this mixture of the twisted, oddball and suspenseful. In fact even Doctor Dunderhead couldn't help but sleepwalk into a bit of truth when he characterized this Norman Mailer pastiche as "perversely fascinating." You don't need to know Jack to dig this flick the first time through, and you may find yourself revisiting it soon afterwards haunted by its savage and sublime reverbations.

This movie is a MUST SEE for film fans. Ryan O'Neal steps out from under typecasting--which has rendered him ineffective in much of his work--to engage in an often upsetting, yet somehow casual dance with the devil. He, Lawrence Tierney and Wings Hauser serve up sumptuous performances. All the while the supporting cast provides color, depth and character to a plot that is as unnerving as it is both captivating and entertaining.

Ignore Sir Superlative Sommersby's slight of hand and rent this movie! If I'm wrong then blast me back herein. On the other hand, if you like what you see then do me a favor and explain to me what the last phrase of Jaded Jack's review means--"rendering us helpless under power to disturb"!?! In the meanwhile, fellow movie devotee, keep on dancing.

The passage of time (now 1/28/11) heals all wounds. This flick may have been a laughing stock after release in 1987 but the passage of time has added new dimensions enabling the viewer to see it again from many different angles; one of which is the involvement of Norman Mailer who now possesses the mystical aura of a great artist post mortem. The campy acting and over the top attempts at noir now actually enhance this film. As a bonus there is the Cape Cod filming location with some wonderful views of the Cape in winter. The plot is complicated and almost rises to the level of a good screwball comedy although in this case the comedy is definitely black. Lots of bodies to be moved from place to place as the characters frantically try to stay one step ahead of whatever is threatening them at the moment. In the end, all is satisfactorily resolved and each character has been dealt with appropriately by fate. I thought that the last five minutes contained some of the best black comedy I've ever seen, all topped off by the happy fairy tale ending.

Oh, Norman Mailer - acclaimed author, won more prizes than you can count in one minute, and occasional maker of films (a number of them basically like shoots in a weekend with friends in his living room, or so I've been told, I haven't seen the Eclipse box-set yet of his other works). In 1987 he was given carte blanche, via Cannon films and producer Francis Ford Coppola, to take his windy, warped novel that poked fun at pot-boilers and crime fiction (film noir especially) and made it into a movie. And the results are completely befuddling.

I think a lot of it comes down to plot logic. In that, this doesn't have that much. Sure, we follow along Ryan O'Neal as he is trying to figure out a mystery involving a lost woman, an old affair, and, uh, other things. It even has one of those plot-framing devices that opens the movie, where O'Neal is telling his story to father(?) Lawrence Tierney and then this just... disappears for a LONG stretch of the film, to the point where I forgot it was even a thing. There's also Isabella Rossellini (in seemingly the one performance playing it straight, or trying to), and another actor - damn if I forget his name - who is a cop that often appears wigged out (probably on coke, who knows it was the 80's).

I wish I could explain what happens in this movie and why it's so f***ed up, but it just boggles my mind! So much of it comes down to Mailer not really being able to transition his dialog, which probably worked OK on the page (and even there one wonders if it was still questionable), to the format of the screen. People just... don't talk like this! The verbiage is off the charts in this one - but there are moments where, I THINK anyway, Mailer knew he had something really warped and just went for it. The scene that I know I'll never forget and many others haven't is when Ryan O'Neal's character discovers a letter from a woman from his past, it gives him some crucial, heartbreaking information, and then he just bursts with "OH MAN, OH GOD, OH MAN" for about 15 minutes as the camera pans around him in a dizzying effect. If this was meant for comedy then it's genius on par with the Zucker brothers or Mel Brooks. If it's supposed to be in any kind of Earth reality, it's a disaster-zone.

But oh, what a watchable movie made of WTF. Part of what helps is that it is competently shot and edited, and the performers, alongside those I mentioned Penn Jillette and Frances Fisher pop up, are trying to give it their all and be true to the material. But by being true to it means showing how completely nuts it is. Maybe the most golden part of the experience is the theatrical trailer for the film itself, where Normal Mailer on camera reads the mix of reviews - the good, the bad and the 'Uh say what' - and that makes me happy alone the movie was made. I have a feeling doing a double feature of this and another 1987 Cannon films art-house release, Godard's King Lear, could be just the thing to make you go run for the hills... or break your brain laughing. It may be awful, but it's awful in a spectacular way.

The story revolves around Tim Madden, a writer and ex-con.He has to deal with two heads of women he knew.The problem is he can't remember if he is the killer or not.Tough Guys Don't Dance (1987) is a Norman Mailer direction, and he also wrote the book.The movie was a flop, even getting some Rasberry awards.The actors do a decent job.It has Ryan O'Neal as Tim Madden.Lawrence Tierney is his father Dougy.Isabella Rossellini plays Madeleine Regency.Wings Hauser is her husband Capt. Alvin Luther Regency.Debra Sandlund plays Patty Lareine.Penn Jillette portrays Big Stoop.Frances Fisher plays the part of Jessica Pond.I read Mailer's original novel, written in 1984, before seeing the movie.I must say the novel is better, but the movie isn't a huge failure.It does fail to be a great movie, though, but it could be a lot worse.I guess the biggest weakness of the movie is the lack of likable characters.There are all these killers and junkies, and it's very hard to like those people.The main character may have some good qualities, though.But anyway, if you've got nothing better to do, you can watch this movie.Maybe you even like it a bit.

Norman Mailer used to mean something, literary-wise. He was a Big Noise back in the fifties and sixties trying to be the heir apparent to his hero Hemingway, but since Mailer was really just a small-statured city boy with no interest in the outdoors he resorted to games of thumb-wrestling and head butting men (and assaulting women) instead of hunting and traveling. Like this movie, Mailer is a juvenile, woman-hating, gay-hating, faux-tough guy obviously obsessed with his fragile masculinity. Decades of hype and bad writing and activities (including the notorious Abbott disaster) have reduced his noisy reputation to virtual silence. He has become as pathetic as this movie, based on another one of his terrible novels. Granted this film is more coherent than his previous directorial attempts way-back-when (i.e. 'Wild 90,' 'Maidstone') there is still no reason to give it any more credibility considering its supreme awfulness. Of course, there IS the 'Showgirls'-like aroma of a risible good time to be had for those inclined to cheer on the execrable disasters of filmmakers who thought they were making something worthwhile and were so very wrong. For other viewers this is a stupefying experience mirrored by the consistently haggard look of Ryan O'Neal throughout. Like Spike Lee, Mailer MUST include his obsessions on screen. Ala Spike, consider this a 'Norman Mailer Joint.' That means you will hear men grousing to other men about "being men" and "not being fags" and how spiteful and cruel all women are, and it will be spoken in purplish film-noir-meets-gym-locker-room dialogue (my favorite: "Don't tickle my stick.") There will be countless scenes of women degrading themselves for no reason or men complaining/crying because those ruthless harpies have emasculated them. Since it's directed by a rank amateur, naturally the actors look either lost or unhinged. In short, this film, like its author, is an embarrassment.