THE KING OF COMEDY is Martin Scorsese's strangest film, something so different from his other work but still frighteningly good. Up until 1983, he had perfectly captured small-time hoods, New York insomnia, and raging boxers, amongst other topics. With this picture, he does a 180 and displays yet another side of New York paranoia in the form of celebrity-obsessed freaks. "Rupert Pupkin", as played by Robert De Niro, is a complete nut, a loose cannon not seen before in films this way. De Niro becomes "Pupkin" and creates a stunningly sad and demented character. His verbal thoughts and disillusionment are hilarious, and his screaming mother reminds us that they are illusions. "Shut up Rupert" yells his Mom when Rupert gets out of hand interviewing a cardboard Liza Minelli in his basement. The real performance to catch is Jerry Lewis as a Johnny Carson clone, an understated, realistic portrayal of a talk-show host who has had enough and seen it all.
None of Scorsese's typical techniques are here, but no matter. Maybe a couple of quick zooms and some camera bulbs splashing, but nothing like the fluid movement seen in his other flicks. He presents a brutal portrait of a very real epidemic; the stalking of celebrities who have access to an audience the stalkers could never fathom. Just listen to Howard Stern and you will hear at least one "Rupert Pupkin" a day, trying to gain attention with crank calls or unannounced appearances. This is an art film that does not tell a story in straight narrative whatsoever. A loony De Niro and an even more sick Sandra Bernhard (in a truly memorable performance) make for quite a scene, especially after De Niro loses the last glint of sanity he has. They both want the fame but have no realistic idea of how to achieve it except to pursue Jerry Lewis' character night and day. Surprisingly, it actually works for one of them.
For an absolutely funny and offbeat experience, see THE KING OF COMEDY. Scorsese is so good at recreating a mood or a period, usually composed of mobsters, tortured women, or whacked-out civilians. Here, he perfectly creates something fresh and real with two superstars (De Niro & Lewis) at the top of their game, with De Niro splurging and Lewis playing someone who may not be that far from who he really is. If you think about it, there is a Rupert Pupkin in us all, isn't there?
None of Scorsese's typical techniques are here, but no matter. Maybe a couple of quick zooms and some camera bulbs splashing, but nothing like the fluid movement seen in his other flicks. He presents a brutal portrait of a very real epidemic; the stalking of celebrities who have access to an audience the stalkers could never fathom. Just listen to Howard Stern and you will hear at least one "Rupert Pupkin" a day, trying to gain attention with crank calls or unannounced appearances. This is an art film that does not tell a story in straight narrative whatsoever. A loony De Niro and an even more sick Sandra Bernhard (in a truly memorable performance) make for quite a scene, especially after De Niro loses the last glint of sanity he has. They both want the fame but have no realistic idea of how to achieve it except to pursue Jerry Lewis' character night and day. Surprisingly, it actually works for one of them.
For an absolutely funny and offbeat experience, see THE KING OF COMEDY. Scorsese is so good at recreating a mood or a period, usually composed of mobsters, tortured women, or whacked-out civilians. Here, he perfectly creates something fresh and real with two superstars (De Niro & Lewis) at the top of their game, with De Niro splurging and Lewis playing someone who may not be that far from who he really is. If you think about it, there is a Rupert Pupkin in us all, isn't there?