Tag: Bruno Kirby

Frasier (1993) s01e07 – Call Me Irresponsible

It’s a Kelsey Grammar-centric episode—it’s about Frasier’s first girlfriend since the divorce, though they’re never too specific about it (just Frasier still thinks women don’t have to pay on dates). Only he manages to screw it all up, even when he finds out the girlfriend (Amanda Donohue with such a good American accent I didn’t think it was Amanda Donohue despite looking exactly like Amanda Donohue) doesn’t have a problem with what’s bothering him.

So, the episode opens with one dropped celebrity caller (Eddie Van Halen) then another (Bruno Kirby) getting a lengthy (for “Frasier”) phone session. Kirby’s girlfriend is pushing him to commit but Kirby’s just hanging on to her as a placeholder, assuming something better will turn up. Grammer–in what is also the show’s first layered cold open punchline (Chuck Ranberg and Anne Flett-Giordano writing)—tells Kirby to be honest and break up. Fast forward a day—after a hilarious Christmas card picture-taking scene at the apartment, two months early—and the now ex-girlfriend, Donohue, is at the studio to confront Grammer. Turns out Kirby wasn’t entirely truthful about what Grammer told him to do so Grammer explains it all.

One thing leads to another and Grammer and Donohue get hot and heavy very quickly; David Hyde Pierce disapproves—what about Grammer’s ethics as a psychiatrist. There’s this great caller vs. patient conversation where the show says more about talk radio than it ever has before but Grammer’s able to convince Hyde Pierce it’s fine.

Until Kirby calls back and says he wants to get back together with Donohue. Grammer counsels him against it, to Peri Gilpin’s horrified face behind the glass and Hyde Pierce making similar expressions in his car as he listens. Great matching reactions from Gilpin and Hyde Pierce, one wonders if James Burrows tried to make the expressions close or if everyone just had the perfect horrified by Grammer faces.

Turns out Hyde Pierce doesn’t have to worry too much about it because the Crane boys both have comprised morale tells—Hyde Pierce’s nose bleeds and Grammer pukes. So can Frasier get through the big “at his apartment” date night without disaster?

I mean, no, obviously not, it’s a sitcom. So it’s just got to be an amusing disaster. It succeeds, thanks to Grammer being very good as the lead. The show’s got excellent, showy (and showy excellent) supporting players but it’s not like Grammer’s a slouch. He’s got to shift between sitcom slapstick and sitcom screwball and does it very well.

There’s also a great final punchline between Grammer and Eddie the dog, then the end credits are the adorable Christmas card photo outtakes.

It’s nice to see the show can hit a high above average even when it’s not stretching itself.

Between the Lines (1977, Joan Micklin Silver)

There are some good scenes in Between the Lines and some good performances… but thanks to director Micklin Silver’s direction, a lot of it feels like a really unfunny episode of a sitcom. “A very special episode” or something. It’s like maudlin moments strung over ninety-some minutes only to bounce up at the end. The film also suffers from an aimless, meandering story. There are four subplots making up the film and it manages to go pretty well without a real plot, because the romance between John Heard and Lindsay Crouse, which is aimless and meandering too, but Heard’s good–for the most part–and Crouse is appealing. Micklin Silver doesn’t direct the actors very much and some of takes she went with really shouldn’t have been printed. Anyway, the film pretends it doesn’t have these plots and is somehow anti-plot… which only makes the plots more obvious.

There’s the love story, the young American author and girlfriend, the scandal and the buying of the newspaper. The first one gets a lot of attention, but none of the others get enough. It’s unbelievable, for example, anyone would date Stephen Collins before he signs his book contract and becomes a jerk who wears sunglasses in clubs, much less after. The scandal is stupid, gives Bruno Kirby something to do (like he’s being groomed for when the sitcom’s lead leaves). The buying of the newspaper is what it is–obviously and convenient, since the movie ends five minutes after the scene.

Where Between the Lines is not standard is in how much Micklin Silver shows of people’s interactions with each other. There some great raw scenes in here and there’s a real sense of reality (even if she does earn all those tickets she spends it all on a big dumb teddy bear in the shape of Raymond J. Barry–who is great in his scene, which consists of him, quite unbelievably, wrecking havoc in the newspaper office). So, by the end of the movie where Lane Smith turns out not to be the progressive, free-thinking new boss and is instead just corporate jackass… well, it came as little surprise. The subsequent day dream sequence, on the other hand, was simply inexcusable.

The performances, besides Stephen Collins and Jon Korkes and most of Gwen Welles (except her character is unbelievable), are all good. Jeff Goldblum’s funny, Marilu Henner has a nice small part; the big surprise is Jill Eikenberry, who is fantastic. Joe Morton has a small role and he’s good.

There’s actually an accounting geek in the office who wears bow-ties and is the butt of all the hip people’s jokes. It’s ludicrous and makes the whole movie feel a little like a self-aware farce. Until reality returns and it becomes clear… it isn’t a joke.

2/4★★

CREDITS

Directed by Joan Micklin Silver; screenplay by Fred Barron, based on a story by Barron and David Helpern; director of photography, Kenneth Van Sickle; edited by John Carter; music by Michael Kamen; produced by Raphael D. Silver; released by Midwest Films.

Starring John Heard (Harry Lucas), Lindsay Crouse (Abbie), Jeff Goldblum (Max Arloft), Jill Eikenberry (Lynn), Bruno Kirby (David Entwhistle), Gwen Welles (Laura), Stephen Collins (Michael), Lewis J. Stadlen (Stanley), Jon Korkes (Frank), Michael J. Pollard (The Hawker), Lane Smith (Roy Walsh), Joe Morton (Ahmed), Richard Cox (Wheeler), Marilu Henner (Danielle) and Raymond J. Barry (Herbert Fisk).

RECENTLY

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This is Spinal Tap (1984, Rob Reiner)

To be fair, I haven’t seen Spinal Tap in fifteen years, so when I say I remember it being funnier… well, I’m sure I used to think Caddyshack was funnier too. Funny even.

Spinal Tap achieved, in the late 1990s, a mythic reputation among film and DVD geeks for a couple reasons. First, I suppose, was Waiting for Guffman. Second, and more specific, was the Criterion Collection DVD release, which became rare as many of those early Criterion DVDs became rare. I didn’t have the Criterion–though, at one point, I think I might have had a copy of the in-character audio commentary–and I never watched it during this period. Getting around to it now was because the fiancée had never seen it and, like I said, I remembered it being funnier.

The film’s greatest deficit, both acting-wise and creatively, is obviously Rob Reiner. His direction is insipid, which–from the technical angle–could be explained by his character’s lack of talent, but the direction of actors isn’t any good either, so that excuse is out. His acting is something even worse and he weighs down every scene he’s in. Unfortunately, Reiner’s not the only problem. While Spinal Tap is really funny during the first half hour or so, once the film gets itself a narrative, it crumbles. Long, unfunny scenes, meant to tell a story, make the film feel like it’s three hours instead of eighty-two minutes.

Some of the cameos are incredibly successful–Bruno Kirby’s for instance–but others are just too short. Fred Willard needed a few more seconds. Spinal Tap is almost a success, stressing the ‘almost.’ The rest of the fault has to fall on the band focus. Christopher Guest is the best, but doesn’t get as much screen-time as Michael McKean, who is the worst. June Chadwick, as McKean’s girlfriend, is boring and predictable (both her performance and the character). Harry Shearer isn’t in the film anywhere near enough and it never feels like he has a relationship with the other band members.

In short, it works as a joke, not a movie.

2.5/4★★½

CREDITS

Directed by Rob Reiner; written by Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, Harry Shearer and Reiner; director of photography, Peter Smokler; edited by Robert Leighton, Kent Beyda and Kim Secrist; music and lyrics by Guest, McKean, Shearer and Reiner; produced by Karen Murphy; released by Embassy Pictures.

Starring Rob Reiner (Marty DiBerti), Michael McKean (David St. Hubbins), Christopher Guest (Nigel Tufnel), Harry Shearer (Derek Smalls), R.J. Parnell (Mick Shrimpton), David Kaff (Viv Savage), Tony Hendra (Ian Faith), Bruno Kirby (Tommy Pischedda) and June Chadwick (Jeanine Pettibone).

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