(An Alan Smithee Film--) Burn Hollywood Burn (R) no stars (out of ****)
The wildly overpaid screenwriter Joe Eszterhas has written so many masturbatory fantasies for the movies that it was only a matter of time before he himself jacked off onscreen. And that's exactly what he does in his absolutely atrocious "inside Hollywood satire," which cannot even decide what its title is. Originally billed simply as An Alan Smithee Film, its "official" title is An Alan Smithee Film Burn Hollywood Burn. However, in the opening titles, the "An Alan Smithee Film" appears more as a possessory credit and Burn Hollywood Burn is given the showcase title treatment, not to mention that numerous sources refer to it as simply Burn Hollywood Burn. However, a dash (--) curiously appears after "Film," so I'll call this self-indulgent waste of celluloid is (An Alan Smithee Film--) Burn Hollywood Burn.
As far as I'm concerned, Eszterhas is a comic genius. It takes a certain gift to not only pen the notorious laff riot Showgirls but to also liken the lapdancing extravaganza as "a religious experience." But his comedic talent only shines through when he's blissfully, hilariously unaware--that is, when he's dead serious. Burn Hollywood Burn is written and conceived as a comedy, and this sorry excuse for a satire just proves the opposite point: "funny" Eszterhas is not only unfunny, but excruciatingly so.
"Structured" (using that term _very_ loosely) as a mockumentary in three haphazardly labeled acts (titled "Missionary Position," "Whips and Chains," and "Doggie Style"--are we laughing yet?), the film details the disastrous making of the most expensive film in Hollywood history, the (fictional) action extravaganza Trio, starring Sylvester Stallone, Whoopi Goldberg, and Jackie Chan (all of whom appear in cameos--and undoubtedly regret it). The film's unctious producer (Ryan O'Neal) wrests control of the final edit from its director (Eric Idle), who wants his name removed from the project. The problem is, his name is Alan Smithee, and Alan Smithee is the Directors Guild-required pseudonym used for the director's credit whenever the true helmer wants his name removed. Apparently at a loss for options, Alan steals the only existing negative. What does he do with it? Three guesses (if you need a hint, read the movie's title again).
That's it. There's barely enough plot to fill the worst of Saturday Night Live sketches, let alone this movie's running time, which, at 83 minutes, is overlong by at least 82. But plot, or, for that matter, characters or witty dialogue, is of little concern to Eszterhas. Burn Hollywood Burn only exists to serve Eszterhas's own personal agenda, badmouthing just about everyone in the business (it's hard to tell who are his friends and who are his enemies--or is it that he just has no friends?). While this is certainly fun for Eszterhas, it is a torturous bore for the audience--unless there are some people who delight in the figurative sight of a shaggy, oversexed middle-aged man pleasuring himself. I'm all for wicked, mean-spirited humor--when it's funny. But nothing in Burn Hollywood Burn reaches even the snicker level. His idea of a running gag is identifying all the women as a "feminist" in the docu-style on-screen labels and repetitive jabs at former Creative Artists Agency head Michael Ovitz. And while I have never minded the inclusion of outtakes during a film's end credits, the blooper reel that closes Burn Hollywood Burn is so pointless and unamusing that I am seriously reconsidering my position on the practice.
(An Alan Smithee Film--) Burn Hollywood Burn is now truly an Alan Smithee film after director Arthur Hiller had his name removed. The scariest part of this story is that his original version of the film tested _worse_ than this final edit cobbled together by Eszterhas himself. Eszterhas has joked that this Burn Hollywood Burn is "the most expensive home movie ever made," and like all of his intentially humorous comments, it comes off as far from a joke. Burn Hollywood Burn plays just as he facetiously said--as an extended home movie that may be fun for its makers, "stars," and their friends and family to watch, but a leaden bore to anyone outside the circle. Burn, Eszterhas, burn.
Michael Dequina mrbrown@ucla.edu | michael_jordan@geocities.com | mj23@the18thhole.com mrbrown@michaeljordanfan.com | mj23@michaeljordanfan.com mrbrown@iname.com | mst3k@digicron.com
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