NAKED LUNCH
A film review by Joe Van de Zande
Copyright 1992 Joe Van de Zande
Well now. What do you say to sheet lightning dropping from a baby sky? Not much. Even the German shepherd cross I bear has enough sense to dive for shelter, then peek out at the fireworks. Lashing and thrashing. This is an ugly movie that walks like it talks.
Details? Forget it! Okay, one. The movie is *not* based on the novel, not really, though there are two readings and one character from it. (Readers of the long gone and sorely missed B&H annals may recognize Dr. Benway.) Instead, it's a fantasy about Big Bill himself in Morocco during the period NAKED LUNCH was written. Very loosely based on the recent biography, perhaps.
Curious about the novel? It's on my credenza, heavily dog-eared. Just open it anywhere and read a couple of pages at random; it's one of those. Like Delaney's DHALGREN, right? And would you like to meet the real Burroughs? Well you could run him to ground in Lawrence, Kansas, last I heard, or you could check out the defrocked priest toward the end of DRUGSTORE COWBOY. That's your man.
Funny? Umm ... do you laugh when Joan is shooting bug powder into her breast and describes the sensation as "Kafkaesque"? Some did, others blanched. A matter of taste. Genri; Uncle Duke in a nasty mood. Ever read Ciline? Heh. Try to him at the River Oaks Waldenbooks. "Sure. Behind the Hallmark cards". One thing: I know it would have ruined the atmosphere of decay and corruption, but if I were the director I'd've been tempted to slip Woody Allen in as ten second cameo hallucination of the Ginsberg character.
This is an atmosphere movie, not one for a big screen. You can't go wrong if you see it in Chicago; I believe it is only playing at the Esquire on Oak, and the Broadway. (Yes, silly, on Broadway. Near Belmont). I went to the latter. Packed. Get your ticket early then watch basketball for a while at Reflections two doors south. (Did you see DA BULLS work out on Utah? Mercy.)
Joe V. .
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