THE POPE OF UTAH
A film review by David N. Butterworth
Copyright 1993 David N. Butterworth/The Summer Pennsylvanian
It is the year 2001.
A bleak Utah landscape, a Kentucky-fried land of porno booths, gin joints and mustard refineries, fizzles into bursts of static and a fuzzy kaleidoscope of mutated video images blip, pop, and crackle their way onto the screen.
Thus begins THE POPE OF UTAH, a wacky, colorful and savagely funny movie debut from Philadelphia filmmakers Chaim Bianco and Steven Saylor.
Welcome to "Mustardville," a world a-buzz with television imagery--TV dinners, TV talk shows, TV evangelism--home of Utah's Heartland Television, Home of the Voice of God. A sort of Home Shopping Network meets the 700 Club.
KTRI-TV's prime minister and product plugger extraordinaire is Melvis Pressin (Tom McCarthy), a flamboyant and monochromatically- attired televangelist, part Jimmy Swaggart, part Crazy Eddie. "Plant your seed money in me, people" pleads Melvis during one of the station's many pledge drives. "Place your nest eggs on my face." Consumerism takes it on the chin during Mel's frequent and flashy solicitations, and there's always a push for Lords Hot Mustard.
By contrast, Del Shandling is a has-been, an ex-stand-up comic who is stuck in a dead-end job as KTRI-TV's staff censor. This is a long way from being the former "toast of North Jersey," that's for sure. Del (played by Lee Golden) is a bug-eyed, embittered wannabe whose dream is to have his own TV show. This guy looks a lot like Mr. Potatohead, right down to the tacky wardrobe.
Del's wife Faye (Ginny Brown Graham) sits transfixed by the television screen, happily pledging hundreds of dollars to Melvis' "Lonely Hearts Happyhour." This creates a certain amount of animosity between Del and Mel, and Del hatches an outrageous blackmail scheme in the hope of finally freeing himself of Faye's constant naggings.
Shot in and around the Philadelphia area, THE POPE OF UTAH is very much a home-grown product. The filmmakers take advantage of a lot of native talent, and sharp-eyed viewers might recognize some of the locations used for the film. Phoenixville's popular Vale Rio Diner provides the backdrop for a pivotal scene between Mel and Del. The massive, industrial junkyard down by the Walt Whitman bridge plays host to Mel's 2nd Annual Weenie Roast. And the seedy, neon-lit facades along Admiral Wilson Boulevard double for a Nevada porno strip. It's also fun to see Philadelphia's own Gary Papa pop up in a brief cameo as KTRI-TV news anchor Rod Pilsbury--"Lordy, that's Hot Mustard!"
Although televangelists are an easy target, it's the presentation of the material that sets THE POPE OF UTAH apart. The garish color schemes--from Melvis' voluminous yellow suit to the blue of the KromaKeyed set to the bright orange smog surrounding the mustard factory. The in-your-face visual style--with the two leads often photographed from the nostrils up, creating a pastiche of obnoxious caricatures with big heads. And the accomplished blend of film and video animation techniques, replete with in-jokes for movie lovers ("I coulda had class. I coulda been a ... Minister!" dubs Del) and computer buffs alike (FaceFitter 2.1, for example). Despite the film's shoestring budget, it's very well put together.
THE POPE OF UTAH will inevitably draw comparisons to Martin Scorsese's THE KING OF COMEDY, with its biting observations about the high price of stardom. But this film's tone is more cornball than cynical, and its humor more mustard-colored than black.
Bianco and Saylor's most thought-provoking insight is that cameras are what turn reality into dreams, and it's clear that the camera of these two Temple University film grads has done precisely that. This is a film about the have-it-alls and the have-nots, a video-aged potpourri of crass commercialism, TV censorship and couch-potato-dom. Nothing in the industrialized landscape of the future appears to have changed much, give or take an in-car television or two, but maybe that's the point. We are what we consume, high-energy doses of white noise and static electricity.
Ironically, as one Philadelphia enterprise takes off, another's future is uncertain. Temple Cinematheque, where Bianco and Saylor's film receives its first public screening, is threatened with closure next month. Help support this local institution by getting on down to TUCC to see THE POPE OF UTAH, a dark, funny and irreverent deconstruction of the American Dream. You'll be glad you did.
| Directed by: Chaim Bianco and | | Steven Saylor David N. Butterworth - UNIVERSITY OF PA | | Rating (Maltin Scale): ***1/2 Internet: butterworth@a1.mscf.upenn.edu |
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