Serial killer Rod Steiger beans detective George Segal and knocks him out but not before Segal mortally wounds him with a single shot to the abdomen. With Segal flat on the floor, Steiger appears from the side of the stage -- this takes place in a Broadway theater -- clutching his bleeding belly. "UH-oh!", shouts the expiring Steiger, reeling from one prop to another, as if he's just had a jolt of bad news, as if he'd just been informed that he owed back taxes.
It's unintentionally hilarious. At least I THINK it was unintentional. With Steiger overacting so outrageously throughout, and with the director, Jack Smight, off snoozing in a corner somewhere, it's a little hard to tell.
I first saw it in a theater in Ketchikan, Alaska, enjoyed it immensely, and still do when it shows up on television. It's just as funny as Goldman's novel but much less venomous. In the novel, Segal's mother is even more irritating, demanding, and dominating, and when she suggests that one of Steiger's victims deserved to die, the protagonist leaps up and tries to strangle his mother, screaming, "JOIN HER!" Steiger isn't really that much good in his impersonations of Irish priests, German repairmen, W. C. Fields, and so on, but it's funny anyway because he's trying so hard that he sweats. Smight apparently lets him get away with too much in the way of improvisation and we're conscious of it. Lee Remick is a pretty woman and has some realistic lines -- the adaptation isn't at all bad -- but she overplays the role too and her make up, grooming, and wardrobe are overdone. I don't know where the director was when Segal is escorting Remick home after their first meeting and the two of them are giggling and laughing like two fifteen-year-olds who have just developed a crush on one another. It's not funny. It's a bit embarrassing.
There ARE two scenes that are excruciatingly funny. (I'm not sure either could pass the PC barrier today.) One involves the dwarf Michael Dunn, who visits Segal at the precinct and confesses to the murders. "Just watch it," he warns, "because there are some subjects I'm very sensitive about." Segal rejects the false confession politely and an enraged Dunn accuses him of bigotry. "Do you have any FRIENDS who are midgets? Would you let your SISTER marry one?" He throws a piece of chalk against the detective's forehead and scurries off, fuming. Both Dunn and Segal handle the scene expertly as the absurdity builds. Dunn was quite a good actor in both comic and dramatic roles.
In another antic scene, Steiger is a gay hairdresser who insinuates his way into the apartment of an intended victim, Barbara Baxley of the big eyes, as Belle Poppie. She's perfectly serious in her demeanor as she warns Steiger not to step on any of her many cats, as she introduces them one by one. "And that's Pickles in the fireplace," she points out. "Pickles in the fireplace," repeats Steiger, as if earnestly trying to memorize the names and locations of Baxley's cats. The scene is not only hilarious but the editing is snappy and full of the verve it deserves. "Get out of here, you homo!", another woman shouts. Steiger's immediate riposte: "That doesn't mean you're a bad person," and, bang, out the door.
Smight (or his cutter) chose a bad take of the gay Steiger's line, "The nerve of some people." Very careless. But they made no mistakes during Steiger's first, stunning, almost surrealistic killing. As the Irish priest -- at this point, we know nothing about his actual identity -- he begins tickling an old lady in her apartment, the way no priest would ever do, "Tickle, tickle, tickle," he chuckles as his fingers deftly flit over her ribs and other sensitive parts, and she lapses into spasms of uncontrollable laughter. Then -- out of nowhere -- his face turns into a horrible grimace, he raises it heavenward, and utters a shattering guttural scream of rage as he strangles her to death. The viewer's mouth drops open: the priest as murderous lunatic. Steiger handles the awkward scene splendidly.
Come to think of it, the movie is brimming over with problems relating to political correctness. Not just a dwarf and a gay guy and what we assume to be an Irish priest, but a stereotypical Jewish mother too -- played by Eileen Heckart, a shiksa from Ohio! She's quite good, but still....
Segal handles the part of the mild-mannered Jewish cop with considerable aplomb. He's likable, ingratiating. It's no wonder that Remick responds to his bumbling displays of affection. The scene in which Remick pits wits with Mother Heckart are nicely done. "Oh, what a beautiful apartment you have. It's so Jewish." You know what I do when Steiger's impersonations and improvisations become painful, or when Remick is allowed to act giddy instead of happy? I close my eyes and wait for the moments to pass so I can get a kick out of the suspense and comedy that surround those artless moments.
It's unintentionally hilarious. At least I THINK it was unintentional. With Steiger overacting so outrageously throughout, and with the director, Jack Smight, off snoozing in a corner somewhere, it's a little hard to tell.
I first saw it in a theater in Ketchikan, Alaska, enjoyed it immensely, and still do when it shows up on television. It's just as funny as Goldman's novel but much less venomous. In the novel, Segal's mother is even more irritating, demanding, and dominating, and when she suggests that one of Steiger's victims deserved to die, the protagonist leaps up and tries to strangle his mother, screaming, "JOIN HER!" Steiger isn't really that much good in his impersonations of Irish priests, German repairmen, W. C. Fields, and so on, but it's funny anyway because he's trying so hard that he sweats. Smight apparently lets him get away with too much in the way of improvisation and we're conscious of it. Lee Remick is a pretty woman and has some realistic lines -- the adaptation isn't at all bad -- but she overplays the role too and her make up, grooming, and wardrobe are overdone. I don't know where the director was when Segal is escorting Remick home after their first meeting and the two of them are giggling and laughing like two fifteen-year-olds who have just developed a crush on one another. It's not funny. It's a bit embarrassing.
There ARE two scenes that are excruciatingly funny. (I'm not sure either could pass the PC barrier today.) One involves the dwarf Michael Dunn, who visits Segal at the precinct and confesses to the murders. "Just watch it," he warns, "because there are some subjects I'm very sensitive about." Segal rejects the false confession politely and an enraged Dunn accuses him of bigotry. "Do you have any FRIENDS who are midgets? Would you let your SISTER marry one?" He throws a piece of chalk against the detective's forehead and scurries off, fuming. Both Dunn and Segal handle the scene expertly as the absurdity builds. Dunn was quite a good actor in both comic and dramatic roles.
In another antic scene, Steiger is a gay hairdresser who insinuates his way into the apartment of an intended victim, Barbara Baxley of the big eyes, as Belle Poppie. She's perfectly serious in her demeanor as she warns Steiger not to step on any of her many cats, as she introduces them one by one. "And that's Pickles in the fireplace," she points out. "Pickles in the fireplace," repeats Steiger, as if earnestly trying to memorize the names and locations of Baxley's cats. The scene is not only hilarious but the editing is snappy and full of the verve it deserves. "Get out of here, you homo!", another woman shouts. Steiger's immediate riposte: "That doesn't mean you're a bad person," and, bang, out the door.
Smight (or his cutter) chose a bad take of the gay Steiger's line, "The nerve of some people." Very careless. But they made no mistakes during Steiger's first, stunning, almost surrealistic killing. As the Irish priest -- at this point, we know nothing about his actual identity -- he begins tickling an old lady in her apartment, the way no priest would ever do, "Tickle, tickle, tickle," he chuckles as his fingers deftly flit over her ribs and other sensitive parts, and she lapses into spasms of uncontrollable laughter. Then -- out of nowhere -- his face turns into a horrible grimace, he raises it heavenward, and utters a shattering guttural scream of rage as he strangles her to death. The viewer's mouth drops open: the priest as murderous lunatic. Steiger handles the awkward scene splendidly.
Come to think of it, the movie is brimming over with problems relating to political correctness. Not just a dwarf and a gay guy and what we assume to be an Irish priest, but a stereotypical Jewish mother too -- played by Eileen Heckart, a shiksa from Ohio! She's quite good, but still....
Segal handles the part of the mild-mannered Jewish cop with considerable aplomb. He's likable, ingratiating. It's no wonder that Remick responds to his bumbling displays of affection. The scene in which Remick pits wits with Mother Heckart are nicely done. "Oh, what a beautiful apartment you have. It's so Jewish." You know what I do when Steiger's impersonations and improvisations become painful, or when Remick is allowed to act giddy instead of happy? I close my eyes and wait for the moments to pass so I can get a kick out of the suspense and comedy that surround those artless moments.