All That Jazz (1979)
Directed by Bob Fosse
Written by Robert Alan Arthur & Bob Fosse

Pretty well, actually. It's no secret that All That Jazz is really Fosse's own autobiography, about a womanizing, pill-popping choreographer whose life spins out of control. What's intriguing is that few autobiographers are ever as scathing about themselves or their excesses as Fosse is.

Watching the film, you end up feeling that Fosse was an impossible ass whose tumultuous psyche of self-loathing and preening artistic genius forced him to constantly medicate with uppers, downers, alcohol, and pussy just to keep things in balance (as compared with me, fueling my reviews with copious amounts of Diet Vanilla Coke, raw cookie dough, early Stevie Wonder albums, and hand-holding).

Ah, but aren't these the most compelling characters, driven to self-destruction yet fully aware and strangely accepting of their impulsive knack for making the absolute wrong choice pretty much every single time? Aren't we all intrigued by the artist who believes their art can only be fueled by pain, and so creates as much pain as possible?

Though something of a common thread among the more indie-minded 70s films, having a self-destructive hero is still a pretty brave statement for what Fosse must have known would be his artistic epitaph.

The rough equivalent would be Spielberg making a film about the world's most famous movie director, and portraying him as a whining, immature baby who wastes his gifts on manipulative, simple-minded tripe, only to realize this epic blunder on his deathbed.

Then again, in the film, Fosse is never shown to be less than a total genius whose art was impeccable, with the tolerable price of a messy personal life. So in a sense, Fosse kind of does get to have it both ways, like the abusive husband who, after yet another savage beating, apologizes with an expensive dinner and an extravagant piece of jewelry (incidentally, that shit works, trust me).

In this scenario, Fosse's lovers, friends and family are the classic abused wives; they just keep coming back for more, right up to the very end.

But in a sick, "We all want to be near the center" way, it makes sense. Roy Scheider, as Fosse's alter-ego Joe Gideon, gives a raw and pained performance, making what should be an insufferable prick into a charming, sympathetic hero coming to grips with the rapid loss of his powers. This is the 70s Roy Scheider, mind you, before all the plastic surgery that made him look like my grandma.

His near-constant smirk is tinged with regret, so you can kind of understand why, for instance, Ann Reinking as Kate (Gideon's long-suffering girlfriend) never quite gives up on him, despite years of his unashamed infidelity. There's the assholes you'd love to see go down in flames, and those you'd love to see redeemed … all the better if you're the source of that redemption.

It's typically 70s that a musical should be so melancholy, and most of the songs are witty and interesting, and do manage to play a part in the story without being too "in yo face" about it.

The storyline is complex, though predictable. We flash between scenes of Gideon reminiscing over his life from inside a dreamlike backstage prop room (with the help of an obviously angelic Jessica Lange), glimpses of his career and sexual development, and his final chaotic weeks choreographing an elaborate dance piece.

As Gideon becomes increasingly desperate, the film gets faster, funnier, and more manic in its pacing, pausing for a sweet and emotionally ambivalent scene of Gideon in what would appear to be a romantic pas-de-deux with his pre-teen daughter.

So yeah, All That Jazz isn't nearly as bombastic and crowd-pleasing as Chicago, but it has considerably more depth, and is nimbler and more clever than Moulin Rouge.

The dancing part is also entertaining, though I have a hard time accessing artistic dance, which always seems disconnected from reality, as if waving your arms like a ticking clock is somehow more evocative of the passage of time than, say, just showing a clock. I'm for simplicity in my expression of emotions, and Fosse's choreography is the diametric opposite of simplicity.

That said, there are a couple of numbers that are, as with much of Fosse's work, strikingly sexy (particularly one starring Conan the Barbarian's mannish but strangely appealing Sandahl Bergman … the only broadsword that's wielded during this scene, though, was mine.

The best sequences, however, intermingle dance and song with plot and character development, so All That Jazz is really a better film than it is a musical. It's well-directed, fast-paced, and brilliantly edited, and has across-the-board naturalistic acting in keeping with the era's best films.

As a result, at times, the musical numbers feel a bit intrusive into what is a truly fascinating character portrait.

And as if to prove my point, during its climactic, hallucinatory "this is your life" musical sequence, the film totally degenerates into insufferable glitz. The scene is garish and jarring, confusingly distinct from the rest of the film, maddeningly repetitive, loud, and painfully long.

Worse yet, it stars Ben Vereen, who's quite creepy with his bug eyes and skintight pants, and had only previously been seen in passing. And in the lamest type of dramatic flourish, the climax includes all the characters we've met from Gideon's life. Boring and unpleasantly pat for a movie that seemed above such hysterics.

That the final few shots of the film are incredibly stark only underscores how perfect this film could have been with a little more restraint at the end, or perhaps a slightly less preening artistic genius at the helm. Still, this is one very hipster musical.

Review by Crimedog