 Richard Pryor Live on the Sunset Strip (1982) It's the heart part that makes this one my favorite Richard Pryor film, even though most of it is not laugh-out-loud funny. It's consistently amusing in a surprisingly wry way, in parts not too far from, like, a black Garrison Kellior, but with much more focus on fucking. The requisite "men vs. women," "married life vs. single life" observations are made, though he does that shtick better than just about anyone. But about three-quarters of the way through, everything comes together and the performance becomes one of complete perfection. After a hilarious bit about consorting with Mafia types, Pryor does about twenty minutes on his cocaine addiction and his self-immolation. Though later he would reveal that this spin was mostly feel-good bunk to protect his career (as much as a tale of setting oneself afire while out of one's mind on cocaine can be feel-good), the honesty and insight is just staggering. Rarely has a comic dissected himself so openly to such unifying effect. You can't help but root for him again, in spite of all his demons. There's a sadness to revisiting this film now that Pryor is incapacitated, because with every physical flourish (and with movement he was an absolute wizard), you can't help but think, "Shit … what a sad, sad life." Of course, he was probably geeked on the rock when he filmed this one, so all the drug commentary rings a little false … even so, he's just so charismatic and good that you can't fault him. Here on out, it was shitfest after shitfest (like Moving, for example) and another long descent into addiction until finally life sobered him up with MS. Makes you wonder what he did in the last life to deserve all the emotional imprisonment he's had through the years … but no matter what, while he was here, in this life, he was a gift.
Review by Freddie Callow |