The subjects of celebrity biopics are almost never as
important as the people who make them. Too many celebrities live lives that hit
the same beats. This is even true of Lenny Bruce, the infamous and
groundbreaking comic who became a martyr in the war against censorship with
routines notable for their truthfulness about sex, media, and self-expression,
not their alleged dirtiness. Bruce’s career began inauspiciously; he hooked up
with a tolerant woman, achieved stardom by pushing boundaries, succumbed to
various vices, broke down, and died young. It’s a tale often told. How Bob Fosse
told it is rare.
Fosse, off course, made his name in musical theater as an
actor, dancer and choreographer, and his cinematic work followed suit when he
directed and choreographed the musicals Sweet
Charity and Cabaret. A biopic
about a comedian may seem an odd choice for Fosse’s third directorial effort.
It all makes sense when you see it. Lenny
is a musical without a single musical number. Everything from the editing to
the actors’ movements appears expertly choreographed, the rhythms flowing from
one potentially jarring time jump to the next with the abandon and perfection
of a John Coltrane riff.
The director does not deserve all the credit. Dustin Hoffman
as Bruce and Valerie Perrine as his wife give landmark performances: Hoffman’s
final contempt-of-court monologue is one of the truest things on film, and
Perrine’s interview sequences don’t betray a splinter of artifice. But one
thing I really dig about Lenny—and
which really, really sets it apart from the mass of biopics—is how interested
the director is in everyone on screen. I mean everyone. Even the briefly glimpsed
audience members seem to have inner lives as they react to Bruce’s routines
with laughter, gaping mouths, rolling eyes, blank expressions, or even a
complicit and touchingly romantic stolen kiss. As stylized as Fosse’s rhythms
and chronology are, his people are utterly real whether they’re participating
in an abstract ménage à trois totally fabricated by the director or
pseudo-documentary interviews.
Fosse shot Lenny
on high-contrast black and white stock, although the smoky, gauzy lighting of
nightclubs, crummy apartments, drug dens, and jails defuses its crispness.
Twilight Time’s new blu-ray doesn’t sharpen the film, but it is a clean
presentation with healthy grain. Julie Kirgo and Nick Redman provide a new
commentary track in which they gab about the significant differences between
the film and the play on which it was based (both written by Julian Barry),
Bruce and Fosse’s careers and legacy, and how Fosse dragged such an
extraordinary performance out of Perrine. It’s a lively commentary, but some
actual footage of Bruce would have been a cool bonus too. The disc also includes
the customary isolated score track and is limited to 3,000 units.
Get Lenny on
Screen Archives.com here.
