THE ARISTOCRATS / Paul Provenza (2005)

August 9th, 2005 by Scott Marks

Phyllis Diller in Paul Provenza’s THE ARISTOCRATS (2005)

The Aristocrats (2005)

Directed by: Paul Provenza

Cast: 99 Comedians and Tim Conway

Aspect Ratio: 1.85 : 1

Genres: Documentary, Comedy

Running Time: 89 min.

Rating:

Try analyzing comedy. The only thing more exasperating is sitting stone-faced through one.

Discussing drama consumes a long car ride home, but ask someone why a gag made them howl and all you get before the radio goes on is, “I thought it was funny.” Laughter is subjective and all too frequently people gauge a comedies success on the quantity of yuks rather than the quality of the execution.

The Aristocrats is as visually compelling as “Larry King Live,” but with laughs like these, why quibble over formal finesse?

The Aristocrats goes where no film ever has: it dissects funny. Along with producer Penn (& Teller) Jillette, comic Paul Provenza documented one hundred jokesters from every conceivable school (and generation) of comedy. They are all asked to tell and/or comment on the same dirty joke which is as legendary as some of the names who deliver it. There are two constants: the set up (”A guy walks into a talent agent claiming to have the greatest act in showbiz…”) and the punchline (”The Aristocrats”). Everything sandwiched between, including gale storms of defecation, rampant incest and infectious violence, is left to each comic’s lack of discretion.

The old guard (none of whom wallow in the fecal fun) is represented by Pat Cooper, Shelly Berman, Rip Taylor, Don Rickles (who never worked blue a day in his life) and Chuck McCann, who comes closest to crossing the good taste barrier with an “ass-over-tea-kettle” aside. The only female dinosaur is Phyllis Diller. Vain corporate spokeswoman for facial reconstruction and a gutsy trooper to the end, Ms. Diller’s choice of sleeveless garment maximizes the comic potential of her kishke-filled-with-rice-pudding upper arms. (Rim shot.)

The film painstakingly scrutinizes timing. The sharper minds realize that the success of the joke depends on a matter-of-fact delivery. There is a chance that if you didn’t like a comic coming in, The Aristocrats may change your mind. Never high on my Laff-O-Meter, both Bob Saget and Howie Mandel repeatedly brought palm to knee. Running true to form, Taylor Negron, Rita Rudner and everyone related to “South Park” fail to amuse. When Larry Storch and Hank Azaria adopt cute accents, the sound of crickets drowns out the chuckles. And given the pervasive mood of mean-spiritedness, why assign the curtain laugh to that terminally unfunny softball lobber Tim Conway?

Most return to the same dung-filled well leaving all but a few brazen originals to claim authorship. Kevin Pollack as Christopher Walken alone is worth nine-bucks. Sarah Silverman induced apoplexy by bringing Down Syndrome to the party. For his twist punch-line, SNL writer T. Sean Shannon pairs the two most offensive words in the English language. Martin Mull’s laid back, between-puffs delivery and particularly Gilbert Gottfried’s nauseatingly appointed show-stopper will be reverently studied the day the DVD hits store shelves.

A third of the screening attendees bolted a scant ten minutes in. After an initial commitment AMC Theaters broke character by suddenly professing respect for their audience, and canceled all bookings. This rare display of phony concern seems especially hypocritical in light of the chain’s willingness to exhibit Mel Gibson’s ultra-violent The Passion or Sin City’s portrayal of women as vaginas with bodies attached. Maybe they think there’s more money in movies that graphically depict depravity rather than just verbally goof on it.

People are afraid of The Aristocrats and the fact that popular art still retains an ability to piss audiences off should thrill and delight. Nobody wanted to spend a hot summer afternoon watching a two-hour-and-forty-minute Biblical epic until the Church pointed out that The Last Temptation of Christ was a dirty movie.

Credit AMC with one thing: without their vocal lack of support this film would have died laughing in the handful of art houses bold enough to screen it. Now, even more of us may enjoy the filth.