The surprise is, or should have been, anyway, that a film about comedy legends is as morose and depressing as this one. Maybe given the usual pandering level of made for TV biographies, this isn't that surprising. After all, everyone 'knows' that every comedian is a noble, weeping clown. Right? --Or if not, it's just the sort of juicy, clichéd skew the makers of biographies can't resist.
I would classify the entire film biography form as one of the last bastions of detectably (not delectably, unless you're John Waters) unselfconscious, pre-ironic Corn. As such, it is an area riper than most for satire and parody. To much of the modern audience, this will pose obvious problems. So I wondered, as I caught more than enough of this film, who can be the typical viewer for this kind of thing. You don't go to film biographies for the truth, the inside scoop, and you don't go there (and certainly not in the case of this film) for a feel-good wallow. Why DO you go there?
This film highlights two critical problems faced by all makers of film biographies, those for the cheap screen (TV) and those for the too-expensive screen (aka The Big Screen). One is finding an apt impersonator for a high profile person whose mug, body language and delivery are seared into the brain of several generations by high level exposure to their shtick. Those casting these films (like the recent Lucille Ball/Desi Arnaz TV flick) can cleave two distinct ways: Accommodate the literal-minded by casting physical dead ringers (the trade-off being that they may not project the subject very well at all) OR pick someone who is not a physical match, but seems to capture the essence (the obvious problem there is how someone who looks nothing like you captures your essence; not out of the question, but seldom pulled off). The casting here is only serviceable. The way you know this is about the Three Stooges is because of their hair. Period. (One is reminded of the Stooges short wherein Moe, playing Hitler, shouts at the guy who swipes his mustache "You've stolen my personality!")
The other big problem is the telescoping or condensing of what may have happened over days or weeks into one impossibly pregnant instant. These instants (which seem to happen only in film bios and really bad drama TV series and made-for-TV movies) always remind me of the moment in those late 30s musicals when Mickey Rooney rallies the kids with "C'mon kids, let's put on a show!" and on the spot everyone agrees, and everything falls right into place. --Where in real life a muddled period of investigating options and making plans would lead more or less ploddingly to a breakthrough.
These films cheat NOT by cutting to the chase, which is always necessary in film, but in the WAY they cut to it. Highly condensed moments never happen this way in real life. It's just bad writing. I know art is not real life, but really good film manages to convey the feel of the way things happen in life. Sometimes total fiction films do it. That's part of the art of film. (Really good comics manage to do it too, even if you can count on the fingers of one hand the strips or books that have managed to rise to that level.) The trite stuff, the rubbish, always rings false, usually comically so. An example: '1955' the screen says. Two of the Stooges are obviously at a funeral. Larry asides to Moe "Shemp always gave his best; he really put his heart into everything he did." Moe back to Larry, with a sanctimonious smirk: "Yes, but he was always overshadowed by Curly." Fade out. That's the entire funeral scene.
Now hold on there. I realize some condensation has to take place if you are showing entire lives in a couple of hours. That isn't my complaint. It is the unlikeliness and poor positioning of dialog such as this one that undercut the entire form. If Larry and Moe sat and reflected half an hour a day for two weeks after Shemp's funeral, a fly on the wall might digest what they were saying into "Yes, but he was always overshadowed by Curly." But who can believe for an instant that anyone would speak those words over a coffin? And when Moe pretends to two-finger poke a new manager in the eye, he immediately takes a moment out to explain to the manager --but, duh, really to us-- that "That's how we do it, make contact with the brow bone, not the eyes; looks real on film though." Hoo-boy.
Even big films like Pollack have had the same sort of problem. When art phonies corner Pollack between benders and affairs, and simper on about how he is creating "the only meaningful painting these days", you don't believe it for a second. In real life, Pollack would have dismissed these knuckleheads who talk like they write, rolled out the yard goods, uncapped the paint and called up a liquor store that delivers. Not in film bio land, though: When fools talk, mouthing the most absurd dialog ever, everyone listens with a straight face. All film biographies, even the big ones, seem to exist in an abstract never never land that feels like a gloss and collage of newspaper clippings. They are uninspired highlight reels.
