Cinema always used to be a bit behind other media in terms of freedom from "moral" censorship. This stems from archaic and elitist notions that, as it presents its ideas visually and reaches a wider and supposedly less cultured audience that cinema is a more corrupting medium than books or theatre. So while the great comic Lenny Bruce was tussling with obscenity laws in the 50s and early 60s, it wasn't until the era following his death that his story would be deemed safe for the screen.
Luckily this was also a good era for honest, balanced and very human portrayals of controversial figures. This version of his life, adapted by Julian Barry from his own play, flits between different views on Bruce. There are two framing narratives, the first a series of staged interviews giving the perspectives of those who knew and loved him, the second clips of a bearded Bruce doing his stand-up in the later years of his life. Between these we see fleeting episodes from the comic's life, told in an implicit style with scant dialogue. The interviews elucidate and expand these events, but even more cleverly the stand-up excerpts comment upon them. The stand-up is the substitute for an interview with Bruce, and the implication is that it was only during his shows that he was really able to be express himself fully.
This was the first non-musical feature of choreographer-turned-director Bob Fosse. He doesn't adapt his style too much, with the same punchy, rhythmic and very precise approach he used in his musicals. Fosse's shots are typically very simple, the Bruce Surtees cinematography often shrouding all but the faces in darkness, or keeping at least keeping the backgrounds fairly plain or out-of-focus. Camera movement is minimal. The storytelling is all in the edit for Fosse. A great example of this is in Valerie Perrine's stripping scene near the beginning. Fosse gives her camera coverage much as he might have given Liza Minnelli in Cabaret, but he's also throwing in shots of the audience and the band, getting reactions and revealing the variety of punters that the show is getting. He takes the complete opposite approach towards the end with the scene of a drugged-up Lenny stumbling through his act, with a long-take from a high angle making the comic a pathetic little figure among the stage paraphernalia. After the close camera and choppy edits of the rest of the movie, the change is all the more stark.
Dustin Hoffman, then still a relatively young actor, takes on the difficult task of playing a real figure only recently deceased. I've seen recordings of the real Lenny Bruce. Hoffman doesn't try to copy him slavishly, but he captures a way Bruce could have been, and is I feel completely true to the spirit of the man. He also brilliantly handles the transition from young to old Lenny. It's not just the beard that distinguishes those flash-forwards of later Bruce shows; Hoffman has more presence and confidence about him. Perrine is really good too, naturally bringing her previous work experience into the stripping scene, but then showing a delicate realism in the more dramatic moments.
For an audience today, the taboos Bruce breaks seem fairly tame. The stuff he gets busted for now can be, and regularly is, said on national TV. But the movie shows us not a shocking tale of boundaries smashed, but an intimate portrait of the man who smashes them. We see Bruce as the complex human we can recognise and the witty fighter we can root for. And it is this touching humanity which gives Lenny a compelling quality outside of its time.
Luckily this was also a good era for honest, balanced and very human portrayals of controversial figures. This version of his life, adapted by Julian Barry from his own play, flits between different views on Bruce. There are two framing narratives, the first a series of staged interviews giving the perspectives of those who knew and loved him, the second clips of a bearded Bruce doing his stand-up in the later years of his life. Between these we see fleeting episodes from the comic's life, told in an implicit style with scant dialogue. The interviews elucidate and expand these events, but even more cleverly the stand-up excerpts comment upon them. The stand-up is the substitute for an interview with Bruce, and the implication is that it was only during his shows that he was really able to be express himself fully.
This was the first non-musical feature of choreographer-turned-director Bob Fosse. He doesn't adapt his style too much, with the same punchy, rhythmic and very precise approach he used in his musicals. Fosse's shots are typically very simple, the Bruce Surtees cinematography often shrouding all but the faces in darkness, or keeping at least keeping the backgrounds fairly plain or out-of-focus. Camera movement is minimal. The storytelling is all in the edit for Fosse. A great example of this is in Valerie Perrine's stripping scene near the beginning. Fosse gives her camera coverage much as he might have given Liza Minnelli in Cabaret, but he's also throwing in shots of the audience and the band, getting reactions and revealing the variety of punters that the show is getting. He takes the complete opposite approach towards the end with the scene of a drugged-up Lenny stumbling through his act, with a long-take from a high angle making the comic a pathetic little figure among the stage paraphernalia. After the close camera and choppy edits of the rest of the movie, the change is all the more stark.
Dustin Hoffman, then still a relatively young actor, takes on the difficult task of playing a real figure only recently deceased. I've seen recordings of the real Lenny Bruce. Hoffman doesn't try to copy him slavishly, but he captures a way Bruce could have been, and is I feel completely true to the spirit of the man. He also brilliantly handles the transition from young to old Lenny. It's not just the beard that distinguishes those flash-forwards of later Bruce shows; Hoffman has more presence and confidence about him. Perrine is really good too, naturally bringing her previous work experience into the stripping scene, but then showing a delicate realism in the more dramatic moments.
For an audience today, the taboos Bruce breaks seem fairly tame. The stuff he gets busted for now can be, and regularly is, said on national TV. But the movie shows us not a shocking tale of boundaries smashed, but an intimate portrait of the man who smashes them. We see Bruce as the complex human we can recognise and the witty fighter we can root for. And it is this touching humanity which gives Lenny a compelling quality outside of its time.