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One of the upshots of the Bush presidency has been the flood of
documentaries released in response to it. Over
the past year, a glut of small nonfiction films have managed to find their way into the
public consciousness, in order to proclaim, in some small way, that a better world is
indeed possible. As if to remind today’s
malcontents that this struggle has been ongoing for much of the last century, First Run
Features is bringing back into print Fred Baker’s 1972 post-mortem Lenny Bruce
documentary, Lenny Bruce Without Tears.
“Genius” and “ahead of his/her time” are recycled,
overused phrases in the pop canon, but Lenny Bruce was as deserving of those titles as
anyone. It is a sad irony that the world is at
this very moment mourning the passing of another—altogether more
successful—comedian who also got his start on the Steve Allen show--Johnny Carson. Their styles couldn’t have been more
different. For one thing, the documentary,
which includes long, rambling footage of Bruce’s standup, highlights how
uneven—at least by today’s standards—much of his work could be. His comedy routines, heavily influenced by the
Beats, were more like holy incantations, and they have a ragged intensity, though laughs
are few and far between. A virtuoso mimic and
culture junkie, Bruce is seen improvising bits like he’s at some screenplay
pitch-meeting from hell; Baker, a jazz musician by inclination, picks footage that
showcases Bruce at his riffiest, whether fueled by speed in a downtown nightclub or the
searing blandness of white America’s nightly television programs.
Like fellow counterculture icons such as Jack Kerouac, Che Guevara or
Jimi Hendrix, Lenny Bruce’s mythical stature was exponentially increased by his
untimely death. Baker’s document includes
footage of Bruce onstage reading the obscenity charges he battled first in Philadelphia
and later all across the country, which eventually bankrupted him and left him emotionally
ruined. A product of its time, the film often
syncs up Bruce’s monologues against grainy black and white photos of Vietnam, still a
roiling quagmire at the time of the film’s release in 1972. Other poignant footage includes Nat Hentoff’s
taped interview with Bruce taken at the Village Vanguard in New York, where the toll of
his legal woes and reliance on dope is unmistakable.
The comic appears unwashed and sixty pounds overweight, although this doesn’t
stop him from jumping to do an impromptu song and dance that skewers both the
establishment cops and those who would have him as a martyr. As the talking heads that occasionally pop up in
the film note, even towards the end Bruce showed an almost superhuman level of energy and
optimism.
Wiry, manic and unmistakably Jewish, Lenny Bruce let loose a new brand
of edgy comedy, paving the way for later legends such as George Carlin, Richard Pryor and
Bill Hicks. Baker’s portrayal reveals a
brilliant social critic and waggish storyteller; the re-release of this film coincides
well with last year’s mammoth 6-CD box set of Bruce’s live material, Let The Buyer Beware. A cult documentary directed by one of his friends
and contemporaries (the DVD comes equipped with a mediocre short entitled Finding Fred Baker), Lenny Bruce Without Tears is a crucial artifact on
one of America’s most essential icons.
- Jesse Paddock
