Misunderstood Masterpieces 9.25.07: Striptease

Posted by Will Helm on 09.25.2007

…or, Thank Goodness for Test Screenings

In 1995, Showgirls was supposed to be a big hit that would herald a new era of exotic-dancer films. As a hard-hitting exposé of gentlemen's clubs and beyond, Showgirls would bring respect to the industry by highlighting its darker side . . . or something like that. As is very well known by now, Showgirls was an unbelievable flop, laughably melodramatic and utterly insipid in its amorality. In fact, Showgirls was so bad – how bad was it? – that it has come to be seen as a camp classic and even a Misunderstood Masterpiece.

Unfortunately for another exotic-dancer epic already in the pipeline, Showgirls failure – as well as some horrific test screenings – would totally undermine the original intent of said film. That film is 1996's Striptease, based off the book of relatively the same name (Strip Tease) by Carl Hiaasen. Initially a darkly comic political potboiler – as was the book, Striptease suffered from the combined effects of Showgirls' legendary collapse and test screenings. Supposedly, according to rumor, the original cut of Striptease was a little too dark and disturbing at times . . . which campy and unintentionally hilarious in others. The filmmakers, much to their dismay, had to do re-shoots and re-edits on the fly to craft something at least resembling a coherent, acceptable film. Did they succeed . . . or is the fruit of their labor yet another stripper-filled Misunderstood Masterpiece? Let's find out!

Down in the (former) Spring Break capital of the U.S., Ft. Lauderdale, sensible mother Erin Grant (Demi Moore) takes the stand in divorce court. It seems that she wants custody of her daughter, but the misogynistic judge isn't buying it as her ex-husband (Robert Patrick) was a high school football star and also works with the local police department . . . as a vice-squad informant. So I guess that means that he lets his love hookers work for him and also makes him a very suitable father. Perhaps the fact that he has some semblance of a job – and Erin has been recently fired from the FBI (somehow due to her ex-husband's antics) – also works into his favor. Now, I don't know much about the human-resources practices of the FBI, but I would think that an ex-husband's larcenous acts aren't necessarily grounds for dismissal . . . just a very specious plot device.

Sometime later, at the provocatively named "Eager Beaver" gentlemen's club, guys get excited and Burt Reynolds with very unflattering blonde hair shows up. Inside the club, dancers work the stages and jingle for no particular reason. Meanwhile, another dancer (Dina Spybey) takes the stage with a Lolita-themed routine, while I wonder if that's legal thanks to the ‘80s crackdowns by the Meese Commission. Dr. Judith Reisman would not be proud. Backstage, Erin whines and complains about her ne'er-do-well ex-husband; shockingly, unlike Stripped to Kill 2, her fellow dancers respond not with vitriol but with actual, sincere sympathy. Will wonders never cease? Ving Rhames, on hand to guard over the talent, sits nearby, totally unmoved.

After her cathartic whine session, Erin prepares to take the stage, but, beforehand, Ving Rhames offers a little pro bono REVENGE against her ex-husband, which Erin respectfully declines. Erin then takes the stage – under her REAL NAME, which is such an exotic-dancer taboo that I don't even know what to say . . . except that "Erin Grant" really isn't a very sexy name. Couldn't she have changed her name to "Summer Daze" or "Stormy Reigns" or something stereotypically stripper-ish like that? Anyway, "Erin Grant" – *snicker* – takes the stage dressed as a staid, conservative businessman and she slowly strips off her wardrobe in a most lascivious manner until she's down to a bejeweled bikini. When asked, I'm sure that she'd say the routine was all about how women have to subvert their raging sexuality in the working world and, by stripping off the trappings of business, she's celebrating her femininity . . . and her breast implants. Which means that she could very well use stripping as a doctoral thesis in Women's Studies . . . hmm.

Anyway, during the oral defense portion of Erin's dissertation, Burt Reynolds gets amazed at her rhythmic eloquence – so to speak – and one of the guests gets overly excited and joins her onstage. It seems that he chose to punctuate his bachelor party by groping Erin . . . and then getting knocked out by Burt Reynolds' wielding a champagne bottle. After the impromptu onstage assault, Burt's nerdy lackey drags him out of the club while Ving Rhames cleans up the mess of the soon-to-be-newlywed. Strangely, the chaos subsides so quickly that another dancer takes the stage almost immediately after with a provocative pussy . . . cat routine. In the car from the club, Burt's lackey scolds his boss for his insolence and involvement in the incident. That sentence was provided by the letter "I."

The next day, Erin's ex-husband wheels his sickly daughter (Rumer Willis) through a hospital, much to the sympathy of surrounding well-wishers. Of course, as the ex-husband is a ne'er-do-well and louse, it was all a finely crafted ruse to steal a wheelchair. While he celebrates the success of his gambit, his daughter exclaims that she misses her mother. Ah . . . feel the unnecessary melodrama! Meanwhile, Erin gets a little closer to her ex-in-laws as she visits her ex-husband's sister (Siobhan Fallon) and her sleazy husband in search of any information as to her ex-husband's whereabouts. After the ex-sister-in-law refuses Erin's request and takes her leave to take care of some extraneous wolves, her husband snuggles up to Erin because he wants to book her . . . for a private show for him and his buddies. Among other things, I'm sure. Erin refuses and then, at the first opportunity, she steals her in-laws' mail and runs off. Ah, there's nothing like outsmarting a scoundrel of an ex-husband by committing a federal offense.

Sometime later, Erin runs in the rain to a rundown shack filled with decay and dismembered dolls. Whoa? Is this a serial killer movie now? Perhaps not, as Erin returns to the club to take the stage once more . . . and deal with the hassles of testosterone-fueled customers. Erin, craftily, responds to their jeers and lewd comments by having a seizure. Oh wait . . . she's just dancing. Among the madding crowd, some nerdy guy (William Hill) watches Erin's performance intently and even takes notes. Later, backstage, Ving Rhames carefully puts roaches in yogurt as part of a grand, moneymaking scheme. That's disgusting, but at least it wasn't a finger in chili. Erin's amazement at Ving's lack of anything resembling morality is interrupted by the arrival of an apparent love note – from the nerdy guy, who may very well be the aforementioned serial killer – which offers to help Erin with her daughter.

Before Erin can investigate further, the club's comically sleazy manager enters into the picture to propose creamed-corn wrestling to his talent. The dancers, wisely, revolt and, after the club closes, Erin confronts the manager because, though he wants Erin in the corn – which sounds far dirtier than it should, she wants the club to straighten up and be "classy" . . . or at least as classy as a club named the "Eager Beaver" can be. Outside the club, Erin meets with her nerdy stalker, who gives her some flowers and then offers to aid her in her plight with the family courts, by blackmailing Burt Reynolds. Dum-dum-DUM!

At a sleazy lawyer's (Stuart Pankin) office, some dopey secretary absent-mindedly eats Ving's roach-enhanced yogurt. Yummy! Elsewhere, an uppity lackey (Paul Guilfoyle) – heretofore named "fake Karl Rove" – yells at Burt Reynolds for jeopardizing his Congressional campaign with his actions in the strip club. Burt counters by telling fake Karl Rove that the reasons for his sins is that he loves naked women – which I suppose is a step up from Cat Dancing or even women in general – and hates insubordination. Fake Karl Rove counters by proposing a meeting with the nerdy guy, who just happens to be waiting in an adjacent room with a little "offer" for Burt.

At a nondescript lake somewhere in the woods, Armand Assante smokes a cigar and hangs out with his very pale wife (Frances Fisher) until he's rudely interrupted by his son, who's found a "floater." I guess someone didn't flush last time they used the commode. Or not, as the son guides Armand to a dead body floating in the lake . . . and it's the nerdy guy! Armand sends his son off to call for help while he wades into the water and complains by referencing Casablanca. Ah, if there's one hallmark of a bad film, it's an intentional callback to an earlier, much better film. Meanwhile, Erin tracks down her daughter and, as well, scolds her ex-husband for his iniquity. Eh, whatever, movie.

Elsewhere, Ving meets with his sleazy lawyer, who provides exposition and another blackmail proposition, due to the fact that the guy assaulted by Burt at the club was also a client of his. Well isn't that wonderfully convenient? Ving, showing some skewed form of ethics, refuses the offer, mainly because he wants to protect Erin's interests. Is it possible to be amoral and honorable? Back at the club, Erin tries to call the dead nerdy guy, but he's not taking calls right now. In his stead, Armand meets with her and informs her that the nerdy guy is, in fact, dead. While the sleazy manager chats with Ving about bestiality involving porpoises – OK, then, Armand provides some exposition for Erin and then he makes the mistake of insulting her chosen profession. What's he got against FBI secretaries? Oh, wait . . . strippers. Yeah. Just like he took lessons from Mystery of The Pick-Up Artist, Armand repairs the situation and Erin divulges her FBI background as well as her dilemma with her dumb husband and the even dumber family-court system. Armand gives Erin his number and she asks a favor, specifically to screw over her ex.

Hell hath no fury like a stripper scorned. Or something like that.

The next day or so, some guys harvest sugarcane while Burt hangs out with their sleazy – which must be a prerequisite for most men in this movie – boss. It seems that the boss wants to keep Burt's fealty to their sugar monopoly while Burt, more basely, just wants to get with a stripper he met . . . but barely remembers. Meanwhile, Erin dances in a towel – and little else – at home, until her rehearsal is disturbed by Armand's unannounced arrival. Armand comes bearing news, particularly that her husband is no longer a snitch for the vice squad and that the misogynist judge is now dead. Perhaps that's going a little bit above and beyond his jurisdiction . . . or not, as the judge actually croaked from natural causes in an adult theater. Oh the ironically immoral hilarity!

Perhaps as a counterpoint to the last scene, Burt dances at a Jewish retirement home as part of a campaign event. The sleazy lawyer – who I should probably just refer to as "lawyer," since the sleazy part is de rigueur – shows up to blackmail Burt, but, instead, Burt realizes – through the aid of the lawyer's incriminating photos – that the stripper he's infatuated with just happens to be Erin! Dum-dum-DUM! Speaking of Erin, she's busy kidnapping her daughter – adding to her count of crimes – while being stalked by Burt and his lackey . . . for investigative purposes, of course. Or just because he's insane and madly in love. To that end, Burt tells his lackey to steal some of Erin's panties, but, instead, the lackey just steals some dryer lint, which is strangely weirder and yet less weird at the same time.

That evening, the sugar guys – the guy from before and his dad – and fake Karl Rove chat about Burt and Erin's "relationship." The sugar guys, for no particular reason, want Erin dead. Umm . . . OK. Thanks for showing up to the party, villainous conspiracy; make yourself at home! At the club, the manager hires a new dancer (Barbara Alyn Woods) and her dead snake. Meanwhile, Erin dances onstage and, because child care is so hard to come by for a working single mother, her daughter watches surreptitiously from the wings.

At a hotel elsewhere in Ft. Lauderdale, Burt's nerdy lackey finds his boss greased up and sniffing the lint lasciviously. Wisely, the nerdy lackey quits before Burt is to address a room full of Christian activists . . . while still greased up. Back at the club, the new dancer worries about her dead snake – mainly because she doesn't know it's dead – while Erin runs out in the rain (again) to her car. I'm actually surprised that she wasn't wearing a sheer T-shirt in either scene. How did you pass up that opportunity, movie? While Erin tries to start her car, her ex shows up for a little visit, mainly because he wants his daughter back. Before Erin can comply, Ving interjects himself and breaks the ex's arm. Erin, sensibly, calls Armand . . . which only complicates matters as now he knows that she's committed, at least, kidnapping. Luckily for her, he's there only for exposition and not jurisprudence.

Erin, rattled, goes home to find a letter from Burt waiting for her, offering $1,000 for an hour-long private show. That's one expensive champagne room! Erin, perhaps mulling over the offer, then learns that her daughter saw her dancing and her daughter, remarkably, is unfazed. Perhaps being an accomplice to a wheelchair-theft scheme will make a kid jaded. The next day, Erin, her daughter, and Armand – who's on hand for no apparent reason – go on a little field trip to see some dolphins; hopefully the sleazy manager isn't there as well, or things might get . . . uncomfortable. The daughter is taken away to play with the dolphins, leaving Erin and Armand alone to chat about Burt's little proposal . . . and to talk about babysitting.

That evening, Erin – with Ving Rhames in tow – goes to see Burt on the sugar guys' boat. While Ving Rhames distracts the guards, Erin finally meets Burt formally inside the boat and he, unsurprisingly, turns on the charm. Erin is all business, however, so she simply performs for Burt as his private dancer. Tina Turner would be proud. During the routine, Erin and Burt discuss her little predicament and he, disturbingly, confesses about his lackey absconding with her lint. Erin, rightly, is disgusted – even though Burt was just being honest – and leaves; Burt, unhappy with her service, invites her back the next night for $5,000. Erin is recalcitrant, so fake Karl Rove helps to convince her by blackmailing her! OK; this is really starting to get confusing. In the car on the way back to the club, Ving Rhames knows something's wrong with Erin, but, as per fake Karl Rove's instructions, she's tightlipped.

While, at the club, a replacement snake strangles the new stripper onstage, Armand meets with Erin for a bit and then he goes to the club for Ving Rhames. Armand, mysteriously, escorts Ving Rhames to the county coroner's office because Ving Rhames' lawyer is dead! Ving Rhames, discomforted by the sight of a bloated, sleazy corpse, spills the beans about Burt Reynolds and all the blackmail therein . . . and nearly his lunch as well. Over the course of the night, Erin plans an evil scheme against Burt . . . and it involves CNN for some reason. I'm guessing she's neither fair nor balanced, then.

After the ex's sister mends his arm, he steals her pistol and takes a bevy of painkillers and then leaves in a hurry. Erin, that evening, leaves the club mysteriously and Ving Rhames confronts her because he's very concerned about her behavior and well-being. Erin soothes his misgivings and then she heads off to meet once more with Burt . . . while her ex gives chase. Along the way to the boat, Erin questions the chauffer about his bosses, the sugar guys, for no apparent reason.

Once at the boat, Burt wants to get some, but fake Karl Rove gets into his head, attempting to turn Burt against Erin. Speaking of Erin, she shows up moments later . . . while her ex climbs onto the boat from the murky waters below. While Erin dances inside the boat, her ex faces off against fake Karl Rove and beats him unmercifully with the golf club his sister used as a splint on his arm. After bludgeoning the villainous fake Karl Rove, the ex busts up Erin and Burt's little party and he even dances a bit as well.

Meanwhile, Armand goes to the club and, once there, he takes Erin's daughter, Ving Rhames, and a couple dancers along for a ride. Over on the boat, Burt and the ex bond a bit because, in the intervening moments between the ex's arrival and then, Erin has them as her hostages. If someone makes the argument that it's stripping that corrupted her, I'm just going to scream. Erin, with Burt and her ex, captive, enacts her evil scheme and requests that her ex turn over custody of their daughter . . . at gunpoint. Hmm . . . I don't think that'll hold up in court, sadly.

Armand and the gang get to the boat, which they find strangely empty; at least Erin was nice enough to leave a note on a mirror divulging their next destination . . . and Armand was thorough enough to go into the bathroom. If he didn't do that, I have a feeling the end of this film would turn out VERY differently. Anyway, as Erin has the chauffer haul Burt away, her ex passes out, so she forges his custody note. Afterward, Erin celebrates by dancing with Burt and getting him to clumsily blurt out all the particulars of his corruption while she records it for posterity. Armand's gang is on the way but, unfortunately, fake Karl Rove – who's remarkably alive – and his henchmen show up first. The ex, shockingly, drunkenly thwarts fake Karl Rove with a pile of sugar and then the rest of the heroes show up and everyone celebrates while the bad guys get arrested. Yay?

Honestly, while Showgirls may be a bad film and, now, a campy cult classic, at least it has some semblance of a coherent plot. Striptease, whether due to design or the emergency reworking, makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Most of the scenes feel disjointed – the kidnapping scene in particular is shot like the touching end to a melodrama, probably something on the Lifetime channel . . . and I wouldn't be surprised if it was the original ending to the film – and the tone of the film is all over the place. At times the film is an outright comedy, particularly whenever Burt Reynolds or the sleazy manager are onscreen, but there's the aforementioned family melodrama and strangely suspenseful moments as well. Striptease feels almost like a filmmaker put a bad movie in a blender and, in doing so, made it far, far worse. But, thankfully, that filmmaker also made a Misunderstood Masterpiece.

Join me next week as I kick off a themed Horror Movie-Mania 2007 with a film that will pretty much, just by its title, reveal the month's theme. See you then!