Discipline

DEWITT IS NOT A MAN WITHOUT A sense of humor. But some things are simply not funny. So when Dewitt rose from bed the other day, tripped over a banana peel, slid across a floorful of marbles, stepped on a rollerskate, tumbled down the staircase and fell into the swimming pool, he was not amused. It was all so derivative, for one thing. Not to mention the intense physical pain.

So after the culprit, little Dewitt Jr., was found hidden away with a cache of skin magazines, Dewitt felt it was time for a little parental firmness. Medieval torture seemed appropriate, but perhaps might affect the boy's development. Capital punishment was out for the same reason. Not that Dewitt is predisposed towards an antipathetic view of youth; rather, simply, that he hates kids.

Nevertheless, while he enjoys being harsh, he also wanted to be fair. At the same time, he wanted to see a movie--by this time, he needed some real screwball farce. Since Mrs. Dewitt had already taken the family Edsel down to the rotogravure-o-rama to pick up some tin plates, the only option was to send out Dewitt Jr.

"Get something funny," Dewitt told the fruit of his loins, handing him the listings section of the What? "And if none of those theaters will let you borrow their print, tell them Dewitt sent you. If they still won't let you--well, go live with some other grown-ups."

Given that Dewitt lives twenty miles from Boston, he was pleased when his little F1 got back in only four hours. He was not pleased, however, with Dewitt Jr.'s selection: Stop Making Sense (Somerville Theatre).

Although its title might lead you to believe otherwise, Stop Making Sense is not a screwball comedy--rather, it is a screwball Art/Rock Concert film. If you like the Talking Heads, you will no doubt be delighted with David Byrne's huge wacky suit. If you do not like the Talking Heads, however, sight gags posing as art will not endear you to this overly long movie. No one will deny, however, the unmistakeable energy and charming enthusisasm of the Talking Heads in their film debut.

All in all, though, Dewitt had his heart set on a comic masterpiece, and in the face of his expectations a screening of Sense was like spending the afternoon watching MTV. There was only one solution. Out went Dewitt Jr. into the streets.

Dewitt was pleased to note his return a mere two hours later--the boy showed real potential as a marathoner, or perhaps as a pizza deliverer. He was not entirely satisfied with the boy's choice of celluloid, however.

While Lethal Weapon (Chestnut Hill) does have some humorous moments in it, the really funny thing is how efficiently it exploits the supposedly normal moviegoing public. Guns, explosions, aircraft, firearms, things blowing up, helicopters, small arms, balls of hot expanding gas--Lethal Weapon is like a Borden Condensed Action Film, pasteurized to remove the sex. Having said this--and Dewitt thinks it needs to be said--Weapon is, despite its obviousness, an enjoyable film.

For one thing, there's Mel Gibson and Danny Glover, both delightful in their roles as cop partners. Fans of the two actors can perhaps puzzle over the bizarre coincidence (?) that both men appear naked in their first moments on screen, but go on to wear trousers throughout the rest of the film.

Technically, Weapon is beautifully shot and well paced. The only component in this cinematographic speed machine that ever misfires is the script, which could just as easily have been written in Japanese or Greek for all the sense it makes.

His love of bullets only slightly ameliorating the annoyance felt towards his mischievous lad, Dewitt was resolved to teach the boy a lesson. Dewitt Jr. was sent back out on his Keds. One hour later, Dewitt Jr. presented the next stack of reels--very good time, Dewitt observed, noting the therapeutic effects of exercise. And this time, the young man's selection was not far off the mark.

Caddyshack (Science Center C, Harvard) is something of a latter-day comedy classic, and unquestionably the best movie ever made about golf. The cast--including spiritualist Bill Murray, the ever-anal Ted Knight, and Rodney Danger-field--more than make up for the lame and tedious teen-love subplot. And the turd-in-the-swimming pool scene will undoubtedly serve as a humour benchmark for years to come.

Chuckling as the lights came up in his home screening room, Dewitt felt satisfied that at last his son had learned his lesson about right and wrong--and also about film comedy. But would he appear too lenient in the child's eyes if he let him off the hook now? Dewitt wasn't sure, but he knew one thing: he sure was in the mood for another movie.

Thirty minutes later--suspiciously good time for an eleven-year-old on foot, Dewitt realized--Dewitt Jr. returned clutching one of the most precious prints in the pantheon of film humour, a rare jewel by the Leonardo da Vinci of screen guffaws, Preston Sturges. Dewitt felt a rush of parental pride.

The Lady Eve (Brattle Theatre) features Henry Fonda as a bumbling millionaire and Barbara Stanwyck as the crafty cardshark who tries to take him for all he's got--but ends up falling in love. The film, made in 1941, came at the end of Hollywood's Golden Era of Romantic Comedy--but goes to show that the decline was not without its achievements.

As the final credits began to roll, a well-satisfied Dewitt turned to find his son on his way out the door, a bedroll and backpack under his arm. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"Well, Dad," the youth revealed, "while hitch-hiking in pursuit of your movies, I happened to be picked up by a big limousine bearing none other than movie cut-up Rodney Dangerfield and his friend, Paulina Porizkova. After a wacky series of misadventures, involving several cases of mistaken identity, a mix-up with a bag of jewels, and a wedding averted at the last moment, it turns out that Miss Porizkova is in love with me and that I am heir to a large industrial fortune. Excuse me, Father, but I believe the chauffeur is waiting." And with those words he slammed the screen door.

Derivative, of course, Dewitt thought.