You Can't Fix It In Post.
By Fred Leland

April 29, 2002

I don't go around kicking puppies or stealing candy from little children; but I must admit to feeling satisfaction when a character I can't stand snuffs it in a film. Fortunately, that's one of the few things John Water's Cecil B. Demented has going for it. Demented is a terrible film that is mercifully only 88 minutes long, but feels like such a retread of stuff we've seen before. It's Waters trying to recapture the in your face and vulgar flavor of his earlier groundbreaking films (Polyester, etc.) that helped bring respect to "B-movies." Unfortunately with Demented, the audience is subjected to a film obsessed with sex, bad language, pretentious characters, and is just annoying to watch.

Stephen Dorff plays the intense and entertaining Cecil B. Demented, a rebel filmmaker who is the Manson-like leader of an insane production group of freaks (the Sprocket Holes.) The group infiltrates a local Baltimore theater where they plan to kidnap a sugarcoated viper of the silver screen (Honey Whitlock played by Melanie Griffith,) during the premiere of her latest film. As members of the theater staff, the Sprocket Holes use hidden mikes to countdown to the abduction and spew lame anti-Hollywood protest slogans at each other. During the kidnapping the head of a local heart charity fund (played by Mink Stole) dies of a heart attack, which of course means that Demented's crew is suddenly wanted for murder. Wanted that is by the Baltimore police department, which never seems to have any officers in the city of Baltimore until the last quarter of the film.

As Honey Whitlock, Melanie Griffith is believable when she's being the Hollywood "Diva:" sweet and gracious when being interviewed by the press, and completely self-absorbed when making her assistant (played by Ricki Lake) jump through hoops, or complaining about her limo being white when it clearly states in her contract that her limo must be black. But unfortunately Griffith's acting reverts to her usual flat style when she's not being forced to be a diva or attempting to stand up to Dorff's intensity. Another problem with Whitlock is the speed in which she embraces Demented's vision without much resistance -she's stripped, bleached out, branded, and forced to be made up like a member of the Rocky Horror Picture Show cast. When not being assaulted by the obsessive sadistic hairdresser or the ditzy satanic makeup artist, Whitlock is subjected to endless lectures about the corruption of the Hollywood film system. If it's meant to be brainwashing, it's weaker than Tide.

If we're not subjected to lectures, we're subjected to hard-core sex talk: on her way to the premiere Whitlock ponders if Pat Nixon ever had sex in the presidential suite of the hotel, and 42 minutes into the movie there's an "interesting" discussion of Mel Gibson's genitalia. Furthering my annoyance with the film is the use of Baltimore locals as extras, which puts a drag on the film when it switches into B-movie acting mode, as Demented is confronted by people who don't like his work. One scene I actually did like, involves Kevin Nealon as the star in a sequel to Forrest Gump. The Sprocket Holes take over the soundstage, spew more anti-Hollywood slogans, and get into a gunfight with a group of teamsters on the set. The teamsters shoot several of the Sprocket Holes and chase them through a porn theater, which begins a sequence that brings the film to its climax at a drive-in theater and an orgy of sex, guns, and pyrotechnics.

Like Charlie Chaplin and Mel Brookes, John Waters has a group of performers who constantly appear in his films. This group includes Patti Hearst, Mink Stole, and Ricki Lake, but their appearances in Demented do nothing more than provide a little "wow factor." Better examples of the trio's acting talent can be seen in better John Water's films like Hairspray, Serial Mom, and Polyester. Cecil B. Demented would have been a better film if the plot had been reversed -Whitlock and Cecil as guerilla filmmakers who ride their twisted folk hero status into Hollywood success, while trying to maintain their "vision." Films like The Player, S.O.B., Bowfinger, and The Muse, do a much better job of lampooning modern Hollywood than Cecil B. Demented, which should have remained on the cutting room floor.

Fred presses on Cecil B. Demented.

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