Night ClubReviewed By Chris Parry
Posted 12/29/02 11:09:24
If thereís one thing I hate more than wannabe actors who write a script and cast themselves as the lead, itís wannabe actors who donít even bother writing the script, they get someone else to write the it. Then they claim an Ďidea byí credit, then a producer credit, then cast themselves as the lead opposite someone who is clearly so much more attractive than they are, that the whole film is unbelievable. Nightclub is the worst case of on-screen wankery that I have seen in many years, a perfect case of a couple of people whoíve seen a French movie or two deciding that filmmaking is easy, so easy in fact that they donít need actors, producers, directors or scriptwriters. They figure that one of them can write, one can direct, one can produce and then they can all have one of the four speaking parts on offer and we, the audience, will want to sleep with them and give them our money. The reality is that these morons have turned their fleeting moment of fame into a time capsule moment of glaring incompetence, forever captured for the ages so that we, the ones that donít try to lie to ourselves that weíre movie stars, can laugh and point.Nicholas Hoppe is a tool. He claims that the idea for this film was his, and that heís a producer. Then, of course, he figures heís a captivating enough screen presence to be the romantic lead. The problem is, Nick Hoppe is a total dickhead. His bleached blonde mullet is perhaps the most fashionable thing about him, and his utter vacuum of acting skill is the most intriguing. Imagine if you will a train wreck that just keeps tumbling, in slow motion, along the train tracks for two hours. Limbs flies out, bodies are crushed, mayhem, madness, and no hope of ever controlling itÖ you just have to wait for it to stop. Thatís what watching Night Club is like. It is just sheer destruction, twisted self-pleasure and an asshole trying to convince us that heís a sex symbol. This is a person who made a movie for no other reason than he thought maybe heíd get laid because of it. You can see it in the part heís playing, a wannabe nightclub owner whoís been stupid with other peopleís money, fucks around behind his wifeís back and somehow managed to have sex with women about sixteen levels more attractive than he is. Of course, in real life Nicholas Hoppe would need to beg his wife for a morning shag, but in his weird fantasy world, heís a stud, baby.
Elizabeth Kaitan is his wife, Beth. Sheís also his imaginary mistress, Liza. The fact that it took me until the last ten minutes of the movie to figure this out is less about my lack of cinematic perception and more about the fact that whoever wrote this phlegmatic garbola would have a hard time figuring out how to spell Ďscript editorí.
So who did write this crap? Deborah Hilton and Michael Keusch. Of course, Hilton was given a speaking part in the film for her trouble and Keusch was dubbed director. Neither seem to know anything about acting, writing or directing, but I guess when you let the guy with the original idea be producer and romantic lead, the need for experienced crew members and actors kind of goes out the window. Remarkably, Keusch kicked on after this awful effort and actually convinced people to hire him again. To this day, he still directs, albeit mostly in Germany. That heís not a fry-cook in Saskatchewan is something that the gods would have trouble explaining, in my opinion, because he certainly didnít show any talent in the writing/directing caper.
But then, nobody in this film showed any talent. Especially Hoppe. And you can bet that he was lobbying hard for this role too, being as itís filled with more sex scenes than actual dialogue. Clearly Hoppe considers himself a good-looking guy that ladies will love and guys will relate to, however the gal that watched this film with me remarked, ĎI wouldnít sleep with him if his dick was coated in 24 karat gold. Heís disgusting.í High praise indeed for the next god of erotic cinema.
So who else is allowed to act out of this gang of hacks? Well, thereís the co-producer, Toni Covington. On a big budget film production, itís pretty much common knowledge that the co-producer isnít a producer at all, sheís someone who either introduced some investors to the producer, or sheís just a friend who the producer thought he owed a favor to. Itís a title-only title.
So here we have a director that canít direct, who is writing the script with an actor that canít act, while the producer, who also canít act, takes on the romantic lead. All the while, his buddy is dubbed co-producer and given a speaking part, and the one woman in the film who actually may be able to act, the gorgeous looking Elizabeth Kaitan, is told to strip every few scenes, have sex with the producer every few scenes, and then get nailed by a supporting actor. Gee, she mustnít have felt very exploited.
The story, which I guess I should at least mention, though it hardly warrants even that, is about a doofus who wants to start a nightclub. He borrows money from his wife, borrows more from some gangsters, then takes out a lease on a building that is dubbed unsafe by the city. Of course, moron businessman of the year has already spent all the cash when he figures out the building canít be used, so everyone hates him. Except gorgeous women apparently.
Thinking about it, I wonder how closely this script mirrored real lifeÖ did Hoppe borrow money to make his movie and end up botching the job so badly that others lost their shirts? The final product leaves little doubt.
So anyway, 80% of the movie is about Hoppeís character whining that nobody will give him more money, then him screwing his wife and then some imaginary mistress (played by the woman who plays his wife, guess there werenít any more producers willing to take a role). Then the gangsters screw his mistress, then he makes a mirror-ball out of broken mirror bits, then the thing is over with the audience scratching their collective heads. What the fuck did we just sit through?
They should show shit like this in film school as a warning to wannabe filmmakers to stick to the one job theyíve been trained in and leave the others to those that know what theyíre doing. If I sell a script tomorrow, Iím not directing the damn thing, nor am I producing it, nor will I star in it. Iím a writer. I know my talent lies in the word. I know this because Iíve watched too many outright wankers like Nicholas Hoppe get a great chance to make a movie and botch it because he canít keep his hand off his dick.Iím calling you out, Hoppe. Explain to the world why your name doesnít accompany this excruciating film on the IMDB. Explain why this movie is so bad. Explain to those who paid for it to be produced why their money was lost trying to make you look good. Defend your damn self. Prove youíre not a wanker or forever be labeled just that, you untalented boob.
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