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Of Auburn Hills
BRINGS You
THE SAME EXCELLENT FOOD OUR FAMILY
HAS BEEN SERVING SINCE I 939
Mark Wahlberg and Burt Reynolds star in Boogie Nights.
BOOGIE NIGHTS
Our Wondeful Tradition Is A Great Pride.
885 Opdyke Road
(Across from the Silverdome)
For Reservations: 373-4440
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ome of General TSO'S Chicken
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• OPEN 7 DAYS
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10/31
1997
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J
Whatever else director Paul
Thomas Anderson is trying to do with
Boogie Nights, he isn't trying to please
the crowd that scorned Striptease and
The People vs. Larry Flynt. Now they've
got an unholy trinity to hate.
Anderson, strongly standing on the
shoulders of "old" masters Robert
Altman and Martin Scorsese, puts his
own signature of arrival on Boogie
Nights. For sureness of control with
risky material, it's a remarkable film, at
times fairly amazing. The first half
(and a bit more) is also very amusing,
if you enjoy comedy done skintight
and raunchy.
Boogie Nights is an anti-nostalgic
but pro-erotic film about porno film-
ing during its "golden" age, the sex
party of the '70s, before home video
and AIDS and cocaine abuse
scummed up the Jacuzzi in the '80s.
Morally, of course, it was often rather
scummy from the start, but Boogie
Nights refuses to wear a scarlet letter of
shame.
There are two key players: Burt
Reynolds as Jack Horner, "king" of
stag movies, with a look of trussed
leather and a steady flame of apprecia-
tive lust, and his new stud star, the
boyish and sexually voracious Eddie
(Mark Wahlberg, formerly rapper
Marky Mark).
Love or hate the movie, you've got
to tap Burt Reynolds on his toupee (a
fab rug) and say, "Fine job, Burt."
Finally, a comeback that works. His
Jack Horner, several ranks below Russ
Meyer, is a hack of such engrained
self-delusion that he can look at his
cheap sex flicks (hilariously "crafted"
by Anderson) and feel good about a
hard day's night. Jack dreams of a
movie "true ... and right ... and dra-
matic."
Eddie's drama is between his legs
(there isn't much between his ears).
Wahlberg's Eddie is a real dip cone,
with the brash, banal sincerity of an
almost totally uneducated dope. He
runs from a rotten family, burning to
"rock." He is thrilled by shirts of
"imported Italian rayon" (this film is
the Valhalla crypt of '70s fashion),
feels "blessed" by the missile he can
launch on command. A song states his
life theme: "Do Your Thing."
Recrowned Dirk Diggler, Eddie
becomes a porn star, wins Vegas
awards, fakes it as hero of "adult
thrillers" (titles like Brock Landers VII:
Oral Majesty) and cokes so much that
even his "majesty" is humbled.
The women, despite heavy nasal
traffic, remain thrilled by him. They
tend to be radiantly stupid, but engag-
ing: the ditz-muffin Rollergirl
(Heather Graham) and divorced,
"motherly" Amber Waves (Julianne
Moore, who very sweetly seems to
have sawed her IQ in half).
There are moments of absolutely
right deadpan humor, as when pitiful
Little Bill (William H. Macy, the - -