iJ

Brando of nerds) carries on a flustered
conversation while, behind him on the
driveway, seen in long shot, his wife
ruts for a crowd of gapers. As when
Dirk first "acts," and the camera crew
(including stone-still Jack Wallace) is
riveted by the debut of his implement
(we later see it, just once, in prosthetic
candor).
Superlatively nicked-in perfor-
mances include the late Robert
Ridgely as suave "financier" Col.
James, a man of dirty secrets; Alfred
Molina as a freebasing host from
"Satyricon" hell; Don Cheadle as a
. giddy huckster, and John C. Reilly as
Dirk's stooge, Reed. Luis Guzman
brings his barrio-beast swagger to
inanely "up" Maurice, and Philip
Baker Hall is nail-tight as Floyd
Gondolli, a slimy producer who wel-
comes the shoddiness of video filming,
resisted by "artist" Jack.
Richly populated, confidently shot,
Boogie Nights stretches out, but each
scene is vividly effective. Anderson has
a compassionate but not a mushy view
of people who believe that being party
animals is a calling, a way of life, and
who learn tough lessons but not
deeply (introspection tends to dull
them more than drugs). Anderson
does not giggle up his disco sleeve,
and his dark scenes cast some real
shadows.
Photographed for romping kitsch
and some very cold candor by Robert
Elswit, Boogie Nights wears its plastic
booties with genuine style. This
unnervingly direct comedy (without
the ideological luggage of Larry Flynt)
has one of the great ensemble casts of
the decade. Anderson, 27, has made a
name for himself instantly.
I can understand some people find-
ing this movie a commode (they
should skip it). Like Shampoo, the film
is simpatico but not slumming, though
its wit is never as elegant. (How could
it be?) Wahlberg's Eddie is not the
equal of Warren Beatty's George; Eddie
is the kind of schmo who would never
get one of George's classy haircuts,
even after he can afford it.
No young person with more than a
pinch of brain can come from this film
thinking: Yeah, wow, let me in. If they
do, what can we do? Boogie Nights has
the grace to not look down upon the
sleazers it depicts, but directly into
their eyes. It's in the eyes, slugged with
lust or blasted on coke, that this aston-
ishing film lives. Rated R.

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