Mike:

Once again Jeffrey and I concur about a movie that you’d basically have to be a complete asshole not to find hilarious. Why Jeffrey and I both find this movie hilarious despite being complete assholes is not something I’ve worked out yet, so I’ll shift gears rapidly and awkwardly. I suppose the main question is whether or not Showgirls is a sincere piece of crap or a brilliant work of camp comedy. I wager it’s both. Imagine you’re Paul Verhoeven and you have a sharp enough sense of irony and a rich enough appreciation of the absurd to create Robocop. Then in walks Joe Eszterhas through your door. Kismet. Not in your (remember, you’re still Paul Verhoeven) smarmiest dreams could you imagine a creature like Joe Eszterhas, with his pro-wrestler hairdo, billowy shirts, and massive gold chains. Mr. Eszterhas sits down on your sofa and tells you that he has an uncanny understanding of the female mind. He knows that when women are alone they talk about the long-haired rock stars they think are the super-cutest and how much they like having nice tits. He explains that he knows this because he’s overheard literally dozens of conversations such as these in Hollywood strip clubs, which are pretty much the only places in which he’s ever had contact with women. You (Verhoeven) whip out your pencil and pad (remember, this is 1995, years before the invention of the personal computer) and start taking notes.

Next step: scouring piles and piles of headshots of actresses willing to do anything to make their big break in a movie about a small-time stripper who claws her way up the ladder to become a big-time stripper. Shot after shot of generic, unknown blonds until… bingo… Jessie from “Saved By the Bell”. Pure gold. You bury your face in a heap of cocaine that would intimidate Tony Montana and you take a phone call (Hollywood is all about “taking” things… phone calls, meetings, credit for other people’s work…) with Elizabeth Berkley’s agent, who explains that Liz has been dying to prove herself a legitimate actress ever since “The Bell” went off the air. She’s been studying method acting under the personal tutelage of Lee Strasberg (who has been dead for 13 years) and the master has helped the young actress find her inner spazz, which deeply informs her dancing and ability to accurately simulate sex in a pool. And the snowball continues to snowball.

"I flail therefore I am."

When the smoke cleared, MGM had a $45,000,000 turkey on their hands that made less than half that at the box office. BUT, Showgirls has gone on to become one of MGM’s Top Twenty best selling DVDs. Now, I’m not sure what the other movies in that Top Twenty are, but here are twenty select MGM movies:

The Wizard of Oz
The Thin Man
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
A Night at the Opera
Gone With the Wind
The Philadelphia Story
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Ziegfield Follies
Meet Me in St. Louis
The Asphalt Jungle
An American in Paris
Singin’ in the Rain
Guys and Dolls
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
Ben-Hur
North by Northwest
The Haunting
Blowup
2001: A Space Odyssey
Network

So there are twenty MGM movies generally regarded as classics or great examples of cinema or whatever, and Showgirls—with its asinine dialogue, horrendous acting, spastic dancing, unintentional grossness, and weird nipple lipstick—outsells at least one of them (actually, it most likely outsells all of these movies except The Wizard of Oz). But is this a travesty that should send serious cinephiles into some sort of elitist uproar? No, because all of that asinine dialogue, horrendous acting, spastic dancing, unintentional grossness and weird nipple lipstick is, indeed, hilarious. That combination of sleazily ironic director and sleazily sincere writer is some kind of wonderful. Honestly, I was surprised by how often I laughed during this latest viewing (which was only my second one, too). And though, like Jeffrey, I find that rape scene to be out-of-place in its brutality and cruelty (why does the one character in the movie with a conscience have to suffer so?), it’s not enough to completely suck the fun out of this flick for me. A great bad movie is less about where it goes off the rails horribly and more about whether or not it delivers a wealth of hilariously horrible scenes, and Showgirls has these in spades. I’d list them for you, but you’re better off just watching the movie. Preferably drunk and surrounded by rowdy friends.

Mike gives Showgirls… 37 Eszterhasan!

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