Ah, "Night of the Juggler"! Someone has called it a "New York Sleazefest"; unfortunately, they got it all wrong, for it is more a "New York CHEESEfest". This tale of a former, disgraced, ex-cop whose daughter is kidnapped by mistake and his search for her and the man who has taken her, tried desperately to be gritty and 'real' but manages only to be as pure ham as its villain, Cliff Gorman, who continued here to swallow scenery - and fellow actors - whole, just as he had in every single movie unfortunate to have him in it. Perhaps nothing prepares the viewer for how bad the proceedings will be better than its opening scene, wherein Gorman violently douses a plate of eggs and bacon with ketchup, all meant to suggest how "unhinged" he his. Not for a moment off-putting or disturbing, as it's intended to be, one can only laugh at its absurdity. Soon after the eggs-and-ketchup-as-blood bit, we're treated to overly earnest, bearded he-man James Brolin, bedecked in the era's best flannel shirt and jeans, and his pubescent daughter, played by one Abby Bluestone. It is at this point when the film jumps clearly from amusing schlock into thigh-slapping camp, as the director, cinematographer, and especially the costume designer seem determined to humiliate the poor actress: from the get-go, she performs in a manner that suggests...well...mild retardation, what with her slow-as-molasses line readings, whiny voice, lumbering movements that suggest any movement beyond reaching for a Happy Meal will sap all her energy, and a costume that is, at best, an insult to any young woman, let alone one who is, um, quite so "cuddly". While it's initially refreshing to see a plus-size young girl on screen in lieu of any number of underfed so-called beauties, WHO exactly decided to put this already-unattractive chubette in a shapeless Osh Kosh B'Gosh denim overall and give her that hideous Richard Simmons white-boy afro??? If this getup was supposed to suggest a certain tomboyish quality, it fails, for you can't help but notice just how much she resembles that "It's Pat" character from those unfunny "SNL" skits. While you pity the poor thing this cross to bear, her acting only inspires greater laughter. Once she's abducted by Gorman, who - I swear - rolls his eyes, licks his lips, and would, if he had one, twirl his mustache, things get even hokier, as Brolin manhandles all who get in the way of finding his kid, including the ubiquitous Dan Hedaya in an early appearance as a less-than-receptive cop who has his own beef with Brolin. Hedaya matches Gorman toe-to-toe in their attempts to out-cheese one another (though they share no screen time), and he nearly wins. Hedaya's scenery-chewing, and the film's ridiculousness, reach new heights in a scene where he chases Brolin through the streets of this pre-Disney/Pataki/Guiliani New York City, shooting up everyone and everything, presumably without much recourse...until, of course, Brolin punches him out. Of course! Along the way, Brolin meets up with a young Mandy Patinkin, here miscast as an Hispanic cabbie (replete with Speedy Gonzalez accent), porn star/health activist Sharon Lawrence (as an exotic dancer in a an adult bookstore - back when NYC still had them!), Linda Miller as his ex-wife (she's one of those actresses who can sob and sob but magically produce no visible tears) and, finally, Julie Carmen, who decides to help him. The scene where the Latin street gang chase them is, alone, worth countless laughs as - you guessed it! - Brolin doles out his special brand of brawn and shows them what-for. I particularly enjoy a moment during the gang chase where Brolin and Carmen seem to merely be jogging away from them. Things degenerate when the film tries to become lurid and sensational with the twist that Gorman has just kidnapped this ungainly kid not only for ransom but for 'romantic' purposes, to boot. The scene where he tries to force her to wear a dress is a hoot, instead of being tense, thanks to two rotten performers bouncing off one another: Gorman, all tics and actor's tricks, emoting for all the world to see; and Bluestone, whiny and generally unsympathetic (other than the fact that she's a kid, one doesn't really care about her). What makes it all that much worse is that, despite numerous opportunities to escape, this girl does nothing, for the most part, and when she finally DOES attempt a getaway, you'll be biting your lip as this pudgy pubescent waddles her way over assorted rubble. If it sounds like I'm being cruel, or "fattist", let me add here I, too, am not food-shy and have plenty of extra baggage of my own. So, quite frankly, if the makers of this film, nor its actress, nor anyone else involved, cared enough to present her in a flattering light, why should the viewer make apologies? Finally, the showdown between Brolin and Gorman comes, and it takes place underground (pathetically underlit, in the old video transfer I own). Try and suppress those giggles as the filmmakers want us to believe Gorman is any match for punch-first-ask-questions-later Brolin. Those same suppressed giggles will automatically be unleashed at the moment when, sensing he's lost, Gorman attempts one last attack on Brolin and lunges for him, emitting this high-pitched, utterly girlish, squeal that'll have you rolling on the floor. A few moments later, all and sundry walk off into the sunrise and an ill-fitting disco tune rears from nowhere over the end credits. While it may appeal to the action-flick crowd, or a less-demanding audience, its REAL appeal lies at the feet of those of us who truly treasure lousy movie-making. If that's you, go ahead and indulge. WALLOW in its awfulness. My friend Michelle considers this one of the great laugh-out-loud experiences. Give it a shot and see if you don't agree.
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