JOAN RIVERS: A PIECE OF WORK
Directed by Ricki Stern and Annie Sundberg
Produced by Stern, Seth Keal & Sundberg
Written by Stern
Released by IFC Films
USA. 84 min. Rated R  
 

In a black-and-white 1960s clip, host Ed Sullivan introduces rising comedienne Joan Rivers on his show as his “daffy little friend.” Her image today, whether as a self-mocking “plastic surgery freak past her sell-by date” or as a workaholic show biz veteran, has moved far away from that innocuous description, thanks to a combination of a canny performer honing her persona and the vastly changing times, which now allow her to bluntly say what she could before only imply. In the early ’80s, when Rivers was the permanent guest host for The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson, she took advantage of the late-night slot. Now, when anything can be uttered at anytime, on broadcast or cable TV, it’s easy to overlook how jarring it was for a woman, all decked out in a Bob Mackie gown, to take no prisoners (few of the rich and famous were off limits, except for the Reagans).

Directors Ricki Stern and Annie Sundberg tag along with Rivers, at age 76, for a year-in-the-life documentary as she sprints around the country for her stand-up act, book tours, a short-lived one-woman play in London, and a stint on TV’s Celebrity Apprentice. The filmmakers allow Rivers to set the tone and the agenda. You never have to worry about whether she feels exploited—she takes full advantage of the screen time. Even during the quieter moments—pouring over the not-so-great reviews of her stage show or preparing for Thanksgiving—she never forgets the camera, her substitute audience. She has a blunt self-assessment or barb for every occasion. (Like Mae West and other writers before her, she maintains card catalogues of jokes filed by subject.) This is, so far, the most gossipy, bawdy documentary of the year. She dishes on what you’d expect: her fallout with Johnny Carson, her failed Fox TV talk show, her husband’s suicide, the repeated career pitfalls.

With standard interviews kept to a minimum, the filmmakers have come away with an inadvertently probing and captivating profile, a portrait of passive-aggressiveness writ huge—River’s too cynical, too jaded for a hagiography. She opens up, but only to a certain degree. For decades, she’s been more than forthcoming about her many cosmetic surgeries, but not why she has continuously so altered her face, which has morphed into a heart-shaped canvas with jutting check bones. (Roseanne Barr admits she went under the knife so she wouldn’t look like her mother.)

Anything is fair game for her material, but that doesn’t necessarily include herself. She visibly turns physically rigid when others take shots at her during a Comedy Central roast. But you can hardly blame her for flinching during the bad material directed at her, especially Brad Garrett’s gag about her having so many facelifts that she has to blow her nose threw her vagina (I’m not sure that’s the exact word he used).

Despite the bookings, the Connecticut country home, her elegant Upper East Side apartment, her fourth (or is it fifth?) act as a reality TV star, her success will never be enough. She wants to be recognized as an actress first, claiming her career as a comedian is a role she plays, downplaying how much of her personality she brings to the material, which she writes.

Fortuitously, the camera is at the right place at the right time when it catches her act interrupted by a heckler in northern Wisconsin who found one joke not funny. The scene has already given the film the most publicity. She immediately regains control of the stage after the off-stage outburst and vents, letting the man have it—she does not suffer fools gracefully. But her vitriol gets the best of her. She shuts up the man and continues to spew—did she really have to call him an asshole? It’s this undercurrent of rancor that has prevented her from gaining most-beloved status. Aging has only made her angrier. Don Rickles comes off as lovable in comparison. Even David Letterman keeps his venom in check, never quite loosing his cool. Audiences likes potty-mouth older women, as long they have a twinkle in the eye. River’s right—she’ll always be an outsider. Kent Turner
June 11, 2010