Souffle Surrealism

By RICHARD CORLISS

EATING RAOUL

Directed by Paul Bartel

Screenplay by Paul Bartel and Richard Blackburn

With his bow tie, manicured beard, debaucher's lips and a forehead that recedes in disapproving furrows almost to the collar line, Paul Bartel looks like the last surviving member of the Preston Sturges Repertory Company. Sturges, whose spitball farces (The Lady Eve, The Miracle of Morgan's Creek) sped moviegoers giddily through World War II, might appreciate Bartel's continuance of that tradition, as actor and writerdirector, in high-camp style. His first feature, Private Parts (1973), was a Psycho drama about a winsome lad who makes love to a lifesize, water-filled, clear plastic doll in the image of his beloved. In the mid-'70s Bartel made two manic car-chase movies, Death Race 2000 and Cannonball, whose plots inspired The Cannonball Run. For his presence in that film, Burt Reynolds was reportedly paid $5 million; for directing Death Race 2000, Bartel earned $5,000. Such are the rewards of B-plus moviemaking.

More tangible assets may be imminent. Bartel's Eating Raoul, a black-and-blue comedy with a ferocious moral sense, is being distributed by real people at 20th Century-Fox after its engagement last weekend at the New York Film Festival and seems sure to recoup its tiny budget quickly, provided by Bartel's parents and friends. The film has some easy and some earned laughs, half a dozen murders and, for those who can't wait for Porky's 2, the requisite Nude Dancing at a Wild Party scene. This devious comic contraption is set in motion by a husband (Bartel) and wife (Mary Woronov) so decent and affectionate that they could star in their own sitcom. They have dreams no grander than to open a gourmet restaurant called Chez Bland--and the willingness to kill a gaggle of Los Angeles swingers in order to finance their scheme.

Paced at a Wolfman's shamble and photographed in colors as cheerful and sexless as the Blands, Eating Raoul could be read as Bartel's comic revenge on Hollywood: like his protagonist, he profits by axing the System. But perhaps this is too heavy a weight for 87 minutes of souffle-light surrealism to support. The film is best seen as a canny survivor's notice of current determination and future availability. It would be pleasant to think that what Bartel did for love could be redeemed for money, and a chance next time to make it his way a bigger way. Like the Old Dope Peddler in Tom Lehrer's song, Bartel should do well by doing good. --By Richard Corliss

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