I rented this movie from the local video store when I was seventeen years old. At this young, tender age I innocently believed that all comedies were created equal. If a film wanted to make me laugh, it would make me laugh - no questions asked. Truth be told, I can't even remember why I rented it. Perhaps it was because Joe Pesci was in it; if he was funny in HOME ALONE, then surely he'd be funny here. And the movie would be a blast as well.
As it turned out, I was right on only one count. Pesci is wonderful in 8 HEADS IN A DUFFEL BAG, playing his sadistic mobster shtick to the hilt. However, a little bit of Pesci goes a looooong way: halfway into the picture, I realized that his brand of dark comedy had seeped into every comic situation, rendering the movie a sordid mess.
I have nothing against dark comedy, but 8 HEADS IN A DUFFEL BAG doesn't so much push the envelope as rend it asunder. There is so much vulgarity and mean-spiritedness that I actually began to pity the characters, trapped as they were in their little 1950s sitcom universe from Hell.
Joe Pesci notwithstanding, every character in this movie is a loathsome stereotype. We have the naive young man, the squeamish girlfriend, the clueless father, the ditzy wife, the crotchety old grandma, etc. And let's not forget all those hot-blooded Italians and sneaky Mexicans.
There was one - only ONE - point where I really surrendered myself to gales of joyful laughter. It was the great comic set-piece wherein Pesci's mobster is asleep and dreams that the eight severed heads of the movie's title come to life and begin singing "Mr. Head Man" (to the tune of "Mr. Sandman") like seasoned recording artists. Then their headless bodies crash through the wall and begin to strangle our hero. I laughed my proverbial butt off at this surreal comic masterpiece. Then the scene ended - and I went back to being not amused again.
At the end of the movie, one of the characters tries to make up for nearly two hours of bleak vacuum by spouting a barrage of "head" puns ("Stop a-HEAD," "Anyone need to use the HEAD?", etc.) and other corny jokes, some of which were, admittedly, quite clever. But, as they say, it was too little, too late.
On a scale of 1-8 heads, I give 8 HEADS IN A DUFFEL BAG a small section off the smaller ear of the smallest head in Tommy Spinelli's bag.
As it turned out, I was right on only one count. Pesci is wonderful in 8 HEADS IN A DUFFEL BAG, playing his sadistic mobster shtick to the hilt. However, a little bit of Pesci goes a looooong way: halfway into the picture, I realized that his brand of dark comedy had seeped into every comic situation, rendering the movie a sordid mess.
I have nothing against dark comedy, but 8 HEADS IN A DUFFEL BAG doesn't so much push the envelope as rend it asunder. There is so much vulgarity and mean-spiritedness that I actually began to pity the characters, trapped as they were in their little 1950s sitcom universe from Hell.
Joe Pesci notwithstanding, every character in this movie is a loathsome stereotype. We have the naive young man, the squeamish girlfriend, the clueless father, the ditzy wife, the crotchety old grandma, etc. And let's not forget all those hot-blooded Italians and sneaky Mexicans.
There was one - only ONE - point where I really surrendered myself to gales of joyful laughter. It was the great comic set-piece wherein Pesci's mobster is asleep and dreams that the eight severed heads of the movie's title come to life and begin singing "Mr. Head Man" (to the tune of "Mr. Sandman") like seasoned recording artists. Then their headless bodies crash through the wall and begin to strangle our hero. I laughed my proverbial butt off at this surreal comic masterpiece. Then the scene ended - and I went back to being not amused again.
At the end of the movie, one of the characters tries to make up for nearly two hours of bleak vacuum by spouting a barrage of "head" puns ("Stop a-HEAD," "Anyone need to use the HEAD?", etc.) and other corny jokes, some of which were, admittedly, quite clever. But, as they say, it was too little, too late.
On a scale of 1-8 heads, I give 8 HEADS IN A DUFFEL BAG a small section off the smaller ear of the smallest head in Tommy Spinelli's bag.