Hollywood borrowed the underlying premise from an old, old film called "Boudu Saved From Drowning". Writers dressed up the story to fit a 1986 audience. The rich Whiteman family lives in luxury in Beverly Hills. One day, in walks a tramp named Jerry Baskin (Nick Nolte). The plot then plays out as "comedy" and satire, as these two social class opposites interact.
The script's plot points are in-your-face obvious; there's nothing at all subtle here. Scriptwriters try too hard to make these plot elements funny, and the result is that, except for the amusing expressions of the little dog, Matisse, there's very little that is actually funny. Characters, and the actors that play these roles, are mostly just grating.
The best performance goes to Bette Midler, whose character Barbara is an emotionally frustrated rich woman, who employs a yogi to help her overcome the trials and tribulations of being wealthy.
The rest of the cast is not so hot. Nick Nolte, as the bum, mostly just plays himself; neither Nolte nor his character persuades us they have ever had a hard day in their lives. Tracy Nelson comes across as an entitled Hollywood insider who got the role of Jenny, a spoiled 1980s prima donna.
But the award for worst performance goes to the annoyingly overeager Richard Dreyfuss, another insider, who shouts and overacts his way through the entire film. Indeed, this film has a serious problem with overacting. I guess it's a way to try to compensate for the lack of humor in this so-called comedy.
Cinematography and production values are fine. And I liked those interior scenes wherein Bette Midler walks out of her plush bathroom through a cascade of mirrors; that's nicely done. The film's score is not the least bit inspired. And the final fifteen-minute segment collapses into silly chaos, with an ending that is not remotely credible.
Time-bound to the 1980s, "Down And Out In Beverly Hills" looks and feels dated. It strikes me as a film produced, written, directed, and acted by an ensemble of Hollywood insiders, none of whom have any idea of what it's like to be homeless, and couldn't care less. Homelessness is just another impersonal topic about which Hollywood can make a bundle of cash. Poor Mike, the dog that played Matisse; that dog needs to find an agent that can get him into better films.
The script's plot points are in-your-face obvious; there's nothing at all subtle here. Scriptwriters try too hard to make these plot elements funny, and the result is that, except for the amusing expressions of the little dog, Matisse, there's very little that is actually funny. Characters, and the actors that play these roles, are mostly just grating.
The best performance goes to Bette Midler, whose character Barbara is an emotionally frustrated rich woman, who employs a yogi to help her overcome the trials and tribulations of being wealthy.
The rest of the cast is not so hot. Nick Nolte, as the bum, mostly just plays himself; neither Nolte nor his character persuades us they have ever had a hard day in their lives. Tracy Nelson comes across as an entitled Hollywood insider who got the role of Jenny, a spoiled 1980s prima donna.
But the award for worst performance goes to the annoyingly overeager Richard Dreyfuss, another insider, who shouts and overacts his way through the entire film. Indeed, this film has a serious problem with overacting. I guess it's a way to try to compensate for the lack of humor in this so-called comedy.
Cinematography and production values are fine. And I liked those interior scenes wherein Bette Midler walks out of her plush bathroom through a cascade of mirrors; that's nicely done. The film's score is not the least bit inspired. And the final fifteen-minute segment collapses into silly chaos, with an ending that is not remotely credible.
Time-bound to the 1980s, "Down And Out In Beverly Hills" looks and feels dated. It strikes me as a film produced, written, directed, and acted by an ensemble of Hollywood insiders, none of whom have any idea of what it's like to be homeless, and couldn't care less. Homelessness is just another impersonal topic about which Hollywood can make a bundle of cash. Poor Mike, the dog that played Matisse; that dog needs to find an agent that can get him into better films.