I heard a lot about this movie prior to watching it for the first time a few years ago, and certainly ran across the title enough times browsing my father's video collection. Yet I never looked very far into it, until I discovered it was the work of Python alumni. I think, in fact, it was referenced in something related to the Pythons themselves, showing clips of a maddened, eyepatched Michael Palin, and an embarassed and possibly naked John Cleese. Perhaps, for this reason, I did not get quite what I was looking for out of it, as inevitably seems to be the case with these boys.

Georges Thomason (Tom Georgeson) is a thief working with lover Wanda Gershwitz (Jamie Lee Curtis), who has recently brought on her brother Otto (Kevin Kline) as a weapons man, all in the flat that seems most likely owned by co-conspirator Ken Pile (Michael Palin). We learn that Georges is the brains of the operation, planning the whole thing, Wanda is the manipulator who sets things in motion, because she is actually lover to Otto (who isn't her brother at all), Otto is purely the brawn (despite his beliefs to the contrary) and Ken is the heart, if you will, "Fight Cruelty to Animals" posters littering the flat, as well as a tank of fish that he has named and talks to affectionately. They steal a pile of diamonds, then backstabbing and double crossing begin, and soon barrister Archie Leach (John Cleese, who scripted and co-wrote the film, as well as taking a co-directorial credit that he says was in name only--oh, and that's Cary Grant's real name, of course, which is why I kept thinking it sounded awfully familiar) is drawn into the mess, defending Georges and beginning a love affair with Wanda. Otto and Wanda are happily betraying Georges, who sends Ken out to kill the one witness who can identify him, an old woman named Mrs. Coady (Patricia Hayes) who has three yapping dogs.

If you go into this expecting a strange, absurdist Python sense of humour, you are going to be sorely disappointed (as I was). It isn't that at all, and is far more a straightforward comedy. I hear terms like "perfect" and the like bandied about related to this film, but I think that's a great stretch. It's not a bad or mediocre film by any means, but it isn't anything groundbreaking either. It is a bit on the dark side of humour (originally intended to be even darker, which surprises me little when it comes to Cleese) but not overly so--supposedly in part, if not largely, because of test audiences. I will note that, at least from my imagination, this was not a bad choice, for once. A lot of the removed and changed scenes related to more realistic animal violence and a more cynical ending. While there's, for reasons beyond me, still some idiot movement about the supposedly "inevitable" happy or "neatly tied up" endings (despite the constantly increasing number o fcynical, ambiguous endings floating around), I'm not of that mind. There are only so many endings one can use and still have an ending, and I'm not opposed to any on principle, and in fact just want them to fit with the rest of the movie. As Fish was filmed, it was a lighter comedy, for all of its spikes of darkness or cynicism. The ending it has fits.

What has bothered me, though, is a strange competing tension between the British and American actors within the film. They almost seem to be coming from different worlds (surprise, surprise! I know!) but in a way that seems to rip and tear at the fabric of the film for me, as if it's trying terribly hard to be a (good) American comedy or a (good) British comedy. I mean neither as disparaging, as both are handled with style, but it is sort of disorienting to me. However, it's worth noting that it is an absolute testament to the skill of those involved--director Charles Crichton, actors Kline, Cleese, Palin and Curtis--that it does not tear itself in half. It holds together in spite of this for me, something I don't know that anyone else I've ever spoken to feels of it. It leads to a mild disappointment because its sense of humour comes off as nothing new, but the disappointment remains mild because the delivery, timing, direction and editing all put it together to remain legitimately funny--or at least amusing. Actually, it's very difficult for me to state my opinion. Something feels wrong, but when I look at it, there isn't anything wrong, meaning I'm more than likely still just annoyed that it wasn't more Python-esque material, but not too annoyed because it works anyway as what it is.

Bizarre.

Amusing bits: Stephen Fry has a brief cameo as a man in an airport with about two lines, and strangely John Du Prez' score kept making me think of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles at one point or another, which is probably not surprising since, as I surmised, he wrote that score as well, and only about a year or so later. But, still. It's weird to watch Kevin Kline and Michael Palin run around and think of Henson Studios turtle-people at the same time.

I don't remember why I first watched this movie, perhaps I saw imagery from it somewhere and thought, "Hey! Samuel L. Jackson! Can't be TOO bad!"

Mr. Jackson plays one Romulus "The Caveman" Ledbetter, occupant of a "rocky enclosure" in Innwood Park, New York, father of Lulu (Anjanue--ouch, phonetic spelling of French?--Ellis) and ex(?)-husband of Sheila (Tamara Tunie). The first thing we see is inside his head, where his Juilliard-trained fingers still have a piano to occupy themselves with, playing to the accompaniment of the "moth-seraphs" that also occupy his mind. Rom occupies this cave and is referred to as "Caveman" because he is a paranoid schizophrenic. He finds outside his cave on Valentine's Day, the body of model Scotty Gates (Sean MacMahon), high in a tree. He reports this to his daughter Lulu, and we find she is in fact a police officer. Known for his rants about "Cornelius Gould Stuyvesant," Rom believes the man occupies the Chrysler Building and sends out "Y" and "Z" Rays to control the populace and deny them their freedom of mind. As such, Lulu is reluctant to believe him, but eventually does come to find the body is present as he has claimed, and so an investigation begins into his death, with Rom strongly suspecting photographer David Leppenraub (Colm Feore) is behind the crime.

The strongest element by far is the imagery associated with Romulus' mind, the forceful editing and performance of the athletes portraying the "moth-seraphs" is unbelievably striking and primal, as they represent something of the forces of justice and vengeance in the mind of Ledbetter. The rest of the plot is not overly engaging, and George Dawes Green's screenplay (based on his own book) is a bit clumsy, with Romulus seeming too coherent at too many of the right times, or a little too "crazy" to be realistically crazy, and characters either accepting or rejecting him with equal measures of imbalanced and "convenient" reality or fiction. Bob (Anthony Michael Hall) and Betty (Kate McNeil) are Romulus' idea of the upper class, and they take Romulus in, surprised by the training he possesses musically and enthralled by it, sometimes seeming respectful of his paranoia, other times inappropriately disturbed by it. Jackson's performance, and most of them in the film, are quite good, with our ability to sympathize with this crazed man intact, yet a distance maintained with a believably threatening, uncomfortable level of disconnection from reality never being too far from us. His eventual affair with Moira Leppenraub (Ann Magnuson) is really uncomfortable, seeming grossly out of place and strange, as if she is either taking advantage of him or is not aware of his madness--though this feeling is of course dampened by a script that can't seem to make up its mind just how far gone he is from reality.

In the end, the general reviews around are essentially correct--the film is well put together and creative, but its reach exceeds its grasp, and it stumbles a fair bit of the time. While it's fascinating to have a main character so removed from our understanding, it also makes it difficult for us to appreciate his approach, and terribly difficult to believe his abilities as a detective, as if he is conveniently made not crazy at the appropriate points to let the mystery be solved. A schizophrenic detective is simply not plausible as filmed.