“It was the most exciting period in America, the twenties into the thirties. …It was the starting of the Mafia. And the numbers racket was the most lucrative business of them all. For a penny you could fill a dream. But my dream turned into a nightmare”
This is how producer Robert Evans begins the story of the epic flop The Cotton Club. It’s part of a handful of tales that he shared with Lawrence Grobel in Conversations with Robert Evans (b.t.dubs, great read.). The book is honest and at times hilariously brutal (he describes Francis Ford Coppola as “an evil person”) and Evans’ devil-may-care attitude make it feel as if you’re sharing a whiskey with him somewhere on the Sunset Strip. The Cotton Club’s troubles began with it’s casting: a falling out with original lead Sly “cocksucker” Stallone led to a heated letter to the press “…your wisest move is to prepare for Rocky IV” and the addition of Richard Gere. Then came the battles with Coppola in the editing room through unnecessary re-shoots and a bleeding budget of over $50 million of musical numbers and scenes that only saw the cutting room floor. After reading Evans’ venom laced rant about “The Godfather with music” my expectations were pretty much in the toilet, which is probably why I didn’t hate it.
Was it a good movie? NO. But I’d fault it more for it’s cheesiness and casting than the messy editing. Richard Gere looks out of place and Diane Lane is terribly flat as a slutty flapper turned entrepreneur. But the worst offense comes from James Remar (The Warriors, Sex and the City) who gives his best version of a Dick Tracy villain. With his droopy lower lip and over the top snarl, I was waiting for a “Whhyyy I oughta!” or a “POW” to splash across the screen. A few silver linings are Gregory Hines: playing a charming tap dancer (a stretch, I know), a tolerable Nicolas Cage (Did I just say that?) and all of the beautiful 1920s costumes and accessories. Yet with a bloated plot that included mafia drama, musical diddies, shootouts, the travails of interracial dating, Bob Haskins sketching horses, prohibition, and a love story peppered in for good measure, it’s still a snooze. If you wanna see the good that can come of an Evans-Coppola collabo I would just rent The Godfather instead.
