Salina Art Center

Comedienne Joan Rivers, with her trademark raspy voice, nervous-staccato delivery, politically incorrect humor, and proud status as Equal Opportunity Offender, is definitely one of the most polarizing figures in the entertainment world—and has been since she began her career in the late ‘50’s, cracking wise about abortions, male insecurities, her own looks, and the key to her success (“I put out”).  In the days when stand-up was a Boys Only club, Rivers could “work blue” with a delivery as sharp and fearless as the raunchiest comics, matching them joke for off-color joke while seeming almost impervious to shame, embarrassment, or qualms of regret.  You don’t have to like Rivers or her cringe-making brand of humor to appreciate this compelling documentary from filmmakers Ricki Stern and Annie Sundberg; in fact, it might be most surprisingly pleasurable for those who detest her.  Not because Rivers unexpectedly reveals herself to be an introspective, sensitive intellectual who likes to unwind with a copy of Proust when not juggling stand-up gigs, tacky reality show appearances, or obnoxious interviews (with daughter Melissa) on the fabled Red Carpet at every recent Oscars ceremony.  What makes this detailed look at the pop icon’s busy life so fascinating is the strange force of the star’s personality.  Love her or hate her, one can’t ignore her, can’t pass by without gawking, staring, listening in disbelief.  Despite the cynical, jaded attitude she relentlessly projects, Joan Rivers has a bit of the precocious child’s nature, that almost-innocent need to see how far she can push the envelope of good taste, gross people out, discover how sadistic she’ll be allowed to be.  Study her closely and you’ll see a performer—Rivers considers herself an actress playing the role of a comic rather than a natural comic—who constantly watches the audience watching her, measures their responses, determines how far she can go… and then willfully steps beyond that point.  There’s something about that lack of control, her own inability to heed Thumper’s advice about not saying anything at all if you can’t say something nice, that makes Rivers oddly endearing, even likeable and human.  Just kidding.  No, this documentary won’t turn haters into Joan Rivers converts, but that’s not the agenda.  It’s a vivid portrait of a comic who’s used male chauvinism to her advantage, transforming herself into a man’s nightmare of the merciless, emasculating female; but rather than turn into an empowering model for women, she’s alienated female (and male) audiences by playing with her loud, tacky, “trashy” persona, one in which she holds up an embarrassing mirror to America’s dark side—the side of our society that’s shallow, anti-intellectual, and obsessed with youth and beauty, that feeds on radio shock jocks and tabloid gossip and TV shows featuring talent-free attention hogs masquerading as celebrities.  It’s an American “type” we don’t want to recognize, much less have shoved in our faces.  But Rivers leaves no one unscathed, including herself; when the suicide of her husband Edgar briefly turned her own life into the kind of public tragedy she’d often mocked, she undermined the mockers and made jokes about it.  Stern and Sundberg suggest that Rivers exemplifies a peculiarly American brand of aggressive gallows humor that permeates much of our media today, making Rivers something of a pioneer (not necessarily in a good way).  Regardless of whether or not moviegoers consider her culturally significant, Rivers is so quick-witted and articulate, so self-deprecating, so thoroughly what she is, that she makes this documentary into one of the most entertaining psychological case studies in recent years.  Viewers will be alternately shocked, maddened, baffled, amused, bewildered, and impressed by this self-proclaimed “piece of work.”