 (1968)
"I want...I want...I want...everything I've ever
seen in the movies!" Once the King of The Great
White Way, Zero Mostel's Max Bialystock, sporting an
industrial-strength comb-over, is reduced to a ratty
monographed robe, cardboard belt, and romancing old
ladies ("a last thrill on their way to the cemetery")
to finance his next inevitable-flop show. But catching
him in flagrante senilis is Gene Wilder's Jello-nerved
super-schnook accountant Leo Bloom, who, finding a
few grand misappropriated from the latest Bialystock
fiasco, poses "a little academic accounting theory":
that, assuming one is dishonest ("Assume away!"
chimes in Bialystock), one could make more money from
a flop than a hit. Next steps: raising 25,000% of their
production budget; finding a surefire bomb (Springtime
for Hitler: A Gay Romp with Adolf and Eva in Berchtesgaden);
hiring "the worst director that ever lived;"
casting a stoned-out Flower Child as the führer;
and, finally, slipping the outraged Times theater critic
a C-note ("and there's a lot more where that came
from," nudges Bialystock). Add the grotesquely
tasteless (a sentiment echoed by some critics) eponymous
opening number - complete with tap-dancing Storm Troopers
and leggy showgirls adorned with pretzels, beer mugs
and knockwurst - that culminates in a Busby Berkeley-inspired
overhead-shot swastika formation and a Major Floperoo
is in the bag. Or is it?
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