This will be the only review of Andrew Dice Clay's The Adventures of Ford Fairlane that mentions T. S. Eliot. What's the connection between the foul-mouthed comic and the great poet? Both have been accused of misogyny; there are lines in Eliot's original version of "The Waste Land" about women's minds and bodies that sound like highbrow versions of the Diceman's riffs. So what? So, at the highest and lowest cultural levels, the fear and awe of women have driven men into extremes of eloquence and indecency. In "Ford Fairlane" Clay's profane machismo is played for what it is, a parody of the insecure male whose strutting supremacism is just an act.
Where do you find swarms of such types? In the pop-music world, natch, so in his first starring movie Clay plays Ford Fairlane, "rock and roll detective," whose clients come from the realm of gold records and zinc egos. Caught up in the case of a murdered rock star, Fairlane bops his way through the Los Angeles club scene in a pretzel of a plot involving his long-suffering assistant Jazz (Lauren Holly), crooked record mogul Julian Grendel (Wayne Newton) and the ultimate mindless groupie Zuzu Petals (Maddie Corman).
Rocket-rising action director Renny Harlin ("Die Hard 2") does his high-tech mayhem thing, but this picture is a Dice-roll pure and simple. Or i rather impure, as Clay spews forth gags about genitals male and female, autoeroticism with odd implements and obscene references to Dick Tracy and the Girl Scouts. As with Clay's live act, some of this is funny-icky, some just icky. But there's a goofy, surreal innocence to his ick-shtik as I against the smug egomania of Eddie Murphy or the paranoid rages of Sam Kinison. As the embodiment of male sexual infantilism, the Diceman is the mouth of the moment.