Moving (1988)
Directed by Alan Metter
Written by Andy Breckman

The Richard Pryor everyone wants to remember is the firebrand standup comic of the Black Power movement, the dude who released Bicentennial Nigger and contributed his genius to stuff like Car Wash and Silver Streak. And his degenerating physical stature in recent years has added layers of sadness and grace to his story.

The reality, though, is that almost none of Pryor's films hold up (including and perhaps especially Stir Crazy, which for some reason people still want to believe is hilarious), and most of his legacy consists of big-budget studio movie "performances" that made no attempt to disguise the fact that he just wanted as much drug money as he could get his hands on.

The enduring image is cowering Richard swooped into the arms of Christopher Reeve in Superman III. Perhaps the saddest of all, though, is cowering Richard cascading away on a hand-dolly in the video art for Moving.

This film is so completely hollow and unfunny, its writing so schlocky and forced, its characters so non-descript, its plotlines so entirely unnecessary, its performances so visibly contentious, its direction so wholeheartedly adequate, that you come away with the impression of everyone involved doing it for drug money. It's so mediocre and paint-by-numbers on every level that, when I went specifically looking for it at my local video store, I overlooked it three times before the tape finally materialized to my eyes. I'd probably have found it more easily had it been named 1988 Comedy and stocked in a section labelled "Generic."

Pryor plays his typically weird, inexplicably cowardly character, who for no apparent reason, is downsized and can only get another job in Boise, Idaho. So there's the pitch that got the film made. "Put Richard Pryor in Idaho!" screams one cocaine-fueled studio exec. "SO MAKE IT, ALREADY!" screams back the other.

Adding to the weirdness is a curious running gag about Pryor getting nosebleeds when he's nervous, which looks to have been deliberately written into the script to account for Pryor having nosebleeds on the set from doing so much blow.

Dave Thomas, Dana Carvey, Gordon Jump, Randy Quaid, and Stacy Dash are all on hand to varying degrees of observable discomfort and hostility at their own involvement; cameos by Rodney Dangerfield and Morris Day are probably the only moments I might call enjoyable. But come on, when Morris Day is able to upstage Richard Pryor in a film, it is not anyone's best day.

The lingering question is probably: Why the fuck did I intentionally seek this film out to watch it at possibly the exact moment of its total cultural obsolescence? Same reason some people cut themselves, I guess.

Review by Stewart Fence