Divine decadence doesn't cast stones...once you're inside.

Rating: 3/10 (8 November 2016)

This is "Goodfellas" meets "Valley of the Dolls", a deliciously trashy example of the dark side of night life that is legendary even today. Oh, the many ghosts I've felt walking through the doors of the former disco, now a legitimate Broadway theater that transitioned from nightclub to stage with the classic German expression of decadence, "Cabaret". Nightclubs still have a strict door policy like this, but 54 made it famous, even if it wasn't the first. This thrives on the disco beat of the late '70s/early '80s, tossing in obvious corruption from behind the scenes from a manager who was ingenious in many ways but idiotic and careless in a ton of others. "I've been to a marvelous party", Noel Coward wrote, but as his muse, Elaine Stritch, admitted, some of those marvelous parties really weren't so marvelous.
It's a fantasy land that makes reality tedious, and for bar-back turned successful bartender Ryan Phillipe, that marvelous party turns out to be the key to the door to his possible destruction, turning him from a basically decent kid from Jersey City to an absolute phony. As for Michael Meyers' Steve Rubell, well, I don't like to speak ill of the dead, but he was as sleazy as they come, never realizing the self destruction his doomed success has him headed towards.
I have to call this a guilty pleasure, a fun bad movie, and a reminder of my own party days which in many respects, as a whole, were not really marvelous. Ellen Albertini Dow, one of the cutest of little old ladies, is unforgettably lovable as Disco Dotty, a fictionalized version of a real character, and all she's missing is the cat and the birdcage to be a dancin' granny with a Tweety bird. The narration by Philippe gives this a pedestrian feel, with a feeling of nostalgia that lasts as long as the club stays open, but the feeling of sleaze has the same impact as a Sunday morning hangover. I may not be able to read minds, but I do know the difference between classic art and a framed poster that ends up in the trash after its owner realizes its true value. But for those of us who were there for lights and beat, this is a nice memory that soon is as forgotten as one of those cheap book store posters.