text: As was to be expected, A Mazursky film made in the 70s would be counter-culture, sympathetic towards the hippies - and have a lot of hippies in it - and, naturally, it is childishly anti-authoritarian (e.g. the scene on the Mexican border, when Sutherland provokes a custom's officer by showing little respect and then accuses the latter of making him open his luggage only because he (Sutherland) has long hair). The constant left-wing dribble could have gotten on my nerves had I not been prepared for it beforehand; Sutherland muses aloud to his family and friends about potential movie ideas for his next film, and most of these ideas are either about blacks or Indians (needless to say, he would be welcomed with open arms in today's Hollywood). One of his movie ideas is about a black uprising in Beverly Hills - a race-war, so-to-speak, in the middle of L.A.. This is the kind of nonsense that Mazursky thinks about when writing scripts for his movies. Fortunately, some of Sutherland's hippie friends make fun of this black-revolution premise, and the resulting dialogue isn't bad; a little later, the Jewish guy makes a crack about Sutherland making a movie about "masturbation and the black problem", when the latter starts talking about masturbation. Another funny moment is when Sutherland's older daughter performs some PC crap on stage with her white school-mates, and they all say: "We, the black people of the Republic of South Africa...".<br /><br />There is always a certain amount of self-indulgence when Hollywood makes a movie about Hollywood - especially when it's Hollywood making a movie about Hollywood discussing Hollywood doing movies. Now, that's very, very self-indulgent, indeed. The scene with Fellini (playing himself) is more amusing than annoying, though. Mazursky throws in the standard flower-children and anti-Vietnam bullshit into the soup, and also pokes fun at corporate Hollywood, but he was/is just as much a part of the "phony Hollywood" (lyrics from that song in the surreal war segment) as anyone else; I am pretty sure that he, too, makes phony small-talk in Beverly Hills parties and grins fakely while shaking the hands of people whom he either doesn't know or like, but whose money he wants badly for his next (left-wing) project. As for his hair: he has the worst hair I've seen in a very long time (on film or elsewhere); it's sort of like the kind of long hair that a middle-aged accountant would have if he grew it long. The film remains relatively interesting in spite of its aimlessness, but it bogs down somewhat into tedium in the last third. If you'd like to read my parody/biography of Donald Sutherland (and other Hollywood actors), contact me by e-mail.