In the opening shot of Choose Me, characters wander into a street scene and start dancing to the sounds of the funky music on the soundtrack. Highly unrealistic, and it serves as a warning: You either sway to the peculiar rhythms of this idiosyncratic film, or you will be left behind.
I’ve seen Choose Me with two separate audiences, and the reaction was quite different with each. One crowd was with the film every step of the way, knowing when to laugh and when to stop laughing. The other audiences seemed puzzled by the whole thing, almost as if it couldn’t see where anything was leading.
The latter reaction is understandable, because Choose Me is a comedy and a romance and a film noir and even a musical, all rolled up into one mysterious package. But getting to the heart of that mystery is an intoxicating journey. It’s true; you never know quite know where you stand with this movie, as though it were deliberately keeping you off balance. But if felt I was in capable hands throughout, and never for a moment feared that the film was heading for a fall.
It has the logic of a screwball comedy, in which strangers meet, sparks are kindled, and everyone becomes accidentally and inextricably involved with everyone else. Beneath the comic structure, Choose Me simmers with urgent passion, so that its laughs have meaning.
The film considers the various romantic entanglements of: Dr. Nancy Love (Geneviève Bujold), a radio psychologist who counsels her callers about love but doesn’t know much about the subject; Eve (Lesley Ann Warren), owner of a bar and one of Love’s frequent callers; Mickey (Keith Carradine), a habitual liar who walked into Eve’s bar looking for the previous owner but fell in love with the current proprietor; Pearl (Rae Dawn Chong), barside poet; and Zack Antoine (Patrick Bauchau), self-styled gangster, Pearl’s husband, and Eve’s lover.
Each relationship builds on the other ones, in a grid of coincidence and cross-purpose. Orchestrating all this is writer-director Alan Rudolph, who is probably tired of being called a protégé of Robert Altman. But he was, and he’s since made Welcome to L.A., Remember My Name, Endangered Species, and others. Rudolph’s films have always taken chances, but this film takes even more. It also pays off on more.
With cinematographer Jan Kiesser, and with a very low budget, Rudolph has created a sensual look for the movie (and, with the Teddy Pendergrass songs, a very sexy sound, too). Much of the action takes place at night, and the characters resemble nighthawks on the prowl, scouring the lonely edges of Los Angeles for a little companionship.
The people are special, and the fact that they are played by misfits and almost-stars adds to this. Carradine, who was in Rudolph’s Welcome to L.A., continues to carve his own niche in the recent cinema, always seeming to turn up in small, personal projects. Warren, queen of the TV-movie in the early ’70s, rings true, even when saying things like, “I don’t own any man—and no man owns me,” one of the many lines that seem inspired by old movie dialogue.
Bujold, who doesn’t work all that often and never quite became the big star she could have been, is superb as the talk-show host. It’s easy to satirize this particular kind of pop figure, and the film does get funny material out of it, but there is much subtlety in Bujold’s performance. It’s a wonderful part, and Bujold, as the omnipresent goddess of the airwaves, becomes the glue that holds the many enticing aspects of this film together.
First published in the Herald, August 24, 1984
This was kind of an important independent film, although it doesn’t get a lot of credit for that. It was a gigantic hit in Seattle, a city that has cozied up to Rudolph’s films in general (and he to Seattle, having shot Trouble in Mind here a couple of years later and keeping a house hereabouts). Choose Me has a real appreciation for people, without ever losing its odd, stylized snap.