Director: Richard Pryor
Screenplay: Richard Pryor, Paul Mooney, Rocco Urbisci.
Starring: Richard Pryor, Paula Kelly, Barbara Williams
Country: US
Running Time: 97 mins
Year: 1986
BBFC Certificate: 18
Though often celebrated as one of the funniest, most influential comedians in America, Richard Pryor’s life was not an obvious source of hilarious material. His parents were a prostitute and a pimp, and he was raised in his grandmother’s brothel. At the age of seven he was sexually abused by a neighbourhood acquaintance and he was expelled from school at fourteen. He began his comedy career in his 20s, but his rise was accompanied by an increasing dependence on drink and drugs. Perhaps understandably, Pryor had complicated relations with women. He needed female companionship and sex, but was incapable of being faithful. By his own admission he was often physically abusive. Between 1960 and 2001 he was married seven times to five different women and had innumerable affairs. He had seven children with six different women, only three of whom were amongst his marriages. Even as his stand-up and film appearances made him a huge star, his drug taking continued, making him an erratic, unreliable performer. In 1980, he famously set himself on fire while freebasing cocaine. In 1986, he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and was wheelchair bound from the mid-1990s until his death in 2005.
Part of Pryor’s genius was finding the humour in these experiences and the personal and societal failings that allowed and enabled them. He was also blessed with a strikingly open, wide-eyed demeanor that meant he could discuss the darkest, most difficult subjects and remain sympathetic, even endearing. Narrative films were only able to exploit these qualities fleetingly. Too often, Pryor took projects for the money, or compromised them by his behaviour and intoxication on set. But even in this reduced capacity audiences loved him.
In 1985, Pryor used his industry standing to make Jo Jo Dancer, Your Life Is Calling, which he co-wrote, produced, directed and starred in. This was far from his phoned-in contributions to some of his biggest hits. Released in 1986, the film resembles extraordinarily expensive therapy. Jo Jo Dancer is a very, very thinly fictionalised version of Pryor: a wealthy comedian and actor struggling with drink and drug addiction. In the opening scene, he suffers the same freebasing incident that Pryor survived five years earlier and is rushed to hospital at the brink of death, his upper body covered in serious burns. As he lays there, Jo Jo’s body and spirit separate so that his spirit can travel back through his life and attempt to learn how he arrived in this perilous situation.
What follows lies somewhere between All That Jazz and A Christmas Carol, although it lacks the style of the former and the moral clarity of the latter. In the special features, filmmaker and comedian Robert Townsend recalls watching Pryor at comedy clubs in the early 1980s, and marveling how he was willing to work out material in front of an audience, even if he bombed several times in the process. Eventually, he would find what worked and emerge with a polished routine, but that was little consolation for the audiences who had to suffer through the rambing early drafts. In many ways, Jo Jo Dancer feels like one of those drafts. There are some flashes of Pryor’s potential as a filmmaker, and he is helped by an excellent supporting cast, but more often what should be a compelling, heart-rending story is unfocused and inert. In several scenes, Pryor is doubly a bystander – both his younger self and spirit time-traveller quite passive as events unfold. Clearly, some awful things were done to Pryor/Jo Jo, but there’s no attempt to evaluate his own role in what happened, beyond the constant servicing of his additions.
The big exceptions are the scenes when Jo Jo performs stand-up. In these routines, based on classic material, Pryor demonstrates exactly why he achieved such acclaim and success. He owns the stage not only with the power of his delivery, but with expert physical comedy. With a microphone in hand, Pryor is in total control, a marked contrast to virtually every other aspect of his life story. Pryor said that Jo Jo Dancer was something he needed to do. It is perhaps best seen now as the first step towards Pryor Convictions, the autobiography he released 10 years later. That book fills in the glaring gaps that Jo Jo Dancer is careful to step around.
Film: 
The Disc
Even if Jo Jo Dancer is compromised drama, Pryor wasted no expense in assembling a skilled team to assist with his only film as a director. It’s a richly colourful production with large, impressive sets, and a varied score from Herbie Hancock. This Criterion release presents both video and audio with exceptional clarity. Blu Ray and 4K are largely similar experiences with the latter providing the expected jump in detail and vibrancy.
There are two extras on the disk, both excellent. As mentioned, Robert Townsend discusses his memories of Pryor in a new interview that runs just under 20 minutes. He discusses Pryor’s standing in the 1980s and positive impact on younger generations. The other extra is a complete 50 minute episode of The Dick Cavett Show from 1985 where Pryor discussed his life and promoted Jo Jo Dancer. It’s fascinating viewing as the two men, seemingly friends, are torn between keeping their discussion light, and venturing into darker territory that the film would seem to demand. At one point they each reflect on being sexually assaulted as a child, but Cavett in particular is determined to crack extremely ill-judged jokes. Pryor comes across as thoughtful and engaged. The loose, extended nature of the interview – sadly now a very rare thing on television – means that both participants reveal more about themselves than they probably intended.
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Review by Jim Whalley
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