The first time I had heard of Guest House Paridiso was in the, er... "washroom" after having just seen Fight Club. In each urinal was deposited a small, round black circle. When the circle came into contact with moisture (to put it delicately), it caused a colour picture to form, with photographs of the two stars and the tag line "You'll P*** Yourself Laughing". When you'd finished washing your hands, the circle had dried and faded to black again, waiting to spring it's surprise on the next "victim".
Okay, maybe the punchline wasn't terribly sophisticated, but you have to admit it was innovative. In fact, I think I can honestly say I've never seen anything like it in my life before, and these days of over a century of cinema and marketing, that's a real feat. What a pity the film that went with it failed to live up to the promise.
I hate to pan Guest House Paridiso and I am indebted to Rik Mayall (Richard Twat) and Adrian Edmondson (Eddie Elizabeth Ndingombaba) for many years of laughter through their appealing television series, be it the invention of The Young Ones (1982-1984), the sitting room plays of Bottom (1991-1995), or even solo work, such as Rik in the New Statesman (1988-1993). In fact, this would have made an hilarious 45 minute tv special. Unfortunately, its an 89 minute film.
There's definitely some merit to be had, and I laughed continuously throughout the protracted finale, which spoofed the Exorcist and Raiders of the Lost Ark, and involved... well, you'll have to see that bit for yourself. Yet often the pace is leaden, and a sterile atmosphere is throughout. The two stars (Edmondson taking his usual backseat, this time due to the fact that he adequately directs) never really get into first gear, Mayall only sporadically showing the foul-mouthed mania that makes us love him on the small screen. Indeed, the writers' presumption that we are already familiar with the characters leads to them being underdelivered to the audience. The slight hints of depth seen in the series (Richie's effeminate, failed social-climbing for example) are not present here, and instead we are left with parodies of parodies.
The Fawlty Towers accusation does pass water, complete with drunken chef and unseen, called-for waiter "Pasquele", which uncannily rhymes with Manuel. Some of the ideas, such a hotel next to a nuclear reactor with a childrens' swing hanging over a cliff face, are very, very funny, but ultimately the frenetic pace is stolen, the two constantly looking for a studio audience that isn't there, and all the "dead laugh" areas patched up with incidental "comedy" music that would have been dated in a Carry On film two decades ago.
Paridiso's brand of puerile, sadistic, perverse humour IS funny, and I feel sure it will make you laugh ... just not as often as it should.
