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...is the gospel according to Downey, set in a Wild West ruled by a tyrant named Seaweedhead Greaser, who collects taxes, keep his mother and his favorite mariachi band in cages and suffers the constipation of the damned. The savior, who arrives by parachute, is a modest young man in a 1940ish zoot suit who simply wants to get to Jerusalem to become an actor-singer. "It's written," he says, "that the agent Morris awaits me."...
...Back in the days when he made movies for $8 apiece and had them developed at Walgreen's—wildly sane movies like "Chafed Elbows" and "No More Excuses" about mother love, war, coping and bestiality, and even when he went comparatively commercial and made "Putney Swope" which is still my favorite film about Madison Avenue, Robert Downey billed himself as "a prince," which he was.
Though he was financially strapped most of the time, he remained resolutely game in that lunatic way that identifies the aristocracy of fools and moviemakers. Downey would try anything and if it didn't work, or wasn't funny, it didn't much matter because it hadn't cost a lot and he'd move right on to something else that probably would work...
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