Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo

(Mike Bigelow, USA, 2005)


Any prospective viewer of this strange film needs to know only one thing: that its comic high point arrives when a woman who has a penis for a nose trips and collides with a woman with a large hole in her throat (from which the cigarette smoke she inhales and the wine she drinks frequently issue). The frisson which results from this fated encounter put the preview audience with whom I saw it into a suitably grossed-out state.

This sequel to Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo (2001) takes Deuce (co-writer Rob Schneider) off to Amsterdam. Ever the innocent, Deuce wonders why the scantily clad women in certain streets of the city leave their curtains open for all to see in. He is also easily led astray by his best friend, pimp T.J. (Eddie Griffin), into overindulging in the local coffee-house speciality of hash cakes.

When T.J. is wrongly accused of murdering a gigolo, he goes into hiding and puts Deuce on the case. This means that our hero has to visit the regular customers of such gigolos – and there are so many male sex workers (sorry, man-whores) in this town (one is played by Australian actor Alex Dimitriades) that they have their own Masonic-style industrial association.

Plot counts for nothing in this movie. The story amounts a series of scenes in which either grotesque women try to force Deuce into having sex (they never succeed), or T.J. is caught in incriminating situations that suggest to the hungry media that he is gay (which does not please him one bit).

A lyrical touch is provided by close-ups of Deuce’s blonde, doe-eyed love interest, Eva (Hanna Verboom) – although she does suffer from Obessive Compulsive Disorder, which is this year’s Movie Disease judging from The Aviator (2004) and End of the Century: The Story of the Ramones (2003) – and a bit of generic menace is embodied by a tough cop, Gaspar (Jeroen Krabbé, who has certainly seen better days).

Co-produced by Adam Sandler (who has a memorably vulgar cameo), this is trash comedy in its purest, unadulterated state. Sandler and Schneider appreciate the weirdest paradox at the heart of this genre: no matter how kinky or disgusting the gags become, the hero remains a soft-hearted guy, untouched by the depravity around him, and even able (in his big, climactic speech) to speak up for the feminine virtues of tenderness, understanding and compassion.

© Adrian Martin September 2005

Film Critic: Adrian Martin
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