Alright, fellow tapeheads, dim the lights, adjust the tracking if you need to (we’ve all been there), and let’s rewind to 1984 for a comedy concept so wonderfully bizarre, it’s a minor miracle it ever got made. I’m talking about All of Me, a film that landed on video store shelves like a delightful curveball, pairing two comedic titans in a premise that demanded absolute mastery to avoid collapsing into sheer silliness. And master it they did.
Imagine this: disgruntled lawyer Roger Cobb (Steve Martin) accidentally becomes the reluctant host for the soul of his recently deceased, eccentric millionaire client, Edwina Cutwater (Lily Tomlin). Not the whole soul, mind you. Just the right half. His right half. Suddenly, Roger finds himself in a physical tug-of-war with himself, one side obeying his commands, the other flailing, kicking, and generally behaving under Edwina's imperious, disembodied control. If that doesn’t scream ‘high-concept 80s comedy gold,’ I don’t know what does.
### Half Man, Half... Her?
The genius, the absolute lightning-in-a-bottle magic of All of Me, rests squarely on the shoulders – or perhaps, half the shoulders – of Steve Martin. Forget CGI doubling or fancy editing tricks replacing raw performance. What Martin pulls off here is a masterclass in physical comedy, arguably one of the most demanding and brilliant performances of his entire career. He often cited this film as his personal favorite among his performances, and watching it again, it’s easy to see why.
Remember watching his right leg shoot out unexpectedly, or his right arm delivering an unwanted gesture, all while his left side tries desperately to maintain control and composure? That wasn’t just random flailing. Director Carl Reiner, already a comedy legend who'd steered Martin through The Jerk (1979) and Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid (1982), worked closely with Martin and choreographer Peter Anastos. They spent weeks meticulously planning and rehearsing these movements, often using mirrors so Martin could literally see both 'characters' he was playing simultaneously. The result feels less like an effect and more like watching a dancer perform an impossibly complex routine, except the routine is pure comedic chaos. It’s the kind of committed, physical work that defined so many great performances from the era before digital safety nets became the norm.
### More Than Just a Voice
While Martin contorts himself hilariously across the screen, Lily Tomlin delivers an equally crucial performance, largely through voice-over and brief appearances as the spectral Edwina. Her exasperated sighs, her sharp commands, her moments of vulnerability – they all land perfectly, creating a fully realized character who is much more than just a plot device occupying Martin’s right side. It's a testament to her impeccable timing and distinct comedic persona that Edwina feels so present and vital throughout the film, even when we can't see her. There’s a genuine chemistry between Martin’s increasingly frazzled Roger and Tomlin’s disembodied, demanding Edwina, evolving from pure antagonism to a grudging, surprisingly touching understanding.
Supporting them is Victoria Tennant as Terry Hoskins, the scheming younger woman who inherits Edwina’s fortune and plays a key role in the soul-transferring shenanigans involving a guru played with delightful oddity by Richard Libertini. Tennant (who would later marry Martin) handles the duplicitous role with aplomb, providing a necessary counterpoint to the central comedic duo.
### Reiner's Deft Touch
Carl Reiner directs with a light, assured hand, understanding that the film's strength lies in its central performances and the inherent absurdity of the situation. He wisely keeps the focus tight on Roger's predicament, letting the physical comedy shine without excessive stylistic flourishes. The script, adapted by Phil Alden Robinson (who would later write and direct Field of Dreams (1989)) from an unpublished novel, manages the tricky feat of balancing screwball antics with moments of genuine heart. It wasn't an easy sell; the quirky premise reportedly made studios nervous, but Reiner's clout and the star power involved eventually got it greenlit. Thank goodness for that persistence.
The film earned critical acclaim upon release, particularly for Martin's performance, though its box office was respectable rather than blockbuster ($36.4 million domestically against a reported $10 million budget – roughly $107 million adjusted for inflation today). Yet, like so many gems from the era, it found a dedicated following on VHS and cable, becoming a beloved staple for anyone craving smart, character-driven comedy. I distinctly remember renting this one – the cover art alone, with Martin seemingly wrestling himself, was enough to pique my adolescent curiosity.
### Soulfully Silly, Enduringly Funny
All of Me isn't packed with the kind of explosive practical effects we often celebrate here at VHS Heaven. Its 'special effect' is the human body pushed to its comedic limits, a tangible, skillful performance that feels incredibly real despite its fantastical premise. It’s a film that reminds you how much laughter could be wrung from a clever idea, brilliant actors, and precise physical execution, long before digital paintbrushes smoothed everything over.
Rating: 9/10
Why a 9? Because All of Me is a near-perfect execution of a high-wire concept. Steve Martin delivers an all-time great physical comedy performance, Lily Tomlin is his perfect spectral foil, and Carl Reiner guides the absurdity with wit and warmth. It’s clever, consistently funny, and possesses a surprising amount of heart beneath the slapstick. It might feel a little '80s' in its setup, but the core comedic genius is timeless.
Final Thought: In an age of digital doubles, All of Me remains a glorious testament to the analogue magic of one actor, two personalities, and the hilarious, messy reality of having your body hijacked by a ghost with expensive taste. A true gem from the video store racks that still absolutely kills.