This way he keeps the viewer — and possibly the director — genuinely off balance, shimmying up
against a couple
of massage parlor cuties (he's clobbered by a baseball bat, departing consciousness with a lovely goofball pratfall), sussing out Martin Short's smarmy Dr. Blatnoyd (letting Short
run circles around the infield, the receptionist, and a nice pile
of medical - grade cocaine), or
playing telephone straight man to Jeannie Berlin's Aunt Reet, a Catskills gargoyle with killer timing: «
Maybe you're better off with the Nazis.»