Blame it on the Bellboy (1992)

I promised you a review of Blame it on the Bellboy, and my parents raised me to keep my promises.

Boy, do I hate them right now.

Seriously, there’s only 13 episodes to go. I could just review those and be done in February, but noooo. I have to fulfill some evolutionarily-impractical drive to be curious and academic and thorough and learn whether Bronson Pinchot’s opinion of himself would hold up over time.

I’ve gotten the impression that his opinion of himself bounced up and down based on two things: reviews and offers. We saw it up, way up, while filming Second Sight, and then all the way down after Second Sight premiered. When he was filming it, he was saving the script; once it bombed, the script was the writers’ fault. I don’t know if I can call him a “bright spot” or the “highlight” of a film, but he was certainly the only person more than half-awake for Jury Duty.

And then, for two years, nothing.

Well, okay, not absolutely nothing. According to, he played “Additional voices” on Eek!stravaganza in 1992.

So, okay, absolutely nothing.

Was he not looking? Was no one calling? Could it be that American audiences had finally tired of a guy who could do only two accents?

The first serious role I saw Will Ferrell in was Stranger than Fiction. I’ve seen him in more serious movies since then, but at the time I felt that his reputation as a comic actor lent his portrayal of Harold Crick a type of humor additive to the black comedy elements already in the script. My expectations alone added a layer, and I wondered if it was intentional. Similarly, I think that Mark and Bronson both got roles based on their reputations, or what those reputations could add to a piece. In Here’s to You, Mickey Mouse, Mark’s visibility on Perfect Strangers lent him an air of belonging to the comedy world that a quainter character like Mickey inhabited.

Mark was intended as the comic relief in Going to the Chapel, just as Bronson was in Jury Duty. They were recognizably comic actors; but unfortunately recognizability doesn’t equal talent. Not everyone’s a Will Ferrell.

Questions of talent aside, Bronson Pinchot’s prominence in the posters for Blame it on the Bellboy promises the type of broad, slapsticky humor Bronson was known for. The poster featured at the top of this post promises us that the Bellboy character will be invasively ruining the lives of the guests of a hotel. The film delivers on neither promise.


Bronson Pinchot coming into your room through the keyhole is imagery more nightmarish than anything Stephen Gammell could conceive, but don’t worry, this isn’t a horror film.

Blame it on the Bellboy was released on March 6, 1992, taking up movie screens that could have been better used showing Meatballs 4. This was one week after “Wayne Man”, and one week before “The Elevator”. Lest you think Perfect Strangers was offering a moment of silence for Bronson’s career, it’s more likely that ABC was frantically throwing shit at the wall called Saturday night to see what would stick.

Blame it on the Bellboy is a perfect fit for someone with Bronson Pinchot’s comic range and sensibilities, and by that I mean the director neither asks–nor lets–him do much. It’s also the perfect type of movie for someone with Bronson’s level of fame. The cast members were all so minor in 1992–and weren’t called on to interact with each other as a group–that I’m sure each one of was allowed to assume they were the best talent in the thing.

It’s forgettable, and that seems to be the direct path that Bronson Pinchot’s career was taking at that moment: comic relief in movies that didn’t have the budget for Martin Short.

Blame it on the Bellboy is a drowsy, nearly featureless movie, one that no one except me and whoever edited it would ever bother to watch more than once, so I hope you all enjoy reading about it!


Man, they couldn’t even afford a second $20 to go back and do the helicopter ride on a sunnier day?

I guess the font is supposed to be evocative of the handwriting in a hotel guestbook. I feel like, if you’re going to have a movie title with a negative word like “fault” or “dead“ or “blame”, you have to make a perfect movie, or you’re just asking for reviewers to make fun of the title.

Well, the opening killed three minutes of a 72-minute film.


I think we can all agree that the best way to repay the Venice tourist board for allowing a movie to be filmed there was to open with a dreary helicopter shot and follow it with a mob boss directing his goons to beat and kill a man.


Don Mobbosso wants to know the name of the hitman out to get him; when he can’t get it, one one goon risks all their safety by taking photographs of the corpse.


Mike Lorton (Bryan Brown, whom you might remember from Spring Break Shark Attack), the hitman, gets annoyed at Melvyn Orton (Dudley Moore, whom you might remember from Arthur II: Love on the Rocks) reclining his seat. I read all the time about how passengers are given dwindling seat space on planes but I’ve never once felt like the seats lean too far back, nor have I felt that I should vent my frustrations towards people who utilize functions the airline built in. But this is a movie, so we’re supposed to hate Melvyn Orton for it.


(The movie hasn’t told us their names yet. I dare you to care about being spoiled.)

Anyway, Duddles here looks like he’s wearing a suit three times too big to cover up his own weight gain. Orton is going to Venice to buy a house on behalf of his boss.


Caroline Wright (Patsy Kensit, whom you might remember from Love and Betrayal: the Mia Farrow Story) talks to an Italian voice over the phone about the great commission she’ll receive if she can sell this house (located near the airport) to Orton by Wednesday. Gosh! That’s anywhere between 1 to 6 days from now, she’d better hurry! All the painters stare at her ass.


What is this, a fifth character who gets to talk? I haven’t had this kind of a mental workout in years, so my apologies if this get confusing. This is Maurice Horton (Richard Griffiths, whom you might remember from King Ralph), the mayor of a small English town, who has signed up for an extravagant travel dating service called Medi Date. It’s made clear we’re supposed to hate him the most, because he’s fat and he thinks he’s bought a vagina along with his hotel room. I mean, forcing yourself on women is bad enough, but to do it when you’re not conventionally attractive?


Man, joke’s on him, though, Patricia Fulton (Dame Penelope Wilton, whom you might remember from Clockwise) is supposed to read as ugly, too! Glasses and she’s over 40? Yeccch! I’d rather stick my dick in something widely regarded as disgusting!


Isn’t it funny how it takes so much more material to clothe large people? It’s their own fault if life’s hard! Ha ha ha ha ha

ha ha


Everyone’s staying at the Hotel Gabrielli, and I don’t know enough about architecture or furnishings to know if it’s supposed to be a nice hotel or a dive. It looks nice, but I think I’m supposed to assume it’s mismanaged since it only has the one bellboy. That tourism board is sure getting its money’s worth!


And here’s Bronson (whom I’ll be so glad to forget next May), alternately mumbling and shouting the Italian words he learned.

Horton checks in, then Orton checks in. Then Dunston checks in.

Just kidding. I wish this were that funny.


Now we’re back to Lorton. Hey, I get it, we’ve got six characters already, but I don’t see why the scenes have to be so incredibly short. This scene with Lorton grabbing a weapon from an alleyway?

Twenty-five seconds. This scene with Bellboy giving Horton a house-viewing invitation meant for Orton?


Thirty-seven seconds. This scene with Bellboy directing Lorton’s contact (carrying the details of Lorton’s target, which he’s supposed to hand off personally) to Orton’s room?


Forty-six seconds. This is all setup, and points to the movie for not taking a half-hour to establish its own plot, but the entire movie functions this way.  There are a few “TV Tropes” pages dedicated to this type of storytelling, describing the plotting in grocery-store terms. This movie falls into the category of “Four Lines, All Waiting”. More happens in a Dick Tracy daily strip than any given scene in this film.

Let me get the plotting out of the way so I can talk about other stuff. The Bellboy did his job of being blameworthy by allowing three envelopes to be given to the wrong people.

Orton (Dudley, whom you might remember as a tottering drunk) is going to the location where all of Don Mobbosso’s internal organs will be. Horton (Griffiths, whom you might remember as a Pottering unc) will assume that Caroline Wright is his date. Lorton (Brown, whom Bryan) thinks he’s supposed to kill the woman there for her vacation blind date.

I hope you appreciate me keeping track of all this for you. It’s a very difficult movie and I had to watch it 11 times to figure it all out.

It’s full of delicate foreshadowing as well, like here, where Orton (whom you might remember as a decent actor) watches some violent movie on television and is scared by it.


Dudley Moore is one of those actors who, by the time I was aware of them in the early 1990s, was already a punchline.

Before watching this, I’d only ever seen him in the 1967 comedy Bedazzled; and I just watched Arthur this past weekend. Growing up, my sense of how important celebrities, or their works, were came completely from comedy references like that one in The Critic. Sure, he was a punchline, but he was important enough to get one in the first place. Scanning his filmography for things I’d recognize, I’m guessing that the double remove of generation and country kept me from being more familiar with him. But whatever Dudley’s talents were, they have to have been above talking to a telephone (his angry, foul-mouthed boss has the most personality in the whole movie) and smacking a giant remote control he can’t get to work.


We get to see all the other characters going to sleep because otherwise this movie would be 20 minutes long.


Jesus what a terrible, hideous woman! Reading a Spillane novel before bed? Might as well caulk her vagina for all the use she’s getting out of it, huh?


Scarpa (Andreas Katsulas, whom you might remember me calling Don Mobbosso in the first scene) and his goons sleep too! My biggest complaint about most movies I watch is why all the characters don’t talk about how sleepy they are; thanks, writer/director Mark Herman, for your thoroughness! Really, though, if I had hired goons I’d have them stationed at well-lit entrances and exits for the room I’m in.

Something I’ve always wondered but never knew how to research short of tying up a publisher and hanging him upside-down: for half my life now, I tend to notice that the longest novels I read were actually longer than they seemed. That is, there appeared to be more words per page in, say, Stephen King’s The Stand than in Stephen King’s Pet Sematary. I always felt that the longer novels were much longer than they were letting on, but maybe the reverse is true: short works stretch themselves out. It’s certainly the case here.


I hope you enjoy these 83 shots of Venice for their historical value, insight into clothing and hairstyles from 1991, or even just for the imagery of Venice itself. If Blame it on the Bellboy lasted 26 years without all copies being destroyed, it will survive whatever global flood we get 20 years from now.

You can likely guess all that will happen in this movie, and in what order. But I won’t let that stop me from insulting your intelligence and writing it out. All this movie needs to do, plotwise, is have each of the six characters humorously not accomplish what they’re trying to do, because they’re mismatched. And then, maybe halfway or two-thirds of the way through, have them realize it and switch places; bonus points for further complications.

And Blame it on the Bellboy does accomplish that. Here’s how (streamlined for everyone’s sanity):

1. Horton (here’s a “whom you might remember from Gandhi”) propositions Caroline Wright once he believes she’s a prostitute instead of a desperate single. No matter what he does–stand on a boat, sit in a chair, walk through a door–it’s punctuated by creaking sound effects. I can’t imagine what level of restraint it took them not to make it sound like he was farting every five seconds. I’m happy to read that Richard Griffiths had a marriage that lasted 33 years, ended only by his death. At least he could go home to someone who would love and comfort him after having to do multiple takes of scenes whose central thesis is that he’s fat and repulsive.


Caroline (let’s be honest, you’ve only ever seen her in this) really wants the commission on the sale of the house so she can buy a speedboat. She wants that boat so badly that she’s… willing to debase herself by sleeping with a fat man. Poor girl.

They head back to the hotel to have loud, creaky sex.

2. Orton (whom you Dudley) shows up to Scarpa’s house and gets tortured until they let him call his boss and prove his story. The most recognizable actor in the film and he’s strapped to a chair for a third of the film, and talks to a phone for half of it. Also Orton gets his dudleys shocked.


Blame it on the bellboy, I fucking guess! Orton remembers hearing the name Horton, so he and Scarpaface go off to find him, and Orton escapes at an opportune moment. Orton rushes back to the hotel to check out, only to be caught by the mob again.

3. Lorton (Brown, who has forgotten he was even in this, I bet) has trouble getting up the nerve to shoot ugly old spinster Patricia. After he fails at shooting her a few times, she finally approaches him, thinking he’s her date, and nervous about it. He thinks she welcomes her assassination, and then kidnaps her instead of killing her. He must have known she needed to be in later scenes, and that hunch pays off, because she gives him the name Horton as well. They head back to the hotel to find him.


So, there you go: in only 200 ten-second scenes, Blame it on the Bellboy reaches its halfway point having accomplished the first half of its plotting.

But unfortunately plotting out its story is about all it’s accomplished.

Reviewers of Blame it on the Bellboy generally appear compelled to compare it to the 1988 film A Fish Called Wanda. On my first viewing, I thought the same thing; and then wondered why in the world I had thought it in the first place. The two films are in entirely different classes.

There are similarities: European setting; assassination attempts; money to be had through illegal means; a suspicious, jealous wife; and a moderately-recognizable British comic actor.

That narrows it down to only 300 films on IMDB.

The first time I watched A Fish Called Wanda, years ago, before I had developed the analytic skill necessary to write about Larry and Balki sharing a coat, I was blown away by how intricately crafted its story was. It like a series of math equations, each one’s result becoming–creating–the next set of problems, and so on, reaction causing reaction causing reaction.

Bellboy has complexity, but doesn’t feel like a Rube Goldberg machine. It’s more like one of these:


The initial problem is setting up three pairs, and rotating one set a third-turn. Two more turns and it’s all worked out. Really, I have to wonder if the Bellboy was even necessary for the setup.  If Mark Herman had been able to come up with three other similar last names, we wouldn’t have needed a character to be unsure whether “Mike Lorton” wasn’t really “Mike L’Orton”; it could have been all computer error.

And it took this long to get us even this far because Herman shut off a few of the character’s mental functions just so they wouldn’t pick up what their paired person thought was going on.

Nobody in A Fish Called Wanda is anywhere near that dumb, but that’s not how Bellboy comes up short in the comparison. Bellboy focuses so much on rapidly cycling through scenes to make you feel like you’re watching a madcap screwball comedy that it forgets to write any screwball characters.

The second time I watched A Fish Called Wanda, I realized that all the Rube Goldberg stuff was barely half the movie. The other half of the movie gives you character arcs for its three leads.  I’m not going to ask you to keep another five names straight, but I’ll give you a loose sketch. A British barrister, bored with the stodginess of his social class, equates a sexually interested American woman with freedom. A career thief, during a heist, is trying to hide from her old partner/boyfriend that their new partner is her new boyfriend; she ends up falling in love with a patsy who was supposed to be collateral damage. A man thinks he’s wooed a career thief away from her boyfriend, but manages to complicate the heist every step of the way because of his own insecurities.

Now, forget all of that but this: A Fish Called Wanda spends the majority of its time on characters going through–if not achieving–emotional journeys. They each have personality, and agency, and motivations; and these last change based on the actions of the others. (It’s also got the funniest scenes of a man accidentally killing dogs you’ll ever see.)

What does Bellboy give you? A guy frets about killing a woman and then doesn’t kill her. A guy is captured by the mob, he gets away, he gets captured again. A guy wants sex. A woman wants a speedboat, so she has sex to get a speedboat. People get into trouble. They get out of trouble. They get into trouble when they think they’ve gotten out of it.

I’m not saying Bellboy’s characters don’t have motivations; they’re just a little one-dimensional. I’m not saying these aren’t good actors. They are good actors, and they’re playing the characters one-dimensional; it’s what the movie’s asking of them. Dudley Moore–who should be fucking carrying this movie, really–mostly interacts with inanimate objects and then runs around the same 20 square meters of Venice for five minutes.


Bryan Brown is reduced to making faces to convey his emotional state; so is Patsy Kensit. All the movie demands of Richard Griffiths was to be fat.

The only actor who manages to stick out in this unsalted cracker of a movie is Dame Penelope Wilton.


Some of this is the script: Patricia (whom glasses and books) is the only character who’s in Venice for wholesome reasons. The script also does everything it can to make Patricia visually unlikeable. With very few changes in word choice, every one of her lines could be delivered in an annoying voice, or with offputting body language. But Penelope Wilton plays her as genuinely happy, outgoing, and sure of who she is; hardly the kind of person who would need a dating service. Maybe she’s bucking the script, but she’s such a delight to watch.

Anyway, we’ve still got half a movie to cover, let’s get to it. Hey, here’s the Bellboy again, everybody get ready to blame him!


Rosemary Horton (Alison Steadman, whom EVERY WOMAN MY AGE will remember as Mrs. Bennett from the 1995 Pride and Prejudice TV miniseries) shows up to visit her husband, Horton.

Bellboy takes her to Orton’s room; when it’s clarified she wants Horton, Bellboy, Wife, and Goon embark Hortonwards. In the elevator, Bellboy just says “Horton” over and over again.


Horton (whom horny) finally figures out Caroline is selling a house. He calls the sex “rumpy pumpy” because he’s British. Wife (whom suspicious) shows up and Horton is cornered by Caroline (whom opportunistic) into using the house purchase as a cover story for his debauchery.


Back in Orton’s room, mob boss Scartissue makes it clear that, since Orton knows whom will kill Horton, he’s in trouble. He’ll either have to be killed himself, or kill Horton himself. They don’t kiss.


So, maybe 2 hours after him pointing a gun at her face, Patricia (whom Spillane) finally pieces it together that Lorton (whom) is a hitman, and starts criticizing him for not being like a character in a Spillane novel. They overhear Horton demanding 100,000 pounds over the phone (hasn’t he already got that? ho ho) and then asswhom that Horton is collecting the bounty.


Well, I had hope for Patricia, but here she is thinking that a man she knows full well was there for a blind date would suddenly be willing to murder a man; and Lorton believes her when she shoots down his protests that being an assassin takes years of training and developing skill.


Bryan Brownwhomlorton notices that we’re almost two-thirds of the way through the movie now and tells Penelope Wiltonwhompatricia it’s time to take her hair down, which she absolutely has to do or else it won’t make any sense when their characters fall in love 15 minutes from now.


Lorton and Patricia break into Horton’s room and remind us just how fat Horton is. Lorton finds Caroline’s information and assumes Horton has killed her. Then they go to Lorton’s room, where Patricia gushes about how much fun she’s having. They decide to try to steal the £100,000 the next day. They go to sleep.


Orton and Scrappy overheard the 100,000 thing too and sends Orton to Horton’s whomroom with a bombwhomboom. No, wait, actually, they send him back to his own room to go to sleep, watched over by the whomgoons. I guess characters saying one thing and doing another means this movie is too complex even for me.


Horton watching porn on television is a pretty accurate detail, though; when I lived in Berlin 14 years ago, three or four different television stations would switch over to porn at midnight. He and his wife go to sleep.

Sure, yeah, they’re all getting their recommended 9 hours of sleep, but shouldn’t at least one of them need to poop by now? Try a little harder next time, Mark Herman.


Just in case you missed it, WE’RE IN VENICE.

The next morning, Horton and his whomwife are waiting to check out, and every other character is scattered around the lobby waiting to make their move. I will grant you that Horton leaving, and then changing directions, causing everyone to freeze like it’s a game of red light/green light, is funny.


To balance that out, there’s a moment that feels like writer/director Mark Whomherman flaunting how bad the writing is. Every time we see Patricia, she’s got a detective novel in her hands. I’d call this a variation on Chekhov’s Gun: it’s almost demanded that the person deeply into some media uses it as a referent for understanding what’s going on, or consults it for their next move.


Here, she’s holding a novel called This Perfect Moment (I assume it’s not real), and Lorton sees it and says “Aha! We’ll steal Horton’s money at the perfect moment!” It might as well have been a book called We’ll Steal It By Taking It From Him and Then We’ll Have It Instead Of Him Having It.


Anyway, now we have a briefcase full of money being held at the hotel desk, so Scuppernong gets his goons to replace it with a briefcase full of bomb. Goon starts a fire in a trash can so he can go switch tags, Bellboy rushes to put it (whomfire) out. Blame him for everybody not dying and letting me end this review.


I’ll give Mark Herman credit for using every possible way to pad his movie to make it just too long for television.

Here, Horton and his wife sit around asking “Gee, why hasn’t Caroline called?”, “I don’t know, she said she would call.”, and then she calls… all so they can explain why they both show up at the same location 70 or 80 scenes from now, and so Horton’s not there when the tags are switched.


Orton and Horton get the wrong bags.

Look, I’m as tired as you are of all this. It’s not fun to watch, and I can’t imagine how tiresome it is to read. Let’s see if I can economize this plot rundown a little more.

It turns out that both goons switched tags somehow (a detail the movie forgot to show us so we could be surprised later) and the bomb waits until the most dramatically ironic moment to blow up, despite Orton pressing the detonator button 100 times. Oh, for fuck’s sake, was the fucking TV remote at the beginning this movie’s idea of foreshadowing? Skippy and his goons are dead and Horton’s fat.


Lorton, Patricia, Horton, Herton, and Caroline all end up at the villa and fight over the briefcase we’re supposed to think is a bomb. They’re not dead, they argue over whose money it is, all the last misunderstandings are clarified, and Horton’s fat.


Caroline gets £100,000 (enough to buy a speedboat), Lorton gets £100,000, Orton buys Scoopy’s house, and Horton’s fat.


The villa’s ceiling falls in, Lorton proposes to Patricia, the Polizia find the goons’ photograph of Orton, Caroline’s speedboat hits the Poliziaboat, and a meteor hits the earth so hard it gets knocked into the sun.

Okay, I guess Blame it on the Bellboy has another thing in common with A Fish Called Wanda: text to tell you what happened to the characters after.


You know, if anything, I’m left wanting more Bellboy. To begin with, he barely did anything blameworthy. You could just as easily blame two other characters (Caroline and the hitman messaging service) for not labelling the envelopes.

Part of it is that Bronson isn’t terrible, at least not by comparison to the rest of the film. He’s on screen the least, so he’s by definition the least bad. But in and of itself, his performance is okay; hell, he’d been training for “idiot with accent” for six years by 1992. And being able to put a familiar face to the character actually adds to it here; anyone any more prominent could have taken attention away from the other parts. But maybe the biggest thing here is that all he’s really allowed to improvise with is the accent and the pronunciation. He gets to play with the props–shaking the briefcase with the bomb in it to try to figure out what’s inside, holding a fire extinguisher at crotch level–but only because they were necessary to the scenes. Otherwise, the movie brings him in and moves him along once he’s accomplished what he needs to.

But I also want more Bellboy because I’m still trying to compare this to A Fish Called Wanda. There, Kevin Kline’s character, at every possible moment, complicates or ruins the plan to get whatever MacGuffin is necessary to reach the money he’s trying to help steal. Given the main poster used for Bellboy, I guessed going into this that Bronson’s reputation from Perfect Strangers meant he would get to play a true wildcard character, actively fucking everything up. Shit, they put him in the title, the least they could do is let him cause more chaos than just reading a single name wrong on a computer.

In Second Sight, Bronson Pinchot shared top billing with John Larroquette. In Jury Duty, he was given a beefed-up role based on his reputation (and clout) relative to the other actors. In Blame it on the Bellboy, all his reputation got him was the smallest part they could give him and still put his name on the poster. I have no doubt that the moving parts of the script could have accommodated more Bellboy antics without throwing anything off. (Something that would have been much harder to do in A Fish Called Wanda; it takes two characters out of the main story for half of the runtime just so it can advance other plots.)

I would have said that the only expansion of Bronson’s part is the unnecessary scene in the elevator where he says “Horton” repeatedly. But, when I was reading the credits like the responsible, respectful audience member I am–


–I had to wonder whether most of what you see of him past the desk scene at the beginning was developed for Bronson. Putting aside the obvious complaint that none of the misunderstandings or twists depended on things happening with exact timing, between the prop book and the song made specifically for the movie, I suspect that the Bellboy’s original working title was some variation on Perfect Moment.

If it was the case that Bronson’s role was expanded enough to actually utilize him in an additive way, then it’s unfortunate that they put his character in the title, because I really did expect to blame a lot more shit on him.

Ultimately, I’m not sure how to apportion the blame. Blame it on the rain that was falling, falling: evidently the filmmakers tried to wait it out over four weeks of rain in Venice. Even with the 1000s of helicopter shots of Venice, it still doesn’t feel like we’re there because most of the outdoors action in the city happens in the space of one block; the internal hotel shots were on a soundstage in England. Writerwhomdirector Mark Herman deserves most of it, sure. He put together a moderately clever triple case of mistaken identity, but never realized it needed either to be more complicated, more funny, or have a shorter runtime. But I’d place the rest of the blame on all of the other actors. If it weren’t for Dame Penelope Wilton, I’d say that the actors weren’t given much to work with, or much reason to breathe life into the script. I can’t blame Richard Griffiths for not transforming one long joke about a horny overweight man into anything else. But I’ve seen Dudley Moore and Bryan Brown give characters personality.

Wilton stretches her character a little past what it’s supposed to be. The plot of this movie had room for it, but even if it didn’t she was more interesting than the plot.

I think Blame it on the Bellboy had room for a lot more stretching, both character- and story-wise.


If you’re a completeist, whom deep in your quest to watch every film in order, this film’s MPAA production code number is 31450, placing it between Other People’s Money starring Danny DeVito (31448) and Where the Day Takes You, starring Sean Astin, Will Smith, and Lara Flynn Boyle (31452).

Otherwise, don’t watch Blame it on the Bellboy.

I’ve got to get running now (bellboy) keep my lip buttoned down (bellboy), but join me next week for “The Elevator”!

5 thoughts on “Blame it on the Bellboy (1992)

  1. Thanks for watching that, Casey, so we don’t have to.

    And now, a mostly irrelevant story. The other day Piper and I were talking about a book I had liked as a kid, about a pig who went to the city and, mistaking wet concrete for a mud puddle, got himself stuck. I didn’t have the book at hand, but I did have the internet, and we discovered that the book–“Small Pig” by Arnold Lobel–was on YouTube.

    Though the reader appeared to be uncredited, it was clearly Lobel’s former son-in-law, Mark Linn-Baker.


    • Short answer: eigenstates on “How I Spent My” posts have yet to collapse. Long answer: video of theatrical performances is incredibly difficult–often impossible–to get ahold of. Movies and TV are in general available somewhere.


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