I wasn't going to see Private Parts. In fact, I wasn't going to even give it the No Tickets review. I don't care for Howard Stern. He appears to be a well-listened-to broadcaster, even though he isn't that good of a broadcaster. I've listened to him a couple times on the radio. He ended up telling his intern, "You suck!" on the air. This isn't what I listen to the radio for. Needless to say, Howard Stern isn't my cup of tea.
I was on a business trip and it so happened the hotel had decided to provide free HBO. HBO decided to air Private Parts. I decided to watch HBO that night.
This poorly crafted autobiography didn't make me a convert to Stern's cause. Now, before I go on, I must state that I love biographical film-making. In fact, I probably watch more biographies and documentaries than any other genre. Private Parts just attempts to explain why Stern has this "Dig me or you're a loser" attitude. His father was a shit, so he's one, too.
After about 20 minutes of Private Parts, I was bored, and decided I had given it a chance. I switched off the set and remembered my screenwriting teacher's lecture about why you have to grab the audience in the first 15 pages of a script. If you don't, they'll flip the channel. My teacher was right.
But I wasn't going to get off that easily. HBO was conspiring against me. Back home, someone decided to descramble HBO. I don't pay for it, not do I pirate the channel. But if the cable company itself doesn't scramble it, whelp, that's a legal freebie. HBO decided to play Private Parts a few hundred thousand more times. What the hell. Maybe my judgment was rash in my hotel room. It had been a long day on the road and sometimes only cartoons are to my liking. I decided to give it another try.
The only reason I tell you this story is that my review of this film has more drama than Stern's movie. If you like Stern, you'll like Private Parts; it not, put a new bag in your Hoover ... this baby's gonna blow!
