Familiar bulldog-faced character actor Victor Argo was one of those great rough'n'tumble New York City thespians who could always be relied on to add an extra dose of pure street grit and raw credibility to any given film he appeared in. Often relegated to minor, yet still memorable parts in such movies as "Taxi Driver," "Crimes and Misdemeanors," "True Romance," and "Ghost Dog," Vic delivers a strong and riveting portrayal in a rare lead role as Arnie Schwartz, a bitter and unhappy shoe store manager from Bayonne, New Jersey who makes an ill-advised attempt at being a stand-up comic by performing a painfully incisive, anguished, and soul-baring impromptu routine at a mysterious seedy Manhattan club in front of a tough and unforgiving audience who clearly represent assorted folks in the poor zhlub's miserable and unrewarding existence. Arnie gradually starts to unravel as he spits out scathing venom-loaded riffs on fame, wealth, failure, marriage, the dire nature of modern relevant humor, sex, death, religion, aging, and the unsparing unfairness of life itself. Pretty soon Arnie decides to strap himself into the electric chair prop he's sharing the stage with. Astutely written and directed by Mark Eisenstein, beautifully shot in stark black and white by David Seitz, laced with a profoundly dark and despairing sense of ruefully funny humor, with an appropriately gloomy score, extraordinary acting by Argo, plenty of stunningly bizarre moments (Argo's hearty, yet faltering live rendition of "Give My Regards to Broadway" is simply priceless!), an admirably uncompromising "try it, do it" avant-garde sensibility, and a haunting downbeat conclusion, this fascinatingly strange, often fiercely amusing, and ultimately quite moving one-of-a-kind item sizes up as one of the true unsung weirdo underground gems from the 80s.