The Stunt Man finds Steve Railsback on the run from some police and stumbling into a movie set where Director Peter O'Toole is filming a World War I epic. A stunt involving the suicide of the leading man in an old Deusenberg goes awry with the stunt man actually getting killed in the process. Never fear, O'Toole hires young Railsback as the new stunt double. I mean it's either that or the law. Afterwards Railsback ain't so sure.

Especially after he woos and beds leading lady Barbara Hershey. Is O'Toole setting him up. He's certainly megalomaniacal enough to think along those lines.

He's also enough of a megalomaniac to let nothing including physical safety of anyone on his set interfere in the film he's trying to create. O'Toole in his Oscar nominated performance borrowed from any number of film directors, past and present, some of whom he must have worked for to create a very fascinating portrait.

Railsback and Hershey are good too and I also liked Alex Rocco as the sheriff and Allen Garfield as O'Toole's best friend and screenwriter for this epic.

The Stunt Man is a real tour de force for Peter O'Toole, a film none of his fans should miss.

Troubled and paranoid fugitive Vietnam veteran Cameron (a fine and intense performance by Steve Railsback) seeks refuge on the set of a lavish World War I picture that's being directed by cruel and crazed, yet cunning and charismatic megalomaniac director Eli Cross (superbly played with lip-smacking pompous aplomb by Peter O'Toole). Cross makes Cameron replace a previous stuntman who drowned when a car gag went awry due to Cameron's interference. Cameron soon suspects that Eli may be trying to kill him so he can capture his death on celluloid for the sake of realism. Director Richard Rush, who also co-wrote the ingenious script with Lawrence B. Marcus, offers a fresh, inspired and arresting mix of comedy, drama, action, thriller, and romance while also delivering a rich and provocative existential meditation on illusion versus reality and a fascinating glimpse at all the chaos, tension, madness and arduous labor that goes into making a movie. The exciting and elaborate stunt set pieces are simply amazing. Mario Tosi's gleaming, polished cinematography and Dominic Frontiere's jaunty, rousing score are likewise excellent and impressive. This film further benefits from first-rate acting by the uniformly stellar cast: Railsback and O'Toole are both fabulous in their juicy lead parts; they receive bang-up support from Barbara Hershey as radiant, ravishing actress Nina Franklin, Allen Garfield as harried, neurotic screenwriter Sam, Adam Roarke as humble actor Raymond Bailey, Sharon Farrell as sweet, sassy make-up girl Denise, Chuck Bail as amiable stunt coordinator Chuck Barton, Philip Bruns as smarmy producer Ace, and Alex Rocco as huffy police chief Jake. Dusty Springfield sings the lovely theme song "Bits & Pieces." A marvelously offbeat and original one-of-a-kind knockout that's wholly deserving of its cult status.

I won't carry on about the plot of this marvelous flick since it's already been adequately limned, but do let me emphasize a few points that have been kind of grayed out in other comments. The score by Frontiere is outstanding, from the up-tempo opening blast to the final credits. It's not only unnerving but vertigo inducing, so it supplements the plot perfectly. The photography is outstanding as well, the colors appallingly vivid, as in an MGM cartoon, which in this context is most apt. (It is a mystery/comedy/thriller/philosophical disquisition, after all.) The Hotel Coronado in San Diego has never looked quite so palatial, not even in "Some Like it Hot."

Rush's direction boggles the mind, to coin a phrase. The film begins with a helicopter. A hand pops out of the helicopter and drops a half-eaten apple. The apple bounces on the hood of a parked car. We follow without comment the apple, the line of events, and it turns out to be what gets the story moving.

There are multiple very strange touches throughout. As a movie star myself, having been a faceless extra in half a dozen films, I have to add that movies are simply not shot this way. An expensive and dangerous (and ultimately lethal) stunt is performed as we enter the actual narrative and there is only one camera rolling -- and that in a helicopter so far away that its engine can't be heard? But it doesn't really matter. The movie plays tricks all along with the difference between "reality" and "illusion," an old game into which it's difficult to inject more life, as this movie manages to do.

At one point, Railsback is told to perform a short if dangerous stunt, leaping from one roof to another. He does so, but the stunt escalates. Not only escalates but goes on and on, with Railsback unexpectedly crashing through ceilings and floors in a shower of glass before winding up in the midst of drunken, partying enemies who shout at him and laughingly lift his body above their heads and pass him around the room. It will shock you almost as much as it shocked him. O'Toole asks him after this long gag what it is he wants. Says Railsback: "Not to think I'm going crazy."

The smallest parts are done well. A very authentic-looking German soldier with a cheery old face and big white mustache is loading his rifle for a scene in which he and his comrades are going to fire at Railsback. "I hope those are blanks," Railsback tells him. "It doesn't say so on the box," replies the soldier with a friendly tone and a big smile.

Let me mention Eli Cross, the director, played by O'Toole. At one level this movie is made, through his character, into an examination of God, and his whimsical sense of responsibility towards the human beings whose lives he controls. "Eli Cross"? I mean -- okay -- Elihu, the crucifixion -- the whole JudeoChristian tradition is embodied in that cognomen. Cross has a habit of riding around the sky in a giant crane whose seat drops unexpectedly out of space and into the middle of peoples' conversations. Before the shooting of the final stunt, Cross raises his hand, looking at the horizon, and says something like, "I hereby decree that no cloud shall pass before that sun." And while shooting another scene, the cameraman calls "Cut." Cross pauses, then asks, "WHO called cut?" The cameraman explains that there were only a few seconds of film left on the reel so they had to cut at that point. Cross, like the angry God of the Old Testament, shouts that, "NOBODY cuts a scene except ME!" After chewing the cameraman out thoroughly, he fires him on the spot. You see, if a movie is supposed to resemble life, then ending a scene suddenly ends the filmic exposure of the two human conversants and only -- well, you get the picture. A lot of this rather obvious theological stuff seems to have gotten by unrecognized or at any rate uncommented upon. It doesn't need to be dwelt on.

There are already so many layers to this film that the viewer can afford to be only half aware of any one of them at a given moment. It stands by itself as a kind of very strange comedy. I didn't find Railsback's background as a Vietnam vet put on very thickly, by the way. It would be nice if God really were as accessible as Peter O'Toole is in this movie. All you would have to do to find salvation is jump through some well-defined hoops. As it is, though, I for one find myself muddling through from one day to the next simply hoping not to step on too many toes. Gimme a fiery hoop or a dive off a bridge any day. Just as long as my scene isn't cut too quickly.