You probably haven’t thought about The Ritz movie in a long time. Or maybe you never knew it existed. That’s okay. It’s one of those bizarre, frantic time capsules from 1976 that feels like it was filmed inside a pressure cooker.
Gaetano Proclo is hiding. He’s a chubby guy from Cleveland, played by Jack Weston, and he’s currently running for his life from his murderous brother-in-law, Carmine Vespucci. Where does he hide? A gay bathhouse in Manhattan. It’s a ridiculous premise, but in the hands of director Richard Lester—the guy who gave us the Beatles movies—it becomes a high-speed exercise in door-slamming farce.
Honestly, the movie is a bit of a mess. It’s loud. It’s crowded. People are constantly shouting. But it captures a specific New York City grit and sexual liberation that basically evaporated by the mid-80s.
What Actually Happens in The Ritz Movie?
Terrence McNally wrote the screenplay, adapting his own Broadway hit. Because it’s a stage adaptation, it feels claustrophobic. Most of the action happens within the tiled walls of the bathhouse.
Gaetano doesn't realize he's in a gay bathhouse at first. He just thinks it’s a hotel with very strange amenities. This leads to the kind of "fish out of water" comedy that was common in the 70s but feels surprisingly transgressive today. You’ve got Jerry Stiller playing Carmine, a man so determined to whack his brother-in-law that he doesn't care how many steam rooms he has to storm.
The real star, though, is Rita Moreno.
She plays Googie Gomez, a third-rate cabaret singer with a thick-as-molasses accent who is convinced that Proclo is a big-shot Broadway producer. She wants to be a star. She is desperate for it. Moreno won a Tony for this role on stage, and she brings that same manic, "look at me" energy to the screen.
The Googie Gomez Factor
Watching Moreno is exhausting in the best way possible. She’s doing a parody of every struggling artist who ever stepped foot in New York.
Her performance of "Everything's Coming Up Roses" is a masterclass in intentional badness. She hits the wrong notes with total confidence. It’s a drag performance by a cisgender woman, which adds a layer of meta-commentary that most movies from 1976 weren't smart enough to attempt.
The Ritz movie relies heavily on her. Without her, it’s just a bunch of guys in towels running around.
Why The Ritz Movie Matters in Film History
We talk a lot about "New Hollywood." Usually, that means The Godfather or Taxi Driver. We don't talk about the weird comedies.
Director Richard Lester used a multi-camera setup for many scenes. This was unusual for a feature film at the time. He wanted to capture the spontaneity of the actors. He wanted it to feel live.
It worked.
The film is a document of the pre-AIDS era. There is an innocence to the debauchery that is hard to look at now without a sense of melancholy. It was a playground. The bathhouse represented a space where the rules of the outside world—the rules of guys like Carmine—didn't apply.
- The Cast: Most of the Broadway cast returned. This is rare. F. Murray Abraham is in it. Treat Williams plays a detective with a high-pitched voice.
- The Script: McNally’s dialogue is sharp. It’s cynical. It’s very "theater."
- The Reception: It didn't set the box office on fire. Critics were split. Some found it too frantic; others loved the anarchy.
The Problem with "Stagey" Movies
Let's be real. The Ritz movie suffers from its origins.
Movies are supposed to move. They are supposed to breathe. Lester tries to fix this by using quick cuts and weird angles, but you can always tell you’re on a set. Does that matter? Maybe not if you’re a fan of farce. Farce needs doors. It needs hallways. It needs people to miss each other by a fraction of a second.
If the camera wandered off into Central Park, the tension would vanish.
The movie is a sprint. Once it starts, it doesn't stop until the final credits. You’ll either find that exhilarating or you’ll want to reach for an aspirin after thirty minutes.
Rediscovering F. Murray Abraham
Before he was Salieri in Amadeus, F. Murray Abraham was Chris, a bathhouse regular in a bathrobe.
It is a wildly different performance. He’s flamboyant, cynical, and deeply funny. Seeing him here reminds you that these "prestige" actors often started in the trenches of experimental and off-beat comedy. He’s not playing a "type"—he’s playing a person who has found a community.
Modern Eyes and The Ritz Movie
How does it hold up?
Kinda well, actually. Some of the jokes are dated. Some of the stereotypes are... well, they’re 1976 stereotypes. But the core of the movie isn't mean-spirited. It’s about people looking for something. Proclo is looking for safety. Googie is looking for fame. The patrons are looking for connection.
It’s a movie about the fringes of society bumping into each other.
In a world where every comedy now feels like it was written by a committee to be as "relatable" as possible, The Ritz is a jagged, weird little gem. It doesn't care if you like it. It just wants to keep moving.
What to Do if You Want to Watch It
You won't find this on the front page of Netflix.
- Check the Archives: Look for the Warner Archive collection. They’ve done a decent job of preserving these mid-tier classics that don't get the Criterion treatment.
- Context is Everything: Read a little bit about the Continental Baths in NYC before you watch. It’s the real-life inspiration for the setting. Bette Midler and Barry Manilow started there.
- Watch for the Background: Some of the best jokes are happening in the corners of the frame. Lester loved to pack his shots with visual gags.
- Pair it with the Play: If you can find a script of Terrence McNally’s play, read it first. You’ll see how much Lester tried to "cinematize" the un-cinematic.
The film is a reminder that comedy doesn't always have to be polite. Sometimes it can just be a bunch of people in a basement, screaming and running, trying to figure out who is trying to kill them and who is trying to hire them for a musical.
The Ritz movie is a loud, sweaty, imperfect piece of cinema. It’s also one of the most honest depictions of 70s chaos you’ll ever find. Go find a copy. Bring an open mind and maybe a towel.
The next step is to track down the Warner Archive DVD or digital rental. Look specifically for the 1.85:1 widescreen transfer, as the old pan-and-scan versions completely ruin Lester's frantic compositions and hide half the visual gags in the bathhouse hallways.