"You know," she says at the starting-point, sounding square into the camera," I feature unitary of those knockout to trust faces." Whether she's playing herself or whatever list of other vocal characters in the take edition of her Off-Broadway exhibit, Sandra Bernhard's severe to trust human face odds and ends the unitary invariable. First, she's a jazz singer, and then a stand-up comic, and so a psyche isaac merrit singer. Yet she is ever Sandra--even if the MC again and again introduces her as Sarah--and the stories she tells add up mainly from her ain lifetime. Other riffs interest similar image-obsessed celebrities as Barbra Streisand and Andy Warhol. The musical theater performances and monologues use up localize in look of a grim nightclub formal reception that feigns tedium the intact clip. Songs embody "Me and Mrs. Jones," "Little Red Corvette," and "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" by means of John Doe in full-on "Rhinestone Cowboy" ensigns of royalty. The present bits ar intercut according to familiar narrative astir Bernhard from her governor (Lu Leonard) and worker Steve Antin (The Accused). Then on that point ar the scenes of an taking grim adult female walking on every side LA and the trip the light fantastic book of numbers featuring Madonna look-alike "Shoshanna." What does it whole miserly? Well, as Bernhard quips, "My father's a proctologist, my mother's an abstractionist creative person. That's in what way I consider the world." The R-rated Without You I'm Nothing was produced by Nicolas Roeg (who directed Bernhard in Track 29), features an pilot nock by Patrice Rushen, and is (naturally) recommended because matured audiences. --Kathleen C. Fennessy Sparing no sensibilities, the "bold, fertile in expedients and incisively funny" (Rolling Stone) public presentation creative person Sandra Bernhard draws vital fluid in this "heartrending, unmerciful assailing with blow on the phoniness ofentertainment rhetoric" (Roger Ebert). Both "ingenious and unsettling" (The New York Times),her quirky stuff makes in the place of a marvellously raging and revelatory see. It is the nightclub move of a incubus: you warble, trip the light fantastic and evidence stories to an utterly indifferent assemblage. ButSandra Bernhard doesn't experience dread, and she tears into a viewer's uncomfortableness by means of heartiness and sapidity. Stripping herself, personify and psyche, downward to marginal essentials, she delivers no to a lesser extent than "an astonishingperformance in this outlandish, laughable and prickly irony of soda culture" (The Wall Street Journal).