Dancer

Valerie Perrine, the Las Vegas showgirl turned Oscar-nominated actor best known for playing Lenny Bruce’s wayward wife Honey Harlow in “Lenny” and Lex Luthor’s secretary Eve Teschmacher in the 1978 and 1980 “Superman” films, died Monday morning. She was 82.

Perrine’s death was confirmed by Stacey Souther, her close friend and the director of the 2019 documentary “Valerie,” which followed the star’s debilitating battle with Parkinson’s disease.

“It is with deep sadness that I share the heartbreaking news that Valerie has passed away,” Souther announced on social media. “She faced Parkinson’s disease with incredible courage and compassion, never once complaining. She was a true inspiration who lived life to the fullest — and what a magnificent life it was. The world feels less beautiful without her in it.

“I love you, Valerie. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Souther also shared a GoFundMe link and a note that Perrine’s final wish was to be laid to rest at the Hollywood Hills Forest Lawn Cemetery. “After more than 15 years of fighting Parkinson’s, her finances are exhausted.”

Perrine was born Sept. 3, 1943, in Galveston, Texas, to parents Renee and Kenneth, a dancer and a U.S. Army lieutenant colonel. A military brat growing up, Perrine moved frequently and spent time in Japan, Paris and Scottsdale, Ariz.

She attended the University of Arizona, but her academic aspirations were short-lived. She skipped town, trading her textbooks for a feather headdress and G-string in Las Vegas. Soon she was a lead dancer in the star-spangled Lido de Paris show at the Stardust Hotel. She told the New York Times in 1974 that she spent some of her $800 weekly paycheck on experimenting with drugs: acid, mescaline, peyote, cocaine — you name it, she tried it.

Eight years after her foray into Vegas showbiz, her movie career kicked off unexpectedly during a visit to Hollywood. An agent at a friend’s dinner party took a liking to her, she told the Los Angeles Times in 2013. He asked if she had any publicity photos. The only one she had was in her topless Lido costume.

The sexy picture made its way to the desk of Monique James, the head of new talent at Universal. “She called me in and asked if I had ever acted before and I said ‘no,’” Perrine said. “She arranged a screen test.”

Paul Monash, the producer of “Slaughterhouse-Five,” which was based on Kurt Vonnegut’s acclaimed novel about World War II and time travel, directed the screen test. “They told me to wear a bikini because they wanted to see what my body looked like. I didn’t have a bikini. I wore my G-string and that was it.”

“I had been working in Vegas all the time and had been on the beach in St. Tropez, so being [naked] didn’t mean anything to me,” she told The Times. “It was my attitude that sparked his interest and the way I read the line, ‘Oh, you’re a moon child.’ He hired me.”

Dustin Hoffman as Lenny Bruce, left, and Valerie Perrine as Honey Harlow in a scene from the 1974 movie, “Lenny.”

(United Archives via Getty Images)

Soon after, she portrayed the love interest of NASCAR driver Junior Johnson opposite Jeff Bridges in the 1973 sports drama “The Last American Hero.” Perrine and Bridges dated briefly while working on the film. The same year she became the first woman to bare her breasts on television in the PBS telefilm “Steambath.”

Bridges described Perrine in the 2019 documentary “Valerie” as having a “real sense of fun and play.”

“She was excited about life and excited where she was and it’s a contagious feeling,” he said. “Growing up in a military family and traveling all over the world made her a really interesting person and as an actress, she had the ability to bring all of that into her performances.”

In 1974, she tapped into her showgirl background to portray the drug-addled stripper Honey Harlow opposite Dustin Hoffman as Lenny Bruce in the biopic “Lenny.” Her performance garnered rave reviews. She nabbed the lead actress award at the Cannes Film Festival, BAFTA named her most promising newcomer and she was nominated for an Oscar.

Perrine was perhaps best known for her portrayal of Eve Teschmacher, Lex Luthor’s secretary and love interest in the 1978 “Superman” starring Christopher Reeve, Gene Hackman and Marlon Brando. She played the role again in 1980’s “Superman II.”

She also starred in the 1980 disco flick “Can’t Stop the Music” alongside the Village People and Caitlyn Jenner. The movie flopped and Perrine was so mortified by the film’s poor reception that she moved to Europe. She didn’t officially retire from acting until around 2010, and by 2015 she had gone public with her Parkinson’s disease diagnosis.

The 2019 documentary short “Valerie,” directed by Souther, dropped the veil on Perrine’s battle with the illness, with her loss of bodily autonomy captured in the film. She said “the shakes” caused her to struggle and the level of care she required made her feel like a baby.

Still intact, though, were her sharp wit and self-deprecating sense of humor. In the film a doctor explains that there are times when physicians aren’t able to pin down a diagnosis or there are multiple diagnoses.

“The doctors don’t know what’s going on with me,” Perrine says. “They can’t figure it out.”

“What do you think it is?” the doctor asks Perrine.

“Karma,” she quips.

Mexican writer-director Michel Franco (“Memory”) explores dynamics of money, class and the border through the spiky, unsettling erotic drama “Dreams,” starring Jessica Chastain and Isaac Hernández, a Mexican ballet dancer and actor.

In the languidly paced movie, Franco presents two individuals in love (or lust?) who experiment with wielding the power at their fingertips against each other. The film examines the push-pull of attraction and rejection on a scope that’s both intimate and global, finding the uneasy space where the two meet.

Chastain stars as Jennifer McCarthy, a wealthy San Francisco philanthropist and socialite who runs a foundation that supports a ballet school in Mexico City. But Franco does not center on her experience, but that of Fernando (Hernández), whom we meet first escaping from the back of a box truck filled with migrants crossing the U.S.–Mexico border. He’s abandoned in San Antonio on a 100-degree day.

His journey is one of extreme survival, but his destination is the lap of luxury: a modernist San Francisco mansion where he makes himself at home and where he’s clearly been before. A talented ballet dancer who has already once been deported, he’s risked everything to be with his lover, Jennifer, though, as a high-profile figure, she’d rather keep her affair with Fernando under wraps. He’s her dirty little secret but he’s also a human being who refuses to be kept in the shadows.

As Jennifer and Fernando attempt to navigate what it looks like for them to be together, it seems that larger forces will shatter their connection. In reality, the only real danger is each other.

The storytelling logic of “Dreams” is predicated on watching these characters move through space, the way we watch dancers do. Franco offers some fascinating parallels to juxtapose the wildly varying experiences of Fernando and Jennifer — he almost dies of thirst and heat stroke; she arrives in Mexico on a private plane, but both enter empty homes alone, melancholy. During a rift in their relationship, Fernando retreats to a motel, drinking red wine out of plastic cups with a friend in his humble room, ignoring Jennifer’s calls, while she eats alone in her darkened dining room, sipping out of crystal.

These comparisons aren’t exactly nuanced but they are stark and, for most of the film, Franco just asks us to watch them move together and apart, in a strange, avoidant pas de deux. Often dwarfed by architecture, their distinctive bodies in space are more important than the sparse dialogue that only serves to fill in crucial gaps in storytelling.

Cinematographer Yves Cape captures it all in crisp, saturated images. The lack of musical score (beyond diegetic music in the ballet scenes) contributes to the dry, flat affect and tone, as these characters enact increasing cruelties — both emotional and physical — upon each other as a means of trying to contain each other, until it escalates into something truly dark and disturbing.

Franco loses the plot of “Dreams” in the third act. What is a rather staid drama about the weight of social expectations on a relationship becomes a dramatically unexpected game of vengeance as Jennifer and Fernando grasp at any power they have over the other. She fetishizes him and he returns the favor, violently.

Ultimately, Franco jettisons his characters for the sake of unearned plot twists that leave the viewer feeling only icky. These events aren’t illuminating and feel instead like a bleak betrayal. The circumstances of the story might be timely, but “Dreams” doesn’t help us understand the situation better, leaving us in the dark about what we’re supposed to take away from this story of sex, violence, money and liberty. Anything it suggests we already know.

Katie Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.