Slapstick of Another Kind is a dreadful mess of a movie -- and unfortunately not the kind whose badness inspires at least a modicum of entertainment. Kurt Vonnegut books are very difficult to translate to the screen, but the novelist deserves none of the blame for the film, as it is a travesty of his work, taking only the bare-bones premise and a few sequences from the first part of the book. Most of the film is entirely the work of Steven Paul, and it is difficult to say which is less appalling, his writing or his directing. There is nothing resembling wit in the screenplay, and precious little resembling coherence. His direction is incompetent when it is not haphazard, and he displays no feel for comedy. Under the circumstances, it is perhaps unfair to criticize the actors; however, it still must be said that Jerry Lewis's performance is frequently painful and Madeline Kahn seems lost and gives a dull performance. Only Marty Feldman and Pat Morita are able to rise a half-notch or so above the material, and they give the film the few bright spots that it has. Paul gave the world several other forgettable movies before hitting his stride as a producer of NYPD Blue.