Lost In America
Three comic masterpieces in a row is enough to put you on the higher rung of American humorists. The Marx Brothers had that run with Horse Feathers, Duck Soup and A Night at the Opera. Mel Brooks had The Producers, Blazing Saddles and Young Frankenstein (with the less vital The Twelve Chairs mixed in). WC Fields had that amazing trifecta of You Can’t Cheat an Honest Man, The Bank Dick and Never Give a Sucker an Even Break. Preston Sturges, Charlie Chaplin and Woody Allen are three more legends whose hot streaks went beyond three. Albert Brooks, an underrated comic genius of recent generations, is the forgotten man. Throughout the '70s he shined as a cutting edge stand-up comic and made groundbreaking short films for that first season of Saturday Night Live. He made his writer/director feature film debut in 1979 with Real Life, a wonderfully uncomfortable comedy that predicted the coming of reality TV. He followed it with Modern Romance, often called Brooks’ Annie Hall, a deadeye take on both Hollywood and love. And then finally maybe his most perfect gem, Lost in America, the most biting satire of Ronald Reagan’s "greed is good" 1980s yuppie culture. (A less sophisticated comic mind like Steve Martin poked fun at the culture with L.A. Story, but was actually embracing the superficiality.)
The first step in embracing an Albert Brooks film is deciding whether or not you can stomach him. The guy plays some of the most neurotic and deeply insecure characters in movie history, and as David Howard in Lost in America, he’s as obnoxious as ever. The movie opens with him laying in bed with his wife, Linda (Julie Hagerty, fresh off another comic masterpiece, Airplane!). He can’t sleep; he has second thoughts on the much bigger house they just bought and he’s excited with anticipation for the big promotion he is expecting to get at the advertising agency he has worked at for eight years. He assures her once that promotion comes he will no longer be the uptight husband he can’t help being. Linda is a study in understanding, but the next day she breaks down to a co-worker wondering if she can go on like this. To his shock and disappointment, instead of the promotion, he is transferred to New York. He throws a massive tantrum and is fired. In a sorta melt down, he convinces himself that he has been freed from the rat race and talks Linda into quitting her job too. They make a plan: sell the new house, cash out all their stocks and bonds, leaving them with $180,000 to live on for the rest of their lives (this was considered a lot in 1985), buy a motor home to escape from Los Angeles and travel the country (just like Easy Rider!), and maybe settle in a lighthouse in Connecticut where they can paint and write and no longer have to worry about ambition. Deal! First stop, Las Vegas, for a wedding vowel renewal. A monkey wrench is thrown into the works though. While David sleeps, Linda gambles away their entire fortune in a casino. It’s even more downhill from there as they head East and now must rediscover themselves without the comfort of the nest egg.Continue Reading
The Big Chill
Don’t get me wrong, I hate yuppies as much as the next guy. And the thought of two hours of white bread yuppies reconnecting while bemoaning their lost youth and wondering where the dreams went, I would agree, sounds painful. The idea had been filmed once before by indie maverick John Sayles with his very boring Return Of The Secaucus Seven in ’79. But for the much better The Big Chill, director/ screenwriter Lawrence Kasdan was able to ensemble a dream cast of bright up and comers who brought magic to his incredibly complicated and witty script (written with Barbara Benedek).
Kasdan had been a hot go-to guy for scripts, having written The Empire Strikes Back and Raiders Of The Lost Ark. His first outing as a director was the steamy modern noir twister, Body Heat, starring the young William Hurt and Kathleen Turner (with an excellent little role for an even younger Mickey Rourke). The Big Chill was his personal take on a group of 1960s college friends reuniting fifteen years later for the funeral for their mutual bud, Alex (played in flashbacks by Kevin Costner, though those scenes were famously cut out of it. Kasdan would reward Costner with a plum role in his next film, the overrated gee-wiz Western, Silverado).Continue Reading
What can I say? I’m a sucker for court room, investigative drama; no matter how pedestrian. The ace-up-the-sleeve for True Believer is the dynamic performance by James Woods. Working at the peak of his acting powers, Woods plays a once celebrated, radical lawyer, now burned out and living on defending drug dealers. Woods, a wiry and intense actor, had spent years specializing in unhinged types, before he really came to the public's attention in the late '70s with his work (opposite Meryl Streep) in the TV miniseries Holocaust, and his searing performance as a petty criminal in The Onion Field. He spent most of the '80s in potentially important films that didn’t break him out (Once Upon a Time in America, Against All Odds), fascinating misses (Videodrome, The Boost), with some little seen gems mixed in (Fast-Walking, Split Image). In ’86 he finally broke through, winning every major TV award for the small-screen movie Promise and getting his first Oscar nomination for his powerhouse work in Oliver Stone’s Salvador. True Believer fell in the post-award buzz period, when he was scoring those big-star leading-man roles. Here he fully delivers on the promise.
Though wrapped up in a mystery, True Believer actually works better as one of those what-ever-happened-to-our-heroes-from-the-'60s? movies (The Big Chill, Running on Empty, etc.). The true believer in question here is Edward Dodd (Woods), a sorta William Kunstler like lawyer who once fought for civil liberties, civil rights and other groovy ideals, but now, even though he still has his long hair and openly smokes pot, prefers to defend whoever has the bread to pay him (usually real criminals). An idolizing, young law school graduate, Roger Baron (Robert Downey Jr, a couple years before his performance in Chaplin made him a major actor) volunteers to be his clerk, hoping to experience some of that '60s magic. He pushes Dodd to become better, until the older lawyer slowly comes to realize he has been cheating himself and his own ideals. Oh, and also there's some kind of loser case that Baron convinces him to take; something about a Korean-American kid wrongly convicted of murder that leads to the uncovering of all kinds of legal system corruption, as well as some suspense and some lawyerly heroics.Continue Reading