Blog Directory CineVerse: January 2025

Jazzz, pizzazz, and a whole lot of razzmatazz

Tuesday, January 28, 2025

Quite possibly the most autobiographical film musical ever made, All That Jazz (1979) was helmed by Bob Fosse, who also co-wrote and choreographed the movie. It offers a riveting peek into Fosse’s life via the character of Joe Gideon (Roy Scheider), focusing on his struggles with artistic ambition, personal relationships, and his confrontation with mortality. Joe is a talented but self-destructive Broadway choreographer and director juggling the creation of a musical with his declining health and personal chaos. 

Blending reality with fantasy, All That Jazz—costarring Jessica Lange, Leland Palmer, Ann Reinking, Ben Vereen, and John Lithgow—features surreal musical sequences that illustrate Gideon’s internal turmoil and relentless pursuit of artistic flawlessness. It earned widespread critical praise and several accolades, including the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival.

To hear a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of All That Jazz, conducted last week, click here.


Part of the fun of watching this film is paying attention to its meta elements – the way it’s self-referential and slyly comments on the process of filmmaking. Consider how the character of Joe is a loose representation of Bob Fosse, the film's director and choreographer. This adds a layer of self-reflection, as the narrative draws from Fosse’s own experiences in the entertainment world, turning the film into a commentary on both his personal life and professional journey. This movie is loosely based on a highly stressful period in Fosse’s life, in the mid-1970s, when he was both editing the film Lenny, which he directed, and attempting to stage the Broadway musical Chicago; Fosse actually did suffer a heart attack and underwent cardiac surgery, as does Joe, only Fosse survived until 1987, when he ended up succumbing to another heart attack.

Throughout the film, characters are also shown navigating the challenges of creating both a Broadway show and a movie. This behind-the-scenes perspective invites the audience to recognize that they are watching a story about the very process of filmmaking and theater production. But the meta-Easter eggs don’t stop there: the character of Kate is played by Fosse’s former girlfriend at the time, Ann Reinking; the editor Joe works with on the standup comic film he’s cutting is the actual editor of the film All That Jazz, Alan Heim; Cliff Gorman, who won a Tony Award for playing Lenny Bruce in the original stage production of Lenny, was cast as the lead in the film Joe is editing, The Stand-Up; and Audrey’s character is based on Fosse’s wise Gwen Verdon, his ongoing collaborator until Fosse’s death.

All That Jazz has been fairly criticized by some as being too self-indulgent. Of course, Fosse is an easy target here because, one could argue, he’s too close to the subject matter he’s directing to be impartial. It’s impossible to ignore the built-in subjectivity of his storytelling and direction. As overwhelming proof of his over-the-top self-importance, he has the character of Joe stage his own funeral as a song-and-dance showstopper.

However, Joe—and, by extension, Fosse—is quite self-deprecating and relatively censorious in how he’s depicted as a womanizer, substance abuser, perfectionist, and in denial about his physical health. Many of his lines and monologues are disparaging and regretful of his choices and behaviors. Criterion Collection essayist Hilton Als wrote: “…how can you think of All That Jazz as being self-indulgent when Fosse is so happy to take the piss out of himself? It’s part of what made him such a witty filmmaker—the joke was on him, and some other people too.” AV Club reviewer Scott Tobias had a similar take in his review: “With a sly wink and a devil's grin, courtesy of uncanny alter ego Roy Scheider, Fosse absorbs and defuses any criticism that could be leveled against him, constantly poking holes in his inflated reputation. He counters every piece of show-stopping craft, such as the dazzling cattle call that opens the 1979 film, with bitter, excoriating truths about his weaknesses and regrets, coming clean about the bad behavior that he correctly predicts will lead him to an early grave.”

At its core, this film is about fearing and flirting with death. All That Jazz is a cautionary tale about burning the candle at both ends, pushing the boundaries of indulgence and workaholism, and trying to defy death and mortality as a figurative tightrope walker – an innovator who sacrifices health and longevity for an opportunity to be great, suffering the ultimate punishment for his art. We literally see Joe dallying coquettishly with an angel of death, as personified by Jessica Lange in the mysteriously unveiled character of Angelique.

An obsessive pursuit of perfection and its consequences is a further treatise. Joe is always trying to top himself, to make a flawless film, choreograph a pristine song and dance number, and innovate the stage musical in ways that have never been done before. “It’s showtime,” we hear him say to himself in the mirror morning after morning, suggesting how pressured he feels to constantly perform. Joe is surely concerned about obsolescence and legacy, and his ego and narcissism fuel him toward a self-realized greatness, although at a great cost to his health and relationships. Per Slant Magazine’s Chuck Bowen: “All That Jazz is so head-spinning because it’s a deeply felt, deeply stylish, deeply alive movie about disconnection, degradation, and estrangement that abounds in lewd, boozy, intellectualized poetry. The fusion of those various contrasts was Fosse’s great specialty, and it’s right there, subsumed, in the film’s rococo photography and, especially, in the amazing dance numbers, which revel in a tone of macabre erotica that contextualizes Joe’s narcissism and self-aggrandizement vis-à-vis his sex fantasies and death wishes (dying, the ultimate stage exit, absolves Joe of selflessness)… All That Jazz is Fosse’s assertion that he can make art out of anything… The source of the film’s disconcertingly contradictory power resides in its understanding that, for the loved ones left in the wake of Joe’s aloof remoteness, the art, no matter how amazing it is for us, ultimately isn’t enough.”

Viewers are also continually reminded about the price paid for hubris. Like Icarus flying too close to the sun, Joe unrealistically aims for simultaneous superhuman success and conquest on the stage, the screen, and in the bedroom without reckoning upon the proper balance needed in his life to juggle all these endeavors effectively.

Additionally, Fosse’s film explores fact versus fiction, reality versus fantasy. All That Jazz blends realistic vignettes of Joe’s work and life with illusory sequences of surreality (such as the scenes involving Angelique, the hallucinatory segment in the hospital, and the Bye Bye Life number that concludes the film). The intercutting between the real world and the dream world creates a memorably visual hybrid that is as cinematically entertaining as it is also contrastingly jarring.

Similar works

  • Fellini’s 8½
  • Stardust Memories
  • A Chorus Line
  • Flashdance
  • Chicago
  • Marriage Story, also directed by a man whom the lead male character is based upon
  • A Star Is Born
  • Birdman
  • Synecdoche, New York

Other films directed by Bob Fosse

  • Sweet Charity
  • Cabaret
  • Lenny
  • Star 80

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Why the sun never truly sets on this 30-year-old romance classic

Monday, January 27, 2025


Valentine’s Day may be weeks away, but it’s never too early to start thinking about romance films that set your heart afire. Perhaps the greatest cinematic love letter of the last three decades, and one of the finest depictions of sudden young amore the movies have to offer, is Before Sunrise, directed by Richard Linklater and written by Linklater and Kim Krizan, which debuted in theaters 30 years ago today. Starring Ethan Hawke as Jesse and Julie Delpy as Céline, this is the tale of an American man and a French woman who meet on a train traveling through Europe. Jesse persuades Céline to get off the train with him in Vienna, where they spend a single night wandering the city, sharing philosophical conversations, and forming an intimate connection. Exploring themes of love, human connection, and the fleeting nature of time, the film captures the profound bond that develops between two strangers in a brief but unforgettable encounter.

To hear our CineVerse group discussion of Before Sunrise, conducted earlier this month, click here. To listen to the latest episode of the Cineversary podcast, which commemorates Before Sunrise’s 30th birthday, click here.


Before Sunrise is an easy movie to root for and embrace in large part because it’s such an underdog success story: It’s a low-budget, under-the-radar indie that nobody saw coming but has gathered such momentum over the past three decades as a terrific word-of-mouth favorite among so many film fans. Yes, it proved to be a success based on surprisingly good box office returns relative to its $2.5 million budget as well as positive critical reception early on (still true, as evidenced by a 100% fresh Rotten Tomatoes score). But more importantly, the movie has come to represent a kind of dark horse cinematic triumph that demonstrates – despite limited resources, lesser names at the time, and little ballyhoo out of the gate – the power of quality over quantity, of craft over crass commercialism in a subgenre, the romance film, brimming with mass-marketed mediocrity.

Before Sunrise’s formula for brilliance is three primary ingredients: spot-on casting, outstanding performances, and, most importantly, exceptional dialogue, as very little in the form of plot or action happens. Because we need to believe in the discourse and find it credible, the writing required a balanced approach from a man and a woman; hence, Linklater enlisted the aid of a female screenwriter (Krizan), who especially helped with Celine’s lines. Written entirely by a man, this film may not have resonated as strongly or plausibly. Being so reliant on its two main characters to captivate us, the key to this picture’s success was to have a stellar script in hand (mission accomplished) and then everyone else gets out of the way so these two gifted actors can do the heavy lifting, which is exactly what happens.

According to film reviewer James Berardinelli: “For this film to work, (Hawke and Delpy) have a threefold task: embrace their characters; attract each other; and connect with the audience… The rapport between Jesse and Celine is so lacking in artifice that at times the viewer feels like a voyeur. We are privy to everything, including the sort of ‘unimportant’ dialogue that most films shy away from.”

As is true in so many great films, these actors seem born for these roles. Hawke organically imbues Jesse with a worldly but tolerable cynicism, and Delpy effortlessly inhabits the more romantic and soul-searching Celine. They exhibit undeniable chemistry, as evidenced by the record store scene. The rhythm and timing required for that nonverbal interplay to seamlessly work speaks to the talents of and shared trust between Delpy and Hawke.

What also elevates Before Sunrise to the upper echelon is how it’s unpredictable in ways large and small. An example of the former is how, at the finale, we are left to guess if they will ever meet again. An instance of the latter is how, despite an early scene where Celine and Jesse are invited by two Viennese thespians to later attend their play, they never do. This superbly written and acted film has the luxury of completely discarding that earlier play invite setup, which many viewers may have expected to have a later payoff.

Pulling off a winning romantic drama is certainly no layup. Many viewers who frequent this aisle have expectations for Harlequin novel-esque wooing, torrid sex scenes, and stirringly soppy interplays between stock characters. Before Sunrise is a revitalizing new entrée on a mostly stale menu. Granted, the plot is threadbare—very little happens. But instead of turning to a proven yet overused formula, the filmmakers bank on two interesting personalities and well-written conversations. The emphasis is on believable human interactions over a crunchy storyline. And this work isn’t limited in its appeal to only Gen Xers, the demographic represented by Celine and Jesse. The issues and questions these young twentysomethings discuss remain evergreen and relevant to adult couples of almost any age.

Linklater and company aren’t aiming for melodramatic emotional manipulation or trying to trick you with some heavy-handed twist at the end. There is no sex scene, and we’re not even sure if they consummated the relationship, which is quite astounding when you consider that almost all movies of this stripe eventually include a bedding-down sequence and some degree of nakedness. (Sadly, this film remains rated “R,” even though there is no nudity or violence and only sparse profanity. That’s myopic and unfortunate, as it limited Before Sunrise’s original theatrical run audience to adults only, when teenagers could have certainly enjoyed and learned from this picture. In 2025, this remains an excellent film for adolescents to watch, regardless of that restrictive rating.)

Before Sunrise is set in naturally picturesque and colorfully vibrant Vienna, but it doesn’t go out of its way to romanticize that city or use it as a travelogue-like backdrop where the viewer expects the characters to fall in love because they’re surrounded by an abundance of natural beauty and venerated culture. It's admirable that the filmmakers don’t try to exploit the fact that this is set in a foreign city and use its famous landmarks, art, or architecture to over-sentimentalize or color its characters or situations.

Like other Linklater films, including Slacker, Dazed and Confused, Before Sunset, and Before Midnight, this narrative occurs over a single day, without giving us the benefit of a prologue, epilogue, or flashbacks. This scenario creates an emotional urgency and immediacy, fueling Jesse and Celine to make the most of their limited window. Additionally, the movie benefits from an eclectic score that includes timeless classical works by Beethoven, Vivaldi, Strauss, and Bach as well as contemporary rock and alternative music.

Before Sunrise’s reach and influence extended across the globe in the years since its release. Consider the multiple works it helped inspire:

  • In the Mood for Love (2000), Wong Kar-wai’s exploration of unspoken amore and fleeting moments.
  • Lost in Translation (2003), Sofia Coppola’s meditation on the longing and emotional connection between two characters in a foreign city.
  • Once (2007), an Irish musical romance that follows two strangers who form a deep connection over a short time before parting.
  • 2 Days in Paris (2007), Julie Delpy’s film that explores relationship dynamics with humor and realism, influenced by her collaboration with Linklater.
  • Certified Copy (2010), Abbas Kiarostami’s story of a man and woman wandering a European town that captures the raw intimacy of Before Sunrise.
  • Weekend (2011), Andrew Haigh’s British indie that ruminates on fleeting intimacy and meaningful conversations between two men over a weekend.
  • Blue Jay (2016), a black-and-white picture about former lovers reconnecting.
  • Columbus (2017), Kogonada’s introspective film about two people bonding over architecture, which mirrors the quiet conversations and emotional depth of Before Sunrise.
Among several predecessors that may have influenced Linklater and his collaborators are:
  • Brief Encounter (1945): This classic tale of a fleeting love affair shares themes of brief connections and bittersweet romance.
  • The Clock (1945): This romance about a single-day love story in New York shares Before Sunrise's real-time structure and exploration of brief, intense relationships.
  • Letter from an Unknown Woman (1948): Max Ophüls' exploration of fleeting love, the emotional weight of brief connections, the passage of time, unspoken emotional depth, romantic idealism, and the use of setting as a character predate Linklater’s film.
  • The Third Man (1949): The atmospheric depiction of post-war Vienna in this noir, and its famous Ferris wheel scene (the same Ferris wheel used in Before Sunrise) may have inspired Linklater’s choice of a similarly evocative European setting.
  • An Affair to Remember (1957): Its theme of romantic ideals and a promise to reunite echoes Before Sunrise's open-ended conclusion of trust in love.
  • Annie Hall (1977): Woody Allen’s blend of humor, depth, and reflective storytelling likely influenced Linklater’s conversational style and emotional exploration of relationships.
  • Manhattan (1979): This film’s focus on intellectual dialogue and the use of cityscapes as a romantic backdrop mirrors Before Sunrise's approach.
  • My Dinner with Andre (1981): Its dialogue-driven narrative, centered on a philosophical conversation, likely shaped Before Sunrise's emphasis on character-driven exchanges.
  • Chungking Express (1994): Wong Kar-wai’s poetic exploration of fleeting love and serendipitous encounters parallels Before Sunrise's focus on ephemeral moments.
Particular Linklater qualities shine through. Beyond the natural dialogue, minimalist narrative, and storytelling (mostly) in real-time, the director makes several insightful choices that enhance Before Sunrise. He doesn’t try to be flashy or artsy-fartsy by going for complicated setups, experimental framing, elaborate camera movements, or grandiose editing choices. Instead, Linklater and crew keep the visuals simple in terms of shots, edits, and camera placement. In fact, he utilizes many extended takes that let the characters dominate the frame and command our eyeballs, allowing us to linger longer on them and identify the shared vibes without excessive editing manipulation. Case in point: the long, unbroken shot on the back of the tram that stretches over several minutes.

The cinematography is subtly crafted, with long takes and smooth tracking shots that let the actors' performances take center stage. This understated approach creates a sense of intimacy, almost as if we're right there beside Jesse and Celine, quietly observing an authentic moment between two people.

Linklater’s well-documented collaborative process also brings out rich, multidimensional performances from Hawke and Delpy, allowing their characters to feel alive and deeply relatable.

Of course, there’s the closing montage to consider as further proof of Linklater’s talents; recall how the camera revisits many of the spots previously traversed by Celine and Jesse, now empty of any human occupants, which showcases this director’s innate flair for visual storytelling and emotionally tethering the audience to his characters.

For a film so predicated on philosophical ideas, Before Sunrise has a high bar to clear in the themes department, which it does effortlessly. What is this picture about? Plenty. For starters, seeking permanence in a world of impermanence, inevitable change, and death. “(The) couple’s conversation is preoccupied with death, transience, and the fragility of life,” wrote Slant Magazine critic Dan Jardine. “The couple search for evidence of things that can persist. Staying awake in defiance of that harbinger of mortality—the night—hoping to cheat the death of each day by stealing the time that they shouldn’t even be having together, their conversations inevitably swing back to all the proofs that they see around them of the ephemeral, particularly in the realm of human relationships, where nothing sticks, where disintegration and collapse seem to be the norm.”

The film examines the temporal constraints of our existence and the fleeting nature of time. The ephemeral 12 hours the characters spend together underscores how quickly life goes by and how fast an opportunity can pass. Time itself is a thematic element and motif constantly revisited (and it’s thematically fitting that these time-obsessed young characters are placed within a timeless Old World city).

Recall how Jesse refers to their brief encounter as a kind of time travel experiment. Jesse later remarks: “It's all these people talking about how great technology is, and how it saves all this time. But, what good is saved time if nobody uses it?” Speaking about a dead girl’s gravesite in the cemetery, Celine says: “She was only 13 when she died. That meant something to me, you know? I was that age when I first saw this. Hmm. Now I'm ten years older and she's still 13, I guess.” Jesse comments: “I mean, just once, I'd love to see, some little old lady save up all her money, to go to the fortune teller, and she'd get there, all excited about hearing her future, and the woman would say, ‘Um-humm. Tomorrow, and all your remaining days will be exactly like today. A tedious collection of hours.’”

One particular conversation suggests that the couple is trying to thwart time and explore beyond the confines of temporal existence, even if momentarily. Jesse: “I feel like this is, uh, some dream world we're in, y'know.” Celine: “Yeah, it's so weird. It's like our time together is just ours. It's our own creation. It must be like I'm in your dream, and you in mine, or something. Jesse: “And what's so cool is that this whole evening, all our time together, shouldn't officially be happening.” Celine: “Yeah, I know. Maybe that's why this feels so otherworldly.”

Ponder how Jesse quotes W.H. Auden and his poem As I Walked Out One Evening: “O let not Time deceive you/You cannot conquer Time/In the burrows of the Nightmare/Where Justice naked is/Time watches from the shadow/And coughs when you would kiss/In headaches and in worry/Vaguely life leaks away/And Time will have his fancy/To-morrow or to-day.”

Criterion Collection essayist Michael Koresky wrote: “Before Sunrise…flies in the face of other youthful love stories for the thematic prominence it gives to the passage of time. Most twentysomethings think they’ll live forever, but the one-night stroll through Vienna of young Celine and Jesse is marked by both the filmmaker’s and the characters’ constant awareness that their time, both here and on earth, is limited.”

Before Sunrise espouses the perks of living life spontaneously and seizing the moment. Ponder how the couple adapts to their limited environment and acts uninhibitedly despite these limitations. Both Celine and Jesse decide on the spur of the moment to depart the train and forget their rules and restrictions. They also randomly encounter three artists along their travels—a palm reader, a street poet, and a belly dancer. Jesse and Celine spontaneously engage with each of them and their art.

Additionally, the film questions the unpredictable nature of fate versus happenchance. Were Celine and Jesse destined to meet like star-crossed lovers, or was this just a random event that won’t mean much in the scope of their lives? (You’ll need to conveniently forget about the sequels for this query to be fully explored.)

Discovering yourself through the eyes of another person is a further takeaway. Remember Jesse’s telling rumination: “(So many people) are sick to death of being around themselves…So of course I'm sick of myself. But being with you, uh, it's made me feel like I'm somebody else.”

Celine and Jesse explore another fundamental problem: relationship rigor mortis. The pair discuss how, as couples age together, they can lose the ability to hear each other. But Celine and Jesse attempt to avoid this inevitable problem by spending only one night together.

Rewatching Before Sunrise, one particular message becomes all the more evident: the power of playacting. Per Dennis Lim in his Criterion Collection essay: “Jesse and Celine move past initial awkwardness by implicitly acknowledging the role-playing aspect of their impromptu date. He initiates a question-and-answer game, in which they take turns quizzing each other about sex and love. The verbal seduction drifts into strategic thought experiments—What would happen on an island with ninety-nine men and one woman? With ninety-nine women and one man?—that allow the opinionated twosome to get a fix on their respective worldviews. Late into the night, with time running out, they again use the indirection of play as disinhibitor and armor.”

Lim is referencing the famous role-playing scene toward the end of the movie involving imaginary phone calls. It’s enthralling how Jesse has to stay in character as Celine’s pretend friend while Celine speaks positive and negative words about him. It’s a clever way for both to reveal things about each other without discussing them directly, and it could be the best scene in the entire film.

In another scene, Jesse says: “I always think that I’m still this 13-year-old boy that doesn’t really know how to be an adult, pretending to live my life, taking notes for when I’ll really have to do it.” And revealing how engrossed with finality and death our female protagonist is, Celine remarks: “I always have this strange feeling that I am this very old woman laying down about to die. You know, that my life is just her memories, or something.”

Above all, this work examines the transformative power of genuine human intimacy, as evidenced by the film’s most memorable monologue, courtesy of Celine: “I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt.” This suggests that divinity and meaning lie not within individuals but in the shared connections between them, emphasizing the intangible beauty of trying to understand and relate to others. It celebrates the effort to connect as inherently valuable, even if perfect understanding is unattainable.

Before Sunrise’s best bestowal to fans on its 30th birthday is its incredibly credible conversation and intellectually stimulating dialogue. The discourse between Celine and Jesse plays as realistic and authentic, as evidenced by its occasional stream-of-consciousness circuitousness, its focus on the mundane as well as the momentous, its mining of deeply philosophical matters, its lack of florid, overscripted language, and the absence of audience-friendly one-liners and groan-worthy catchphrases. Here’s a rare film romance that touches the head as well as the heart, a fresh-scented falling-in-love drama that avoids cheap mawkishness and predictable tropes.

But it’s often what’s not spoken aloud that further cement this as a masterwork. It boasts possibly the best “falling-in-love” moment in cinema history via the wordless sequence in the record shop, when, fascinatingly, as they listen to a Kath Bloom folk song, each character keeps stealing quick glances at the other with their eyes never meeting. And it later features one of the best kissing scenes ever in the movies: their first lip lock on the Ferris wheel. (A later osculation, when Jesse asks “Can I tell you a secret,” then quickly leans in and steals a smooch, is equally memorable.)

Before Sunrise is all the more amorously imbued because it’s set before the ubiquity of smartphones, which makes the uncertainty of their future rendezvous at the conclusion more gripping and heartfelt. What can be more romantic than, at the conclusion, not sharing their last names or contact information and simply promising to rendezvous in six months at the place they first met?

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The devil's in the details

Wednesday, January 22, 2025

It’s easy to forget how Jack Nicholson, now 87 years old, appearing publicly disheveled in recent photos and long retired from thespianism, took the cinema by storm in the 1970s: starting with his breakthrough performance in Easy Rider, the first of his five Academy Award acting nominations spanning six years, and culminating in an Oscar for One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest in 1976. In the middle of that spectacular run was his unforgettable portrayal as “Badass” Buddusky in Hal Ashby’s The Last Detail from 1973, a role the actor himself considered his best, rumor has it.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of The Last Detail, conducted last week, click here.


Buttressed by a stellar screenplay by Robert Towne boasting credible dialogue (The Last Detail was envelope-pushing for this era in its consistent use of profanity, with more use of the “F” word, spoken 65 times, than in any previous movie), based on Darryl Ponicsan's novel of the same name, the movie co-stars Randy Quaid as young sailor Larry Meadows and Otis Young as Richard "Mule" Mulhall. The yarn follows two U.S. Navy petty officers (Buddusky and Mulhall) assigned to escort Meadows to a naval prison after he is sentenced to eight years for attempting to steal $40 from a charity collection box. During their journey, the officers form a bond with the shy and naive Meadows, deciding to show him a good time before the hammer falls. The story blends humor and camaraderie with poignant reflections on authority, freedom, and the injustices of life. It’s a film that neatly fits into several different genres, including the road movie, the buddy picture, the dramedy, the iconoclastic anti-hero film, and the broader social commentary/criticism movie.

Consider what usually happens to characters by the end of a road movie. They typically undergo an internal transformation or develop toward a better or improved life during the journey and before reaching their destination. However, in The Last Detail, the main protagonists realize that reaching their destination is anticlimactic and soul-squelching, as it results in Meadows’ ultimate incarceration and Buddusky and Mulhall returning to their drab lives in the military.

In the Indicator/Powerhouse Blu-Ray edition of this film, essayist Michael Pattison wrote: “We really told that son of a bitch, though, didn’t we!’ Buddusky cries, a little too self-convinced, after he and Mulhall achieve a muted triumph over the lieutenant who registers Meadows at Portsmouth. As both men go their separate ways, however, Buddusky’s claim rings false: Mulhall’s promise that they’ll see each other again in Norfolk only underlines their final resignation. To be a lifer, here, is to advance from an already compromised position. Meaningful attachments to Meadows or not, these men are bound by the duties of self-preservation.”

Savvy filmic techniques emphasize the tonal pessimism prevalent in The Last Detail, including drab tones, washed-out colors, and an abundance of blacks and greys. A significant portion of the movie consists of scenes of watching, waiting, and standing around, evoking the sense that these characters’ lives are not progressing. Tight shots create a constricted, claustrophobic effect. The biting irony of using the military drum march in the opening credits and the Anchors Aweigh melody at the end of the film is also notable, as these are meant to be stirring pieces of music intended to reflect an honorable and proud military tradition; yet our three sailors certainly don’t represent that.

The Last Detail is ultimately a cogitation on the futility of rebellion against systems of authority. Buddusky embodies the anti-authoritarian attitude of the 1960s and 1970s, continuously challenging the limitations set by the Navy as well as societal expectations. His actions mirror a broader cultural dissatisfaction with rigid institutions and hierarchies. However, despite Buddusky and Mulhall’s attempts to offer Meadows moments of freedom and joy before his confinement, their efforts ultimately seem pointless, as the system they resist is too powerful and entrenched for any real change. Despite their indulgent distractions and attempts to literally and figuratively de-virginize Meadows, they and he cannot escape the realization that the boy’s fate is unavoidable, that his immutably vulnerable nature—the thing that endears the older men to him—will inevitably cause him to suffer all the more in a cruel world that chews up and spits out souls like Meadows.

Loss of personal freedom is both text and subtext here. The film examines how societal norms and institutional power diminish individual liberty. The characters are constrained by military rules and societal pressures, with Meadows’ imprisonment symbolizing a larger theme of both physical and emotional confinement. Ashby and his collaborators are reminding us that life itself can be a prison—a jail of our own making. By adhering to society’s rules, we keep ourselves spiritually caged. Being a prisoner of these societal conventions and institutional rules is isolating. By the end of the picture, all three characters are isolated, alienated figures. The oppressive nature of institutions is also evident: The military is portrayed as a cold, bureaucratic force that values rules over the well-being of individuals. This theme also critiques other societal systems that prioritize order and structure at the expense of personal dignity.

And yet, you could argue that the film suggests these restrictive rules and institutions are necessary to keep us in check from our basest instincts and to prevent us from becoming lawless, boundless Budduskys. Consider that the repressive institutions that Nicholson’s characters rebelled against in the 1970s may be corrupt, restrictive, or damaging, but they are necessary evils for society to function properly.

A fascinating psychological triangle emerges with this pairing. The three main characters can be seen as complementing and contrasting each other in psychological ways, particularly when explored through Freudian terms. They may represent the id, the ego, and the superego, with Meadows caught between the base instincts and impulsive nature of Buddusky (the id) and the moral conscience and sense of responsibility embodied by Mulhall (the superego).

Revisiting The Last Detail, there’s an inescapable sense that time is quickly running out. Recall how Meadows must decide swiftly who to choose at the brothel. When he believes he’s falling in love with his prostitute, the camera lingers on Meadows, as if urging him to speak up quickly before the moment slips away. And consider how the gathering darkness approaches rapidly in the penultimate scene in the snowy park. When Meadows attempts to escape, the audience holds its breath, wondering if Buddusky will load his gun in time.

Similar works

  • On the Town (1949), also about three sailors on a brief shore leave who are determined to make the most of their time in the big city.
  • Slaughterhouse-Five (1972), an adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut's novel that critiques war and authority, blending dark humor with existential themes.
  • One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975), which shares an anti-authoritarian vibe and a charismatic central performance by Jack Nicholson, similar to The Last Detail.
  • Road movies by Alexander Payne, including Sideways (2004), Nebraska (2013), and The Holdovers (2023).

Other films by Hal Ashby

  • The Landlord (1970)
  • Harold and Maude (1971)
  • The Last Detail (1973)
  • Shampoo (1975)
  • Bound for Glory (1976)
  • Coming Home (1978)
  • Being There (1979)

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Cineversary podcast celebrates 30th birthday of Before Sunrise

Wednesday, January 15, 2025

Kim Krizan and Rob Stone
In Cineversary podcast episode #78, host ⁠Erik Martin⁠ celebrates the 30th anniversary of one of the greatest romance films of the last three decades, Before Sunrise, directed by Richard Linklater. Joining him in this installment is the film’s Oscar-nominated co-screenwriter Kim Krizan, author of Original Sins: Trade Secrets of the Femme Fatale; and filmmaker Rob Stone, a professor of film and television studies at the University of Birmingham in the UK and author of The Cinema of Richard Linklater: Walk, Don't Run. Together, they examine why Before Sunrise still matters, the many movies it influenced, its major themes, and much more.

To listen to this episode, click here or click the "play" button on the embedded streaming player below. Or, you can stream, download, or subscribe to Cineversary wherever you get your podcasts, including Apple Podcasts and Spotify.

Learn more about the Cineversary podcast at www.cineversary.com and email show comments or suggestions to cineversarypodcast@gmail.com.

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