"Get your bugaloos out, baby! The Wolfman is everywhere."
The Story:
It’s another summer night back in ‘62, and the streets of Modesta, California are bustling with teenage idleness. However, this isn’t just any ordinary night--it's the end of the summer, and many of our protagonists find themselves at a crossroads. Lifelong friends Curt (Richard Dreyfuss) and Steve (Ron Howard) have pledged to go off to college together, while Terry “Toad” Fields (Charles Martin Smith) still has one more year of school to go. Then there’s town legend John Milner (Paul Le Mat), who still hangs around town in his hot rod, despite having graduated a few years back. Some are trying to move on, while some are desperately holding on…either way, they’re about to have one of the most unforgettable nights of their lives.
The Review:
I’m not prone to hyperbole, but there’s little doubt that American Graffiti is the most important teen film of all time. It culminated all that came before it, then set the blueprint for just about everything that would follow; this website likely wouldn’t exist without it. You would be hard-pressed to find an American film that more deftly mixes wistful nostalgia and poignancy with low-brow, teen comedy hijinx. Its merits have been dissected and its influence traced for nearly forty years; one could almost immediately see its reach, as it introduced the tropes and stereotypes that would populate teen comedies. Its ensemble approach and narrative structure were borrowed by the likes of Fast Times at Ridgemont High and Dazed and Confused (which essentially took Lucas‘s film and dressed it in 70s clothes). Its longing look back at an age gone by surely had to influence Porky’s and even the Lemon Popsicle series, which perhaps proves that American Graffiti’s teenage experience crosses cultural borders.
But you probably already know all of that; you’re probably aware of what makes it one of the great films of all time, period: its impressive cast of characters is impeccably acted, its intelligent script is full of witty banter and dialogue, and Lucas’s direction is masterfully understated, propelled by his actors and a constant energy. That energy is the result of the incisive editing from veterans Verna Fields and Marcia Lucas; the film’s narrative sprawls in untraditional fashion--we rove from one scene to the next as our characters disperse and work through their various exploits (which range from chasing broads to drag racing). The transitions are effortless, and the film is anchored by its soundtrack, which is comprised of hits from the age.
The music is a sort of universal conduit that bring together the wide array of characters--the good guys, the good girls, the greasers, the bad girls, the rebels, the geeks, etc. Regardless of which side of the tracks they’re from, they all fall under the spell of Wolfman Jack, who is sort of like the high priest to a teenage congregation. It’s sort of appropriate that a howling man-child speaks the most direct truths to the teenage soul. In some ways, American Graffiti sort of resembles a record--it’s constantly moving, spinning around a central hub (Mel’s Drive-In, sort of the nexus of the film's universe). I guess the needle scratching out its tapestry of sounds is its authentic portrayal of life itself. A discussion of Lucas’s cinematic triumphs will begin with Star Wars, but it should certainly extend to American Graffiti’s lyrical ability to capture the pains of growing up.
This is what really makes American Graffiti work. Yes, the characters are exuberant and likeable, but it’s what they represent that speaks to us. I especially like that just about everyone finds themselves on some kind of precipice: Curt and Steve are about to ditch their hometown (maybe) and take their first step into a larger world; Milner is the rebel without a cause who refuses to take that step and instead hangs on one race at a time. You can already gather a sense of fading glory, especially when he’s rivaled by newcomer Bob Falfa (Harrison Ford). Toad is ostensibly a little brother figure who is about to take the reigns (and the keys to Steve’s car while he’s away)--it’s perhaps no coincidence that his night is the most carefree, as he spends much of it with an older blonde (Candy Clark) who introduces him to the world of booze and recklessness. Some of them want to grow up, while some refuse, especially Milner, who finds himself in the company of a loquacious 13-year-old teenybopper (Mackenzie Phillips). He feigns annoyance, but he keeps her around, no doubt because her vitality and youth are exactly what he’s clinging to.
Unfortunately, the film doesn’t waver on its insistence that “you can’t stay 17 forever.” There’s something particularly bittersweet about American Graffiti, particularly its eerily silent epilogue that reminds us that the howls of Wolfman Jack won’t always be there to drown out modern ills. Lucas’s ills were Vietnam and a crumbling Americana that he went at great length to reconstruct in his film; however, even this can be broken from its context, as the troubling reminders of Graffiti’s epilogue (tragedy, war, the milieu of old age) are just as universal as its teenage wasteland. And at the end of the day (literally), it asks one question we’ve all identified with at some point or another: “remember the good old days?”
Lucas remembered them with great perceptiveness--so much so that his film is still able to speak for generations that followed his own. The film’s promotional material asks “where were you in ’62?” I was still twenty years away from being born, but that doesn’t matter. Because I do remember where was 40 years later in the summer of ’02--I was growing up and certainly trying to hang on to those last summer days before I had to move on. There’s probably nothing more bittersweet than that time of the year, where you’re still carefree but very much cognizant of what’s on the horizon; maybe I wasn’t dragging main or aggravating cops like the kids in American Graffiti. However, I was sharing their anxieties and fears, particularly their creeping realization that we won’t always be able to rock around the clock. (Brett G.)Tale of the Tape:
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