I ended up catching a movie this weekend, a small movie that's so small, in fact, that even Google couldn't get decent perspectives of it. I remember Barry Levinson's Rain Man for one and one reason only - Dustin Hoffman's magnificent rendition of an autistic man. I admit, I haven't watched any other film of his but I did take a peek at Wag The Dog. Diner is a film he debuted with way back in '82, when most of the films made sense.
I'm the sort of guy who goes for a well-written film than a one which has more star-power. A talky film appeals to me more than a one with boggling special-effects, and Diner made my day, just made my day. Now, before I blather about how wonderful it really is, there is a really interesting story behind its discovery.
In 1982, Levinson, a novice but talented writer-director, presented his effort before the mighty MGM. But the studio felt that the film might be given a cold shoulder commercially, which is why it was stalled from being released into theaters. And they had a good reason for it - a small cast of mostly new faces, an audacious young director who makes his debut with a film that's without any special effects, plot or eye-catching gimmicks. Really, how many of them would go for such a thing? But here's the turnaround - film critic Pauline Kael, writing for The New Yorker, informed the studio that she had decided to give a glowing review to the movie whether they released it or not. It was then that the reluctant studio decided to release it, and the movie went on to gross a substantial profit, just shy of 15 million dollars. In a way, Kael brought Diner into existence.
Diner first caught my attention some time back when I was looking at the list of the Academy Award winners and nominees for Best Original Screenplay. A film that I had never even heard of, I swore to myself that I'll watch it one day. I get faintly irked when I come across a film that I haven't even heard of. Diner was one of those. When I dug deep to find out more about it, there wasn't much to read. It was a forgotten little gem already.
Most of the story takes place in Baltimore in 1959. A group of young lads, to whom the diner is a late-night hangout spot, a symbolic place to bury their problems, have to tackle about the many modifications adulthood brings. A semi-autobiographical film, Diner is actually about nothing at all. There's no plot, no drama and no zeal to achieve anything. It's about its characters, what they talk about, what they face and how they face it. Yet, it manages to be a very funny movie, so incredibly personal that it could well be the story of your life. How could they even think of fucking shelving a classic like this?
Levinson had been plucky and picky with the cast. Mickey Rourke, Kevin Bacon, Steve Guttenberg, Tim Daly, Daniel Stern, Paul Reiser and Ellen Barkin compile a first-rate cast with a natural flair for extemporization. Levinson enthusiastically pursues a need for authentic dialogue, and succeeds admirably. But, you know, the weird thing is, what's funnier than the dialogue is how familiar the conversations are. The spasmodic little moments of humor come in the form of sexual pranks, grousing about marriages and which singer is better than the other. And, of course, football.
Now, I'm not a follower of American football, and Levinson is, unfortunately, which gives us a grave problem. Football forms an integral part of Diner but there's nothing to really worry about. Levinson does not delve much into it, and instead decides to focus on the character developments, but his love for the game is pretty discernible.
I'm the sort of guy who goes for a well-written film than a one which has more star-power. A talky film appeals to me more than a one with boggling special-effects, and Diner made my day, just made my day. Now, before I blather about how wonderful it really is, there is a really interesting story behind its discovery.
In 1982, Levinson, a novice but talented writer-director, presented his effort before the mighty MGM. But the studio felt that the film might be given a cold shoulder commercially, which is why it was stalled from being released into theaters. And they had a good reason for it - a small cast of mostly new faces, an audacious young director who makes his debut with a film that's without any special effects, plot or eye-catching gimmicks. Really, how many of them would go for such a thing? But here's the turnaround - film critic Pauline Kael, writing for The New Yorker, informed the studio that she had decided to give a glowing review to the movie whether they released it or not. It was then that the reluctant studio decided to release it, and the movie went on to gross a substantial profit, just shy of 15 million dollars. In a way, Kael brought Diner into existence.
Diner first caught my attention some time back when I was looking at the list of the Academy Award winners and nominees for Best Original Screenplay. A film that I had never even heard of, I swore to myself that I'll watch it one day. I get faintly irked when I come across a film that I haven't even heard of. Diner was one of those. When I dug deep to find out more about it, there wasn't much to read. It was a forgotten little gem already.
Most of the story takes place in Baltimore in 1959. A group of young lads, to whom the diner is a late-night hangout spot, a symbolic place to bury their problems, have to tackle about the many modifications adulthood brings. A semi-autobiographical film, Diner is actually about nothing at all. There's no plot, no drama and no zeal to achieve anything. It's about its characters, what they talk about, what they face and how they face it. Yet, it manages to be a very funny movie, so incredibly personal that it could well be the story of your life. How could they even think of fucking shelving a classic like this?
Levinson had been plucky and picky with the cast. Mickey Rourke, Kevin Bacon, Steve Guttenberg, Tim Daly, Daniel Stern, Paul Reiser and Ellen Barkin compile a first-rate cast with a natural flair for extemporization. Levinson enthusiastically pursues a need for authentic dialogue, and succeeds admirably. But, you know, the weird thing is, what's funnier than the dialogue is how familiar the conversations are. The spasmodic little moments of humor come in the form of sexual pranks, grousing about marriages and which singer is better than the other. And, of course, football.
Now, I'm not a follower of American football, and Levinson is, unfortunately, which gives us a grave problem. Football forms an integral part of Diner but there's nothing to really worry about. Levinson does not delve much into it, and instead decides to focus on the character developments, but his love for the game is pretty discernible.
"Do you ever get the feeling that there's something going on that we don't know about?"
Appalling is what it is. A line that deserves accolades is done and dusted with. I find it distressing that a line that's as shrewd as that, in a film that's shrewd too, is now unrecognized. A line worth quoting a million times. A line that acutely describes adolescence, what our whole life's been revolving around. In the film, when a bemused Bacon quoted it to an equally bemused Rourke, who suspects a girl of lying about her name, it was used as a humor tool. But it spoke to me in a way that's far from funny.
Diner is a cinematic gem that deserves its overdue appreciation three decades later. It's a strikingly honest portrayal of relationships and friendships when life gets serious about you.
A coruscating experience, no less.
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