Posts Tagged ‘Tim Robbins’

Soundtrack Saturday: “Bull Durham”

“I see great things in baseball. It’s our game — the American game. It will take our people out-of-doors, fill them with oxygen, give them a larger physical stoicism. Tend to relieve us from being a nervous, dyspeptic set. Repair these losses, and be a blessing to us.” —Walt Whitman

Bull Durham

With the All-Star Game right around the corner, I suggested to Kelly Stitzel that she feature Bull Durham for this week’s Soundtrack Saturday. I was shocked — shocked, I tell ya! — to find out she’s never seen writer-director Ron Shelton’s 1988 summer hit, one of the best sports movies of all time, if not the best movie about baseball. It’s also one of the finest romantic comedies of the past 25 years.

First-time director Shelton drew from his own experiences as a minor-league ball player for Bull Durham’s screenplay, and he was blessed with a stellar cast that brought his richly drawn characters to life. It’s a movie full of smart dialogue and character-based comedy that celebrates the lunacy, hijinks, and joy of America’s two favorite pastimes — baseball and sex.

Susan Sarandon, radiant as ever, flew on her own dime from Italy to audition and win the role of Annie Savoy, a part-time teacher in Durham, North Carolina. Annie dedicates each summer of her life to tutoring a player on the Durham Bulls, the local minor-league team, that she believes has the best potential to get a call up to the majors. However, Annie isn’t interested in improving the players’ reading and writing. And she isn’t a coach, although she knows as much about baseball as any manager. No, she’s more of a spiritual and sexual adviser: “You know how to make love, then you’ll know how to pitch.” She reads Walt Whitman to her lover-players and puts on Edith Piaf records in the hopes of making them well-rounded human beings and therefore better ball players. At the top of the film she chooses as her new student Ebby Calvin “Nuke” LaLoosh, the Bulls’ latest gifted pitcher, who has a million-dollar arm but a five-cent head on his shoulders.

The role of Nuke went to Tim Robbins in a career-breakthrough performance. Shelton had to fight to get Robbins cast in the part; up to that point he’d been in Howard the Duck, an infamous flop, and mostly blink-and-you-missed-him bit parts (raise your hand if you recall him in Top Gun). In addition to his lack of experience onscreen, executives at Orion Pictures felt that a woman as classy as Sarandon would never fall for a guy like Robbins. Luckily, Shelton prevailed, and the two actors not only worked wonderfully on the set but fell in love and remain a devoted couple to this day. Shows you how smart those movie execs can be.

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Jesus of Cool: No-Soundtrack Monday

The ubiquity of the soundtrack album has rarely flagged over the six decades since the introduction of the long-playing record. Kelly Stitzel’s treasure-trove column Soundtrack Saturday brilliantly documents the height of the music and film industries’ cross-marketing efforts during the ’80s and early ’90s; more recently, the trend toward music placement on the tube has resulted in every self-respecting television drama coughing up the occasional album of well-placed pop songs that punctuate climactic scenes or just provide background noise for the plot machinations of the Gossip Girl, the boys at the Bada Bing!, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

With soundtracks having long since proven their value both as keepsakes of, and more recently as advertisements for, films both cherished and forgotten, it’s surprising when a movie that prominently features music fails to produce an aural as well as a visual document. I was reminded of this last week during a brief bombardment of Jeff Goldblum appearances — first live (well, taped) and in person on The Colbert Report, comically taking President Obama to task for his callous extermination of one of Goldblum’s musca domestica brethren …

The Colbert Report Mon – Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Murder in the White House – Jeff Goldblum
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Stephen Colbert in Iraq

… and then as a non sequitur in Robert Cass’s hallucinatory introduction to Friday’s Bootleg City column. For my own media-addled brain, any Goldblum reference immediately brings to mind my favorite of his movies, the mostly forgotten but genuinely delightful trifle The Tall Guy, from 1989. It was the first film written by Richard Curtis, who was already a legend of British television for his authorship of the Blackadder series and Not the Nine O’Clock News, and who would go on to write a series of veddy British rom-coms with steadily diminishing returns, from Four Weddings and a Funeral (yay!) to Notting Hill (bleah) to Love, Actually (ugh!).

The Tall Guy stars Goldblum as an awkward American actor spinning his wheels as the West End straight man for a mean-spirited, wildly popular funnyman (Rowan Atkinson). Inspired by his quirky romance with a way-too-sensible nurse (Emma Thompson, in her first major film role), he abandons his meal ticket and takes the lead in a wacked-out musical based on The Elephant Man.

The film is blissfully free of trademark Curtis dialogue clunkers like “Is it still raining? I hadn’t noticed” and “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.” Instead, its centerpiece — apart from perhaps the silliest sex scene in modern film history — is a montage of highlights from the aforementioned musical within the film, Elephant! Here’s a snippet of the opening number:

And here’s the closing number:

In between, the musical’s Andrew Lloyd Webber parody features a wrenching ballad titled “Looks Like He’ll Be Packing His Trunk.” It’s all brilliantly rendered, knee-slapping stuff, which makes it all the more peculiar that The Tall Guy never spawned a soundtrack album. It’s really too bad, especially considering that the film gave new life to Madness’s early-’80s rendition of “It Must Be Love.”

Most likely, no soundtrack was released for The Tall Guy because the film never made much of an impact at the U.S. box office (it debuted here almost 18 months after opening in the UK). Such wasn’t exactly the case with another film whose songs never saw release, Tim Robbins’s political satire Bob Roberts. Released in 1992, but based on a character Robbins had created for a Saturday Night Live short in ‘86, the film portrayed a right-wing folksinger-millionaire’s quest for a U.S. Senate seat representing Pennsylvania. Roberts’s fictional campaign rally/concerts feature a style of politicking and attract an assortment of angry white supporters that eerily presaged the real-life Republican National Convention of ’92 — the film opened just a few weeks afterward — and the congressional campaigns of two years later.

Robbins famously refused to release a soundtrack for Bob Roberts, worried that actual right-wing politicians or activists might use his satirical songs for their own purposes. I always thought this reasoning was ridiculously flawed, for a couple of reasons: First, what was to stop any listener who chose to do so from transcribing and then replicating Robbins’s performances, with or without a CD from which to copy them? And second, even if he had released a soundtrack album, his liberal politics were well enough known that Republicans were hardly likely to try to exploit his performances.

Besides, who couldn’t have foretold in 1992 that someday every American would be able to watch this on his computer with the click of a button?

Or this?

And somebody must have given permission for postpunk band the Vandals to record “Complain” for their 1999 album The Vandals Play Really Bad Original Country Tunes….

Going off on a bit of a tangent, I’d like to finish this column by whining about a film from the same time period that was accompanied by a soundtrack — one that’s still available, albeit used — yet has never been released on DVD in this country: the British comic romance Hear My Song, from 1991. The directing debut of Peter Chelsom (whose most recent credit is another musical comedy — The Hannah Montana Movie), Hear My Song is the tale of a Liverpool nightclub impresario (Adrian Dunbar) who’s kept himself afloat by conning customers into paying to hear impersonators like Franc Cinatra, but who makes a last-ditch effort to save his club and impress his girl (Tara Fitzgerald) by talking the great Irish tenor Josef Locke (Ned Beatty) out of his self-imposed tax exile for one more gig.

The film is based on the true story of Locke, who fled England for Ireland in the late ’50s at the height of his career to escape the taxman. Beatty doesn’t appear until halfway through the film, but he leaves an indelible impression as a schlumpy guy who’s a ladykiller nonetheless because of the dulcet tones that emerge from his purty mouth. His voice comes as a revelation the first time we hear it …

… and triumphs through the seeming adversity of the film’s climax:

Word on the street is that Hear My Song will finally receive a DVD release – in the UK — late next month. Can a U.S. release be far behind? And if not, then why the hell not?

Josef Locke – Hear My Song, Violetta
Josef Locke – I’ll Take You Home Again Kathleen

Popdose Flashback: Michael Bolton, “Soul Provider”

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In Bull Durham, Kevin Costner’s character Crash Davis chides Nuke LaLoosh (Tim Robbins) for his laziness and lack of focus on the game of baseball. “You got a gift,” he says. “When you were a baby, the gods reached down and turned your right arm into a thunderbolt. You got a Hall-of-Fame arm, but you’re pissing it away.”

Likewise, when Michael Bolotin (later, Bolton) was born, the gods reached down and gave him lungs of reech Coreenthian leather—a multi-octave range, filtered through a gruff, almost sandpaper-like delivery. But saying Bolton can sing is like saying George Bush can speak English: big deal, what’s he done with it? The issue is context. His early solo work in the 70s was crap—miscast as a Joe Cocker wannabe, he tried his hand crooning stuff like “These Eyes” and “Time is on My Side,” with no particular distinction. His two-album stint as the lead singer of Blackjack was similarly underwhelming—muddy production and faceless instrumentation (by Bruce Kulick, Sandy Gennaro, and Jimmy Haslip, all of whom would go on to more distinctive work elsewhere) left the listener feeling damaged in some significant way.

No, it was shortly after Blackjack, 1983 and ‘84 to be exact, when Bolton found a niche that worked—that of the arena rock god. On both his self-titled ‘83 album and Everybody’s Crazy, which followed the next year, he was backed by flashy, hairsprayed sidemen, who provided the echoed drums and WEE-diddly-diddly gee-tar that helped put Bolton on the road, opening for Ozzy, Loverboy, and their corporate rawk brethren. In arena rock, he found a musical backdrop where his tendency toward histrionics fit, where it was even encouraged. Had he stayed with that style, who knows what might have become of him? He could be co-headlining with Poison this summer, or releasing a Journey-like comeback record through Wal-Mart. (more…)

DVD Review: “Howard the Duck”

The question is not whether Howard The Duck has aged well, nor is it whether the movie was ahead of its time and is only now finding an appropriate audience. It isn’t even if the film is better than you remembered. Clearly it is not. This is still the movie that was too Eighties for even the 1980s, relentlessly silly, and cursed at the heart of it with the surefire box office dynamite that is a bestial romance.

Now that we have that all out of the way, is Howard The Duck a good ‘bad’ movie, the kind of cinematic junk that has a degree of charm because of just how junky it really is? Actually, no. Time has not been a friend to this movie — but not in the way you’d think. Back in its time, the movie was slightly shocking, but mostly a loud, somewhat obnoxious blowback of comic book aspirations paired with the ridiculous tropes of the times. Instead of just being a bombshell, as she was in Steve Gerber’s comics, Beverley Switzler is now a wannabe rockstar. Portrayed by Lea Thompson, fresh from her Oedipally complicated role in Back to the Future and her career-defining role in… uh… Space Camp, Beverley is a bit perkier and spunkier than her four-color role’s sake. Too perky, in fact, which makes it even creepier that this attractive waif of a girl wants to get it on with anthropomorphic water fowl.

And what of the duck? Despite what was touted as the best character costuming of the time, you never, ever, ever for the teensiest second buy into this thing being anything other than ILM mechanics shop 101. The choice of Chip Zien as the voice of Howard was equally misguided, as his shrill interpretation is neither funny nor charming. Just as shot-out is Tim Robbins in one of his first film roles, a fact he has been trying desperately to forget for the past couple decades.

It would be easy to blame George Lucas, the executive producer of the movie, for the mess it is. The blame instead has to go to the writer/producer/director team of Willard Huyck and Gloria Katz. Fresh from success with Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, they looked for something a little less disturbing than the Thuggee Cult to continue their streak, but that is the major problem with the movie. The comic book was very disturbing. By trying to split the difference between the freak fandom that formed around the comics and the youth audience that was supposed to catapult the flick into the Summer box office stratosphere, they sided with the worst of each and got nowhere. In this case, it would have been better to go big, or not to have gone at all.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: Dunphy, you’re shooting fish in a barrel. You knew this movie was a stinker, and not a Plan 9 From Outer Space stinker either. What did you gain from revisiting it? Did you think the two decades this sat in the cinematic cave, away from the digital revolution, would somehow age it into a fine cult classic? Yeah, I kind of did think that would be the case. I was wrong, and the reason why is because time hasn’t caught up with the film’s insanity, it’s made it all incredibly dull. Manic acting, big special effects, Jeffrey Jones as an alien-posessed evildoer, duck nipples, boring, boring, boring. It either is an indictment of how far, and how twisted our cinematic visions have become, or just confirmation of what we knew all along… This is a bad movie. This is a bad, bad movie.

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