This week I didn’t finish reading that book I take a look at 1983’s The Big Chill, a movie I’ve sarcastically described as “Costner’s finest,” because his character is dead when the movie starts. It’s a sentiment that downplays my love of Bull Durham, Tin Cup and Silverado, but nonetheless has a bit of truth to it: 20+ years after I saw Dances With Wolves*, it’s starting to look like I’ll never forgive.
Why Found-Again? I’ve seen this movie many times: I’d love to tell you that it’s because even as a youngster I was interested in relationship dynamics, but no, it’s because I thought Jeff Goldblum was hot a good 7 years before most of the American public did. I do think it’s interesting that when I see him in interviews now, he seems to most strongly resemble his character in The Big Chill, though.
The Premise: Following the suicide of their troubled friend, a group of college pals spends a few days together wondering what the hell happened to him—and to them—in the years since graduation.
Then they all have sex, more or less.
There are still lots of reasons to like this movie other than Goldblum as the avatar of—well, of later, more universally beloved Goldblum: the soundtrack is amazing, it’s a really strong cast, and the Sam character’s TV-show opening credits are an excellent parody of the ’80s detective shows that haunt this Friday feature of mine. And I wasn’t kidding about the relationship dynamics: I remember having to watch this four or five times to really grasp who’d been feuding with whom, who’d hooked up with whom, and how it all led them to where they were as fully fledged adults.
The Verdict: Mixed. It’s definitely not a rewatch-till-you-drop movie, but watching it now I feel more sympathy for the characters and more admiration for the way the movie flows in general.
Might go well with: Cleaning up after dinner, wine, an identity crisis.
Here’s the trailer for the DVD edition I have:
And here’s one of the older ones, in case you thought I was exaggerating about the later Goldblum emphasis:
*The pathetic thing is that I didn’t even pay to see it: my friend and I sneaked into the theater when Warlock proved too intense for me, the Squeam Queen. The nicest thing I can say about Dances With Wolves is that no one gets their eyes ripped out by Julian Sands, but make no mistake, that is a nice thing.
Next time: Thank god someone in Highlander knows how to investigate—no, of course it’s not Moran. Also, how to catch a movie character up on the plot in 15 seconds (approx.).
