Showing posts with label Burt Reynolds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Burt Reynolds. Show all posts

Friday, September 10, 2010

Film Friday: Deliverance (1972)

At first blush, Deliverance is just the story of four guys who go on a river rafting trip that goes horribly wrong. . . kind of the 1970s version of the modern hillbilly-cannibal slasher flick. But if you dig deeper, it’s actually a social commentary about the changing relationship between modern man and nature. It’s also the movie that solidified two ultra-negative stereotypes that have come to dominate how many Americans see each other today: hicks and elitists.

** spoiler alert **

Based on the 1970 novel Deliverance by James Dickey, the John Boorman directed film is the story of four Atlanta businessmen (Burt Reynolds, Ronny Cox, Ned Beatty and Jon Voight), who go rafting on the fictional Cahulawassee River in rural Georgia. The river is being dammed and will soon disappear, taking several communities with it. As they start down the river, they encounter a group of people who live in backwoods conditions. Toothless, dirty, and with little understanding of the world beyond 1930, these people become the enemy for the four men as they fight for their own survival.
Hillbillies v. Elitists
There has always been a tension between city folk and country folk. But until Deliverance, that tension wasn’t really as nasty as it’s become. Consider the portrayal of country folk in films like The Grapes of Wrath, Sergeant York or any number of films about the American South. Country folk were seen as simple, yet decent people, with a few bad apples in their midsts. At the same time, city folk were typically seen as bright, but impersonal and often yearning to return to the simpler life.

When told that his character "Toothless Bob" would need to rape another man, Herbert "Cowboy" Coward (with the shotgun) told the director: "I done worse."

Deliverance changed all of that when it create highly negative stereotypes for both groups. Instead of yearning to reconnect with the land, the four Atlanta businessmen are seen as condescending elitists who think they have the right to mistreat and ridicule the hillbillies. They see the hillbillies as a subspecies of humanity and are happy to let them know it. Thus, Reynolds goes so far as to insult these people to their faces, showing that he believes he can act with impunity to these inferior creatures. Beatty acts similarly, particularly pointing out their inbreeding, though he is more cowardly and thus talks about them only when he thinks he is protected by the group. Cox doesn't insult them intentionally, but he shows his condescension in the way he treats the hillbillies like children and is shocked when they demonstrate competence. Only Voight treats them as human beings. From this comes the stereotype that urbanites are cowardly and condescending types who see themselves as superior to ruralites and who feel they have the right to mistreat these people and impose their will on them. This has become a widely held stereotype in rural circles.

On the other hand, Dickey/Boorman’s hillbillies are dirty, inbred, toothless people who favor banjos, stills, shotguns and sodomy. This stereotype has easily overtaken the more noble view presented in the past. Indeed, the line “I'm gonna make you squeal like a pig. Weeeeeeee!” has become so infamous with urbanites that all you need to say is “squeal like a pig” and people who have never heard of this film know exactly what you mean.

Neither the hillbilly nor the urbanite stereotype is generally accurate, though there are people who fall into these categories (I’ve met both kinds). Nevertheless, these stereotypes have become so strongly ingrained in the American consciousness that people genuinely believe this is what they will find in the other, alien environment, i.e. small town or big city America. Indeed, the relationship between rural and urban America has probably never been worse than it is today, and these two stereotypes play prominently in explaining why that is. Deliverance is the movie that solidified these stereotypes.
Modern Man v. Nature
But there is more to Deliverance than sodomizing hillbillies. At its core, Deliverance is a movie about how these four distinct modern men handle their ordeal. And therein lies the social criticism and the real interest in the movie.

Three of the men represent distinct archetypes of the modern city-dwelling male. Burt Reynolds represents the throwback. He’s a man who worships sports, hunting and all things physical. He longs for the challenges presented by nature because they appeal to his primitive nature, and he disdains the modern world. He is aggressive, violent and acts without thinking. Ronny Cox is the polar opposite of Reynolds. He represents the modern intellectual. He can see all sides of every issue and is paralyzed by his inability to settle on a course of action. In the civilized world, he probably holds significant power, but his skills at handling theory count for nothing in the wild. Ned Beatty represents what happens when man loses touch with the physical world. He is fat and soft, weak and cowardly. His total surrender to modern convenience has made him helpless. Finally, Jon Voight, the fourth, represents the bridge between them. He is physically capable without being the beast that Reynolds is. He is smart, but in a real world sense rather than Cox’s theoretical sense. And he enjoys the creature comforts, though he has not become dependent upon them as Beatty has.

What they endure becomes a test of these archetypes, a test which all but Voight fail. Reynolds fails because his aggression brings on all of their problems. He alienates everyone they encounter, foreclosing any chance of getting help from the locals and fostering the suspicion that isolates the four. Moreover, his aggressive disdain for the weak Beatty makes teamwork impossible, leading to the two canoes splitting up, which makes them vulnerable to being attacked. Beatty collapses in a pool of his own helplessness and loses his manhood as the self-emasculated Beatty’s fate is to be sodomized by the hillbillies. Cox becomes paralyzed with indecision because he can’t pull his head out of the world of theory long enough to come to grips with the real world. His rather symbolic fate is to die when his head disappears beneath the water. Only Voight is capable of rising to the challenge.

And within this formula, Dickey lodges several criticisms. First, he argues that the throwbacks are the cause of our problems because of their mindless aggression. . . an argument made by elitists today. But he also argues that the intellectuals cannot help us because they can’t come to any conclusions on real world issues. . . an argument made by middle-Americans today. He also argues that modern humans have become so dependent on the comforts of the modern world that they would simply die if left in nature. . . an oft-repeated criticism that has become more and more valid as obesity rates rise and reliance on the internet takes off. And in the end, he tells us that the solution is to be as Jon Voight -- stay in touch with our physical natures but don’t let them dominate us, use our minds but don’t lose touch with the real world for some theoretical existence, and enjoy the comforts of the modern world but don’t become dependent on its conveniences.

These are themes that touch a nerve in modern America, where we are quickly losing touch with nature and what it takes to survive away from our modern conveniences. This is why the past forty years have seen concerns about the Alan Alda-ing of America, why ridiculous camps have appeared for males to “rediscover” their primitive side, and why such an animosity has arisen between city dwellers and country folks. We are living in a moment where our relationship to the natural world is changing significantly and it’s not clear yet how it’s all going to turn out.

[+] Read More...

Friday, August 7, 2009

Film Friday: Smokey And The Bandit (1977)

Smokey and the Bandit is an historical marker. It marks the birth of the New South and its reintroduction back into the United States. Indeed, this film introduced America to the new South. That may sound like a lot for a seemingly simple comedy, but it’s true.

** spoiler alert **
Plot
You all know the plot. Big Enos Burdett bets Bo “Bandit” Darville (Burt Reynolds) that he and his friend Cletus “Snowman” Snow (Jerry Reed) can’t drive from Atlanta to Texarkana, Texas and back in 28 hours. The catch: they need to bring back a truckload of Coors beer, which could not legally be brought east of the Mississippi at that time -- this was bootlegging. As they undertake this journey, with Reynolds driving the now famous 1977 black Pontiac Trans Am, Reynolds picks up hitchhiker Sally Field, who has run away from her own wedding, causing the father of the groom, Sheriff Buford T. Justice (Jackie Gleason), to chase them across state lines.
Southern History
Before we discuss the movie, let’s do a quick history lesson. Following the civil war and reconstruction the South remained an economic and social backwater for more than a hundred years. In the 1930s, the federal government created the Tennessee Valley Authority to kickstart the region, but little else made an impact. Indeed, until the 1980s, the South remained largely rural and agricultural.

In the 1950s/1960s, racial issues boiled over, leading to a series of famous legal disputes, protest marches, and massive federal intervention. Hollywood used these events in films to tar the South. From Sidney Poitier facing down racist cops In The Heat Of The Night (1967), to Paul Newman’s Cool Hand Luke (1967) exposing the plantation-like prison system of Louisiana, to Gregory Peck’s To Kill A Mockingbird (1962) highlighting racism in the southern legal system, Hollywood repeatedly painted the South as backwards, racist, and reactionary, and southerners as racist hillbillies. Even Burt Reynolds' prior movies painted unflattering pictures of the South, with The Longest Yard (1974) showing a corrupt and violent Florida prison and Deliverance (1972) giving us the immortal line with which many northerners continue to brand southerners: “squeal like a pig boy.”
Introducing The New South
Smokey and the Bandit changed all of that. Indeed, Bandit was the first major film to come out of Hollywood that showed modern southerners in a positive light. Southerners are shown to be friendly and multiracial. They have black sheriffs, truckers and store owners, and the good guys interact with them in a friendly and polite manner. There is no hint of the prior racial problems, except through Buford T. Justice, who is meant to lampoon the old image of the South, and who in fact, wonders aloud what happened to the South he knew. Women too are shown in the workforce, not sitting at home with servants. There is even an Asian trucker. You see southerners engaged in everyday life, doing the same things as everyone else in the country, e.g. attending youth football games. Not once do you see a toothless, hillbilly rapist.

One moment perfectly sums up the message of the film. As they stop for a rest, Sally Field, who plays a pleasant but condescending northerner, quizzes Reynolds about his knowledge of theater culture. He knows none of the names she mentions, which disappoints her -- her point: the South is not as sophisticated as the North. But Reynolds responds by asking Field if she knows various famous country music singers. She does not. He then states:
“When you tell somebody something, it depends on what part of the country you're standing in as to just how dumb you are.”
The message: the South doesn’t have to be the North to be just as good, and the North should stop looking down on the South.

Yet, if history hadn’t been changing to back up the film’s portrayal of the South, the film would have been forgotten as nonsense. And history was changing. Consider that less than a year before its release, the nation elected the first President from the deep South since Andrew Johnson assumed the Presidency with Lincoln’s assassination 112 years prior. And while Jimmy Carter ultimately would prove to be a disaster, the image of the new South was born. Gone was the rural land dotted with sharecroppers. In its place, southern states deregulated and courted foreign manufacturers and their economies were booming. FedEx opened in Memphis. Trucking companies sprang up across the region. Car makers followed. Atlanta became a megalopolis. The economic backwater of United States became an economic dynamo, and people flocked south.

In fact, only a few years later, Bob McDill would write “Song of the South”, later re-recorded by Alabama, with the lyrics: “gone, gone with the wind, ain’t nobody lookin’ back again” -- a reference to the South moving beyond the civil war culture that dominated the region for more than 100 years. Bandit marked and announced this change in perception and attitude. It is no coincidence that it took two southerners to make this film -- Reynolds was from Georgia/Florida and director Hal Needham from Tennessee.
The End of Rural America
Another interesting aspect of this film, is the divergence between the rural roads and the interstate shown in Bandit. Why is that? Because part of what gave regions like the South such mystery to outsiders was that they were generally impenetrable, except by rural routes that no sane outsider would traverse. But by the 1970s, the country was completing the National Interstate System, which opened up these regions to the rest of the country.

In many ways, Bandit was a swan song to the era when the country was divided into tiny fiefs, each acting as its own country, with its own set of rules and its own law enforcement/border control. This era ended with the interstate system. And places like the centers of small towns and hidden country roads and single car bridges, where the chase ended up whenever the Bandit ran out of interstate, would become things unknown to modern cross-country travelers, who rarely leave the interstate. Even the very idea that it would take 28 hours to get from Atlanta to Texarkana and back is laughable to modern audiences, as they can now make the trip on I-20 in record time. Moreover, Bandit gives us the last gasp for the days you when could outrun the cops. There were no spike strips, there were no helicopters, and few police had CBs. It was mano e mano on the roads. All that changed dramatically in the coming years, as communications gear made it possible for police departments to coordinate.
The Struggle Against The Glitterati
Bandit was originally released in New York City, the heart of the anti-South, by the same studio that opposed the use of a country music soundtrack. It flopped. The New York Times dismissed the film as "a movie for audiences capable of slavering all over a Pontiac Trans Am, 18-wheel tractor-trailer rigs, dismembered police cruisers and motorcycles.” You can almost hear the words “dirty hillbillies.” The LA Times was both dismissive and alarmist: “A few years from now, when the freeways are silent except for the gasping of the bicyclers, we will all gaze in misty-eyed nostalgia at an antique and improbable 1977 item called Smokey and the Bandit.”

But Needham fought back against the studio and demanded that it be released in the rest of the country. “I made this movie for the South, Midwest and Northwest. . . so why don’t we take the damn thing somewhere where it was made for.” He won his argument and the film was rolled out in those regions. By the end of the year, it was the second highest grossing film of the year, behind only Star Wars. To date, the film has grossed more than $126 million. After his success, Needham took out an ad in the trade papers quoting his negative reviews and showing a wheel barrel filled with money. Southern boy makes good.

[+] Read More...