Philip Seymour Hoffman Fest: Boogie Nights

1997 masterpiece

Rating: 20/20

Plot: A former rapper starts a career as a porn star and becomes a sensation in the industry as the 1970s transform into the 1980s.

God damn, what a movie. And that's really what it's about--the anything-goes 70s turning into a decade of fear and doubt and darkness thanks to Ronald Reagan, AIDS, and hair bands. I'm going to write about this movie like you've seen it because you have. Chances are, you've seen it multiple times because the re-watchability of this thing is really good. You'll watch it six times, provided you're a warm-blooded male, just to see Roller Girl again and again and again. But there's a crescendo this builds to, William H. Macy's Little Bill's demise with one of my favorite on-screen grins every, that is the turning point you expect from the beginning. And bam, it's the 1980s, and not even Roller Girl's gold pants can save us. Suddenly, erections are depressing again. No, none of these characters get AIDS and die, and Ronald Reagan isn't even mentioned, but you know it's all there because we're living in the future. You know that Dan Rather and Tom Brokaw are going make the idea of boogie-ing into something terrifying, and eventually, Burt Reynolds and a few other characters in Boogie Nights, the Internet will be invented, unleashing a seemingly endless supply of cat pictures and pornography and--in rare and glorious cases--cat pornography that will make you extraneous.

I think my favorite thing about this--and the reason that people will be studying it in 50 years--is the almost complete lack of specific references to people and events during the time period. There's a bit of Fresca product placement and the spectacular soundtrack. You get Jethro Tull, Three Dog Night, KC and the Sunshine Band, Marvin Gaye, Juice Newton, Rick Springfield, Night Ranger, the fucking Beach Boys, the Electric Light Orchestra. It's wall-to-wall killer music that perfectly captures the age.

My 4 1/2 readers know I'm a sucker for long shots, and this starts with a great one after a black-screen prelude. The camera floats like it thinks it's in Enter the Void, swooping into the night club and eventually getting to Marky Mark, a guy who doesn't like to be called Marky Mark anymore. That unbroken shot is amazing, and so much has to go right to make that happen. Roller skating, dancing, John C. Reilly's curls. You know you're in for something special right away. And that's before you find out that there's a character named Jack Horner. That sounds sleazy enough. This movie actually oozes sleaze.

Anyway, some random notes because I can't think of any way to make this coherent:

Would you want to shake a guy's hand after he's claimed to jack off for money? I don't think I would.

Quick drug shots, snorting rather than injecting--pre-Requiem which makes me wonder if that movie's even more overrated than I thought. Wait, never mind. Forgot about "ass to ass" again.

I love the details in Mark Mark's room. It's a shame about a couple of those posters.

I'd probably buy a stereo from Don Cheadle, but only if he was wearing that shirt. He'd have me at "It curls your stomach. It makes you want to freaky deaky." Seriously, any product that makes me want to freaky deaky is worth the purchase.

Was Jack Horner a role written specifically for Burt Reynolds? I can't imagine anybody else playing that part. He gets the best writing of his career to play with here: "Juices flowing in the torpedo area, in the fun zone." "When they spurt out that joy juice, they just have to sit in it to find out how the story ends." "Aim it at her tits, Eddie." "Don't just ram it in there like that. This is not a hole in the wall, pal. It's Rollergirl."

But it's "This is the film I want them to remember me by" that hits the hardest.

Camera moves unorthodox in some of these scenes, like in the "Aim it at her tits" scene. Love the camera movements. Man, this Paul Thomas Anderson can direct.

"I don't take my skates off." A zoom to Burt's face. That's perfection, right there. Absolute perfection.

I like the Altman-esque ensemble cast with some dialogue that almost-but-not-quite overlaps in more long takes, the camera drifting from character to character at a party by Horner's pool. More incredible shots. You just drift around through these incredibly entertaining characters, picking up tidbits about their personalities but not enough to get in the way. It's like you're at that party.

Poor Little Bill. William H. Macy plays loser so well. Of course, the mullet helps. "My fucking wife has an ass in her cock in the driveway!" I can't type that without laughing. I'm not sure if that line was written that way, a mistake by Macy that was left in, or something developed in improvisation, but it's one of the best collection of words ever strung together. Shakespeare never wrote anything that good.

"I don't take my skates off." Seriously, everybody should get a chance to roll, proverbially, with a gal like Roller Girl at least once in his life. Heather Graham's got sexy wheels.

Great entrance by Philip Seymour Hoffman. I think they gave him CGI freckles, but I can't prove it.

Reilly's sugar tree and bees poem makes me wonder why this is considered only a "drama" and not a "comedy drama" with the comedy coming first. I think this movie is hilarious. Well, until the murder-suicide. It gets a little dark at that point.

Dirk Diggler power! Wide-eyed! I really like Wahlberg in this movie, enough to use his real name at least once. The character's a great mix of naivete, ambition, cockiness (pun intended), and immaturity. And phallus.

Speaking of the phallus, Anderson's choice to not show us the member until the very end of the movie is brilliant even if it seems like an obvious move. I love watching the other characters--the crew and everybody else who gets a gander at the schwang--reaching to seeing it. Then, "I could do it again if you need a close-up" followed by visual humor so obvious that you can't help but appreciate it with a champagne bottle.

Matching shirts! And a dance scene that will make you believe in the God of Disco.

Burt Reynolds' laugh is the only laugh that I would consider iconic. No, wait. Let me take that back. We'll add Vincent Price. I want to make a three-hour loop of Burt Reynolds and Vincent Price laughing together. Call it "The History of Film" and show it at an art museum.

Add portraits of Dirk Diggler to the movie art that I'd like to have hanging in my house right next to the titular picture of Dorian Gray in that movie and a bunch of other crap. This seems like a cheap way to get a "titular" in this blog post, by the way, but it doesn't matter because nobody has read this far.

Reilly with nun-chucks and the line "Let's go get some of that Saturday night beaver." If you're reading, John C. Reilly, I have bad news for you. You can continue this career of yours if you want because you're probably making some money. But you will never ever top that right there. That's your pinnacle, and you hit it pretty early and you hit it pretty hard.

Philip Baker Hall is cool, and Floyd Gondolli's entrance is a great one, all deep bags under the eyes and a powder blue suit. "I like the simple things like butter in my ass and a lollipop in my mouth." I don't even know what that means, but I don't care because it's the kind of thing you want to find every opportunity to say.

Suddenly, Buck Swope's turned into Rick James. And this dialogue happens: "You sitting alone? "Yes." For whatever reason, that was hilarious.

Todd Parker--another ridiculously cool entrance. I think Thomas Jane should be in more movies.

Hoffman, as expected, shines in this movie. He stands out in a movie with this many insanely good performances. Showing off his car, that lunge at Marky Mark, crying "I'm a fucking idiot" ever and over again. Hoffman crying again, always some of the saddest things on film. Later, he attacks a wedding cake in a way that only Philip Seymour Hoffman can. And I don't know if it's because this is my Philip Seymour Hoffman Fest or if he's just this good, but even in backgrounds of scenes, you want to watch what he's doing. Check him out during Dirk's "Mickey Mouse bullshit" the next time you watch this.

Hey, my grandmother had some of those sailor faces on the wall surrounding an anchor during a scene where they do crystal meth. 1983 sounds about right. Maybe I love this movie so much for nostalgic reasons. It forces me to recall when I did crystal meth with my grandmother back when I was a ten year old.

Reilly and Marky Mark have good rapport. Reilly's dance moves while his pal is cutting his demo are incredible. Wahlberg's also really good there as he acts like he can't carry a tune. I don't really remember his music career. Maybe he couldn't carry a tune?

"That's not an M.P. That's a Y.P." There's something else I need to incorporate into my everyday dialogue.

There's juxtaposed violence, ominous with ominous bells, and then a trio of cars. The direction there is amazing! Then, a botched robbery, and I'm not even entirely sure what happened to all the characters. But my main question: Who sits and reads a hunting magazine in a doughnut shop that late at night?

Alfred Molina's character? He's not hamming it up at all! What a ridiculous sequence that was though--Cosmo with his firecrackers, the line "He's Chinese," the cassette labeled "My awesome mix tape #6" which made me laugh, and "It's coming down for puppies!" That's right--he says, "It's coming down for puppies!" I verified with subtitles and everything.

Did you know Sean Penn's brother is in this?

I'm telling you--the Beach Boys "God Only Knows" is perfect there. Of course, I might be of the opinion that the Beach Boys are always perfect anywhere they end up.

Another long shot follows Burt through his house, including a quick shot of a portrait of Little Bill. I want that one, too. I'd put that at the top of the stairs.

Is there a movie with a final shot or near final shot (or important shot?) taking place in front of a mirror that isn't good? Just wondering. You should probably know, by the way, that my penis is about that long, but only if you look at it in one of those funhouse mirrors. Full disclosure: I was once arrested while looking at my penis in a funhouse mirror.

The above "full disclosure" is not true at all. I have never been naked in a funhouse.

On through the end credits. I don't watch them sometimes, but I had this on. What's with the weird whispering at the end?

This is a modern classic like Lebowski and Pulp Fiction that just begs to be watched over and over again. The stars aligned perfectly for this one.