Only now does it occur to me... GLORY DAZE (1995)

Only now does it occur to me...  GLORY DAZE––who knew?  What I assumed was a Ben Affleck comedy in the vein of ENCINO MAN or BIO-DOME ended up being a quite thoughtful piece about the transition from college life to adulthood; it's a little more Baumbach's KICKING AND SCREAMING than ONE CRAZY SUMMER. Even more fascinating, this came from the mind of Rich Wilkes, the writer who most notably gave us AIRHEADS and xXx.


The story of a group of friends at a crossroads (Ben Affleck, Sam Rockwell, French Stewart, Vien Hong, and Vinnie DeRamus), GLORY DAZE may be cursed with an awful title, but it features many genuinely dramatic moments and a pervasive visual metaphor for post-college stasis: that of an errant dart tossed into a wall clock, obstructing the second hand, which ticks away uselessly. It's rather Gen-X and post-REALITY BITES in sensibility, but it always feels active and alive; its message is universal.

I also would go as far as to say that GLORY DAZE is second only to DAZED AND CONFUSED in terms of containing a Ben Affleck performance that does not actively annoy.

And with that haircut and goatee, that's saying a lot.

There are a lot of great bit parts, including Matthew McConaughey as "Rental Truck Guy," a crazed townie who may or may not be "Wooderson" from DAZED AND CONFUSED:

Right on, right on, right on...

Famed raconteur Spalding Gray (!) has a nice, nuanced bit as Affleck's dickish father:

RIP, Spalding––when the man was "on," he was on.

B-movie and Warhol legend Mary Woronov as the mother of Sam Rockwell's girlfriend during an awkward meet-and-greet at a graduation party:

I'm going to assume that her (unseen) husband is played by Paul Bartel.

John Rhys-Davies as a pompous professor (with a great deal of pathos) whose mentorship of French Stewart becomes a sympathetic look at how academia may not be for everyone:

Interesting to see Sallah caught up in the ivory tower––maybe Indiana Jones is rubbing off on him!

"Chenny" herself, Alyssa Milano, as a coed who doesn't really figure into the larger story; I think they just wanted a woman's face on the poster to disguise that this film is a full-on bro-fest (which is its only major weakness):

I could have done with a "Chenny goes to college" subplot where Schwarzenegger plays her overprotective father.

Cameos by Brendan Fraser and Leah Remini as a bus-riding couple who draw the ire of a depressed Ben (Sad)-fleck:

Maybe this movie has a little bit in common with ENCINO MAN.

And, finally, Matt Damon in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it appearance as a dimwitted bro named "Pudwhacker":

Is this the impetus for the mentally disabled Matt Damon joke in TEAM AMERICA?

In the end, I was pleasantly surprised by this one; and in closing I'll recommend two additional "college comedies" that carry more resonance and sincerity than the genre usually affords: Andrew Fleming's THREESOME, which is 90s to the max, but a brilliantly executed character drama; and Richard Linklater's EVERYBODY WANTS SOME!!, which was buried earlier this year as a lesser-stoner comedy, but is in fact an extraordinary, meaningful slice of life in the vein of BOYHOOD or DAZED AND CONFUSED.

Film Review: HEIST (2001, David Mamet)

Stars: 4 of 5. Running Time: 109 minutes. Notable Cast or Crew: Gene Hackman, Danny DeVito, Rebecca Pidgeon (THE SPANISH PRISONER, STATE & MAIN), Sam Rockwell (MOON, THE GREEN MILE), Delroy Lindo (CROOKLYN, BROKEN ARROW), Ricky Jay (HOUSE OF GAMES, MAGNOLIA, DEADWOOD), Patti LuPone (Broadway star, WITNESS, DRIVING MISS DAISY). Written and directed by David Mamet (HOUSE OF GAMES, HOMICIDE, THE SPANISH PRISONER). Tag-line: " It isn't love that makes the world go round." Best one-liner: "My motherfucker is so cool, when he goes to bed, sheep count him." or maybe "Never liked the Swiss, they make them little clocks, these two cocksuckers come out of 'em with these little hammers, hit each other on the head. What kind of sick mentality is that?" I thought I'd take a break from the countdown to make a few concise, mathematical observations about David Mamet's film, HEIST. I saw this film on the big screen upon its initial release, which, hard as it may be for me to comprehend, was in fact ten years ago. It's a taut little crime flick, populated with razor-sharp performers and rapid-fire dialogue. It's probably slightly more "fun," than the average Mamet flick as well (I mean, compared to, say, HOMICIDE or OLEANNA...). Ricky Jay gets a lot of deadpan one-liners,


In the Junta Juleil rulebook, Ricky Jay is one of the few people permitted to walk nonchalantly away from an explosion without drawing my ire.

Rebecca Pidgeon dons a lot of redunkulous and flannel-heavy disguises, Gene Hackman punctuates a lot of verbal exchanges with that 'mischievous old man laugh' he's been refining since the beginning of his career,



Delroy Lindo cultivates the idea that he has ice-water in his veins, Danny DeVito hoots and hollers like a mad ape (and punches the 'Pidge in the process– wait a minute, I like that!... I shall therefore refer to Rebecca Pidgeon as "The Pidge" from this day forward),


The Pidge smolders.

and Patti LuPone sneaks booze into her morning coffee. In short, it has a lot of character and is a damn good time. Yet I make those notations having recently re-watched it. With the thousands of movies I'd digested between 2001-2011, until last night I could remember almost nothing about HEIST. I remembered the cast, and that there were double crosses and thieves and fast-paced witticisms, but largely I remembered that most of the film seemed to center around three ideas, or rather, three words: "fuck," "job," and "gold."
The reconstruction of the film in my head went something like this: "Fuck the gold job." –"Fuck the job!? Fuck the gold!" "Gold job fuck!" –"Job fuck gold!" "Gold fuck job!" –"Fuck gold fuck job, gold fuck!" And so on and so on.

FUCKING GOLD JOB FUCK!

So, upon revisiting HEIST, I decided to test these recollections against cold, hard statistics. (Now, as I continue, I would like to say that only Mamet and others of his literary caliber are allowed to get away with this sort of thing; there's a mighty fine line sometimes betwixt poetry and juvenilia.) I discovered this: in 109 minutes, there were thirty-two golds, fifty fucks, and fifty-one jobs. You may be disappointed in the tally, as it certainly doesn't approach the legendary films which go bananas with the f-word, for instance, but there's still more than one of those three words being uttered every minute, an even more impressive feat considering that there are many wordless, multi-minute heist sequences peppered throughout the film. But, in a way, my previous impression goes far in establishing the economy with which Mamet tells a story (and perhaps even Mamet's greater intentions). You see– this is indeed a movie about a job, some gold, and some people fucking each other over. Well-executed as it is, perhaps Mamet is making a comment on heist movies: as Godard said, all you need to make a movie is a girl and a gun; perhaps it follows that all you need to make a post-1990's heist movie is a job, some gold, and some f-bombs? And the Pidge. Mustn't forget the Pidge. Four stars.

-Sean Gill