Film #88: The Buddy Holly Story

Some people out there may see Gary Busey as a punchline these days, after his reality show appearances and much-vaunted, helmetless motorcycle accident in the late 90s. I don't because, in 1978, he garnered a well-deserved Oscar nomination as Best Actor for the unlikely achievement of embodying early rock and roll's greatest poet, and ever since, I've always enjoyed seeing him in whatever he appears in, for however long. He's always a unique presence, never more so than in Steve Rash's The Buddy Holly Story, where he donned those famous horn-rimmed glasses to play the man from Lubbock, Texas who, in his tragically short career, fooled all the radio guys who thought he was black (can you imagine that??) into putting him on the "colored music" charts.

With hits like "That'll Be The Day," "Peggy Sue," "Oh Boy," "Rave On," "It's So Easy," "Well All Right," and "True Love Ways," Holly transformed this then-young music form into something altogether more heartfelt and foot-stompin'. Though the film is not anywhere near accurate (Holly's notoriously hot-tempered producer Norman Petty never makes an appearance), it's still an enrapturing tale that takes Holly and his band the Crickets (played by Don Stroud and American Graffiti's Charles Martin Smith) from snapping out tunes at a Texas roller-skating rink to being tourmates with the likes of Jerry Lee Lewis, Sam Cooke, The Big Bopper, Richie Valens, Eddie Cochran, and King Curtis. Just look at this dynamic scene where he and the Crickets break the race barrier at New York's Apollo Theater.
There's not much of a story here; Holly's career was too short for all the normal musical bio-pic ups-and-downs (which, as unfortunate as that is, makes for a radically different film than most in the genre). Even so, Busey's ebullient aw-shucks delivery, coupled with Rash's carefree directorial style (very good period detail here, despite an obviously low budget) and Robert Gittler's like-minded screenplay, make The Buddy Holly Story one of the most watchable musicals around. It should impress any viewer that Busey, a former drummer for Kris Kristofferson, Leon Russell, Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson, plays his own guitar and sings (Stroud and Martin played their own instruments as well). The score, adapted by Joe Renzetti, took home an Oscar in 1978, too. I don't have much else to say about this simple movie--just watch it, so you can be informed on just how Busey made it up to the big time in the first place. And remember to pay homage to Holly, while you're at it. Where would rock be without him?

Film #69: Streets of Fire

1984's schizophrenic sci-fi-tinged action musical from writer/director Walter Hill marked the beginning of the filmmaker's downward slide. Hill was once the heir to the Peckinpah throne, the action master of 80s classics like Southern Comfort, 48 HRS, and The Long Riders--and let's not forget his 70s classics like Alien (as producer and co-writer), The Warriors, Hickey and Boggs (as writer), and Hard Times. After the weird but rewarding Streets of Fire, he slid with Another 48 HRS and then plunged by ill-advisedly entering fully into the comedy genre with Brewster's Millions and Red Heat. He's since bounced back again with 1994's Wild Bill and his involvement in HBO's Deadwood. He's had an fascinating career. And Streets of Fire is undoubtedly most bizarre production (notwithstanding the outstandingly terrible Brewster's Millions with Richard Pryor and John Candy).

Diane Lane plays Ellen Aim, the sexy lead singer for the house band at Torchy's, where she is kidnapped off the stage by Raven Shaddock (a memorably high-cheekboned Willem Dafoe) and his motorcycle gang The Bombers. Michael Pare is Tom Cody, the bad-ass ex-boyfriend who comes to her rescue, hired by her meek new boyfriend Billy Fish (Rick Moranis). Amy Madigan scores high marks (in a part originally written for a guy) as McCoy, a female soldier-of-fortune who finds employment as Cody's sidekick. Rounding out the unusual cast are 80s starlet Deborah Van Valkenburgh, former Fear lead singer Lee Ving, pre-autuer Robert Townsend (Hollywood Shuffle), Elizabeth Daily (Pee-Wee's cute girlfriend in Pee-Wee's Big Adventure), Rick Rossovich, and now more-famous actors Mykelti Williamson, Lynne Thigpen, Bill Paxton and Ed Begley Jr.

Great cast, bombing around in a ridiculous movie that's so over-the-top, it's delicious. Streets of Fire belongs in that "everything and the sink" genre that The Adventures of Buckeroo Banzai, Repo Man, Zachariah, Ice Pirates, The Phantom of the Paradise, The Apple, Southland Tales and Big Trouble in Little China belong in--genre mashups that have limited appeal, but which are cult films from the word go (most of these movies, including Streets of Fire, were box office duds but home video hits). Streets of Fire, by virtue of its incredible production design (by John Vallone), cinematography (by Andrew Lazlo), and costumes (by Marilyn Vance), smacks of a setting that's not quite 50s, not quite 60s, and almost but not quite the 80s...but somewhere in that intradimensional sub-slice, knowwhutimean? It gives you that same sense of disorientation that Terry Gilliam's Brazil, Mystery Men, and Michael Radford's 1984 give you.

This "timeless" quality alone makes the film worth seeing. Add to its joys fine performances from a very scary Willem Dafoe, a doofy Rick Moranis and an ass-kicking Amy Madigan, PLUS a chart-topping song score including contributions from Walter Hill-mainstay Ry Cooder, Tom Petty, Duane Eddy, Link Wray, Bob Seger, Dan Hartman (who had a very-1980s top 20 hit with "I Can Dream About You"), and "Paradise By The Dashboard Light" writer Jim Steinman, who delivers the film's best song, a Springsteen-esque anthem "sung" by Diane Lane called "Nowhere Fast" that features the strange climactic call-out "Godspeed! Godspeed!!" Streets of Fire, with all this on its side, and everything against it, remains strange and unforgettable.