TUCKER: THE MAN AND HIS DREAM – francis ford coppola – 4.8 / 10

It’s somewhat pointless and borderline foolhardy to pyschoanalyze a director through his work. That being said, there have to be some conclusions about Francis Ford Coppola’s state of mind that can be drawn from his work in the 1980s. Tucker: The Man and His Dream is the last in a line of films that sees Coppola retreating into the golden hued remembered (rather than realistic) past to tell a story about families (actual or surrogate) realizing how good they have it and pulling together when the chips are down.

From The Outsiders (and Rumble Fish) to Peggy Sue Got Married, Gardens of Stone and Tucker, every single one of Coppola’s films in the eighties is set in the past. And as you watch each of these films you can’t help feeling that Coppola is retreating into some idealized version of his early life. Added to that, his greatest successes (The Godfather films) were set in the past so it’s likely that he felt comfortable there (and that he didn’t have to try very hard to convince studio executives to back these films).

Making period films exclusively is not in and of itself cause for concern, of course. It’s just that the dark and dangerous undercurrent that runs through his earlier films has been entirely scrubbed clean leaving only the burnished amber glow of a time that only ever existed in people’s memories. Whereas The Godfather was a stylized and somewhat theatrical version of a period in history that, through its stylization, achieves timelessness, Tucker is theatrical and stylized in an artificial way that all but defeats the audience’s attempts at identification with this man and his dream.

More troubling than that, however, is the indication, gleaned from bonus materials and commentary tracks, that Coppola, in his post-70's output, cared as much or more about the atmosphere on set than about the film that he was exposing. All of the DVDs of those 1980s films mentioned above are full of actors talking rapturously about the nurturing atmosphere of a Coppola set. They talk about how wonderful a time they had and how much they learned. It’s as if, after the disaster that was the making of Apocalypse Now, Coppola decided that filmmaking wasn’t worth it if the people involved were going to hate every minute of it.

Thus the film that was actually being made ceased to be the sole purpose of a Coppola shoot. The enjoyment of the process by the cast and crew became almost as important as the finished film itself. And thus the finished film became hopelessly compromised.

It’s not necessary that a film set be a tyrannical environment in which all manner of hardship has to be endured for the sake of the finished product. But it is required that, when called for, individual sacrifices in comfort and pleasure be made for the good of the film. Without occasional hardship (overwork, multiple takes in the rain, etc.) the film becomes irretrievably compromised. And that’s what Coppola’s 1980s output is, compromised.

ROAD HOUSE – rowdy herrington – 3.5 / 10

The only enjoyment to be found in the film is derived solely from seeing Patrick Swayze at his Swayze-est. As the best bouncer in the state who also holds a degree in philosophy, Swayze’s character in Road House is the idealized 80's man. And he could only have been played by Patrick Swayze in a rolled up t-shirt and the tightest pair of Jordaches he could find. Unfortunately, once you get past the initial they-can’t-really-be-serious reaction, there’s not much else to hold your attention. It’s amusing for a while but eventually, even Swayze in a pompadour with a shaved chest and oiled up torso, just stops being amusing and starts being sad. And when that happens, there’s just nothing left of to hold your interest. Certainly not the plot or the onscreen action, which is utterly ludicrous. So, if you must watch this film, watch half an hour, have a few laughs then put on Rumble Fish.

THE COTTON CLUB – francis ford coppola – 4.5 / 10

The plot of this film must have sounded really good on paper, concerning as it does the events surrounding some legendary gangsters in Harlem in the 1930s. There’s lots of fights and shoot-outs and sex and yelling. But, for some unknown reason, there’s also lots and lots of tap dancing. Though the tap dancing does eventually relate to the violence, the two separate tones of the film never align to form a coherent story.

Further, many of the scenes in the gangster world are undercut by the terrible performance of Nicholas Cage (his first of many in Coppola’s films). I don’t understand why, when the acting in the Godfather films and in Apocalypse Now and The Conversation is pitch perfect, that the acting in Coppola’s 80's output should be so screechingly awful. I can understand getting lazy in terms of storytelling and direction, choosing easy plot devices and boring camera angles. But how do you suddenly lose your eye for good acting? How can you see what makes a good performance one decade and not be able to see it in the next? That just blows my mind. And unfortunately the chief offender in these films tend to be members of Coppola’s own family. His daughter, so legendarily bad in the third Godfather also torpedoes every scene she is in Peggy Sue Got Married. And Nicholas Cage (Coppola’s nephew) takes three films to figure out that you don’t have to bounce off the walls to get noticed.

But I could forgive all that, really, if the direction of these films wasn’t so very lazy. Whenever possible, Coppola will shoot a scene in one angle (and not in a particularly compelling angle). And if it’s a dialogue scene, it looks as if he just parks a couple cameras on sticks and has the actors do their things. From what little I know about the man, it would seem that the atmosphere on the set and the cast and crew’s experience making the film became more important to him than the finished film itself. Sacrifices must be made to make a good film. People have to work longer hours than they might like, have to perform a difficult scene more than a few times, have to do elaborate technical set-ups to make a good film. But all of those things make the experience less fun for the people involved. So a director has to weigh his choices, make a good film and hurt a few feelings or make a mediocre film and have everyone love you. I guess after Coppola almost killed himself, his crew and his cast making Apocalypse Now, he decided he’d rather everyone have fun and let the film take care of itself. And that’s a damn shame because that’s the easy way out and it robbed cinema of one of its most talented artists.