Thursday, December 16, 2010


(This piece originally appeared, in an only slightly altered form, on October 13, 2009 to celebrate the final night of Freebie and the Bean's brief engagement at the New Beverly Cinema. It reappears now in celebration of Freebie's return to the New Beverly this coming Sunday and Monday, December 19 and 20, along with its director Richard Rush.)


American moviegoers take the buddy action movie for granted. After two episodes of 48 Hrs. and four incarnations of Lethal Weapon, after everything from The Blues Brothers to Bad Boys (parts un and deux) to long-forgotten comedies like Dan Aykroyd and Gene Hackman in Loose Cannons and Martin Lawrence paired with Luke Wilson in Blue Streak, it is, I think, assumed that the comedic formula of two guys bonding together over a cocktail shaker filled with mutual distrust and respect-- all mixed up by the perpetual motion and turbulence generated during nonstop pursuits by foot and all manner of vehicles-- is one that is as old as the movies themselves.

But the popularity of the modern buddy action comedy as we know it today can probably be traced straight back to what director Richard Rush, writer Robert Kaufman and stars Alan Arkin, James Caan and Valerie Harper et al did on their summer vacation back in 1974. Released later that year as a Christmas present to unsuspecting moviegoers, Freebie and the Bean became a smash hit, despite the multiple warnings heard emanating from a dog pile of bad reviews. The New York Times’ Vincent Canby decried the movie as the worst of the year’s crop of flop cop comedies, “probably because it has a cast of otherwise good actors doing bits of business (sometimes called acting) as if they thought they could upstage all of the movie's automobiles, which are seldom still.” The cherry on top of Canby’s dismissal came when he admitted “finally get(ting) the feeling that a car directed the picture —it’s as sensitive as a door knob and as witty as a bumper sticker — and maybe one did, though the title credits list Richard Rush,” who, as Canby is quick to point out, earned his reputation in Hollywood directing low-budget motorcycle dramas.

Canby’s point of view was not uncommon among people who were paid to see movies back in 1974. But as far as the public was concerned (and even some directors—Stanley Kubrick was an out-and-proud fan of the film) Freebie and the Bean was gold. In an era when such matters didn’t much concern either the intelligentsia or the great unwashed, Freebie and the Bean was about as un-P.C. a comedy as one could possibly imagine. The movie is a product of a time that recognized the reality of an emerging multiculturalism and the relatively unquestioned societal bigotry that was all tangled up with that new social reality. Yet Freebie, unlike, say, All in the Family, wasn’t a satirical attack on those prejudices. It existed, then and now, as a reflection of them, of how people (and filmmakers) recognized, ignored, and sometimes reveled in the impatience and fear and anger people from opposing points of view had for each other, fearlessly spelunking for the comedic tension that arose from those conflicts, and from the mutual respect that struggled to balance them out. Arkin and Caan artfully walk this tightrope while blasting each other with the funniest bile-soaked, rapid-fire, semi-improvised dialogue ever to grace an action comedy. These two really seem like they’ve spent an adult lifetime dodging each other’s verbal onslaughts. And their partnership is one with real dirt under its fingernails, a long-abandoned model of movie friendship cut from the moth-eaten cloth of interpersonal paranoia, suspicion, respect and, yes, the sneaky subtext of homoerotic romance and, of course, panic-- exactly the kind of treat most often flattened-out or outright buried underneath the THX Dolby super-soundtracks of modern play-it-safe crash-and-bang contraptions.

One of the great stunt sequences in a movie loaded with them. Screen grabs can't do justice to the momentum of this bit, but here they are to enjoy anyway. Note the little ballerinas on the wall of the apartment as The Bean (Arkin) gropes his way out of the car in shock, an inappropriately frilly grace note with which to cap the otherwise hilariously deadpan images of destruction.

And make no mistake-- Freebie and the Bean is a crash-and-bang contraption. All that talk of social reality is neither to try to pretend that the movie was ghost-written by Athol Fugard nor to ignore the exhilaratingly high percentage of vehicular mayhem that it showcases. Indeed, some of the funniest, most breathtakingly hilarious car stunt work in the history of the movies is contained in this picture. But what’s ultimately rewarding about the movie is that the struggle Canby suggests the actors are engaged in, trying to upstage Rush’s constantly accelerating automobiles (Is there a more aptly named moviemaker?), is one that, through their own accelerated interaction and awareness of each other as performers, and their own brand of sensitivity to what the other is doing, the actors win hands-down. Nothing in Freebie and the Bean is as chokingly funny as Caan and Arkin, as the two eponymous and antagonist detectives, pitching the movie’s central plot mechanism—a proposal to protect a local crime boss from an impending hit just long enough so they can get the evidence to arrest him themselves—to the apoplectic San Francisco D.A., played with brilliantly discombobulated disbelief by Alex Rocco. These two are their own multi-car pile-up, walking all over each other, finishing each other’s sentences, stutter-starting and stopping mid-sentence as they try to weasel Rocco and avoid yet another in what one suspects is a long line of shout-downs from a superior. And nothing in the movie is as moving or engaging as Arkin’s scenes with Valerie Harper, the two decidedly non-Latino stars expertly play-acting married urban lower-middle-class Mexican-Americans who can’t decide if they love each other more than they are impatient with or suspicious of each other. How the two of them avoided Oscar nominations is probably written in the fine print of the marketing of this loud, obnoxious, hilarious picture, the kind which the Academy Awards are likely contractually predisposed to ignore.

The relative depth of Arkin and Harper’s work together comes in a movie that is, above all, a love story. (It says so right on the one-sheet.) But the undercurrent of love in Freebie and the Bean is subtext, and of the dare-not-speak-its-name variety. What’s genuinely outrageous, especially for 1974, is how that subtext slowly becomes text as the movie progresses. We’re ultimately encouraged to view Freebie and the Bean as the male version of a warring married couple, the kind with the sort of passion to live out their lives in arguments as well as romance—or, um, mutual respect, you know. More problematic for some viewers is the movie’s portrayal of one of its peripheral villains, a transvestite by whom the boys are clearly repulsed. Paul Matwychuk, in his positive assessment of the film, is of two minds about the movie’s portrayal of this character. He writes: “The character is portrayed as an object of disgust; but on the other hand, he nearly beats up Caan without thinking twice — and in high heels to boot.” I think the movie’s “disgust” with the character is one that, like its racism and sexism, is very typical of the time, and certainly Rush doesn’t over-exert himself trying to challenge the attitudes the two cops display toward their threatening (in more ways than one) nemesis.

But given that typical representation in movies of the day, Freebie has been hastily singled out and misrepresented, most notably by the documentary made from Vito Russo’s The Celluloid Closet, as Exhibit A in the case against Hollywood’s history of homo hatred. And Paul’s point that the transvestite does put some serious hurt on Caan’s ass shouldn’t be discounted. The gay villain’s physical prowess, coupled with the emerging comic subtext of the homoerotic tension between Freebie and the Bean, lifts the portrayal of this transvestite baddie out of the realm of the typical macho fear of faggotry (and the need to amplify that fear for anyone who happens to be within eyesight or earshot) and onto a plane where the two characters must interact with equal ability and strength. The villain’s fate isn’t portrayed as anything more or less typically violent than what ‘70s baddie Paul Koslo undergoes earlier in the picture—the transvestite isn’t killed, as he might have been in other pictures, because he was a “fag” and threatened James Caan’s manhood, but because he was a force that had to be dealt with the same way Caan would deal with anyone trying to take out his kidneys and break his neck in a public restroom. Yet The Celluloid Closet takes the gory clip of this guy bloodied against the bathroom wall, in a dress and high heels, and uses it to make its not-unnecessary point that Hollywood has historically gone out of its way to marginalize and/or punish homosexuals. There’s a difference, however, between integrating gay characters into the world a film conjures (and all that is possible in that world) and simply punishing them for having been there in the first place.

There are so many elements of Freebie and the Bean that are disarming, foremost of which is its own forward momentum, the relentless insanity of the way Rush makes a crash-bang universe out of the streets of San Francisco (no stranger to car chases even without this classic), and the way Caan and Arkin live in the skins of their characters, performing the way two aggravated brothers do who are forced to spend too much time together, unsure of their desire to keep company with anyone else. Of all the movies that have come in its 35-year wake (35 years?!), only Michael Bay’s underrated Bad Boys II comes close to capturing its unique mix of wanton (yet spectacularly choreographed) destruction and the rat-a-tat byplay of its lead characters. But even so, there is and can be only one Freebie and the Bean, a great, cacophonous, hilarious ‘70s artifact that might play even better now than it did when it was first unwrapped on Christmas Day 1974.


Speaking of Christmas, one of the best early holiday presents you’re likely to receive gets unwrapped this coming Sunday afternoon and evening, December 19, as the New Beverly proudly welcomes director Richard Rush in person to screen his two most celebrated movies. Number one on the bill is the critically acclaimed existential slapstick of The Stunt Man (1980), which heralded not only Rush’s obvious talent with the camera but also a second wave of popularity for one Peter O’Toole, whose not-quite-dormant career enjoyed a potent upswing in the wake of this picture’s release. (O’Toole was nominated for an Academy Award, as was Rush for best director and best screenplay, a nomination he shared with cowriter Lawrence Marcus.) To these eyes, The Stunt Man’s twisted sleight-of-hand plays a little more unevenly than it did in 1980, but there is still much to marvel at here, including the surreal conviction of the movie’s central conceit—a escaped convict named Cameron (get it?) finds refuge on the set of a movie where he gets work as a stunt man and begins to believe that the picture’s all-knowing, all-seeing megalomaniac director Eli Cross (get it?) means to kill him while the cameras are rolling. There is no questioning, however, the brilliance of the cast, including Steve Railsback as Cameron, whose psychological state is just as slippery as that of Cross’s, Barbara Hershey as the conceited, soul-heavy actress who serves as muse to both men, and Allen Garfield (here billed under his given name Goorwitz) as the film’s battle-fatigued screenwriter. Rush, Railsback and Hershey are all set to appear at the New Beverly, schedules permitting, to discuss the film on Sunday night, so this really is the double bill you shouldn’t miss this weekend.

Did I say double bill? Oh, yeah! Turns out the second feature is the picture that best encapsulates the full-throttle aesthetic of Rush’s head-first style, which was also pointedly blessed with exactly none of the critical hosannas bestowed upon The Stunt Man. There’s a certain irony in noting that a big, loud commercial hit like Freebie and the Bean has certainly held up better than Rush’s most acclaimed movie, perhaps because it is clearly less thematically ambitious (therefore less weighed down by the sort of concerns that make the later picture play slightly ungainly today). But I think at the heart of Freebie’s freewheeling pursuit of a joyful noise there is a purity of purpose, an unflagging belief in the comic energy of chatter, cacophony and constant forward motion that threatens to burst the edges of its every wide-screen frame. Stanley Kubrick and Francois Truffaut both hailed it as a masterpiece without having to concoct highfalutin reasons for doing so, and it’s truly gratifying to feel the general consensus on the film beginning to swing more toward that kind of admiration. The key to the brilliance of Freebie and the Bean lies beyond its magnificent crash-and-bang auto choreography; it can be found well-cradled in the care of its actors-- Caan and Arkin, without doubt, but also Valerie Harper, Alex Rocco, Jack Khruschen and even bleached-blond ‘70s villain nonpareil Paul Koslo. There’s a loopy, improvisational spirit gracing Freebie and the Bean that has been largely beyond the capability of its many imitators to capture and rebottle diluted for future generations. No, there really is no substitute for the real thing, and for connoisseurs of carbureted, rubber-burning, metal-misshaping comedy that somehow finds room for the crass electricity of recognizable humanity, Freebie and the Bean is the pot of gold at the beginning of the rainbow.

(Freebie and the Bean screens with The Stunt Man on December 19 and 20 at the New Beverly Cinema in Los Angeles. Please note, however, that Richard Rush, Barbara Hershey and Steve Railsback are scheduled to appear oonly during the Sunday night, December 19, program. Please refer to the New Beverly Cinema Web site for the most current information on scheduling, show times and advance tickets for this and all shows on the monthly calendar.)


Here's Josh Olson giving Freebie and the Bean the old Trailers from Hell treatment! (So big and wide one blog couldn't contain it!)


And it case you can’t make it out Sunday or Monday, here’s a taste of what you'll be missing, just to make you squirm!


Here’s another perspective on Freebie and the Bean courtesy of my good friend, celebrated blogger Farran Smith Nehme. I somewhat nervously coaxed Farran out of her classic Hollywood comfort zone last summer for an experience with these foul-mouthed San Francisco cops, and she recorded her reaction with her usual style, wit and grace, qualities not unbecoming this crazy-ass movie, just largely unprecedented in this movie’s history with the chroniclers of American movie criticism. I suspect you will enjoy Farran’s take as much as I did.


Finally, look what I got for Christmas! A couple of weeks early, but no less happy am I about it for that. Longtime SLIFR reader Patrick Robbins was shopping around somewhere in the town in Maine in which he lives when what to his wondering eyes did appear but two long out-of-print treats which he said made him instantly think of me. So I am now the proud owner of an original Freebie and the Bean novelization and another one, for 1941, written by Bob Gale himself! What a wonderful display for generosity on Patrick's part, a person it should be noted, whom I have never met and with whom I have only communicated through this blog and our mutual love of the movies. Patrick also sent along a Christmas card and in it he expressed something that truly has been the highlight of my holiday season. He wrote, "It's been a real treat reading your blog, and this is just a small token of thanks for all the joy it's brought me." Patrick, I can honestly say this is one of the most thoughtful things anyone has written to me about what goes on here that its been my pleasure to read. The writing that get posted here isn't posted in the hope of snagging swag or gifts or screeners or publicity or Web hits, and certainly not for the money, which there has been next to none to speak of. Not that those things aren't a wonderful, welcome surprise when they do come, but they aren't the reason these virtual scribblings exist. They really are here out of a love for the movies, and for the chance to connect with people who share that love. Thanks, Patrick, and everyone else for helping me to remember the most important stuff. And thanks for the excellent reading. Would I be too insufferable a nerd if I brought my Freebie novelization to Sunday's screening?



Anonymous said...

I love this movie...I don't know how but I had some faint memory of seeing it on T.V as a kid. Before shows like Oprah took over the time slot, one of the (L.A) T.V networks (ABC I think?) used to show a movie in the afternoon "The 3:30 Movie" which aired in that zone between the end of soap operas and the 5:00 news. Most memorable were the themed weeks like when they did monster movies or Frankie & Annette, and the Beatles films, as well as other gems like "Watermelon Man" which I am reasonably sure will never grace a screen anywhere again.

Robert Fiore said...

I was just at the New Beverly to see Solaris for the first time (worth seeing once but I think that's going to be enough). For me, the 70s are now at last over. On the print that's circulating the subtitles are at the absolute bottom of the screen, so I had to sway back and forth to read them due to the tall guy sitting in front of me. Luckily the longeurs drove him off at the intermission, so I could watch the second half in comfort.

If you haven't, you ought to take a look at The Warrior's Way while you can still see it playing in a theater before midnight. I think it's the Speed Racer of 2010, though it's got a body count like Agincourt. I'm amazed it's gotten so few defenders; the studio seems to have left it for dead by not even screening it for critics. On the Netflix front they're now streaming the fascinating new documentary about Harry Nilsson, who seems to have destroyed himself at the peak of his career because he didn't think he deserved it.

Hell must really be freezing over in the UK -- first they finally released Dennis Potter's Karaoke (gripping if not so deep as a well) and Cold Lazarus (a bit like a dour version of a Dr. Who serial, really), they're going to have an apparently official DVD release of Chimes at Midnight. Doesn't look particularly elaborate, so I wouldn't expect miracles of restoration. The same company is bringing out the Orson Welles/Norman Foster Journey Into Fear, for what that's worth. If you ask me, it's not just that it's not up to the level of Orson Welles, it's really not up to the level of a Mr. Moto.

The Mysterious Ad[ B)e;ta]m.a.x. said...

That's a lot of high-quality 35mm projected entertainment for $5 bucks..!! (if you have [or get] the awesome never-expires New Bev discount card). $2.50 per action-packed extravagonzo? Director in person? 2.50 a pop..!? DEAL OF THE CENTURY!! (this is not a request for Deal of the Century to be programmed. Please don't.)