Drive, He Said

I attended college in the late Sixties, and I wanted to chime in with Titov and others who says that this is one of only a handful of movies that captures the time as lived experience rather than journalistic cliché. I can think of only three or four others: "Baby, It's You"; "Dog Fight"; and to some extent Milos Forman's first American film, "Taking Off." Not one of these films is available on Netflix. I saw each when it came out. "Taking Off" was revived pretty often for three or four years, so there must have been others who liked it as much as I did. The others I haven't seen since they were first in theaters, so I can'be sure of my present reaction. But for 40 years I've remembered the last line of "Drive, He Said," which says something.

Drive, He Said, Jack Nicholson's first solo outing as writer/director for BBS Productions, one of the first true indie film powerhouses, is unfortunately also it's first genuine misfire and failure for good reason: the film is virtually unwatchable.

Nicholson, while unquestionably being one of the greatest actors of our time, never seemed to get much guidance (not one of BBS' strong suits) when writing scripts. He co-wrote Head with Bob Rafelson, mostly stoned, and that actually kind of worked given that film's stream of consciousness/acid-trip feel. At least there was a guiding vision (probably by Rafelson) --- a genuine point to be made. That Nicholson was allowed to botch Jeremy Larner's lauded novel (with help from Larner) is inexcusable. It might have worked better had the actors just been allowed to improv all of their lines...it certainly couldn't have been worse.

Simple elements of the story --- that the college basketball hotshot hero (William Tepper) is boning the wife of a *professor* (not just a random boyfriend) is just glossed over and left for the audience to assume. It makes no real difference, because this story line (like all the others) never goes anywhere. Characters flounder in and out of scenes, overact, underact, mumble their lines, all seemingly at random. It gives you new appreciation for the directors who can pull this type of renegade filmmaking off well (Rafelson, Altman, Cassevetes). You simply cannot stand back and let the actors do whatever they feel like, which is obviously what Nicholson did. He mistakes indie filmmaking with making a documentary film (and even that's a stretch as most docs have a better sense of story and purpose).

Yes, I know the real point is supposed to be the juxtaposition between the go-go rah-rah pointlessness of the basketball story contrasted with the over-the-top campus radical B story starring the unfortunately untalented (and maybe just undirected) Michael Margotta as a guy so intent on dodging the draft that he will incite riots, streak, attempt to assault and rape a woman in her own home, and then loose an entire room of lab animals on each other just to be declared mentally unfit. It's all as subtle as being hit on the head with a sledgehammer and just as artful and entertaining.

If you can endure Karen Black screaming her lungs out for over five minutes straight, you just might have a chance at sitting through this interminably long ninety minute snoozer. If you buy the Criterion BBS box (an awesome set, by the way), it's worth a look because it's such a freak show, otherwise don't bother.

Note that when you read a positive review of this movie though, it is usually slathered with praise about it's nostalgia and social value/accuracy as a "gritty portrait of our times" in regards to early '70s campus friction.

There's a good reason for that too: with a movie as flimsily made as Drive, He Said, you MUST bring something to the equation yourself. God knows it isn't on the film itself.

Not much to make of this directorial debut by would-be star actor and frequent attendee of Los Angeles Lakers games Jack Nicholson, "Drive, He Said," which doesn't so much get its title from the basketball played in the film as it does from a poem, "I Know a Man," by Robert Creeley, which is recited at the beginning as the college hoops game is broadcast on a TV in the background. Soon thereafter, the poem-reciting, counterculture youths dressed in camouflage paramilitary regalia invade the gymnasium of the game to put on a bit of performance art that's as vaguely against, or agitated by, rather, American militarism--specifically the Vietnam War--as is the rest of the picture. Seems the war is such a weight on these young men's minds that it drives one to insanity and another to waffle over whether he wants to really play basketball or not.

Neither character arc is very compelling, and the crazy one is over-the-top ridiculous. There are easier ways to avoid a draft, guys, whether it's for the NBA or USA. And poor Karen Black having to put up with this tomfoolery and, worse, replaying an attempted-rape climax as old as D. W. Griffith silent films and the Victorian literature he in turn stole it from. The entire film is as muddled as its basketball footage with barely a narrative to be found, and it's undoubtedly dated as an independent film from the early '70s.

On the other hand, there's enough here, to use a cliché from another sport, out of left field to be at least bemusing. Plus, at least the actors evidently know how to dribble and shoot enough to keep up with apparent real former collegiate athletes. The Leopards team's mascot is a real, caged leopard that occupies the sidelines. A lot here concerning caged animals and letting them loose, which is the sort of motif that goes for symbolism in this picture. At one point, a montage of slow-motion basketball footage is played to "The Star-Spangled Banner." As the making-of-video included on the Criterion disc claims, it also includes some guerilla filmmaking exploiting a real riot that broke out during filming at the University of Oregon, which fits seamlessly within the rest of the picture's aesthetics. The remainder of the movie mostly seems to merely revel in the Sexual Revolution, including a considerable amount of focus on male genitalia. Nicholson claims he wanted a "symphony of dicks" during a locker-room shower scene, which supposedly he had to compromise on, but not by much.

One of the more unusual movies I've ever seen is "Drive, He Said." Made in 1971 made by the same production company that made "Easy Rider" and "Five Easy Pieces" that made Jack Nicholson a star a year or two earlier.

This was the first film directed by Jack Nicholson. It's a combination basketball, free love, anti-draft movie that was filmed on the campus of the University of Oregon. It was not well-received at the time, and was somewhat infamous for its male frontal nudity scenes. The basketball skill level seemed very high.

It's basically the story of two friends--one a basketball star and Greek major who's hormones are raging and is undecided about a pro career. The other is a guy taking drugs to try to stay out of the draft, and basically he flips out.

I thought it was an interesting premise, but I found the speech of the main characters to be stilted. In some ways it captured the ethos of U. S. campuses in the Vietnam War era pretty well.

Hector (William Tepper) is a star basketball player for the College basketball team he plays for, the Leopards. His girlfriend, Olive (Karen Black), does not know whether to stay with him or leave him. And his friend, Gabriel (Michael Margotta), who may have dropped out from school and become a protester, wants desperately not to get drafted for Vietnam.

This film marks Jack Nicholson's directorial debut, a chair he would not return to often. The casting was nothing special (though Karen Black is always great); the best part may be Bruce Dern as the coach. Some day he will get the full respect he deserves.

Roger Ebert found the film "disorganized", but also said it was "occasionally brilliant" with the performances being "the best thing in the movie", including the "laconic charm" of Tepper. This seems fair. For all the good things that can be said, it never really hits home hard enough, and may be dated.