The All-American Boy

This flop was filmed a few years before it was released in 1973. It was made, but was never released until Jon Voight's popularity was soring with Mid-Night Cowboy.

The All-American Boy tries to pass itself off as a boxing film, but the sport is nothing but a backdrop for a symbolic ride of deep interpretations of the mis-use of "beauty" to get by in life.

Voight plays Vic "Bomber" Beasley, a strapping, undefeated amateur boxer, destined for Olympic Gold and a successful career in boxing. Tall, muscular, charming, and handsome, that's Vic, but that's only his physical appearance. Inside he is a heartless, lazy, self-centered user. The Bomber uses an array of women, among them Anne Archer(she looks about 16), E. J. Peaker, and Rosalind Cash. In a "weird" role is veteran character actor Ned Glass as a gay boxing manager named Arty.

The film seems to want to depict how society falls all over itself to be around "beautiful" people and catering to their every whim, with little in return.

Voight is wooden and lacks any type of emotion, but that what makes him so great. He is void of feeling for anyone except himself. He uses his looks and charm to get what he wants from his family, friends, women, and even other men, gay or straight.

The All-America Boy was a box-office flop. It will be a flop for you unless you read between the lines. An out-standing piece of film-making.

This is a wonderful surreal gonzo movie of the early seventies. Why it was ever released is beyond me! John Voight is perfect as the boxer hoping to get to the Olympics from the small town of "Buddyville". The relationship between Voight and his girlfriend is fascinating. Anne Archer is stunning in one of her early roles. Charles Eastman directed his original screenplay which reminds you of the later works of Terence Malick. The ending has a "Days of Heaven" feel to it. I enjoyed the use music in the film especially "Laugh Laugh" by the Beau Brummels. When was the last time you heard the Beau Brummels? The dialog has a "inner" quality to which adds to surrealness of the film. Check this one out you won't be disappointed!

Jon Voigt has endless possibilities in front of him, so he heads down to Vacaville, gets Ned Glass as a trainer/manager and starts getting ready to become a great boxer. But things come too easy to him -- women most especially -- so he never has to commit to anything until it's too late.

Jon Voigt has proven himself a willing and bold actor over the decades, but he gives a closed and boring performance in this long-winded and turgid story about "the Many Art in Six Rounds". It was an era in which important movies had anti-heroes and old values were dead, so this movie was pulled off the shelf after MIDNIGHT COWBOY had made Voigt a star.... and it flopped hard.

It flopped because it's a bad story, a story about someone who threw it all away for no reason but laziness and fear and unwillingness to commit. It's not a message that anyone really needs to hear: "Don't be afraid to work hard and commit to a goal. That's the way to succeed." We all know it, even if we can't do it ourselves. We don't need a precautionary tale to tell us that.

I have always confounded this movie with PAPERBACK HERO. Same year, same kind of offbeat drama, a kind of character, psychological study, sometimes very sad, sometimes funny. The tale of a man in search of himself, with actors who look like one to each other. An existential tale with of course a down beat ending; at least bitter sweet which leaves you an ash taste in the mouth. Another point in common, sport drama; I guess there are many more like this one.

According to his Wikipedia page, admittedly not the most unbiased of sources, the writer (and director) of this dull, dithering dog, Charles K. Eastman, was one of 60s and 70s Hollywood's better script doctors. Well, unlike in Luke 23, the guy could not heal his own awful screenplay. The whole thing feels as if Antonioni had early onset dementia and then decided to go make "The Last Picture Show". Just endless, enervating variations (or, as this pretentious boxing flic calls them, "rounds") on sullen, angry Jon Voight being alienated in LA and Texas (actually, parts of Socal unconvincingly standing in for the Lone Star State) yet still managing, in the best Antonioni tradition, to shtup several good looking gals. All to the accompaniment of Gregorian chants and pretty guitar riffs. Are we there yet? C minus.