John Houston’s adaptation of Stockton’s own Leonard Gardner’s first and only novel of the same name captures some of that cinema verite that makes guys like me salivate. Three years before Rocky and 16 years before Barfly, Huston, not surprisingly, shows great Indy foresight and a gritty realism that must be commended—if not applauded. However, I found the dysfunctional, gin soaked drama between Oma and Tully tiresome and overused way beyond the provocation of audience sympathy and engagement. What worked so well in the novel simply grew trite on screen. Moreover, Davidson (Rocky) and Scorsese (Raging Bull) showed us just a few years later what you can do with low budget boxing sequences, if you possess a little innovation. Drabby, gritty real depictions of Hemingway-esq losers are usually great in all mediums, but this is cinema, how about at least one heroic act? If I want to get depressed I’ll just visit my accountant.

As much integrity as this film has, and as much praise as all the chic critics heaped on it to be a part of the fashionable band wagon, the public new, and as Woody Allen said, “The public is never wrong.” The film, with all its brave foresight and admirable raw qualities, was a drag, without even the slightest semblance of a heart rejoicing or triumphant moment, just a forlorn, sweet and tragic—albeit appealing tale. I enjoyed it enough, studied it and again, even admired it, but the one thing filmmakers (even the great John Huston) sometimes forget, film ultimately must be entertaining, that should be a filmmaker’s primary objective, to entertain, not solely to self satisfy by emulation of the under-belly of life in stunning semblance. Gloomy is well and good, but bring me back around at least once.

Tony Ballejos
Writer/Director
Redondo Beach, CA

And it’s interesting that Stacy Keach was being set up to be a Big Star, which never happened.