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.
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.