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He could have easily slipped into full on nostalgia mode but sidesteps it in favor of crafting a coming-of-age/right-of-passage story. I can’t vouch for his entire catalog but I like what I’ve seen so far:Īs for this film specifically, it’s a really well thought out story. I bought a couple of his films before I made the director connection and then had a third come highly recommended.
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It’s often subtle but once perceived, it’s bare but not raw. He produces surprisingly easy to watch films that are great at capturing the emotional dynamics of its characters. If you’re aren’t aware of Richard Linklater’s films, do yourself a favor and dive in.
Dazed takes the gay test movie#
I went long on the last movie - I’ll cut everyone (including myself) a break here. Sidestepping nostalgia, Dazed and Confused is less about “the best years of our lives” than the boredom, angst, and excitement of teenagers waiting. A launching pad for a number of future stars, Linklater’s first studio effort also features endlessly quotable dialogue and a blasting, stadium-ready soundtrack. Among the best teen films ever made, Richard Linklater’s Dazed and Confused eavesdrops on a group of seniors-to-be and incoming freshmen. Bongs blaze, bell-bottoms ring, and rock and roll rocks. For me, it was that easy.Criterion Collection, Spine #336 / IMDb / Wikipedia?wprov=sfti1) / r/500moviesorbustįrom Criterion: America, 1976. My dad makes a phone call, and it’s done. When Satellite lets out for winter break, I ask my parents if I can go back to my old school. He was a kid who acted tough and wise, as though he didn’t care about anything. Seeing his picture makes me convulsively sad. The article says he shot the owner of a bodega uptown. Later a city paper has a photo of Chico in custody, the bandoleer still across his chest. I stay in the shaft after everyone but his two homeboys leave, boys who pat him on the shoulder as Chico squats in one corner, saying, “Man. When the kids start saying, “Yeah, right, you killed some guys,” and taking off, I figure Chico picked me because he thinks I might believe him. Maybe I look less freaky than the other kids, maybe it’s because I’m a girl or because I’m white. I don’t know why he has chosen me for a confessor. As people encircle us, asking: “What’d you say? What?” Chico keeps looking at me, whispering: “What should I do? What should I do?” His eyes are big in his skinny face, jumpy. We are given a history test of stuff I learned in fifth grade. We are assigned Harold Robbins’s “Lonely Lady” for English class. It’s for kids who have no options, kids with criminal records, kids with babies. I get myself into Satellite Academy, an alternative school with classrooms over a discount drugstore near Wall Street. They rev up and start moving, loose and righteous, if not about what they’ve been doing, then about coming together against some chick acting all Mother Conscience. The denial seems to get them back on track. Have they been beating up gay men? I ask. They shuffle their feet and stare to the side. There is a light if unmistakably victorious ring to their voices. Ten minutes later, I hear Dave and the kids walking toward us. One night, while sitting on a stoop in the Heights, someone’s little brother runs up and says, “Dave and them are on the Promenade, beating up gays!” I tell the kid he must have it wrong, they’re probably just rumbling. The boys we hang out with start to carry chains. My friend and I are arrested for shoplifting. Until the light trouble we’ve been getting into becomes heavier. There is no need for school, no need to go home. We wear short shorts and halters and smoke Newports and eat Hostess cherry pies when we get the munchies. We wear our hair up because it is said that Son of Sam targets girls with long brown hair. The city is a fantastic playground in 1976, ’77.
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Walking to this new school on the third morning, I stop in a pocket park off Court Street, knowing that if I miss the mandatory morning meeting, I’ll be kicked out. My parents wheedle me into another private school. I have been playing hooky all year, hanging out with boys from other neighborhoods, smoking pot every day. I am 15 and have been “asked to leave” the progressive private school in Brooklyn Heights I’ve attended since age 4.