Handout
A reunion of old college friends from the '60s is the jumping off point for "The Big Chill." Among the pals are (l.-r.) JoBeth Williams, Kevin Kline, William Hurt and Glenn Close.
Some of the smartest people I know from the 1960s don’t like “The Big Chill,” the 1983 movie about seven college friends from the ’60s who regather at the funeral of an eighth friend.
The characters spend a weekend kicking their lives around, mostly through the prism of their ’60s experiences.
My friends who dislike it say writer-director Lawrence Kasdan portrays these characters as people for whom issues like the Vietnam War, civil rights, women’s rights, etc., were passing fads they forgot as soon as they moved on to their real lives of insulated middle-class comfort.
Kevin Kline’s Harold owns a running shoe company. Mary Kay Place’s Meg quit the public defender’s office to become a corporate lawyer. Jeff Goldblum’s Michael is a cynical writer for People magazine. Tom Berenger’s Sam is an action TV star. The only one who seemed to stay with the ’60s program, Alex — played by an unseen Kevin Costner — killed himself. (Costner’s flashback scenes were cut).
I see my friends’ arguments. A lot of ’60s people kept the faith. Those people and those causes, they matter as much now as then.
But I can’t help it. I love “The Big Chill.” I hope someone shows it this week, since Saturday marks the 30th anniversary of its release.
So why do I like it?
Words and music.
Purely for conversation and repartee, it’s outta sight.
Michael sees Glenn Close’s groggy Sarah with the refrigerator door open, trying to figure out breakfast. “That’s the trouble with these things,” he says. “You have to watch them every minute.”
Sam finds William Hurt’s stoned Nick staring at some old movie on TV. He asks what’s happening. Nick says, “You’re so analytical. Sometimes you have to let art flow over you.”
Nick offers to drive Meg to the airport. “Sure,” says Meg. “If we can take Harold’s car.” Nick nods. Meg continues, “And Harold drives.”
The insecure Karen (JoBeth Williams) looks around Alex’s memorial and tells Michael, “You’d never get this many people to my funeral.” “I’ll come,” Michael replies, “and I’ll bring a date.”
“How’s your life?” Sam asks Karen. “Great,” she replies. “How’s yours?” “Not so great,” he says. “Ooooh,” she replies. “So we’re telling the truth.”
The minister starts to speak at the service. “I didn’t know Alex,” he begins.
I know all these lines, and many more, because they’re part of the language we speak at my house.
Whenever my wife or I stands too long staring blankly at anything — the water faucet, a dirty towel on the shower rack — the other is guaranteed to say, “That’s the trouble with these things. ...”
When we hear someone speak who clearly doesn’t know what he or she is talking about, one of us will lean over and whisper, “I didn’t know Alex. ...”
We all have movies whose words we appropriate. “The Big Chill” is one of mine.
And then there’s the music.
Some of my friends insist it’s a cliché when Karen sits at the piano to finish Alex’s service and starts playing “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”
I don’t agree. Even if I did, I’d still love the way that piano segues into the Rolling Stones’ own version and continues, including the choral parts, as everyone leaves.
When Harold hears a Creedence Clearwater Revival song and remarks to Sam about seeing the band at Cobo Arena in Detroit, that’s something people who love music do. They remember those nights.
The opening notes of “A Natural Woman,” with Aretha Franklin singing “Looking out on the morning rain,” blends into the story as if it were all part of one conversation.
There isn’t a bad song in the movie, and there isn’t a song that’s used badly.
If I had to, I could argue against “The Big Chill.” I just don’t want to. Words and music.
dhinckley@nydailynews.com
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