One of the very best things that happened in
American movies during the late ’60s and early ’70s was that filmmakers began
telling stories about losers on a regular basis. Utilizing such unconventional
leading players as Gene Hackman, Dustin Hoffman, and Al Pacino, bold directors
explored the complex life experiences of men living on the fringes of modern
society, thus broadening the spectrum of what was considered acceptable in
mainstream cinema. But, as the saying goes, you’ve got to break some eggs to
make an omelete. So, for every groundbreaking story about an offbeat
protagonist, there were plenty of failed attempts. Hence Corky, a bummer
drama about an asshole who dreams of becoming a top racecar driver. As
portrayed by the diminutive but volatile Robert Blake, Corky Curtiss is a
foul-mouthed, ignorant, narcissistic redneck who abandons his family, endangers
his coworkers, objectifies women, punches his friends, and eventually succumbs
to sociopathic madness. And while there’s a school of thought that says any
character capable of provoking strong reactions is inherently interesting, the
problem with Corky Curtiss—and with Corky as a whole—is that the
character’s behavior becomes so repetitive and ugly that, eventually, the only possible
reactions are fatigue and indifference.
The story gets off to a shaky start.
Corky works in a garage and moonlights as a demolition-derby driver on the team
run by the garage’s owner, Randy (Patrick O’Neal). Corky’s dangerous antics
behind the wheel get him fired from both jobs, so Corky tells his wife, Peggy
Jo (Charlotte Rampling), that he’s leaving town, ostensibly to make money on
the racing circuit. Yet Corky spends all of his time away from home boozing,
brawling, and gambling. Then, when he finally returns home (spoiler alert), he
gets angry that Peggy Jo has moved on with her life and he goes on a shooting
spree. Good luck finding anything edifying here, especially since key elements
of the movie are maddeningly distracting: The music is gooey and weird; the
intermittent flashbacks illuminate nothing; and Rampling, the epitome of icy
European beauty, is laughably miscast as a barefoot-and-pregnant redneck
housewife. Were one to strain in the effort to find something praiseworthy in Corky,
it could be said that Blake’s commitment to his performance is impressive—but
then again, wouldn’t Blake’s intensity have been more impressive if his
character came across as sympathetic instead of merely repulsive?
Corky:
LAME
ReplyDeleteThis is a truly misunderstood and lost early 70's gem, a little nugget of gritty hard-core deep-fried Southern anti-capitalist existentialism, with Robert Blake's greatest film performance. Neither a hero nor a villain, Corky Curtis is the sad refuse of a very conditional American Dream, innocent and deluded, gifted and corrupt, both a total product and total victim of the rigged down-home red, white, and blue system that he equally is exploited by and ruthlessly exploits in turn. Even the so-called reformation of his wife is on strictly working-class terms, peanuts thrown to the ignorant gallery to be satisfied with their small upward movement in life.....something Corky is smart enough and skilled enough to reject, but too emotionally damaged to effectively transcend. His relationship to young boys and his best male friend in this film is very important, as there are subtle hints of repressed homosexuality, child abuse, and psychological damage from a lack of love in his childhood, compensated for by a redneck machismo and a pathetic "fame fixation", which renders the whole film affecting in the most potent sociopolitical sense. Obviously sliced up and dumped as a drive-in actioner by MGM for precisely that reason, this film, and Blake's performance, deserves a major critical re-appraisal, all the way down to the flashy, gaudy, idolized, and symbolically pink '66 George Barris Plymouth Barracuda, which will fatefully become Corky's mutilated and incendiary coffin. Chilling also, in terms of Blake's actual life, and the ruinous event that destroyed him.