Currently streaming on Amazon Prime, Apple TV+ and YouTube
“Wild thing. You make my heart sing. You make everything… groovy,” sing the Troggs on the eclectic soundtrack of Jonathan Demme’s exuberant and unpredictable Something Wild. But repressed Wall Street investment banker Charlie Driggs (Jeff Daniels) gets more than grooviness when he hooks up with Melanie Griffith’s wild thing, Audrey. Her femme fatale not only makes his heart sing but every organ in his body vibrate. The volatile chemistry between these two characters propels them from one genre, romantic screwball comedy, to the next– a dark, sometimes violent thriller. The moment Ray Liotta’s icy blue eyes appear on screen we know the movie is headed in a dangerous direction.
The film begins with the obligatory “meet-cute;” this one kicks off the film with a dynamic, infectious energy. In a New York City diner, buttoned-up Charlie skips out on his lunch check. Outside, he’s confronted by the free-spirited, dark-bobbed Audrey (who tells him her name is Lulu), clad in a killer black dress and layers of funky jewelry. She’s witnessed his dine-and-dash and accurately sizes him up as a closet rebel and kindred spirit.
Charlie accepts a ride from Audrey back to his downtown office, or so he thinks. Audrey has other plans. After tossing his beeping pager out the window and taking more than a few swigs of liquor, she heads in another direction, towards New Jersey. Charlie, a husband and father of two, is simultaneously appalled and aroused. While Audrey stops to get more booze (by robbing the store, unbeknownst to Charlie), he phones his boss to tell him he’s taking the day off. After Audrey shackles him to the bed in a seedy motel, an initially skittish Charlie (“I’d like to leave my T-shirt on”) experiences toe-curling sex. At this point, we know his unremarkable life, like his pager, is a thing of the past. No way is he returning to his house in the suburbs.
The adventure (part road trip) that follows surprises Charlie as much as it does us. Neither he nor we have a clue where Audrey and E. Max Fry’s fresh and original screenplay is headed. The script avoids foreshadowing so unexpected events pop up like quirky roadside attractions. It also allows its three stars to do work that remains among their best.
Audrey was Griffith’s first starring role and preceded her acclaimed portrayal of secretary Tess McGill in Working Girl. She’s charming and uninhibited here and her baby-girl voice is seductive one moment, vulnerable or demanding the next. Her Audrey is wild and impulsive but not unhinged. We can appreciate why Charlie would risk everything for her; she makes her recklessness lovable.
Daniels makes a credible transformation from an uptight yuppie (remember that word?) to a more spontaneous and alive man. His moments of discomfort are as funny as those by both Grants (Cary and Hugh) in their screwball comedy periods. Whether he’s doing a spectacularly bad moonwalk at a high school reunion or confidently taunting Audrey’s intimidating ex-con boyfriend, Ray (played by Liotta, Goodfellas), he’s always convincing.
Liotta makes an impressive film debut here. He brings a menacing presence, and then some, to the second half of the film where it makes a sharp turn into thriller territory. Handsome and charismatic, we can understand how Audrey could have once been attracted to Ray when his bad-boy persona might’ve been appealing. Ray’s sudden shifts from smiley adulation to sudden outbursts suggest an unpleasant backstory we’re not sure we want to know.
The universe Demme creates is an affectionate vision of America that perhaps Charlie has never really noticed before, with his limited vanilla perspective. The margins are populated with ethnically diverse, off-beat supporting characters who provide a gritty texture in ways that more generic films don’t. The bit players have authentic faces you remember, including a couple of cameos by indie writer-director John Sayles as a motorcycle cop, and cult filmmaker John Waters as, of course… a used car salesman.
Demme’s idiosyncratic cast exists in a world that’s just a tad more vibrant than our own. The art direction reflects New York’s hip 1980s sensibility with its colorful New Wave aesthetic, and it’s shot with style by legendary cinematographer Tak Fujimoto (a frequent collaborator) who expertly handles the film’s tonal shifts.
A playful musical soundscape complements the visuals and establishes an alternative vibe. Demme, who directed several concert films including the Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense wisely enlisted iconic performance artists Laurie Anderson and John Cale (Velvet Underground) to do the score. We’re treated to a lively Afro-reggae-salsa blend that includes David Byrne and Celia Cruz’s “Loco De Amor” under the titles, and an a cappella coda with Jamaican artist, Sister Carol, singing her version of “Wild Thing” as the end credits roll.
It’s not difficult to see why Demme is so adept at making a film some might call schizophrenic. His comedies, such as the brilliant Melvyn and Howard (unfortunately, not streaming), have dark elements and his pitch-black Silence of the Lambs has a streak of ghoulish humor. Demme sees the world as a place where joy and pain intersect, where moral and immoral behavior is tricky to differentiate. In a more conventional director’s hands—the film would be lighter, broader, tamer, and ultimately less entertaining. With Demme at the helm, Something Wild is something else.
Reel Gems – Overlooked Films Currently Streaming: Something Wild (1986)
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By Douglas Wood
Rated R
Currently streaming on Amazon Prime, Apple TV+ and YouTube
“Wild thing. You make my heart sing. You make everything… groovy,” sing the Troggs on the eclectic soundtrack of Jonathan Demme’s exuberant and unpredictable Something Wild. But repressed Wall Street investment banker Charlie Driggs (Jeff Daniels) gets more than grooviness when he hooks up with Melanie Griffith’s wild thing, Audrey. Her femme fatale not only makes his heart sing but every organ in his body vibrate. The volatile chemistry between these two characters propels them from one genre, romantic screwball comedy, to the next– a dark, sometimes violent thriller. The moment Ray Liotta’s icy blue eyes appear on screen we know the movie is headed in a dangerous direction.
The film begins with the obligatory “meet-cute;” this one kicks off the film with a dynamic, infectious energy. In a New York City diner, buttoned-up Charlie skips out on his lunch check. Outside, he’s confronted by the free-spirited, dark-bobbed Audrey (who tells him her name is Lulu), clad in a killer black dress and layers of funky jewelry. She’s witnessed his dine-and-dash and accurately sizes him up as a closet rebel and kindred spirit.
Charlie accepts a ride from Audrey back to his downtown office, or so he thinks. Audrey has other plans. After tossing his beeping pager out the window and taking more than a few swigs of liquor, she heads in another direction, towards New Jersey. Charlie, a husband and father of two, is simultaneously appalled and aroused. While Audrey stops to get more booze (by robbing the store, unbeknownst to Charlie), he phones his boss to tell him he’s taking the day off. After Audrey shackles him to the bed in a seedy motel, an initially skittish Charlie (“I’d like to leave my T-shirt on”) experiences toe-curling sex. At this point, we know his unremarkable life, like his pager, is a thing of the past. No way is he returning to his house in the suburbs.
The adventure (part road trip) that follows surprises Charlie as much as it does us. Neither he nor we have a clue where Audrey and E. Max Fry’s fresh and original screenplay is headed. The script avoids foreshadowing so unexpected events pop up like quirky roadside attractions. It also allows its three stars to do work that remains among their best.
Audrey was Griffith’s first starring role and preceded her acclaimed portrayal of secretary Tess McGill in Working Girl. She’s charming and uninhibited here and her baby-girl voice is seductive one moment, vulnerable or demanding the next. Her Audrey is wild and impulsive but not unhinged. We can appreciate why Charlie would risk everything for her; she makes her recklessness lovable.
Daniels makes a credible transformation from an uptight yuppie (remember that word?) to a more spontaneous and alive man. His moments of discomfort are as funny as those by both Grants (Cary and Hugh) in their screwball comedy periods. Whether he’s doing a spectacularly bad moonwalk at a high school reunion or confidently taunting Audrey’s intimidating ex-con boyfriend, Ray (played by Liotta, Goodfellas), he’s always convincing.
Liotta makes an impressive film debut here. He brings a menacing presence, and then some, to the second half of the film where it makes a sharp turn into thriller territory. Handsome and charismatic, we can understand how Audrey could have once been attracted to Ray when his bad-boy persona might’ve been appealing. Ray’s sudden shifts from smiley adulation to sudden outbursts suggest an unpleasant backstory we’re not sure we want to know.
The universe Demme creates is an affectionate vision of America that perhaps Charlie has never really noticed before, with his limited vanilla perspective. The margins are populated with ethnically diverse, off-beat supporting characters who provide a gritty texture in ways that more generic films don’t. The bit players have authentic faces you remember, including a couple of cameos by indie writer-director John Sayles as a motorcycle cop, and cult filmmaker John Waters as, of course… a used car salesman.
Demme’s idiosyncratic cast exists in a world that’s just a tad more vibrant than our own. The art direction reflects New York’s hip 1980s sensibility with its colorful New Wave aesthetic, and it’s shot with style by legendary cinematographer Tak Fujimoto (a frequent collaborator) who expertly handles the film’s tonal shifts.
A playful musical soundscape complements the visuals and establishes an alternative vibe. Demme, who directed several concert films including the Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense wisely enlisted iconic performance artists Laurie Anderson and John Cale (Velvet Underground) to do the score. We’re treated to a lively Afro-reggae-salsa blend that includes David Byrne and Celia Cruz’s “Loco De Amor” under the titles, and an a cappella coda with Jamaican artist, Sister Carol, singing her version of “Wild Thing” as the end credits roll.
It’s not difficult to see why Demme is so adept at making a film some might call schizophrenic. His comedies, such as the brilliant Melvyn and Howard (unfortunately, not streaming), have dark elements and his pitch-black Silence of the Lambs has a streak of ghoulish humor. Demme sees the world as a place where joy and pain intersect, where moral and immoral behavior is tricky to differentiate. In a more conventional director’s hands—the film would be lighter, broader, tamer, and ultimately less entertaining. With Demme at the helm, Something Wild is something else.
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