By Dana Polan
Although it’s not
necessarily thought of as initiating the cycle of late 70s and then 1980s teenage
sex comedies, The Graduate, from Embassy Pictures in 1967, is clearly an
inspiration for the later films about awkward virginal guys caught up in
farcical narratives of dream, drive, and desire. The success of The Graduate
enabled its production company head, impresario Joseph Levine, to broker a
merger of Embassy with Avco, and it was the newly named Avco-Embassy that about
a decade after The Graduate brought out the virgin teenage guy comedy, The
Chicken Chronicles. From the same year (1977), The Van, a broad
farce about a guy who revamps his van as a love-machine likewise suggests the
first glimpses of a trend, one that got its fullest recognition soon after in
the wildly successful Animal House from the following year, along with
later iterations like Porky’s (1981) and its sequels, all produced by
Melvin Simon who also was the producer of The Chicken Chronicles.
Ironically, although The
Graduate has a stronger reputation in cinema history as a serious work of
social-cultural engagement within the fervent and foment of the 1960s, it’s
actually the raunchy low-class gross-out virgin-comedies that come after it
that engage in any manner with the politics of the time. To be sure, the ups
and downs of Benjamin’s relationships in The Graduate address in their
own manner the claims of the Sixties to show that “the personal is the
political” (especially for young women like Elaine Robinson, so mistreated by
Benjamin when he first takes her out on a date), but one would be hard-pressed
to find much direct reference to the times (we see some hippies as mere
background when Benjamin and Elaine go out on that date).
In contrast, Animal House
takes on the jockeying for power in the contemporary college system while Porky’s
addresses redneck racism in the South. And from a very early scene where we
hear tough news about the times on the car radio of protagonist Dave Kessler
(Steve Guttenberg), The Chicken Chronicles, set in 1969 and continually referencing
the war in Vietnam, keeps bringing the real politics of the day into its
seemingly personalized story of one guy’s quest for sexual fulfillment. Most
poignant is a moment where one of Dave’s co-workers at the fried chicken outlet
he works at (hence, the film’s title) learns that her brother has died in Nam.
An African-American woman, she had enjoyed a lively moment of dancing with her
team, and she is a figure that we, and the white employees and boss, admire.
Her last moment in the film comes when the take-out’s boss (Phil Silvers, the
classic comedian) tells her to go home so she can mourn properly. A cut shows
her waiting at a bus stop when Dave comes by in his car and offers her a lift:
she demurs (is she worried about a white guy being seen driving her into her
neighborhood?) and he drives off and we see her get on the bus and exit
off-screen, out of the film.
No other scene in The
Chicken Chronicles is like this one in its explicit and quite non-comedic
acknowledgement of the times. But many other scenes are like it in their very
fleetingness. In fact, it is probably misleading to insist too much on any
consistent desire of the film to offer social commentary. Like the later broad
and buffoonish sex comedies, The Chicken Chronicles operates by a sort
of scattergun approach, taking on any and all topics, large and small, relevant
or irreverent, and jumping here and there to random new scenes for the sake of
immediate effect. While there’s an overall narrative thrust (pun not intended
although noted!) – the goal of the protagonist to lose his virginity – the film
is a deliberate hodgepodge, hoping that whatever’s onscreen at the moment will
work at the moment. Whether this or that scene works depends then on individual
taste: for instance, if you like to see stuck-up kids get theirs by falling
into the suburban pool, that will be your moment of hilarity; if you like hints
of relevance, there are enough of those in the film to keep you going. It’s
noteworthy that while few mainstream critics reviewed The Chicken Chronicles
– and the rare ones that did didn’t like it much – one thing these
commentators did single out as intriguing was the fact that Dave Kessler’s
parents are unseen in the film and communicate with him only by speakers dotted
throughout their house (a contrast to the very different generational
alienation of The Graduate where the problem for Benjamin Braddock is
that his parents are too visible, too fatuous in their overbearing advice).
Ironically, the scattershot
approach of The Chicken Chronicles is (no doubt, unintentionally) echoed
in its commentary track, by cult film historians Lee Gambin and Emma Westwood,
which is itself frenetic and all over the place. (Curiously, Westwood is not
listed on the Blu-ray back cover.) At one point, the commentators even have to
remind themselves to talk about the film at hand, as they go off on all sorts
of tangents (for example, that the director had an interest in documentary
leads to a digression about cinema verité maverick D.A. Pennebaker while a
mispronunciation of “chutzpah” occasions discussion of Jewishness in film). While
the commentary track talks of the actors (especially Phil Silvers), it does so
by going at length into their filmography or videography, and the film
frequently gets left behind. Luckily, one of the few moments where the
commentators actually converse about the film unspooling before them has to do
with the multiracial and multiethnic nature of the casting, an important aspect
of the film’s random attention to politics (in this case, a politics of
identity). The commentary track is one of the only special features on the
Blu-Ray, along with a trailer.
To the extent that, like
other examples from teen sex cinema, The Chicken Chronicles targets an
audience that would come increasingly to appreciate the raucous non-coherence
of individual moments around the central narrative premise, the film, and now
its Blu-ray release, probably work best for its projected target audience. To
state an obvious truism, if you like this sort of thing, you’ll like this early
example of it.
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(Dana Polan is the author of "Dreams of Flight: The Great Escape in American Films and Culture") Click here to order from Amazon.)