In an otherwise perfectly edited sequence in American Graffiti (’73), director and co-writer George Lucas got one tiny thing wrong. Dragging a cable line with a hook, Richard Dreyfuss attempts to attach the cable to the rear axle of an idling cop car. So far, so good. But all the cop behind the wheel had to do was glance into the side rearview mirror at the wrong time and Dreyfuss would’ve been toast. He needed to approach from a blind spot.
Obviously not a big deal to anyone except myself, but it’s always bothered me. If Rififi‘s Jules Dassin (61 when shooting began in the summer of ’72) had somehow directed it never would’ve happened. Ditto the nine-year-old David Fincher — even at his age he would’ve fixed the problem.
I’d forgotten that American Graffiti, released domestically on 8.11.73, is one of the most profitable films ever. It cost $777,000 to shoot, and brought in $140 million domestic and $200 million worldwide. There’s an inflation factor of a bit more than six times when you adjust, so AG‘s $140 million domestic haul translates to over $840 million in 2021 dollars.
And you know what? It was never any kind of great film, certainly not from any kind of Movie Godz perspective. AG is engaging and taut and well-observed in a thousand different ways. A perfect mainstream package for its time and place. A nostalgic boomer high, a lot of specificity in terms of character (they all seem relaxed and lived-in, never trying to “sell” their performance) and mood and atmosphere, great ’50s and early ’60s jukebox tunes.
Altogether a very effective thing — a horse that launched a thousand ships. Except for that one boo-boo.
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