Jump, Jive an' '98

"Every man is a creature of the age in which he lives and few are able to raise themselves above the ideas of the time."

- Voltaire

After composing more than a dozen of these tributes to years gone by, I've learned so much - not only about popular culture, but about myself. 

I'm kidding. For my entire life I've only ever thought about contemporary art and my relationship to that art; this series has been nothing more than a breezy (though ostentatious) recap that is constantly within my own arm's reach. But it has been useful (and more importantly fun) for me to organize and articulate and share a subjective point of view on these little parenthetical eras that hopefully left an open invitation to others to join in, to look back - discuss, critique. I've always tried to maintain a mostly factual vibe, but the more significant angle is the one that comes from me; you and I have both seen The Big Lebowski, but my 1998 was entirely different from your 1998, so the struggle has been to find a balance that would hopefully translate into "relatable nostalgia." 

If you're interested (or new), here's an interactive list of my time travels thus far:

1982 | 1983 | 1985 | 1986 | 1987 | 1988 | 1989 | 1990 | 1991 | 1992 | 1993 | 1994 | 1995 | 1996 | 1997 | 1999 | 2003

'98 was my freshman/sophomore year of High School. I was 15 going on 16 and if age and circumstance has ever been relevant to these reminiscences then that should hold some significance; good or bad that's a tumultuous time in any person's life. It was the most stressful and depressing year of my life up until that point, continuously expanding upon the previous year and the one before that, etc. There was no singular tragedy to point at, it was all just rooted in fear, loneliness, humiliation, and generalized teen angst brought on by an existence of equal parts bullying and aggressive indifference. 

Titanic was released at the tail end of '97, so really the mania that occurred was more of a 1998 event - and, Jesus Christ, was it an event. Like those media blitz montages in movies when someone or something becomes famous and you get shots of magazine covers and talk shows and fans on the street and parodies and a theme song with constant radio and video play - it was that kinda frenzied energy in the world for like 6 months. And I was bittersweet on it; I never got sick of it, and I loved the movie and absolutely understood the deep, widespread appeal and I was thrilled to be on the right side of it. At the same time I was overcome with a divine melancholy; the film is famously and legitimately moving, but the heaviness of the melodramatic romance actually managed to make me feel that much more alone. Sure, anyone wants someone to look at them the way Rose looks at Jack but I'd gone without any form of real friendship for most of my life and I was filled with some kinda abstract desperation to be nearer, my god, to anyone. 

Alas, I ate my feelings and kept on doing what I do best: seeking out and inventing ways to entertain myself. I'd been doing a lotta pen & ink drawing around this time, mostly just copying other people's work I'd seen in bizarre art books - a sincere passion that truly excited me but was admittedly a subconscious response as a distraction from my reality. But my true calling that year (and the 5 or 6 years that followed) was writing feature length screenplays - filling 5-subject notebooks with long, genre-bending, handwritten scripts. My days became about note taking and research and my nights and weekends were marathons of writing and rewriting and immersing myself in made up situations involving characters and scenarios and outcomes that I could control. That's sorta my pseudo intellectual self analysis and it's probably bullshit; the truth is I was both desperate and excited to see movies exactly how I wanted to see them (even if they were just on paper). Almost immediately, the amount of time I spent writing movies became far greater than the amount I spent watching, which is mixed into the handful of things that really changed the dynamic of this year. 

Alongside the Titanic craze, my heart continued to go on for a lotta the '97 stuff. It wasn't until Spring/Summer that I began to notice 1998 taking shape. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas arrived in May as a North Star to orient me in my firmly established interests of film, music, literature, and of course, pen & ink drawing. That obsession flourished for as long as it was in theaters (until it was booted out by some X-Files movie). But, in between its theatrical and home video release, the absolute core of my 1998 was dominated by D-Day. 

There was a buildup: Spielberg Doing History was becoming a rapidly expanding and respected subgenre for my father and I, and Saving Private Ryan was a decidedly big deal to us even before we saw it. And then we saw it. The film is many things: on the surface it's a wildly violent Action Movie, but it's also an honest Historical Epic, a groundbreaking War Film, a patriotic promotional campaign, and on the visceral level, an intense Thriller. So intense that my father and I agreed that we probably didn't have the physical endurance to watch the movie again. 

We retuned to the theater 12 more times that year to see it - a still standing record for each of us. 

I'd always appreciated the theater experience on an almost religious plane, but Ryan stirred up a sorta physical addiction. I loved the movie, but I was entirely consumed by the presentation: audience reaction, the scope of the screen, and most importantly, the sound; I knew that in the very near future this film would be confined to home video magnetic tape and the sheer volume and intricate audio effects would be lost in the translation, and so I hungrily devoured this big loud atmosphere as many times as possible before something like Thin Red Line came bumbling in to take its screen. It's experiences like this that have thickened my hide against the flimsy fallacy of "streaming premieres at home." Get real.

In just these very few interests and adventures I've mentioned, they were all sprawling and engrossing enough to occupy my entire year, and to not remember it for being depressing and angsty. It also didn't leave a lotta space to experience too many new movies -- and looking back at what there was I think that worked out just fine; what I liked I loved, and the rest felt like a cumbersome drag. I suppose a psychedelic road trip and the beaches of Normandy set the bar too high for me; the highest grossing movie of that year was Armageddon and the Best Picture winner ended up being Shakespeare in Love, so that's the broad spectrum of the blah that specifically wasn't moving me. I always speak so highly of the 90s but there were still dips and diversions that allowed me to catch my breath and reflect - just long enough to force me to appreciate the medium even more. 

It was the year of asteroids and animated insects. Queen Elizabeth I and World War II. The return of Godzilla, Norman Bates, Michael Myers, and Chucky. Boomer nostalgia initiated the "reboot" brand with Lost in Space, Dr. Dolittle, A Perfect Murder, You've Got Mail, and The Odd Couple II. The Fugitive received both a sequel and a parody. Joe Dante and John Landis both came back and both struck out. Adam Sandler became a top earner. Slashers limped along as Science Fiction became the new Horror; the highest grossing scary movie came from Marvel Comics. I think I liked more songs from this year than I did movies, which is a capsized scenario for me in the 1990s. And so I've done my best -- 15 best to be awkwardly exact, which is the most honest total I could muster. But that's just, like, my opinion, man.

- Paul

1. Saving Private Ryan

It has some performances, an adequate music score, and a generously coherent story and script. This movie is about editing, sound, cinematography, and directing; one of the most striking technical achievements in Cinema and the movie that forced me to reevaluate Spielberg as more than just the name brand for quality entertainment. I had a more articulate appreciation for his entire body of work after this, as well as higher expectations for him (and all films) in the years to come. 

2. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

It has its cult status now, but I sat in 4 empty showings of this faithful adaptation of an otherwise famous book because I couldn't get enough of its bat country craziness. I've never really done drugs and I've never really felt the need to as long as I can buy this ticket and take the ride. 

3. Hurlyburly

I'm always forced to struggle for some kinda pretentious explanation as to why I love this screen adaptation of David Rabe's 1984 Off-Broadway (then Broadway) play. I totally get it's not for everyone - even I struggled with it initially. After a few watches the seemingly impenetrable dialogue became embedded in my brain, and I began incorporating lines into my daily life. That's a sign that a movie's had a good effect on you. 

4. A Civil Action

I saw it in the theater and thought it was alright, kinda drab. A few years later I caught it on TV at like 12:30 at night and found that I couldn't stop watching it. That's another good criterion to determine how much you like something; even when I put it on now as background company I usually end up dropped into the water yet again. 

5. Bulworth

The plot felt familiar but it'd never gone in a direction quite like this before. A good year for Comedy I think, and this was a good example of how pointed and adult it had become while still using broad strokes; the fact that this is still funny for the same reasons is a blessing and a curse.

6. Buffalo '66

I don't know what kinda weird goddamn cult this movie has but I guess I'm in it. It's aggressive in its indie aesthetic but I always felt that worked in its favor; it looks like a gritty Crime Drama but it's a Romantic Comedy - and I find it both romantic and comedic. 

7. The Big Lebowski

I quickly recognized it as one of my lesser favorite Coen movies at that point, and yet I still thought it was far fucking out! I've never found it as funny as it thought it was, but the soundtrack and characters and performances of those characters had me watching it over and over like everyone else. 

8. Out of Sight

After a decade of mostly below the radar experiments, Steven Soderbergh finally made a Steven Soderbergh movie (as we now understand them to be). This was the Critical Darling of 1998 and I remember not fully grasping what the hype was about. In hindsight, we clearly just needed more Soderbergh movies. 

9. Rounders

At this point in this decade, it actually felt groundbreaking to have a movie about gangsters and lowlifes that wasn't saturated in violence. But this was a point when I was still interested in actors and performances, and Edward Norton was very quickly becoming my guy and anything he was in felt that much more important. This is still my favorite character of his.  

10. Rushmore

I think I'd already seen Bottle Rocket so I wasn't entirely fooled by how falsely they sold this flick. Something with this much style demands a minute for the viewer to adjust, but it happens fast because it's so consistent. People were throwing around Graduate and Annie Hall comparisons - I found it to be in a class by itself (until he made more movies).

11. Snake Eyes

I approached it as a goofy ass Nic Cage Thriller, and then saw it and realized, "oh, it's a goofy ass Brian DePalma Thriller!" which is its own hip brand of goofy assiness and one that I'm not always into. But when you mixed Brian with someone like Nic (or Pacino or Lithgow), it was the perfect measure of madness for me. 

12. Happiness

Dark Comedy? Black Comedy? Horror Comedy? You can't place it in any precious little package that identifies it as that kinda movie - at least not in the mainstream, and that's its brilliance and its bravery; it's a straightforward narrative starring Hollywood actors and it only has two speeds: nervous laughter and sweaty discomfort.  

13. A Simple Plan

My favorite Sam Raimi film by far, which made perfect sense for me; this is exactly the kind of story and style that should've defined his bigger budget career (not the superhero stuff and not even the Evil Dead wannabes). Anyone who handles Suspense and Drama with this much finesse and chooses Marvel money instead is depriving us and themself. 

14. Pleasantville

Gary Ross became very notable to me as he wrote high concept stories that were rooted silliness and then gradually and eloquently shifted into seriousness (Big, Dave). This was (and still is) the best example of that model, probably because it was the best contrast - it seemed like such a stupid idea, until it clearly wasn't. 

15. American History X

Melodramatic and obvious to the point that it's basically an abridged cartoon. No matter, it's connect-the-dots life lessons fall out of focus when compared to the seething song and dance put on by my boy Ed. I kinda wanted to be his character in Rounders - not so much here, though it did further stimulate my interest in tattoos (within the boundaries of more socially acceptable iconography).