Four Degrees of Kevin Bacon

Six Degrees of Separation is a 1993 film, based on a hit Broadway play, in which a wealthy, cultured, and liberal-minded couple (Stockard Channing and Donald Sutherland) welcome a personable Black man (the young Will Smith) into their posh Manhattan condo. He’s articulate but bedraggled, claiming to be the victim of a Central Park mugging. After some coy evasions, he admits he’s the son of superstar Sidney Poitier. Of course they urge him to spend the night.

 It all smacks of a con—especially after they find him in bed, in the nude, with a second young man—but Smith’s Paul is not your average grifter. The film, which also stars Ian McKellen and a starry cast under the direction of Fred Schepisi, is fundamentally about the human need for connection, and about what human beings will do to create bonds with one another. It’s the source of the idea that (to quote Channing’s dialogue at one point) “everybody on this planet is separated by only six other people. Six degrees of separation between us and everyone else on this planet.”  

The stage version of Six Degrees of Separation, from 1990, was nominated for multiple awards. The  film garnered fewer accolades, although Channing (repeating her stage triumph) was in the running for a Best Actress Oscar. Part of the problem was that the movie version, despite some creative directorial choices, still felt like a filmed play.  Also, the complex nuances of these characters and situations probably didn’t come across to moviegoers.

 The same can NOT be said of a 1984 film called Footloose, in which Kevin Bacon plays a teen from Chicago who teaches some small-town Texans about the joys of dancing. Here’s a musical that’s simple, straightforward, and just made for toe-tapping, starting with all those pairs of quick-stepping feet we see under the opening credits, grooving to the catchy beat of the title tune. Catching up with Footloose years after its screen debut, my movie companion and I marveled at Bacon’s skill-set: aside from his personal charm and acting chops, he was apparently a terrific dancer and also a gymnast who could effortlessly twirl on the high bar. That’s when I read that Bacon—whose movie fame was ensured by this role—had no fewer than four doubles on the set. These included a stunt double for fight scenes, a dance double, and two gymnastics experts. So the parlor game about “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon” (a cheeky variant on the Six Degrees of Separation meme reflecting how the busy Bacon seemed to have worked with nearly everyone in Hollywood) could be adapted to indicate how, in this film, Bacon was everywhere, doing everything (with a little help from his friends).

 Though Footloose is easy enough to follow (and easy enough to love), it is not totally lacking in complexity. School dances are banned in this small town because of the efforts of the highly influential local pastor. But, as played by John Lithgow, he is not merely a zealot or a prude. Instead he’s a man who has turned his sorrow over  a family tragedy into a crusade against the elements he believes led to his son’s death. By contrast, his sexy young daughter (Lori Singer) has found her own dubious way of dealing with grief. Naturally, she and Bacon’s character (not to mention his dancing and gymnastic clones) end up connecting, and you can count on an ending in which pretty much everyone finds happiness.

 Which is certainly more than you can say for the ambiguous fadeout of Six Degrees of Separation.

Wagging the (Hot) Dog: Barry Levinson Discovers His Calling

 Today—as California moves toward an outrageous recall election and U.S. military spokesmen tapdance around the situation on ground in Afghanistan—it’s not easy to keep politics out of my head. Which is why I returned to one of my favorite Barry Levinson films, Wag the Dog. Partially written by the always razor-sharp David Mamet, and shot in a remarkable (for a star-studded Hollywood flick) 29 days, it is a black-hearted look at how the political process can be manipulated to shape public opinion.

 You see, the President of the United States has slipped off to the Oval Office with a young female Firefly Scout. The press has gotten wind of it, and the election is less that two weeks away.  POTUS’s loyal staffers, desperate to salvage his re-election campaign, call in top spin doctor Conrad Brean (Robert De Niro), who knows that a big international distraction is what’s needed. Like, maybe, a war with Albania? Such an undertaking needs some Hollywood pizzazz, and Brean knows exactly who to call: producer Stanley Motss (Dustin Hoffman). Motss, still miffed that he’s never won an Oscar, plunges eagerly into this new project, even though he’s been warned he will never publicly be able to claim credit. The heart of the film involves examples of Stanley’s inventive handiwork, like a video clip of a bogus Albanian maiden – with kitten inserted via CGI – telling the camera how badly she needs American intervention to help save her homeland. (She’s played by Kirsten Dunst, looking particularly fetching in her peasant rags.)

 When the CIA, in league with the President’s political rival, announces that the non-existent war is over, Brean and his team come up with one final burst of inspiration, in the form of an American soldier supposedly left behind on the field of battle. An Army prison supplies them with the soldier, Sergeant William Schumann, around whom they create an entire heroic mythology involving a nickname, The Old Shoe, and a sentimental ballad theoretically dug out of the archives of the Library of Congress. (Sung by none other than Willie Nelson, it launches a whole campaign of old tennis sneakers being tossed onto telephone wires, in honor of the brave lad.) 

 I won’t spoil the film’s ending, except to note that Wag the Dog was released in theatres a scant month before a certain U.S. President was making headlines for his Oval Office frolics with a zoftig female intern. And not long thereafter, that administration was bombing Sudan’s Al-Shifa pharmaceutical factory. Life imitating art?

 Barry Levinson, who’s still very much an active Hollywood presence, started out as a screenwriter, then made the leap into the director’s chair. His biggest moment as a director probably came in 1989 when he won the Oscar for helming Rain Man. But I’m partial to his 1982 debut film as a writer/director, one that helps capture the Baltimore of his birth. When you’ve been watching classic Hollywood movies, full of snappy dialogue and carefully choreographed movement, Diner seems almost loosey-goosey. This tale of six buddies who hang out afterhours at the local diner is basically a character study, one that conveys a sense of improvisation by its young cast. They’re out of school and restless: even sporting events and marriage pale before the pleasure of being in one another’s company over a plate of fries. Kevin Bacon, Steve Guttenberg, Paul Reiser, Mickey Rourke, Daniel Stern, and Tim Daly have all gone on to major Hollywood careers. But they’ve never been better than in this warm-hearted ode to the American boy-man who hasn’t figured out how to grow up.