Diner

Much indebted to Fellini’s I Vitelloni, Diner is an egregiously contrived confection about a group of post-adolescent American males at the tail-end of the 1950s trying to coming to terms with the end of their youth and the burgeoning responsibilities of adulthood.

A kind of older version of American Graffiti complete with a rock 'n' roll soundtrack Levinson's directorial debut is often regarded highly as an elegy to the passing of an era although it is far from apparent why.  It on the one hand fetishises late 50s Americana – from the chrome-trimmed cars to the cast iron sexual divide - on the other, it is overly talky as the characters dutifully discuss football, marriage, and Sinatra vs Mathis perched in a Hollywood version of an all-night diner.  

Levinson’s screenplay, which no doubt was based on first-hand experience, points towards the reality of the time, probably most successfully in the character of the one married guy (Daniel Stern) and his wife (Ellen Barkin in her first feature film), but it all feels tiresomely self-conscious, as do the performances with Steve Guttenberg being the most serious offender in this respect.  The cast seem too old for their parts, their characters’ too immature (even given that this is what they are supposed to be), so that we are never convinced by them (Kevin Bacon single-handedly turning a car on its side is the most physical expression of this glibness). Mickey Rourke steals every scene but his ultra-cool persona is incongruous and would find a much better fit the following year in Rumble Fish as The Motorcycle Boy, a dude who escaped precisely such a company of dorks as Levinson give us here.

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