“Running is his only way of surviving.”
1979. I owned a running store, half a running magazine, and was Road Racing editor for Track & Field News. Claimed to be The World’s Slowest Professional Runner. Let’s just say, I was involved.
Anyway, found my contemporaneous notes about a movie titled “Running.” Apparently, I saw the flick as I returned from the Honolulu Marathon. Distance runners in the Pacific Northwest know where to be in December.
Flying to Hawaii the on-flight entertainment was “Superman.” On the way home we were subjected to “Running.” If you’ve seen both films, you’ll appreciate the symbolism for they curiously reflect my own experience on Oahu.
Note also says ‘A child in the garden of paradise.’
Next note suggests another viewing.
As Pat and I waited – in line even – to see the second show, women were leaving the first in tears. Either those ladies cry easily at contrived maudlin mediocrity, or they were runners who had hoped for a decent flick about something they enjoy.
When I saw “Running,” I wanted to cry, too.
I am not offended that RUNNING was the only magazine of the sport where the movie was not advertised. But I do care about this sport of ours and it is obvious the makers of this insulting cinematic catastrophe do not.
Except for Susan Anspach’s overbite and that crinkly little nose – and, of course, the title – there is no reason to recommend this movie. It is quite likely the second greatest ripoff ever of the sport… and that is saying a great deal.
I have seen uncounted bad westerns, humorous horror dramas and sophomoric comedies, so ‘surprise’ was not my principal response to “Running.” Disappointment, dismay, chagrin maybe, but not surprise. It could have been worse. “Running” could’ve been written by Erich Segal; it could have been narrated by Howard Cosell. We are spared that but little else.
I knew the sport’s authenticity was in some danger when our hero donned a business suit – complete with tie – and a pair of flimsy cross-country racing shoes
End of that note.
These are obviously draft notes and so the review picks up on another page.
[…donned a pair of flimsy cross-country racing shoes to run the streets of New York City. Many people talk about how much Michael Douglas looked like a runner, but how many Olympic-caliber athletes cruise around with large holes in their t-shirts? How many great runners have copies of The Complete Runner on their nightstand.
[This line is scratched out: I asked a number of way-above-average runners for their opinion of the film – none of them had seen it.]
The actor who should really earn the plaudits is the dude who played the car salesman. This slimy, money-sucking deviant looks exactly like the sleazeball who appears in Oregon auto ads. So, better you should name the movie “Car Selling.” Of course, “Running” should really be called “Frankie & Annette Go To The Olympics.”
And the Olympic marathoners, merde, they more resembled the Green Bay Packers goal-line defense than they did world-class distance runners. The only thing skinny about this movie is the storyline.
Our credulity is perhaps most strained when Douglas as Andropolis – why couldn’t he be a Pole instead of a Greek? Historical perspective?? – visits the man who placed third in the Olympic Trials. In the best tradition of “Rocky,” our hero finished fourth but the third-placer is felled by a stress fracture. He is reclining in a hospital bed, surely just back from Intensive Care and the viewer can only wonder why he is not receiving fluids intravenously. You would think this bone crack runs the length of his spine.
In the sequel “Running II,” an opponent will surely be felled by chondromalacia and just as surely he will be DOA.
No one, except for my wife, liked this movie. Pat admitted she enjoyed “Running” because it was a nice love story. And a hickey is sex, I guess.
If indeed you are foolish enough still to watch “Running,” the film is probably best viewed at a drive-in theater, with the windows fogged, a case of dark beer – might be a triple-feature – and a very close friend of the opposite sex.
This will allow you to turn off the sound and, if you should glance up to spy a running scene, you’ll still have the raspy breathing, the panting.
Apparently, I was writing my review at the Rose & Crown tavern, back in Honolulu. My memory ain’t so good, sometimes the same for my notes. On page three, in the margins, there’s this:
Strange to be in a singles bar. Did stumble in here accidentally, looking for a quiet brew.
Watching everyone hustle everyone else.
Haven’t seen this much raw psychology practiced since the one hundred meter Finals at the ’76 Olympic Trials.
Watched the bouncer eat a glass.
TripAdvisor reports, The Rose & Crown was located in the King’s Village Shops, just behind the Hyatt Regency Waikiki… It closed maybe thirteen to fifteen years ago.
I have no memory of the Rose & Crown, but others do.
Oh No! I can’t believe the Rose & Crown is gone! My buddy is visiting the islands as I type this and I was about to recommend the R&C, but couldn’t recall the name of “King’s Alley”, so I looked it up here. I was stationed at K-Bay thru the ’70s and the R&C was my favorite liberty destination. Many romances, a few fights and many, many great songs sung there. You were always welcomed as family and spent the evening at the piano with your arms wrapped over the shoulders of two lovely (and drunk) strange ladies, swaying and harmonizing together like you’d known each other for years. I even remember some of the staff by name (Tiny, the bouncer, who was about 400bs, and several piano players). I can still sing all the verses to “Drunken Sailor” and “Piano Man” because of the R&C. Makes me miss Steak & Kidney pies, The Beemer Brothers and darts even more now! Why would anyone close such a wonderful, fun spot? It was always packed each night, so it couldn’t have been a financial concern. Heck, I must have paid for most of their retirement myself! I can still taste that weird stuff they sold as ‘wine’. A warm part of my heart just died. Mahalo, R&C, for the countless memories. (Sorry abt your plateglass window I put that sailor thru in 1975).
Dang! Where have all the good times gone?
He should hook up with Barb.
One of the things I loved about the Rose and Crown was that you were instantly part of the crowd. There was so much hilarity. Lots of drinking. Great beers. My girlfriend and I liked especially to go there when “the fleet was in.” We never had to pay for our own drinks. I was so hot then. Sigh. I had blonde hair down to my waist and managed to wind it into a bun when in my Navy uniform. My friend had a great singing voice, so she belted out some good ones. I miss those feelings…of being young, of making friends with RIMPAC sailors and pilots, of being carefree for a few hours…
We were disco queens and used to go to the Top of the I. We were enlisted and crashed all of the officers clubs. I liked Camp Smith for Mongo. There was a country bar downtown that had a window to the swimming pool of the hotel next to it. We’d do the mermaid thing and jump in, in our dresses, and swim back and forth in front of the window. When it was time to walk back to the car, the warm Hawaiian breeze would dry our dresses.
Tim in Seattle writes,
Just previewed “Running”. Wasn’t Erich Segal a runner? What an Epic film. His big mistake that put him in the gutter was the look over the shoulder to admire his lead over the pack. But he did finish. Thanks for Saving this film.