College days, or university days as they are known in the UK, can be among the most memorable and formative that people experience. The friendships made, the ambitions held, the ideals believed in. Sometimes these days help shape our lives, other times we wonder what happened to the days and the people we met ten or twenty years down the line.
Both of these concerns occupy The Big Chill, a 1983 comedy-drama from director Lawrence Kasdan, released in a new edition by the Criterion Collection. An ensemble drama with eight main characters, largely contained in a single location and with a noticeable absence at its centre, the film is an impressive sophomore effort from the director of Body Heat whose eclectic career would go on to include The Accidental Tourist, Wyatt Earp, French Kiss and Dreamcatcher. It is also an early demonstration of then-up-and-coming actors, some of whom would become household names. Yet despite the fashions, designs and technology being very much of the early 1980s, The Big Chill is not a film that feels dated, as its themes and tensions continue to be relevant for audiences forty years later.
Much of the timelessness of the film can be credited to Kasdan and co-writer Barbara Benedek’s affectionate yet astringent script that provides rounded characters and relatable attitudes. The script is sharp and convincing, especially as matters spill into the absurd, such as scenes involving a video camera and a recurring joke about running shoes. The central set of old friends come together for the funeral of one of their original group, and spend the next few days in the home of Sarah (Glenn Close) and Harold (Kevin Kline) in Beaufort, South Carolina. Over the course of this prolonged weekend, there are arguments and hurtful comments, reconciliations and demonstrations of great affection and generosity, as well as
some great music choices and an enticing amount of food.
The cast is a who’s who of 80s icons before they became iconic, including Jeff Goldblum, William Hurt and Tom Berenger. To give a flavour of how these actors feel, imagine a remake today featuring such stars as Dev Patel, Zoë Kravtiz, Adam Driver, Rachel Brosnahan, Lakeith Stanfield, Gina Rodriguez, Henry Golding and Emma Roberts. Crucially, because there are no established star personae at this point in the actors’ careers, there is a great sense of generosity amongst the cast, with each character containing enough nuance and given enough space to be both admirable and contemptible. As with a collection of real people, there are neither angels nor demons here.
The emotional heart of the film is Glenn Close’s Sarah. The opening scene features Sarah learning about the death of their friend Alex, and her tears continue to flow throughout the film, including a moment in the shower where naked takes on various meanings. Despite her evident exhaustion, Sarah demonstrates how to ultimately find the experience uplifting and reminds us that funerals and memorials serve an important function for the living. Her stalwart husband Harold shows an unwavering commitment to holding everything together, whether that is encouraging others to join him for morning jogs or acting as a peacemaker when things flare up. These flare-ups are often caused by the abrasive Nick (William Hurt).
As the only apparent outsider, highlighted by his Porsche, his bright clothes at the funeral, as well as his drug and risk-taking, Nick is often aggravating and yet a big heart is to be found beating beneath his cynical veneer. Michael (Jeff Goldblum) similarly uses humour as part of his cynicism, and yet still possesses the idealism that at one time clearly characterised all of these descendants of the radical politics of the 1960s. Radical gender politics persist in the female characters, especially Karen (JoBeth Williams) and Meg (Mary Kay Place), who speak out against the expectations of their roles and find interesting ways to negotiate these expectations.
This visual palette of rosy yet piercing is perhaps a good summation of the film as a whole, as the nostalgia here is highly reflective, snarky exchanges are balanced with declarations of love while potentially taboo decisions are couched in friendship. For all the regrets and despite its title, this film is more of a warm hug.
Speaking of expectations, while many an 80s film is characterised by excess and the conspicuous display of wealth, The Big Chill simply uses that as context. Granted, the characters are all very white (a remake would need a more diverse cast) and they all seem comfortably wealthy, but the wealth aspect is at least incorporated into their own self-reflections and even recriminations – whatever radical politics or ideals they may have had seemed to have been lost to material reality and irresistible capitalism, and they lament this even while doing nothing about it. The house of Sarah and Harold is opulent, but the space
serves the narrative rather than being a spectacle of conspicuous consumption, as it provides a wide stage for the ensemble cast. The house and grounds as well as the town of Beaufort are beautifully lensed by cinematographer John Bailey, from the early morning mist to a rosy evening tint. This visual palette of rosy yet piercing is perhaps a good summation of the film as a whole, as the nostalgia here is highly reflective, snarky exchanges are balanced with declarations of love while potentially taboo decisions are couched in friendship. For all the regrets and despite its title, this film is more of a warm hug.
Just as the film includes reminiscences of the characters’ college days, so does this Criterion edition emphasise recollections about the film itself. The supplements include a 30th anniversary Q&A with the cast and director from the 2013 Toronto International Film Festival, moderated by Variety’s chief film critic, Scott Foundas. The discussion is warm and charming if at times slightly gushing, but also comes with some welcome candour (Kevin Kline is a hilarious highlight). It is also informative in terms of the writing and rehearsal processes, and questions from the audience shed further light on the production and the
legacy of the film.
Further insights are provided in an interview with Lawrence Kasdan, who talks about the tension between art and commerce that has always existed in the film industry. Kasdan is especially emphatic about the importance of collaboration such as in his work with LucasFilm and the delights of working with ensembles. He explains his use of film as a way of exploring how people deal with the troubles of life, citing his influences like The Rules of the Game, His Girl Friday and the works of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger.
A 1998 documentary looking back at the production is filled with amusing anecdotes and evident affection. The cast recollects spending time together, the difficulties of filming the dinner scene repeatedly, the significance of a bolted-down camera to capture the passage of time, shooting locations that were (according to Kline) ‘riddled with rattlesnakes’, and amusing japes in the cast and crew’s accommodation such as hanging large underwear from a ceiling fan. All is told with such warmth that by the end you may wish you had been a part of the production yourself.
Deleted scenes and a trailer round out the extras, making this a decent if less than comprehensive edition. If The Big Chill is a favourite film of yours, this edition is certainly worth getting hold of. If you are not familiar with it but it sounds interesting, this edition provides a great transfer of the film and gives you plenty of insights into the production.
THE BIG CHILL IS OUT ON CRITERION COLLECTION (UK) BLU-RAY
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