The 1980s were a strange time for American filmmaking. There were some excellent films produced during that decade (however, considering the two best American films of that era were made by foreigners, it is quite an anomaly). Quite significantly, some filmmakers that had previously made towering masterpieces in the 1960s and 1970s started to become quite experimental, like Martin Scorsese and Francis Ford Coppola. The former has remained at the very top, even when his work is a bit too audacious. The latter, however, had one of the greatest streaks in cinema history, directing The Godfather, The Godfather, Part II, The Conversation and Apocalypse Now in quick succession, each one a towering masterpiece, and amongst the greatest films ever made. However, for whatever reason (perhaps a result of his enthusiasm for experimentation), his career faltered slightly as the quality of his work didn’t quite match the audacity of his vision. His films in the 1980s were arguably significant, but not all of them were particularly good, with some of them being spectacular failures, despite being well-intentioned and daring. There is one exception to this, Rumble Fish, which I hardly see mentioned as being amongst Coppola’s best, despite the fact that it is a film I loved much more than the majority of films from that decade, a film that can possibly challenge Coppola’s more historically-significant works, and as controversial a view as it is, I liked it more than The Godfather or Apocalypse Now. Perhaps it can be credited to this film’s status as a bit of a cinematic underdog, or it can be the masterful execution of the very simple story, but Rumble Fish stands amongst Coppola’s very best works, and despite a somewhat muted reception, it deserves to be more well-regarded, because this is a film that goes far deeper than what we’d expect.

Coppola’s films, especially his earlier ones like the aforementioned The Godfather and Apocalypse Now, seem to have a common theme: they have magnificent scope that is represented very intimately and simply – who else is capable of representing a vicious crime dynasty with as much heartful precision and sentimental warmth, or showing the inner psychological workings of the Vietnam War as effortlessly as Coppola? His films are towering in their grandiosity, but they are willful and soulful and have a visionary hand guiding them. The inverse can be said about Rumble Fish (and also, this is where the comparisons to The Godfather and Apocalypse Now will end), which takes a very simple, intimate story and represents it through scope much larger than what we normally see. From the first moment, you are captivated by how profoundly different this film is from others with similar subject matter – there is something almost unsettling about how Coppola represents this story, adapting it from a novel by S.E. Hinton (I’m always amused by the fact that Coppola made two adaptations of young adult novels in one year. If anyone can elevate these kinds of stories to near-masterpieces cinematically, its most certainly him). Rumble Fish is a film with a certain intention, and while it may come close to derailing at some points, as well as often being more focused on the message rather than the execution, it all comes together beautifully in quite possibly the most brilliant cinematic representation of teenage angst committed to film, something that I would reductively compare to Rebel Without A Cause by way of German Expressionism and the French New Wave. The absolute worst that can be said about Rumble Fish is that it is extremely different from any other film with similar thematic content.

Watching Rumble Fish, I was struck by some form of unwelcome melancholy, because this film features two actors – Matt Dillon and Mickey Rourke – who, at the time, were poised to be some of the biggest stars of their generation, yet neither of them really had the career crescendo that their earlier work (such as in this film) would suggest. Their career trajectories were not necessarily tragic, but far from reaching the potential they displayed earlier. Rourke was such a brilliant actor, and while he had quite a comeback a decade ago, his true potential just didn’t materialize, especially not when he showed such promise as a leading man in films such as this. In Rumble Fish, he gives arguably his finest early-career performance as The Motorcycle Boy, a philosophical hoodlum who returns to his small hometown in Oklahoma from a meditative sabbatical in California with a bundle of neuroses and a vision of a world where the petty problems – family strife, gang fights and the uncertainty of youth – don’t actually matter. Soft-spoken, pensive and nuanced, Rourke shows depth that I never knew he had. Rourke had the capacity to be the finest actor of his generation, and while we shouldn’t fault him for personal issues, its impossible to not acknowledge the true potential he had as an actor earlier in his career.

Contrasting Rourke, Matt Dillon plays his younger brother, Rusty James, who thrives on his youthful ignorance and his reputation as one of the small town’s local tough guys, constantly getting himself into fights and acting irresponsibly – perhaps it is his situation that causes him to rebel – his mother abandoned him to go to California to start a new life, his father is an unemployed alcohol and his brother took off on his motorcycle and disappeared for months before mysteriously returning. Dillon is remarkable in Rumble Fish, playing the youthful Rusty James with such incredible intensity and effortless brilliance, and it isn’t difficult to see why he was poised to be one of the brightest young talents of the generation, and he showed a capacity that exceeded his mere nineteen years of age. While he has arguably evolved into more of a character actor in recent years, his output in the 1980s is incredible, and Rumble Fish may be his very best performance (hyperbolic, but this was the first time I was entirely captivated by Dillon as an actor), and his status as a teen idol during the era was certainly not unearned, because he was (and still remains) a considerable talent. Dennis Hopper (in one of his most oddly sympathetic performances, playing the troubled but still loving alcoholic father of the two protagonists) and Diane Lane (as Rusty James’ naive but willful girlfriend) are also very good and help round out an excellent cast. Nicolas Cage and Sofia Coppola have small roles in the film as well, and while this can be credited to slight nepotism on behalf of their relationship to the director, it is amusing to realize that despite their almost inconsequential roles in this film, they would go on to become significant cinematic figures in their own right.

Rumble Fish is a masterpiece on two very different levels – narratively and visually, and it departs from the conventions of the genre in both regards. In terms of the former, it is not particularly inventive or innovative – as mentioned before, this is based on a novel by S.E. Hinton, who mainly worked in young adult fiction. Call me an elitist, but there is very little crossover appeal between novels written for teenagers and arthouse cinema (but there have been some good ones in the past), yet somehow Coppola gets it to work and considering Hinton herself was directly involved in the production of this film, it adds some credibility to the final product. The story is not particularly original, but it isn’t trite or redundant either, and Coppola and Hinton capture a side of life that is rarely shown like it is here. Rumble Fish is an unsettling dosage of uncanny Americana, a journey into the deepest recesses of the American dream, as we are presented with an almost chaotic vision of the Midwest. We are shown a beautiful but stark depiction of the lives of those living on the fringe of contemporary society, and through the naive eyes of Rusty James, we come to be familiar with the complexities in the lives of ordinary people experiencing their own personal quandaries and struggling to navigate the various challenges one comes into contact with frequently, especially when living a life characterized by inconsequential minutiae – in such a context, gang violence and rebellion isn’t only expected, its also encouraged.

Rumble Fish is a testament to youth, shown in a way that is entirely unlike any other film from the era (and considering teen films reached their apex in the 1980s, Rumble Fish is even more of an outlier). It is a warm film, albeit not one that is particularly sentimental or hearty – quite the contrary, with Rumble Fish often taking the form of a bleak, uncomfortable portrayal of reckless youth. Thematically, it is a layered masterwork, and its most significant merit is its simplicity – a tale of a young man, his brother who he idolizes and a cast of other characters who drift in and out of his life as he moves towards finding himself. I can’t recall such a beautifully poetic representation of teenage angst as Rumble Fish, a character study that bears a lot of similarity in its complex exploration of existence to the films of the French New Wave, being just as expressive and elegant, without being any less morally penetrating. We are taken on a journey with these characters, both physically and emotionally as they come to terms with the allure of change, as well as the difficulty of abandoning old habits for the sake of one’s own safety and sanity.  At its core,  Rumble Fish shows the struggles many people have in simply growing up – at some point, people like Rusty James need to abandon his childish habits. There is a realization that our protagonist is in a terrifying transitional stage – his penchant for fighting and being a part of a gang is not going to be acceptable for much longer, and what is considered rowdy teenage behaviour now will be seen as violent criminal behaviour very soon. Rusty James knows this, yet he cannot abandon the idyllic vision of being a feared rebel like his brother, who is the biggest proponent for Rusty James’ own maturation. Rusty James just does not listen – he holds onto his youth even when those around him abandon it, and he is left in isolation by the end of this film, alone and without any direction. That’s the great tragedy portrayed in Rumble Fish – Rusty James doesn’t realize that he needs direction, and his journey forward is not one with a promising future, and that at some point he needs to learn from his mistakes and grow from them. Narratively, Rumble Fish is incredible, telling a complex but resonant story that strikes a chord with anyone who experiences the uncertainty of youth.

The other distinctive aspect of Rumble Fish, and perhaps the element that bears the most resonance, is it visual aesthetic. This film is just as stunning to look at as it is narratively complex, and it works alongside the story to create something quite special. The film is shot in gorgeous black-and-white, which lends to the general theme of detachment present throughout the film, as well as contributing to the bleak outlook conveyed by this film. Coppola works with cinematographer Steven H. Burum, with whom he was concurrently collaborating on the other Hinton film that year, The Outsiders, and together they craft something almost magical. I’d like to view Rumble Fish as some rural fairytale, and that magical sense of the surreal distance from actuality is conveyed beautifully through the visual appearance of this film. The intimate photography creates an unsettling sensitivity, and the use of shadows, silhouette and smoke shows clear inspiration from the silent era, specifically that of the German Expressionism (in researching this film, I found that Coppola was heavily inspired by The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, which is quite evident here). Rumble Fish is certainly one of the most visually striking films of the era and the genre, and considering the brooding, atmospheric nature of the story, it only makes sense that this film should utilize methods different from those normally employed to tell such stories. Coppola was very smart – not only does it make Rumble Fish a beautiful film, it sets it apart from all others like it. There are so many moments of unrivalled beauty throughout this film and makes me realize that Coppola is not only a masterful storyteller, he is a profoundly talented visual stylist who is capable of massive scope or intricate intimacy.

There is something so special about Rumble Fish – the gorgeous cinematography works alongside the powerful story to deliver a deeply moving portrayal of the broken promises of the American Dream. In many ways, Rumble Fish works as a great companion piece to the other teen films of the 1980s – while Ferris Bueller was having his day off, while the Breakfast Club were in detention, while Andie Walsh was lamenting over her prom date, Rusty James and his friends take part in brutal gang fights, coming close to death but not caring too much, because they realize there is nothing out there for them, and that violence is the only escape from their existences, which are tragic at worst and banal at best. Coppola made a film that is extremely effective, and beautifully-composed, leaving an indelible impression with its unparalleled beauty and incredibly resonant intention to show a panoply of themes that are often ignored or overly-stylised when they are represented. Rumble Fish is a soaring masterwork, a brilliantly-intricate and exceptionally-striking journey into the Midwest as we have never seen it before. Rumble Fish is understandably divisive, but it is still excellent, and certainly deserves wider acclaim. It is a very special film, one that is intoxicatingly bleak and profoundly heartfelt, and entirely unforgettable.