MAGNET contributing writer Jud Cost is sharing some of the wealth of classic films he’s been lucky enough to see over the past 40 years. Trolling the backwaters of cinema, he has worked up a list of more than 100 titles—from the ’20s through the ’80s—that you may have missed. A new selection, all currently available on DVD, appears every week.
The Last Detail (1973, 105 minutes)
The Last Detail catches Jack Nicholson, one of the 20th century’s most accomplished actors, at an early creative peak. Only a few years after his eye-opening appearances in Easy Rider and Five Easy Pieces, Nicholson’s 1973 work in The Last Detail is an excellent precursor to his performances in Chinatown and One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, over the next two years.
Two Navy lifers, petty officers Buddusky (Nicholson) and Mulhall (Otis Young) are detailed to escort Meadows (Randy Quaid), a bumbling, teenage doughboy of an enlisted man, to the Portsmouth Naval Prison in New Hampshire.
“You are one lucky son of a bitch, bad-ass,” says his chief petty officer (Clifton James) to Buddusky, explaining that seaman Meadows has drawn an eight-year prison sentence and a dishonorable discharge. “Jesus Christ! What’d he do, kill the Old Man?” asks Buddusky. “Didn’t kill nobody. Robbery. Forty dollars,” says the chief. “You’re shittin’ me!” says Mulhall. “I wouldn’t shit you. You’re my favorite turd,” answers the chief. “He lifted a polio-contribution box. It’s the Old Man’s old lady’s favorite do-gooder charity. It’s good duty for you guys. You get to go to Washington, New York, Boston,” says the chief, handing over pistols to the fortunate pair, now designated as Shore Patrol.
By the time the threesome is dropped off at the Greyhound bus station, Buddusky and Mulhall have hatched plans to fast-track Meadows to Portsmouth in two days, then spend his unused per diem on a leisurely return to their base in Virginia. “You have to go to the head, Meadows?” asks Buddusky, chewing gum. “No, sir,” replies the prisoner, now in handcuffs. “Be sure, because from now on, whenever you do have to go, one of us has to go with you,” warns Buddusky. “I’m not gonna kill myself,” says Meadows quietly.
The soft-hearted pair of guards has changed plans by the time they get off the train in Washington. They remove Meadows’ handcuffs and decide to buy him a beer in a nearby bar. “Lemme see an ID. The kid ain’t old enough, The law says I have to serve him,” says the bartender, pointing at Mulhall who is black. “I’ll tell you what you have to do, citizen bartender,” says Mulhall. “You take your beers and shove ’em up your ass, sideways!”
“You try anything and I’ll call the Shore Patrol,” says the bartender. “I am the motherfucking Shore Patrol!” screams Buddusky, pulling out his service pistol. “Now give this man a beer!” Trying to defuse things, Meadows mumbles, “I don’t really want a beer.” “You’re gonna have a motherfucking beer!” answers Buddusky. As they run from the joint, laughing, Mulhall and Meadows tell Buddusky, “You are one bad ass!” Nodding at Meadows, Buddusky replies, “You ain’t leavin’ D.C. until you get a bellyful of beer!”
