That '70s Drift: Investigative Reporting

 A couple of fairly obscure offerings from the Carter era.

BETWEEN THE LINES (1977) (A) - This is a dream cast that really only works if you wait a few decades and go back in time. Beyond that, it is a compelling ensemble work about a scrappy alt-weekly in Boston fearing a corporate takeover.

This is the film debut of John Heard, who stars as bad-boy reporter Harry Lucas, who has an on-again, off-again thing with photographer colleague Abbie (Lindsay Crouse, coming off "Slap Shot"). Heard carries the movie like an old pro, and he is surrounded by a lot of young actors, many in their first substantive role -- Jeff Goldblum (below) as trippy-dippy Max; Jill Eikenberry (below) (TV's "L.A. Law") as mousy office receptionist Lynn; Bruno Kirby ("Godfather II," "When Harry Met Sally") as the eager cub reporter David; Gwen Welles ("Nashville") as Laura, the neglected girlfriend of arrogant writer Michael (Stephen Collins from TV's "7th Heaven"); quirky Michael J. Pollard ("Bonnie and Clyde") as the street vendor; and a tart Marilu Henner as a stripper who gets interviewed by David and Abbie.

 

Joan Micklin Silver, who mixed TV movies of that era with films such as "Hester Street" and "Crossing Delancey," mother-hens this bright-eyed group of fantastic actors, doing justice to a smart script by newsroom veteran Fred Barron (with an assist from David Helpern), who would go on to work on such varied projects as "The Larry Sanders Show" and "Bill Traylor: Chasing Ghosts." Barron and Micklin Silver get just right the loosey-goosey feel of an upstart publication in the post-Watergate era, often populated with young, stoned, horny idealists who want to be the next ones to bring down the system. They get so many of the details of a news operation just right.

Little did they and the filmmakers know that they were actually on the brink of the great '80s heyday of the bulky ad-stuffed alt-weekly. But getting bought out by a rich asshole is never fun for a journalist, and the ensemble cast here plays off each other effortlessly, tossing around sharp banter, even in the scenes when they are not trying to get into each others' pants. 

Micklin Silver shows an almost Altman-like command of the chaos at work here. And it's just pure joy to see hungry young actors -- led by Goldblum, Heard and Crouse -- riffing with each other, on the brink of, what seems in retrospect, the darkness before the dawn of a new era of cinema coming out of the American New Wave.

OLD BOYFRIENDS (1979) (C) - The only big-screen feature film directed by noted screenwriter Joan Tewksbury ("Nashville") stars Talia Shire as a psychiatrist who, "Broken Flowers"-style, hunts down her ex-lovers in order to analyze those failed relationships. Unfortunately it plays like a series of missed opportunities. And surprisingly, it's a limp script from Paul Schrader (and his brother Leonard) during his pulp heyday, in between "Taxi Driver" and "Raging Bull."

Shire is perfectly fine doing her usual mousy mope routine, but she just doesn't have the charisma to carry a movie. She plays Dianne Cruise, who had a painful break with her husband, and now delves into the past, with unexceptional results. She first tracks down the one who got away, college beau Jeff (Richard Jordan), a documentary filmmaker. She re-seduces Jeff and leads him to believe that there is a long-term possibility, only to dump him (and his adolescent daughter) abruptly and head back to Minnesota, where she pretty much does the same to the guy who humiliated her in high school, Eric (John Belushi), who sells formal wear and fronts a cheesy pop group. Belushi has totally the wrong tone for a movie like this, and you have to wonder if he would have had much of a career had he lived. 

Dianne then goes further back in time to seek out her first boyfriend but only finds his lookalike brother, Wayne (Keith Carradine), who tells her that his brother died in Vietnam. That doesn't stop Dianne from toying with emotionally traumatized Wayne, to the point that she gets a lecture from his psychiatrist, played by a hammy John Houseman. Meantime, Jeff, the first guy, is intent on tracking Dianne down (employing a private eye played with deadpan amusement by Buck Henry).

There's definitely something going on here, but it's probably the episodic nature of the film that kills the momentum every 30 minutes. And while Dianne is an unlikable vigilante, it would be easier to identify with such an anti-hero if her motivations made more sense. Tewksbury's direction is uninspired -- she's fond of obtuse mirror reflections -- and this all limps to a rather bland Hallmark ending.