‘1969’: A Look at Coming of Age in Turbulent Times

It was an era of turmoil. The United States was escalating its presence in Vietnam. Social protest in the country’s streets and universities was at a high. The music was psychedelic. The touted film was “Easy Rider.” It was a time of reflection--and a time of action.

Movies have largely steered away from the hot issues of the late ‘60s, preferring the cooler climate of postwar, pre-Kennedy assassination America. Entertainment analysts have gone so far as to joke that a ‘70s revival will look a lot like the ‘50s.

And the late ‘80s appear primed to look 20 years back in time.

Virtually every studio has a “ ‘60s” project in development. Director Taylor Hackford is hoping to capture the time through the eyes of a newsman in an upcoming film; writer Floyd Mutrux is finishing a social drama which follows two characters from an age of innocence into an era of radicalization.

The first film of this wave is the grandiloquent title “1969,” being produced by Atlantic Releasing. It’s the maiden directorial effort of “On Golden Pond” playwright-screenwriter Ernest Thompson.

Shooting here and in nearby Savannah, the film focuses on two young men whose friendship is strained by the turbulent political climate of the era. On the surface it’s a coming-of-age story for Ralph Carr and Scott Denny, roles played respectively by actors Robert Downey Jr. and Kiefer Sutherland.

But Thompson views his film as a coming-of-age story for all America.

“It really starts so simply,” said Thompson, a former TV actor who looks more like a leading man than an auteur . “Two innocent boys are hitchhiking home--one has a brother, a Marine, who’s going off to Vietnam the next day. It’s not a great surprise where the story is going. The boys, their families, the community are caught up in an inevitable process and they’re gonna get hit, hit hard emotionally.”

Reduced to its simplest level, he said “1969” is one story of an era--a microcosm of how the United States shed its good-guy image and a handful of people responded to that change.

Unquestionably it’s a personal project for Thompson. Turning the mirror on himself, he said: “I was doing basically what Kiefer’s character is doing in the picture: Trying to figure it out, changing, developing some social conscience and painting designs on a Volkswagen van. I was young and idealistic and dealing with the world from that perspective.”

The film “is about two guys who’ve been pals and are coming to a fork in the road and they’re going different ways. One’s become a poet, the other hasn’t. I find that truly sad. I always write from sadness.”

The young men’s families also provide a major focus. Bruce Dern and Mariette Hartley play Sutherland’s parents, Chris Wynne his departing Marine brother. Downey’s mother is portrayed by Joanna Cassidy and Winona Ryder is his sister.

For the actors who are old enough to have vivid memories of the era, the film represented the opportunity to apply a political commitment spawned but not exercised at the time.

“I was in therapy,” said Hartley. “So, I was part of the consciousness that asked us to look into ourselves. But I was also struggling to get work and survive--doing things like ‘Star Trek.’ My involvement in gun control and M.A.D.D. (Mothers Against Drunk Driving) would occur much later.”

Cassidy was coping with a failing marriage to a psychiatrist: “I was modeling in San Francisco and starting to study as an actress.” Dern was still playing nasties and had just met his future wife while doing a “Then Came Bronson” episode.

Winona Ryder, whose godfather is Timothy Leary, wasn’t even born and her young co-stars were barely walking and talking. Sutherland, whose family is noted for its political activism, put it in this perspective: “It’s a time that’s very important to a lot of people, my parents included. You can be sure I don’t want to trivialize the period.”

Thompson contends that 1969 might be a bit elusive to his younger performers: “Things were falling down, people’s awarenesses were changing and we had Vietnam which was a very clear magnet. Otherwise I think the story could take place in 1987. So, it’s not difficult to speak to the actors about the ‘60s. It’s not like doing the plague, it’s not that long ago.”

Statesboro is a prime candidate for the award as Sleepiest Town in America. City Hall, without benefit of makeup, has become the city jail in the script’s fictional Baylor, Md. The scene--Ralph’s release after breaking into the town records--called for a warm, summer morning. Temperatures were barely above freezing.

“You should have been here last week,” said one onlooker. “It was real warm. I ain’t never seen it get this cold ever.”

The crew was inspired to work quickly and move on to interiors. They grumbled about the weather, but any overt evidence of emotional strain was put aside for the moment. One crew member said elliptically: “There’s been a lot of blood spilled to get this story on film. We don’t need any new problems.”

The “blood” turned out to be the location manager, the director of photography and the production designer--all of whom were fired during the first two weeks of production. In its second week, “1969” was shut down for three days and a second producer brought in to assess the problems and make script changes that would facilitate getting back on schedule. Among other excisions was a brief stop in Woodstock.

“Atlantic (Releasing) was asking for trouble,” said another crew member. “You just don’t put an untried director (meaning Thompson) with an inexperienced producer (as in co-producer Dan Grodnick).”

At any rate, the upshot was that Atlantic sent in seasoned line producer Bill Badelato (“Top Gun,” “Weeds”) and things seemed to settle down and, if there was tension left, everybody was putting on Oscar-worthy performances of solidarity.

Thompson said that he knew nothing about the technical aspects of film and had to learn everything as he went along. “The most important thing I learned was to be able to say I don’t know and thankfully I’m working with people who are very generous about teaching,” he said.

The Statesboro filming, lasting three days, was without incident. Vernon Beatty, who owns the local hardware store, looked out his window onto State Street pointing out his neighbors who were participating in a funeral cortege up to the film’s city jail.

“We don’t get much filming here,” he said. “I remember years ago they shot a ‘Route 66’ and I had a nice little part in ‘Buster and Billie.’ Things are pretty economically depressed so we’re happy to get the film folks in and buying things.” True to his words, someone from the production pops in to rent a ladder and buy supplies.

Peggy Ryder, who operates a small appliance shop, said: “I’m sure happy they came during the middle of the week when there’s not much business. I wouldn’t have been very happy if they’d closed up the street on the weekend.”

As the day proceeded, the deserted streets filled with teen-agers, anxious to see Downey and Sutherland. Downey was running way ahead in popularity since word had leaked out of Sutherland’s marriage six months earlier. Under their gruff facade, the local police seemed to beam, given this rare opportunity to direct street traffic. They barked out directions with much more authority than an assistant director.

The police shoulder patch read: Statesboro, the Tourist City. “Well, I guess we’re not so much anymore,” one said. “You see they brought in the interstate and people who used to drive down to Florida don’t have to pass through here anymore.”

People on the crew didn’t like Statesboro--no night life and the restaurants are mostly chains. The Ramada Inn has a cocktail hour, but most of the county is dry, or, if you’re lucky, will let you “brown bag.”

“The film’s fortunate that this is a city that’s had a lot of film crews come through before. There’s generally a positive, cooperative attitude,” said location manager Buddy Enright about Savannah. It is said that if Savannah Mayor John Rousakis is cast in a film, you can expect the red-carpet treatment. In “1969,” he was to play a motorist who decides not to pick up the young men--but rescheduling and the mayor’s personal commitments forced him to bow out.

If you want to make movies here, you deal with Sgt. Johnson Taylor of Savannah’s finest. It’s understood that no one works without his cooperation. And you abide by certain rules. At 9 p.m., everything must stop. The shooting had been creeping past the curfew by 20 to 30 minutes over the past few days, but Taylor, who rarely visits a set, stopped by to make a friendly reminder.

So as the minutes counted down to 2100 hours this particular night, the tension escalated. The production was about to lose the home of Salley Barrett, where Dern and Hartley live in “1969.” As luck would have it, the most grueling and complicated scene was saved for last. In it, Hartley’s character, whom the actress described as “repressed and emotionally unaware,” explodes in a rage while defrosting the refrigerator in the tiny kitchen. It ends with Hartley scattering frozen food across the kitchen.

Barrett lingered about the house. She was offered a hotel room during the filming but decided she would rather stick around. “I think it’s fun to have them around,” she said. “But no one’s going to know it’s my house because they took out all my furniture and put it their own, which isn’t as nice.”

Thompson went over his script one more time. “Everything I write is about people’s inability to reach each other. Moliere said that comedy worked because the people in the audience felt superior to the person on stage, so they can laugh at him. I tend to reverse it, I write sort of comedy--sad comedies. I write through pain, I write through sadness and that’s what I encourage my actors to find, always. If I see them drifting into the obvious or the superficial--I say to them but what’s the pain, what’s the person’s pain at that moment. I asked Bruce that when he’s watching the guys landing on the moon on television.”

Dern said his character, unlike the others in the film, “never really comes to a realization about himself. He believes he’s close to his kids but he’s not. He’s by the book, inflexible. So, while he comes to an understanding with Scott, he never can admit that maybe he was wrong about things.”

“My character is forced to change because she’s identified herself with her family, and her kids are about to leave the fold,” said Cassidy. “Ernest writes in such a way that you don’t have to play the obvious to get across the emotion of a scene.”

“It’s pentimento,” said Thompson. “You see something and it looks OK but then it seems there’s something slightly askew, you rub it a little and there’s a layer underneath and it’s a little bit different. So, if the director hasn’t totally ruined the writer’s intentions, that full circle aspect of the story should make for pretty powerful drama.”