Midnight Cowboy boasts the prestigious title of being the sole X-rated Academy Best Picture Winner. Today, it might be considered as risqué as your grandma's knitting circle, but don't let that mislead you - this film has more issues than a subscription to a therapy app.
Let's address the primary quagmire of this cinematic adventure: the quizzical nature of its protagonist, Joe Buck, brought to life by a fresh-faced Jon Voight. Joe emerges from a Texan environment that, according to the movie, seems to consist primarily of fast-food joints, underpaid workers, child abusers, religious zealots, and criminals who appear to view sodomy as a casual weekend activity (because, you know, it's the late 60s).
So, our cowboy-clad hero sets off for the Big Apple, dreaming of striking gold by charming wealthy New York women. His exterior exudes geniality, coupled with a naive worldview that sees the world through rosé-colored glasses.
Beneath the seemingly good-natured façade lies Joe's extremely dark past, unveiled through flashbacks suggesting he and his girlfriend were gang-raped by a posse of intoxicated cowboys. To compound the absurdity, the girlfriend falsely accuses Joe of being the assailant. However, it becomes evident that these accusations never came to fruition due to her subsequent mental breakdown resulting from the traumatic event. The film insists we sympathize with Joe, portraying Texas as a wasteland of unrelenting nastiness, subtly insinuating that all Texans are probably right-wing conservatives with a penchant for Christian Fundamentalism.
Waldo Salt's screenplay, however, is an equal opportunity offender, finding no redeeming characters either in the grime-infested corners of New York City. Note Joe's initial encounter with a middle-aged Park Avenue woman who turns on him after he dares to request payment for his less-than-chivalrous services.
Now, let's spare as few words as possible for Rico "Ratso" Rizzo, the handicapped con man portrayed by Dustin Hoffman with the finesse of a sledgehammer. Ratso remains a stagnant caricature throughout, serving as a sympathy prop for Joe, who tends to him as he succumbs to a seemingly terminal respiratory infection.
As Joe's funds dry up and the hotel manager plays impound-the-belongings, Joe reluctantly ventures into the realm of male prostitution. The film's take on homosexuality showcases its outdated sensibilities, depicting every gay character as a slave to sexual compulsion, each portrayed as an ineffectual 'loser.'
The plot sees Joe and Ratso sharing quarters in a platonic relationship. Ratso's back story involves inhaling shoe polish from his Italian immigrant father's shoe shine business, causing his gradual demise. Meanwhile, Joe achieves his gigolo dreams, seducing socialite Shirley after meeting at a Warhol-esque shindig. The second act darkens as Joe resorts to violence, robbing and presumably murdering an effeminate man for Florida-bound funds.
The climax, or lack thereof, involves Ratso's demise on a bus. Somehow, we're expected to maintain sympathy for these two lovable losers, both victims of alleged tragic upbringings.
If you can overlook Joe's naivety and his murky, unsympathetic past that likely involves murder, perhaps you can tip your hat to Voight's performance. As for Hoffman, he fared much better a decade later playing an idiot savant in Rain Man, where the quirks were intentional.
The only silver lining in this cinematic storm is the cinematography, offering a stark portrayal of NYC's underbelly in 1969. But let's be clear, a shiny lens doesn't polish away the film's myriad shortcomings.
Let's address the primary quagmire of this cinematic adventure: the quizzical nature of its protagonist, Joe Buck, brought to life by a fresh-faced Jon Voight. Joe emerges from a Texan environment that, according to the movie, seems to consist primarily of fast-food joints, underpaid workers, child abusers, religious zealots, and criminals who appear to view sodomy as a casual weekend activity (because, you know, it's the late 60s).
So, our cowboy-clad hero sets off for the Big Apple, dreaming of striking gold by charming wealthy New York women. His exterior exudes geniality, coupled with a naive worldview that sees the world through rosé-colored glasses.
Beneath the seemingly good-natured façade lies Joe's extremely dark past, unveiled through flashbacks suggesting he and his girlfriend were gang-raped by a posse of intoxicated cowboys. To compound the absurdity, the girlfriend falsely accuses Joe of being the assailant. However, it becomes evident that these accusations never came to fruition due to her subsequent mental breakdown resulting from the traumatic event. The film insists we sympathize with Joe, portraying Texas as a wasteland of unrelenting nastiness, subtly insinuating that all Texans are probably right-wing conservatives with a penchant for Christian Fundamentalism.
Waldo Salt's screenplay, however, is an equal opportunity offender, finding no redeeming characters either in the grime-infested corners of New York City. Note Joe's initial encounter with a middle-aged Park Avenue woman who turns on him after he dares to request payment for his less-than-chivalrous services.
Now, let's spare as few words as possible for Rico "Ratso" Rizzo, the handicapped con man portrayed by Dustin Hoffman with the finesse of a sledgehammer. Ratso remains a stagnant caricature throughout, serving as a sympathy prop for Joe, who tends to him as he succumbs to a seemingly terminal respiratory infection.
As Joe's funds dry up and the hotel manager plays impound-the-belongings, Joe reluctantly ventures into the realm of male prostitution. The film's take on homosexuality showcases its outdated sensibilities, depicting every gay character as a slave to sexual compulsion, each portrayed as an ineffectual 'loser.'
The plot sees Joe and Ratso sharing quarters in a platonic relationship. Ratso's back story involves inhaling shoe polish from his Italian immigrant father's shoe shine business, causing his gradual demise. Meanwhile, Joe achieves his gigolo dreams, seducing socialite Shirley after meeting at a Warhol-esque shindig. The second act darkens as Joe resorts to violence, robbing and presumably murdering an effeminate man for Florida-bound funds.
The climax, or lack thereof, involves Ratso's demise on a bus. Somehow, we're expected to maintain sympathy for these two lovable losers, both victims of alleged tragic upbringings.
If you can overlook Joe's naivety and his murky, unsympathetic past that likely involves murder, perhaps you can tip your hat to Voight's performance. As for Hoffman, he fared much better a decade later playing an idiot savant in Rain Man, where the quirks were intentional.
The only silver lining in this cinematic storm is the cinematography, offering a stark portrayal of NYC's underbelly in 1969. But let's be clear, a shiny lens doesn't polish away the film's myriad shortcomings.