The Outsiders
A symphony of life lessons in the key of adolescence
One stereotype has it that teenagers are always pigging out, that adolescents like their food in large amounts, strong flavors, reckless combinations and big bites. That’s the sort of appetite THE OUTSIDERS is designed for. This picture is a wanton smorgasbord of romance, sentimentality, tragedy, heroism, poetry and violence. It’s a “serious” movie made for gluttons rather than connoisseurs.
The story is taken with very little alteration (trimming of detail was the main change) from S.E. Hinton’s novel about Tulsa teenagers. Susie Hinton wrote the book when she was in high school and went on to write three more on the same general subject: Midwestern teenagers struggling to fit into society, life and themselves. All of the novels have been steady favorites with young readers and high school English teachers, but THE OUTSIDERS has remained the most popular.
The finding-a-niche-theme in this story is built around a class-feud situation like the ones in WEST-SIDE STORY and ROMEO AND JULIET. A boy from the poor side of town—a “greaser” named Ponyboy—and a girl from the rich side—Cherry, a “soc” (short for “social”)—meet at a drive-in movie and become friends. Cherry’s friends don’t like the idea and a fight ensues.
Someone is killed. Ponyboy and his buddy Johnny have to hide in the country, where they read “Gone with the Wind,” discover insights about life and rescue some children from a burning building. Eventually the two sides meet in a gang fight, more people are killed and nothing is outwardly resolved. But individuals have changed, have learned truths bigger than social fact.
The story is told by Ponyboy, a sensitive 14-year-old who is trying to find a truce between his loyalty to the gang and his feelings of wider humanity. He sees the strengths and weaknesses of the way others live with injustice. His friend Two-bit relies on his sense of humor, but is unable to be serious or take responsibility. Dallas, who has spent time in New York and in prison, is afraid of no one, but only as long as he cares about no one. Cherry Valance is able to see past prejudice but fears to offend her “sosh” peers.
The person from whom Ponyboy learns the most is Johnny, a runt whose family ignores him and who can’t defend himself against the enemy. Johnny has the worst lot of all, and the highest ideals. “A world where there ain’t no soshes and no greasers,” he muses, “but just people.”
Even though the movie necessarily abridges the book a lot of ground is covered—especially for a youth film. Broken homes, responsibility, bigotry, altruism, camaraderie, murder, death and suicide are the items of fare here. If that seems like too much on one menu, consider the portions: just right for a couple of uncomplicated gulps. Instead of developing a couple of growing up pains and pangs in depth, the movie, even more than the book, touches only briefly on a number of them.
It’s an approach that belies one kind of profundity and borders on sensationalism. In this movie the effect is a happy one. A brooding symphonic score and some meditative photography instill a unity and lofty tone to what is, in itself, a maudlin, corny and awkwardly rendered script.
Several first-time actors were used, but only four of the experienced performers are worth noticing. Diane Lane, C. Thomas Howell and Ralph Macchio do convincing work as Cherry, Ponyboy and Johnny, respectively. Matt Dillon, who also has roles in two other Hinton filmings (last year’s “Tex” and the upcoming “Rumblefish”) is perfect—tough, cool, not-too-smart and charismatic, just like the Dallas in the book.
Some of the acting is atrocious. The emotionalism is so overt that a couple of times I was embarrassed. Overall, however, the naivete and over-gloriousness is in keeping with its narration by a teenager. The filmmakers record the material with an aloofness that is compassionate but not patronizing, obviously aware their story is a little silly, but in its own way significant.
THE OUTSIDERS captures a conception of the world and an idealism that does, as Ponyboy says, quoting Robert Frost, “subside to grief.” For those of us who are already past adolescence this picture might refurbish a bit what was best about that time of life, the quality that Johnny and Ponyboy and the poet refer to as “gold.”