"The Strawberry Statement" (1970) / "Hair" (1979)

                                                                   

The coronavirus pandemic is no longer front-page news, for now.  National outrage over the arrest and death of a black man at the hands of white police has dominated the media for more than a week. There are images of massive protests on the streets of cities big and small, most of them peaceful but with several disturbing episodes of violence and destruction.

From the Nation’s capital come counterimages of an impotent, divisive administration, invoking law and order in a desperate attempt to appear in control, hiding behind the bible and military protection, and providing no comfort. Instead, sadly and deliberately, they are taunting an anguished populace.

An unusual element of the current protests is the sight of cloth face masks, worn by many of the demonstrators marching in the streets, to provide whatever protection is possible from a dangerous contagion while in close proximity to hundreds of others.

It’s too early to know if the weekslong nationwide demonstrations, involving mostly young people who are forgoing  social distancing after months of isolation, will develop into a new Covid-19 crisis.

What is certain is that people of color have been disproportionately affected and killed by the virus.   

While the pandemic remains unprecedented in modern culture, the images of large, sustained, often violent demonstrations on American streets are not.  Today’s protests and riots look familiar to those who experienced the turmoil of Civil Rights and anti-Vietnam protests of the 1960s and 70s.

As yet, our culture hasn’t had sufficient time to deal artistically with these events through music, theater, or film; but we do have popular artifacts that depict those earlier conflicts, precedents for the massive demonstrations taking place now, fifty years later. 

Two interesting movies from the Hollywood archives are worth looking at today.  Although they vary in quality, and are dated by their styles and language, they are both valuable records of the mood of the times, and may give new audiences something to relate to, and maybe even a path toward healing.

“THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT”

“The Strawberry Statement”, released in 1970, was made during the height of American unrest.  It is a product of, and a reflection of, the growing disillusionment on college campuses, increasing anti-war sentiment, and heightened enlightenment and sensitivity about mistreatment of minorities like Blacks and Native Americans. 

It is a flawed film, and is hardly mentioned today, even though it won a Jury Prize at Cannes.  But out of the many movies that depicted campus unrest and social protest, this one offers flashes of euphoric and creative filmmaking, interesting supporting characters, great music, and a flavor of a kind of rebellion that is just now beginning to resurface.

Based on the popular memoir of the same name by Ron Kunen, and subtitled “Notes of a College Revolutionary”, the film is a fictionalized account of Kunen’s transformation, from apolitical student to  campus radical, during the rebellions at Columbia College from 1966-68.  

The title refers to an offhand quote by one of the Vice Presidents of the college, in which he angered and alienated students.  He said, in effect, that  “student or faculty opinions have no place in  University policy; … and are no more meaningful than if they were to tell me that they liked strawberries.”

The film moves the location from New York to a Berkeley-inspired college in San Francisco.  The protagonist, named Simon, is an athlete on the rowing team who is happy just to earn passable grades, and graduate into well-paying job.  He has little interest in campus involvement, beyond immersing himself in pop culture and getting laid.  

A young Bruce Davison is appealing as Simon, who roams aimlessly between class and rowing practice, using a super-8 camera to film the scene around him.  He doesn’t care about the campus protests, street theater, and calls for a student strike; they only give him nightmares.

On a lark, he joins his roommate in a student takeover of a college President’s office.  The students are protesting the acquisition of land that belonged to a Black neighborhood for the purpose of building a college gymnasium.

There, Simon meets Linda (Kim Darby, fresh from “True Grit”), and they fall in love.  They are assigned together to be the food committee for the entrenched student strikers, leaving the sit-in for trips around  San Francisco for grocery donations, filmed in flashy montages scored to popular tunes of the era.  

Slowly, Simon observes the corruption and injustice around him, expressing confusion and disillusionment at his wanting to be a member of a college that is against everything he believes in.  He even falls victim to violence from members of the very community the protesters want to help, leading him to question his involvement in the entire movement.  Later, his own unjust arrest, and encouragement from Linda, help to clarify his attitudes in favor of the strike.

After the arrest, Simon leads a mass occupation inside a University hall.  There, in the film’s protracted conclusion, riot police with tear-gas and batons violently clash with the students, who are unarmed and chanting for peace.  The scene is loud, horrifying and heartbreaking.   Even if it runs a tad too long, you can’t help being swept up in the shock and emotion of it.  

“The Strawberry Statement” suffers from a lack of a strong narrative line.  The movie ambles, keeping the tone druggy and mellow, with sharp bursts of drama or violence, sprinkling plot points, slogans and oddball characters throughout, up until its shocking conclusion.  

Viewers with no prior knowledge of Vietnam atrocities, political assassinations of the 1960s, civil rights abuses, and campus unrest (the Kent State massacre happened that year) may not always understand the motivation for what’s happening on screen. 

The movie assumes we know why the student strike is a big deal.  Even so, plot is less important than mood here,  stirring up feelings of righteous indignation and cumulative anger.  (A young viewer today might be inflamed to actively protest,  after seeing the film’s images of police brutality against youth who believe in a cause.)

Also, the film’s poor sound recording, especially in dialog sequences, obscures some clarifying information. A few times, the actor’s voices seem to be coming from off-screen.

On the plus side, the cast of up-and coming actors is spirited, energetic, and understand both the drama and the humor of their situation.  Today it is fun to see people like Bud Cort (“Harold and Maude”), Bob Balaban (“Midnight Cowboy”), and Jeannie Berlin (“The Heartbreak Kid”) in their formative acting years, as they sink their teeth into quirky supporting roles. 

The director, Stuart Hagmann, also took some chances by using an array of trendy cinematic devices (jump-cuts, soft-focus, flash-forwards, kaleidoscopic camera) to effectively depict the look of a psychedelic era.  

Hagmann’s choice of music also a evokes the clarion calls that inspired youthful activism, with artists like Buffy Sainte-Marie, Crosby Stills and Nash, Neil Young, and Thunderclap Newman.  Joni Mitchell’s “Circle Game” is used particularly well, suggesting hope and promise at the opening, and expressing outrage and regret at the fadeout.

“HAIR”

The rock-musical film “Hair” is based on the controversial 1967 stage production that scandalized Broadway and shocked America.  This film adaptation of the iconic work about drugs, love and freedom, "Hair" is overall a better work of cinema than “The Strawberry Statement”.  Both films deal with youth in protest,  but "Hair" differs in interesting ways.  

First,  “The Strawberry Statement”, set in the late 1960s,  is a product of its era.  “Hair” while it is set in Hippie-era 1967,  was made in 1979, over 5 years after the Vietnam war ended, over a decade after the Summer of Love. This gives it the perspective of time, even a hint of nostalgia, that keeps it from becoming dated. 

Another notable difference is Czech director Milos Forman (“One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest”), who lends the movie a more objective, less knee-jerk-American point of view.  There’s an almost low-key tone to Forman’s treatment of the anti-Vietnam, pro-Hippie subject matter which is often manic and psychedelic.

“Hair” in its original form was a subversive musical revue.  A naïve young Englishman named Claude falls in with a group of free-spirited, draft-card-burning, drug-taking, sexually liberated Hippies.  With a threadbare plot involving the Vietnam draft and an undercurrent of satire, the characters sing about the concerns of the day,  from air pollution to revisionist history, from the sexually uptight to a new age of peace and freedom.  A turning point comes when Claude is drafted into the Army.

The film changes Claude's character into a naïve Oklahoman on his way to New York for his Army draft physical. (John Savage, who portrayed a Vietnam POW the year before in “The Deer Hunter”, is an interesting bit of casting as Claude).  He meets and befriends Berger (Treat Williams) and his colorful Hippie friends in Central Park, and spends a night of drug-fueled musical revelry. 

Along the way he meets Sheila (Beverly D’Angelo), the woman of his dreams, who comes from an upper-crust family but who longs for the free-spirited life of the Hippie community.  What ensues is a road trip to Nevada, where Claude is eventually stationed for training before being deployed to Vietnam, setting up yet another stunning and emotional finale.

The film retains the youthful vigor and aura of protest, but creates a stronger plot structure for its ideas and its music, and gives the characters a more realistic New York setting.  By focusing on the anti-war movement and dropping some of the sundry issues of the stage version, the film emphasizes the racial and socioeconomic origins of unrest. 

It’s a visually dazzling, energetic and exquisitely made film.

One of the similarities between “Hair” and “The Strawberry Statement” is their portrayal of the lack of communication between young people and the Establishment.  In “Strawberry Statement”, the over-30 crowd is the understood to be the enemy.  In “Hair”, both sides are equally guilty of not listening, or not being able to talk to each other.  

The Hippies in “Hair” are not cute and cuddly heroes at first, and are almost  annoying toward those who disagree with their vision.  (Their wealthy elders fare no better, and are depicted as inflexible and closed off.)

In “Hair”, this idea evolves in an intriguing manner.  Berger, by literally walking in the shoes of the Establishment, redeems himself in a startling and tragic act of self-sacrifice.

Both films are also willing to deal with the concerns of the Black community, which gives each film a renewed relevance for today’s audience.   

The students’ strike in “Strawberry Statement” may be about ending the draft and about providing input into campus policy; but the action is sparked by the protesters’ desire to protect land in a Black neighborhood.  "Hair”, in its use of language and a subplot about parenthood, creates an intriguing look at being Black in America amid a national crisis.

“Hair” confronts racism through a character named Lafayette, or as he calls himself, Hud (Dorsey Wright).   He sings “Colored Spade”, a song in which the entire lyrics are derogatory words and phrases used to describe black people in American culture.  It’s funny, and it wants to make us uncomfortable.

“Hair” is not afraid to tackle discord within the Black community, either.  The mother of Hud’s young son, both of whom he abandoned to join the movement, finds Hud, and confronts him. This strong black woman, played by Cheryl Barnes, sums up the paradox of the free-love movement: its generosity to the cause, and its neglect of its responsibilities to loved ones. She goes straight to our soul, in a searing rendition of “Easy to Be Hard”.

The music of “Hair” is justifiably famous.  Many of the songs have become standards.  They are creative, electric, romantic, funny, and pointed.  They are beautifully staged and choreographed, and there is not one number that won’t excite or move you.

Among them:

“Aquarius”, the signature theme, is done in a slower, jazzier tempo than its original versions. Performed to the unusual, clipped choreography of Twyla Tharp, we get a fresh angle on the Hippie manifesto, that Claude finds completely alien in his first encounter.  

“Ain’t Got No” and “I Got Life” are lively and humorous companion pieces that speak to the dilemma of poverty and of knowing what’s really important.  “Black Boys/ White Boys” extends the racial motif in a sly way, that also pokes fun at latent homosexuality in a military that forbade gays from serving.  

“Good Morning Starshine” is a goofy and upbeat tune that comes at a climactic point in the film, with the cast speeding in a convertible down a vast desert road.  The sheer carefree happiness of the song brings the characters together.  I have rarely experienced such joy in a movie as I did during this musical interlude.

“Let the Sunshine In”, perhaps the most well-known number, takes us from shocking personal tragedy to a massive anti-Vietnam peace protest outside the White House. The scene calls to mind today’s demonstrations against police brutality and racism.  It makes your heart soar and ache at the same time.

Both films remain as potent reminders of an era of activism, violence, and hope for a better world.  There's still much to do. 

The tide is now turning, and the sustained demonstrations we see today are bringing to the forefront issues that have been simmering for decades.  Now, instead of the threat of dying in Vietnam through a military draft, protesters, in their effort to fight to make the world more fair, are facing the immediate threat of dying from this disease.