Michael Cimino and the missing culture of movie re-evaluation

One of the things I lament the most about movie consumption now is that the value (or lack thereof) of many films is determined almost instantly. A bad Rotten Tomatoes score or a poor performance at the box office can seal a film's fate, and often great films are written off indefinitely.

There are rarely, if ever, word of mouth hits anymore or legit cult classics. And more importantly, few forgotten films are rediscovered and re-appreciated because of their considerable merits.

What do Blade Runner and The Big Lebowski have in common? Besides being two of my all-time favorite films -- they were both box office bombs, and not exactly critical darlings either.

But both films are incredibly iconic and beloved now, largely due to the culture of home video, which helped them take on a life of their own, as fans spread the gospel on their virtues long after their theatrical runs ended.

Today, without video stores or even many people who still rent or watch DVDs, it's simply harder to recommend movies. There is a whole generation of audiences who feel like if it isn't streaming it isn't worth seeing -- yes, I recognize that I am sounding like one of those folks who is about to go on an anti-millennial rant. But the thing is, I am a millennial (barely), although I am unapologetically an old fashioned one.

I miss watching certain movies repeatedly and giving them time to grow on me. For instance, I hated Zoolander the first time I saw it. But then I kept quoting it and quoting it, until I came to appreciate how hilarious it was. I thought Step Brothers was more silly than funny at first, now I believe it's one of Will Ferrell's best. I could go on and on.

Director Michael Cimino, who recently passed away, is a major beneficiary of cultural re-appreciation. Long deemed a one-hit wonder, his work has started to be re-evaluated in recent years.

Now, his biggest critical and commercial success -- The Deer Hunter -- is still widely viewed as a classic, albeit a historically inaccurate, somewhat culturally insensitive one.

Meanwhile, the big budget Western that essentially tanked his career -- Heaven's Gate -- has been redeemed by film geeks who have come to appreciate its gorgeous cinematography, glacial pace and epic sweep. I count myself among the film's growing cult of fans.

Last night, I was pleasantly surprised by Cimino's first film -- the decidedly smaller-scaled 1974 heist movie, Thunderbolt and Lightfoot. It has some of Cimino's hallmarks -- stunning cinematography, surprisingly intense bursts of violence -- but it's much more lighthearted than most of his other work, suggesting that the director's career could have gone in a completely different direction.

Although Jeff Bridges became the film's breakout star (and scored his second Oscar nomination for it), this movie's real revelation is Clint Eastwood, who delivers a surprisingly sophisticated turn in one of his rare roles as a hoodlum instead of a straight hero.

This weekend I also gave Fort Apache, The Bronx another look. It's a relatively forgotten Paul Newman police drama -- which was viewed as racially insensitive when it was first released in 1981 -- but if you look under the surface it's actually a more sophisticated take on the inefficacy of inner city policing, especially when there is no real cultural exchange.

Not every "bad" movie is truly bad -- sometimes they are ahead of their time, or their complexity reveals itself over time. The older I get the more I like most movies I see, because I look for the good or great in everything I see. I find that I get more out of the experience that way. I rarely regret spending my time watching something.

I get that nowadays we are always "on to the next one" -- but sometimes we miss something worthwhile as we speed through life. And I think that's a shame.