Thirty years ago today, Tom Cruise proved he could act and Dustin Hoffman gave the single greatest performance of the 1980s, this side of Jake LaMotta. I'm talking about the rare piece of work that found equal popularity with critics AND audiences. I'm talking about the pop culture phenomenon known as "Rain Man". Once upon a time, a non-superhero/FX movie could dominate the box office for six weeks. A movie with widespread appeal could collect big Academy Awards without leaving the masses alienated and confused. Barry Levinson's best film did both, and deserves it's place among the dying Reagan era's finest artistic achievements.
"Rain Man" shed some light on the condition of autism(admit it, you had no idea what that word meant before Raymond memorized the phone book), and is a damn fine buddy movie to boot. Before the Oscars were a haven for virtue-signaling and trendy political posturing, they gave it up for movies that the paying public actually liked. Join me for an unauthorized field-trip from Wallbrook to celebrate this four-quadrant classic.
This may come as a shock to my readers under the age of 30, but there was a time when Tom Cruise had more on his mind that Scientology and "Mission Impossible" sequels. Hollywood's top gun could have done anything he wanted in 1988, and what he wanted to do(besides bed Elisabeth Shue and tend bar with Bryan Brown) was star in a serious drama. The role of cocky California car dealer Charlie Babbitt proved the perfect opportunity to flex some previously-unused acting muscles. Fun fact- Steven Spielberg came close to directing, but his commitment to Indiana Jones forced the fabled filmmaker to reluctantly drop out. A pop song called "Iko Iko" from British girl group 'The Belle Stars,' immediately lets us know that Levinson was so right for this.
Charlie Babbitt is so busy wheeling and dealing, that he barely has time to react to the news of his father's death, leaving his girlfriend Susanna(Valeria Golino) wondering why she's with the self-obsessed jerk. A borrowed car led to a bitter falling out, and Babbitt hasn't bothered with his family since he was sixteen. But a trip to Ohio to settle the estate reveals that a $3 million inheritance went to a mystery relative. Charlie takes a sudden interest in his familial background.
A little detective work leads Charlie to a Cincinnati mental institution in his late father's 1949 Buick Roadmaster, the coveted vehicle that caused the separation. A sunny, laidback facility filled with voluntary patients is presided over by Dr. Bruner, an old friend of Sanford Babbitt. Gerald R. Molen, a veteran Hollywood player with many acting/producing credits, is initially reluctant to break the news that will change Charlie's whole world.
The dynamite Dustin Hoffman enters around the 20-minute mark as Raymond Babbitt, the older brother Charlie never knew he had. Screenwriter Barry Morrow was inspired by two real life handicapped individuals with extraordinary talents- Kim Peek and Bill Sackter both became famous as the country's awareness of mental illness and intellectual disabilities increased in the '70s and '80s. Raymond is a mega-savant with a superb memory and no social skills. His entire existence is tightly organized and controlled, with little room for disruption or the presence of other human beings. Hoffman was already very famous and renowned for his performances in "The Graduate", "Midnight Cowboy", "All the President's Men", "Kramer vs. Kramer", and "Tootsie", which should have made it harder to disappear into a role like this. He did it anyway, and his characterization is instantly iconic.
Raymond doesn't understand the concept of money. Fortunately, his little brother Charlie does, as he quickly realizes that Ray is a walking, talking check for $1.5 million. This is the first of many priceless exchanges between Cruise and Hoffman. Ray can rattle off plenty of information about the Los Angeles Dodgers, but can't tell you if he'd like to see them play. Charlie makes that decision for him.
I always loved this shot of Cruise walking confidently away from the hospital with Hoffman trailing nervously behind. It's only two or three seconds, but it's a strong visual that tells us so much about these two characters with no dialogue. That's called great directing(I'd also like to give a shout to those equally cool windmills seen earlier). Hans Zimmer's innovative score(synthesizers and steel drums) sent him on a path to becoming one of the industry's most in-demand composers. It perfectly conveys the unpredictability of the journey we're about to take, and is totally distinct.
Raymond doesn't understand sex. Charlie angrily ejects him from his hotel bedroom- the last straw for Susanna, whose appalled by his uncaring opportunism. Indifference over a parent's demise is one thing, kidnapping a disabled sibling for financial gain is another. She storms off in the middle of the night, turning "RM" into a two-man show.
Charlie continues to have little patience or desire to serve his brother's needs at a diner the next morning. For example, it would be nice if the maple syrup was on the table way before the pancakes. Cruise and Hoffman are as funny together as Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito(coincidentally, "Twins" was released just one week earlier).
Here's Ray counting 246 toothpicks on the floor(there's four still in the box). His scary, almost supernatural math skills are humorously and organically shown here, along with the phonebook gag. Yes, that's a debuting Bonnie Hunt as diner waitress Sally Dibbs.
A trip to the airport turns into a debacle because of Ray's extensive knowledge of airline casualties(Quantas never crashed). The audience is startled by his first major freak-out, as Charlie gives up on his plan to be back in L.A. in three hours. A road trip will take three days...at best. Of course, "Jeopardy" is on at 5 o'clock.
Charlie loses a day because Raymond doesn't go out in the rain. The elder Babbitt isn't a big fan of the highway either. Is the million dollars still worth it? I should mention that only one out of ten autistics have Ray's incredible capabilities. That's not a criticism, because a movie's primary job is to engage you on an emotional level and create an experience unlike your own, not plainly depict reality. We have books and documentaries for that. If real life was as exciting as what happens in the movies, we wouldn't need movies.
Raymond is an excellent driver and he only wears boxer shorts from K-Mart. Charlie's growing exasperation is hilarious as we're treated to one great scene after another. Hoffman's tics and broken-record delivery generated much of the hoopla during the '89 awards season. It took years for Cruise's highly-entertaining reactions to receive just as much praise, because nothing he did previously prepared us for it. You don't get thirty-plus years in the movie biz if all you've got are a pair of sunglasses and a cheesy grin. We're witnessing his emergence as a real actor here.
A small-town doctor clarifies Ray's condition for Charlie, and calls more attention to his astounding mathematical ability. Those toothpicks were no fluke. He's a human calculator that could be working for NASA. If only he knew how to subtract fifty cents from a dollar.
Charlie's car business is crumbling, and all Raymond cares about is Judge Wapner. "The People's Court" premiered in 1981 and I'm sure Ray never missed an episode. Charlie talks himself into Beth Grant's family farmhouse to uphold that tradition, in another one of the film's most effective comedic moments. Who knew that daytime TV judges would become a permanent fixture? Does Raymond deserve some of the blame??
Levinson expertly switches gears as the Babbitts arrive at another motel room. Charlie comes to the stunning realization that he DOES have memories of Raymond- he was the 'Rain Man', the imaginary friend that used to sing to him when he was three years old. After an impromptu duet, Ray has his worst freak-out yet(hot water burns baby). Everything becomes clear now- Sanford Babbitt coldly institutionalized an 18 year old Raymond in 1965 and decided to pretend he doesn't exist, robbing Charlie of a brotherly bond for over twenty years. This is a very touching scene, greatly enhanced by Cruise's sensitive handling of the material.
Charlie wakes up with a warmer heart, but he's officially broke. Creditors have seized the four Lamborghinis he was drooling over during the opening credits, and he's $80,000 in debt. On the plus side, Ray has a portable TV to keep up with all his shows. A lightbulb suddenly goes off in Charlie's head on the desert outskirts of Sin City.
It wouldn't be the '80s without a musical montage as the Babbitt brothers, memorably descending an escalator in matching gray suits, kick ass in Vegas. Raymond is counting cards. A jubilant Charlie clears 86 grand at the blackjack table, before casino management suspects the pair of cheating and politely asks them to leave in the morning(it's a good thing Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci aren't in this movie).
A heartwarming slow dance, with a great view of Vegas in the background, emphasizes just how far Ray has come in the last 4-5 days, as he prepares for the date he WON'T actually get with that inquisitive hooker in the lobby. A returning Susanna makes up for it with a wet kiss in the elevator. At the risk of repeating myself as many times as Raymond, Hoffman is really extraordinary.
Cheeseballs and an Abbott and Costello video await Raymond in Charlie's L.A. apartment, as they await a showdown with Dr. Bruner. A morning mishap with the toaster might make the desired outcome more difficult. At least the maple syrup is on the table before the pancakes this time.
Here's Barry Levinson as a court appointed shrink armed with a professional opinion and repetitive questions, and he plays the part as well as anyone could have. Charlie starts the day defiant until it becomes painfully obvious that he can't care for Ray on a daily basis. The subtle, realistic show of emotion that underlines Charlie's transformation here is beautiful. He likes having a big brother. No disrespect to Ethan Hunt, but I miss this softer side of Cruise.
I have a theory that Raymond killed K-Mart with this blunt, unforgettable critique. Think about it, "Rain Man" was the biggest movie of the year. That means everyone in the country eventually saw it. The quality of Wal-Mart's products aren't any better. It's all the same cheap shit. Yet, somehow Wal-Mart is the biggest retail chain on Earth and K-Mart has been dying for decades. They're probably closing up their last two stores as I type this. If a guy as cool Cruise insists that K-Mart sucks, then it must be true. I'm never going there. Not even for underwear.
Director Howard Hawks once defined a great film as having three good scenes and no bad scenes. "Rain Man" more than meets this requirement. This is a four-star movie all the way, and that's a rare and special thing. We may never see another Best Picture winner embraced by audiences worldwide ever again, as the gap between box office success and critical acclaim continues to widen. But we'll always have Charlie and Raymond, and you can take a road trip with them whenever you like. If you know someone born in the last thirty years that has yet to do so, please invite yourself over that person's house, turn off "The Avengers" or whatever show Netflix is pushing, and put Hoffman and Cruise on instead. Movies used to do a lot more than just blow up the entire world in CGI. That's easy to forget. "Rain Man" is one of the world's greatest films.
