This 1978 frat-house flick is the icon of the genre. It introduced Kevin Bacon, resurrected the career of Donald Sutherland, put John Belushi on the map as a film star (and not just a wannabe from SNL). It even helped ensure that Milos Forman, in casting about for a Mozart to helm his Oscar-winning film, Amadeus - chose Tom Hulce, an actor whose short stature has relegated him to a lot of B-rate flicks - but who took the cake with these two films.

The story is perfect Boomer nostalgia. Set in 1962, it chronicles the coming-of-age of two "losers" - Larry Kroger (Tom Hulce) and Kent Dorfman (Stephen Furst) - or as they're described, as they go from fraternity to fraternity: a wimp and a blimp.

Catching on fairly fast that they're getting nowhere with the early-sixties College Republican set, Kroger and Dorfman check out Delta House, on the basis that Dorfman's brother was a member - "so they have to take us." As it is, Delta House is the one fraternity on campus that couldn't care less. They'll take anyone. That's because Delta House has figured out what it'll take the rest of America's college-age kids another five or six years to "get."

None of this really matters. It never did. It never will.

Don't get me wrong. I have three degrees, myself: a double-bachelors in History and Philosophy and a doctorate in law. After six-and-a-half years of hard work, diligence and a mine shaft full of debt, my only regret is not catching on the first time I saw this film. Because, in truth, none of this really matters. It never did. It never will.

Animal House is an ode to giving the man the flying-finger-salute, something this generation - for all it's x-factor rowdiness, still doesn't quite know how to do. By '78, many of the boomers had gotten tired of Timothy Leary's "tune in, tune out, drop out" mentality - and had dropped back in. Some would say they "sold out." Then again, how much of your life can you spend scrounging through the garbage, selling flowers at the airport or showing your solidarity with people who think you were an idiot to throw away your upper-middle-class status?

By '78, the country was working its way back toward a future of College Republicans - and damned if they aren't running the country today. But at least in '78, the Boomers weren't going quietly - and at least two of them conspired to give this film a razor-like edge: John Landis - whose wild antics would take a beating after Twilight Zone: The Movie - and Harold Ramis, who is possibly the most prolific actor-turned-writer-turned-actor in a whole generation of great comedy (SCTV, Meatballs, Caddyshack, Stripes, Ghost Busters, Back to School, Armed and Dangerous, Groundhog Day, Analyze This and Bedazzled).

Wow.

There's a great line (perhaps one of the few really good ones) in the Eminem vehicle, "8 Mile," where the blue-eyed rapper wonders aloud when you stop living "up here" and start living "down here." Kroger and Dorfman have reason to ponder just that question as they pledge Delta House, a rowdy, defiant, zoo full of crazies. As their "successful" rivals are on their knees, taking sadomasochistic beatings for the frat - to the tune of "Thank you sir, may I have another?" - these guys are getting new names - Pinto and Flounder - by their new guides into the wonderful world of "cool" - and getting hosed down in beer.

That includes John "Bluto" Blutarsky (John Belushi), a pudgy little maniac with a GPA of 0.0 - and who doesn't care as long as the party never stops. It includes Eric "Otter" Stratton (Tim Matheson), a born subversive with the seductive smile of a criminal defense attorney - but without the political baggage. Two of my favorites are Stork (Douglas Kenney) - who looks like a cross between Forrest Gump and Napoleon Dynamite - and D-Day (Bruce McGill) - the cool guy with the army-surplus clothes, the pilot shades and the Harley, which he rides up a flight of stairs.

To get a feel for why it's so much fun to rebel, just take a look at the straight guys, whose College Republican sphincters must be tight enough to spit diamonds into porcelain. There's Greg Marmalard (James Daughton), the uptight Ken-doll suck-up whose father might as well buy him the presidency. Then there's Doug Neidermeyer (Mark Metcalf), head of the ROTC program - who gets a psychotic rush out of being sadistic to underclassmen. Then there's Chip Diller (Kevin Bacon), the epitome of what the "god squad" is looking for in a recruit - a schmoozing, narcissistic user who "belongs to the club." Even his name is a tip-off that what the ruling class wants is not individuality, just cookie-cutter conformity.

Much of Animal House involves the nostalgic "wild ride" of someone who was there before everything went to pieces - who surfed a way that took him from the fifties to the seventies - and saw the seeds of the late sixties before little streams became a great river of discontent. But unlike something you'd see on HBO, it's not about the politics so much as the ride.

What struck me about this film, the first time I saw it, was its innocence. The many attempts to duplicate its success have involved ever raunchier routines, to make the jokes "bigger and better." But the glories of Animal House don't simply come from an early version of "political incorrectness," but from the innocence with which the strait jacket of cold-war fears were set aside - long enough to give somebody the finger. The Delta-house maniacs aren't hippies or radicals. For the most part, they're upper-class kids drunk with the uncertainty that any of this is anything other than a charade.

And they were right - more so than they could ever have dreamed.

On the flipside, there's Professor Dave Jennings (Donald Sutherland) a liberal professor, teaching Milton's Paradise Lost while chomping on an apple. Whether these kids know it or not, he himself is a snake set loose in the garden, laughing at the joys of anarchy but every bit as willing to get his hands dirty in the process.

This is a film that's a lot smarter than it looks. Consider its series of romantic subplots: Boon (Peter Riegert) who loves Katy (Karen Allen) but maybe not as much as hanging out with the guys. Otter has the hots for Mandy Pepperidge (Mary Louise Weller) - fiancee of Greg Marmalard - but ends up bagging Clorette DePasto (Sarah Holcolm)(the mayor's wife) and Barbara "Babs" Jensen (Martha Swmith)(the roommate of a girl he found in the obituaries) - and all because he's got a Clintonian lust to seduce. Pinto picks up a cashier at the local supermarket only to discover the dubious pleasures of getting what you want but not knowing quite what you got. It's not just "boy meets girl." Harold Ramis's script is saying something about the good, the bad and the ugly of fraternity life.

Which is probably just as well, because as the film grinds deeper into its feud between the frat-house and the college's Nixonian Dean Wormer (John Vernon), it says a lot about the sixties, as seen through the eyes of the late seventies - when the revolution was in its death throes. There's a great subplot involving Otis Day (DeWayne Jessie) whose band, Otis Day and the Knights, is a welcome act at the frat's defiant toga party. But later, when the frat boys try to go into Otis's world, and mix it up there, it's not quite the same thing - and for reasons that are well worth considering, both in terms of what the sixties thought it was, and what the world was really like.

One of my favorite mini-scenes is the introduction of musician, Stephen Bishop, as the "charming guy with a guitar" - crooning folk songs to girls at the toga party - that is, until Bluto grabs the guitar and smashes it to pieces. As "the charming guy" looks on in horror, Bluto hands back the guitar - with a sheepish look on his face. It's clear he doesn't know why he just did what he did, but something told him that folk songs of the early sixties deserved to be smashed to pieces.

No statement about the sixties was ever more poignant, and true - that these reckless Boomers had no idea what they were doing. They simply felt that something had to be done to break the cycle of insanity - and break it, they did. But with what? More insanity.

There's a great scene, near the end, involving a parade float shaped like a giant birthday cake, with the inscription, "Eat me." I tried to get the cake squirters at Publix to write a similar message on a cake I gave to my brother for his birthday. They refused to do it. I ended up buying a package of letters and pressing them onto the cake. When I did end up delivering it, my brother's girlfriend was speechless - nor did I ever hear back from my brother.

If ever there was a time when people needed to "lighten up," we're living in it. Between Y2K, Columbine and the terrorist mood-ring alerts that seem to hit us every other day, it sure would be nice to get in the time machine and go back - if not to the real '62, then to the '62 they remembered in '78. If nothing else, it would be nice to get my hands on that guitar.

Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: DVD
Video Occasion: Better than Watching TV
Suitability For Children: Suitable for Children Age 13 and Older