The impending arrival of summer brings with it a dose of sweaty
laughter in the form of 1979’s Meatballs,
featuring Bill Murray in his first starring big screen role. Though it helped
spawn a number of desultory sequels and hornball teen sex comedies, director Ivan
Reitman’s debut studio film is actually a very sweet-natured albeit ramshackle movie,
powered by Murray’s shaggy
personality and indefatigable energy.

Murray stars as Tripper
Harrison, the wackiest counselor in the history of North Star, a plebian summer
camp which stands in stark contrast to the nearby elitist Camp
Mohawk, the annual hot-months roost
for snotty and privileged young brats. Despite this purposefully highlighted
distinction (and the obligatory Olympiad competition finale between the groups),
there’s actually much less inter-camp pranksterism than one might surmise based
on that synopsis. Most of the film centers on Tripper and some of the other
counselors cracking jokes with one another, playing tricks on lead counselor Morty
(Harvey Atkin), and good-naturedly chasing female staffers like headstrong Roxanne
(Kate Lynch).

What’s most notable about Meatballs is just how real
the kids are, and how legitimate its setting and energy feels. That’s not too
surprising considering it was filmed on location at an actual summer getaway, Camp
White Pine, located just north of Toronto,
and used many of the camp’s actual enrollees and counselors as extras. Meatballs isn’t a movie with a lot of
preciousness in it; in fact, it’s downright sloppy at times, which is either
part of its charm or cause for wincing. Watching this film again, definitely
more than 20 years since I’d seen it, I was struck by just how much some of its
silly moments — not to mention the sing-songy, insidiously catchy theme song, which
kicks off with the refrain, “Are you ready for summer?” — stick to your psyche.
One of the biggest such reminiscences, of course, is Murray’s
wild speech of pressure-valve release and underdog empowerment, which builds to
a chanted, repetitive climax of, “It just doesn’t matter!” It’s funny, but
there’s also something that rings really psychologically true in that scene,
which makes it even more memorable.

Housed in a regular Amray case in turn stored in a raised-lettering
cardboard slipcover, this special edition release of Meatballs is presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, and has
been digitally re-mastered under Reitman’s supervision for optimal picture and
sound. There are a few light flashes and color problems early on, but these
annoyances quickly recede into the background for the most part. Audio is
presented in strong English language Dolby digital 5.1 and stereo mixes, with
optional English, Spanish and French subtitles.

There’s also an audio commentary track with Reitman and
co-writer Dan Goldberg, and it’s a warm and self-effacing affair. The pair talks
about add-on re-shoots, which included the movie’s cold open with Tripper first
awaking, as well as the card-playing and bus terminal scenes with Tripper and Rudy,
to better flesh out the arc of their relationship. The production’s lack of
financing is frequently mentioned, and Reitman takes care to point out crew
members who serve as occasional extras (casting director Jack Blum even played gangly
Spaz). Reitman also tells a funny anecdote about contacting composer Elmer
Bernstein, and working out a deal for him to score the movie on spec; Bernstein
agreed, for a percentage of its receipts, and Reitman relates that it turned
out to be one of the more lucrative assignments he ever arranged.

A three-part making of documentary runs 47 minutes in total,
and includes sit-down interviews with Reitman, writer Goldberg and the
aforementioned actors Makepeace, Lynch and Atkin, as well as writer Len Blum,
costume designer Judy Gellman and many more. The big problem, of course: no Murray.
That’s a mortal wound, really, for a title constructed around such a cult of
personality. That said, there are plenty of nice stories and insights herein, including
from Reitman and others recounting the movie’s campfire ghost story scene. Murray
was apparently a bit drunk, as were several other cast members; Reitman jokes
that he thinks Murray channeled
Richard Burton in the sequence. Keith Knight, meanwhile, relates how he won his
role in large measure by impulsively shaving his moustache (grown for a stageplay
he was in at the time) on site at an audition, in order to convince Reitman
that he could in fact look younger. Most fascinatingly, Reitman and Goldberg
recount how the famously elusive and noncommittal Murray never actually technically
committed to the movie; his friend Harold Ramis was hired to punch up the
script, but Murray kept stringing Reitman and the producers along before
finally just saying he’d “be there” after they’d already started shooting, and
showing up on the third day of filming. Overall, a big part of Meatballs’ appeal lies in one’s embrace
of it as nostalgia. It’s a lighthearted family romp, and key to understanding and
appreciating the further ascendancy of Murray’s
big screen career. B (Movie) B+ (Disc)