Still Swayze After All These Years
The career of thespian Patrick Swayze can be segmented into three distinct categories. There is his early, seminal period where he established his talent in recognized efforts like Red Dawn and the television mini-series “The North and The South”. From there he became a hot-ticket draw, and for an all too brief stretch his star burned with the intensity of a white super-nova. He was all set to become America’s hunk of choice with roles in “Dirty Dancing” and “Ghost”, but then he did something incredibly brave with his career.
Rather than being content with the adulation of countless females, Pat elected to stretch his sinews and aim high for the lowbrow male audience. This brought about a flurry of titles in the span of a few years—“Next of Kin”, the great ensemble offering “Point Break”, and the historic cinematic classic “Roadhouse”. But just as he thwarted his legion of ladies, Swayze soon turned his back on this outpouring of beautiful films and entered his lengthy and current spell of dreadful movies. Choosing which title from this era to cover in this column was a challenging but enjoyable task.
Now “Black Dog” is a quaint and fashionable little tavern on Martha’s Vineyard that draws so much attention from trendy yuppies that their gift shop has gone condo. They have become popular enough to justify a full-color catalogue so that the privileged of this country can pay $12 for a jar of honey and put stickers with a silhouette of a Labrador retriever on their Saabs. The place drips of charm and is nestled in a picturesque setting that warms the hearth and home and inspires throngs of visitors to visit the tiny island off the coast of Cape Cod.
Unfortunately for us, the movie “Black Dog” is about tobacco chewin’, rifle shootin’ truck drivers.
The story continues in part two of MILK CARTON CINEMA: “BLACK DOG”>>>
