Most writing on Risky Business confronts head-on its distinguishing characteristic – a teen movie only in the abstract, it is in experience a film about sexual awakening, capitalism, and the first thrust into the adult world. It displays an aesthetic maturity and patience uncommon to the teen sex film that was starting to blossom at the time of its release. Its view of sex is exciting but not ridiculous. Its view of teenagers is suspicious but not condescending. It understands and appreciates that they are people who are ready to explore the world they’ll become part of, but not yet ready to conquer it the way its contemporaries flattered them to be. It understands that life, even as we live it, feels a little bit unreal.
Heady stuff for a film whose lasting legacy rests in Tom Cruise’s sunglasses, or his shirt and underwear, and certainly in Bob Segar’s “Old Time Rock and Roll.” Segar, still alive today, was not yet forty when the film came out with already a dozen albums to his name. Despite its nostalgic bent and honky-tonk style that could line it up well in the ‘50s or ‘60s, the song was only a few years old when Risky Business came out. This juxtaposition – a song that could almost be an oldie the week it was released – suits Joel Goodsen (Tom Cruise) perfectly.
Joel is a suburban kid of modest aims; his college entrance exam scores are nothing laudatory, he has only meager ideas to bring to the Future Enterprisers club he and his friends wish they ruled, and while he has plenty of fantasies, it’s unclear whether he has ever had a girlfriend. His father wants him to go to Princeton. That seems ambitious in a way Joel is not. But his parents accidentally give him the kick in the pants he needs when they go out of town and leave him alone with what seem like fairly strict rules – don’t touch Dad’s car or stereo, here’s $125 to stretch, and don’t wreck the place. They’re no sooner gone than he has a glass filled with whiskey and the equalizer maxed out, singing and dancing to a song romantically longing for an era he did not live in. For now, that’s his rebellion.
Until, that is, his friend calls up a sex worker to his house. That’s when the rebellion really starts – less against his parents, who never know; sort of against himself and the person he feels destined to become; certainly against the rigorous conformity of his own day. He can’t even enjoy a morning with Lana, the pretty prostitute (Rebecca De Mornay) who comes into his life almost literally like a storm, because he has to finish high school. In more ways than one, Lana ushers Joel into adulthood – “making a man out of him,” to use the parlance outdated even in 1983 – but she’s also ushering him into the 1980s. “Doesn’t anyone want to accomplish anything?” he memorably asks his friends. “Or do we just want to make money?” “Make money,” they all respond. By the end of the film, Lana’s made a capitalist of him.
In a sense, this dichotomy provides a template for Cruise’s own career. As an actor, he proved it possible to do both, as most major artists in Hollywood do. But many of his films revisit this theme, of the emptiness of material gains contrasted with love, intimacy, and trust (Days of Thunder, The Firm, Jerry Maguire, Eyes Wide Shut, and Vanilla Sky most prominently). This was Cruise’s star-making role, deservedly so – even aside from its more iconic moments, he established at an early age a knack for drawing the camera to him and a comfort in front of it. He was just born to be onscreen.
The Criterion Collection’s new 4K and Blu-ray release of Risky Business marks Cruise’s entry into the great home video label, and they’ve more than done right by him and the film. Sporting a new 4K transfer supervised and approved by writer/director Paul Brickman and producer Jon Avnet, the results are immaculate. Whether you view this via the UHD release or the Blu-ray (included with the UHD), you’ll be treated to a very robust image, slightly muted but strong colors, healthy grain structure, and – vital for this film – a lot of detail in the night scenes without sacrificing the nighttime aesthetic. The film’s real seductive qualities are at night, the allure of something a little bit forbidden lurking in the shadows and just beyond the lights, and the transfer carries that across magnificently. And just on a pure experiential level, the “In the Air Tonight” sex-on-a-train sequence is absolutely stunning in 4K, and the audio track carries that and the Tangerine Dream score with gusto.
The supplements are a mix of new and archival, starting with a really fun commentary track with Brickman, Avnet, and Cruise, pulled from the 2008 Warner Brothers Blu-ray. Even 25 years after making the film, they still have a really fun and easygoing rapport, mostly sharing a lot of memories from the production, but also a lot of keen insights into Brickman’s direction and vision for the film. Cruise is extremely appreciative of the opportunity it afforded him, and very complimentary of how Brickman guided him. It was especially fun to hear the ways in which they challenged each other and the material to strengthen it and bring it closer to the cast’s strengths.
Next is a half-hour, fairly fluffy archival documentary called “The Dream is Always the Same: The Story of Risky Business,” in which Brickman, Avnet, Cruise, De Mornay, Joe Pantoliano, Curtis Armstrong, Bronson Pinchot, and several appreciative voices like Cameron Crowe, gather to talk and reminisce about the film. This was also pulled from the 2008 Warner Blu-ray. That’s supplemented by a compendium of screen tests with Cruise and De Mornay, highlighted in that half-hour doc but given more space here, where you can see the actors begin to work out their chemistry.
Criterion then adds interviews with Avnet, editor Richard Chew, and casting director Nancy Klopper, all of which are well worthwhile. Some of Avnet’s anecdotes and perspectives are covered in the commentary and half-hour doc, but it’s fun to see how enthusiastic he remains about the film over forty years later, including holding onto several props from it. The Chew and Klopper interviews are really strong as well – Chew’s gets into not only the film’s more extravagant sequences, but the nuts and bolts of how certain images resonate when placed next to each other, and the precise timing needed to carry off a film that has a sort of languid, dreamlike pace while keeping the pulse going. Klopper acknowledges her reputation as “the woman who discovered Tom Cruise,” but similarly talks about the pure process of casting, the instincts needed to identify young talent (future stars Sean Penn, Kevin Bacon, John Cusack, and Tom Hanks all auditioned, and Klopper still has their headshots from the time), and the collaborative process with the director to help get it right.
Finally, there’s a poster included in the package, with an essay by film critic and curator Dave Kehr on the reverse side. It’s not my favorite format for Criterion’s essays, and I’m glad they’ve largely abandoned it, but Kehr’s writing is, as always, engaging and saliant, and in particular he brings perspective as a fellow one-time Illinois suburban kid.
I wasn’t expecting Risky to be in Criterion’s slate, but was thrilled when they announced it and am even more pleased with the results. It’s a stellar transfer with a well-rounded array of supplements that aid one’s appreciation of an important film. What more could we want?
