It’s 1973, and Hollywood is still pretty remiss of the unpronounced ambitions that would later befall the filmmaking industry. There weren’t any major films out there that dared to stray from the conventions of traditional movie storytelling, which usually offered a main protagonist, a central conflict, and an eventual resolution. Most moviegoers at the time wouldn’t know what to do with the aimless debauchery that distinguishes films like Dazed and Confused, or the meandering portrayals of a really interesting plot thread in others like Reservoir Dogs. Then American Graffiti happened: a plot-less movie that was so frowned upon that it took the inclusion of Godfather director Frank Coppola and a six-month delay of release by Universal Studios for it to hit theaters. But when it did, it took America by storm, introducing a new narrative style so compelling that it has been woven into filmmakers’ DNA for 45 years.

Despite its legacy, George Lucas’s American Graffiti is a once-in-a-lifetime filmgoing experience. I wasn’t alive to witness its descent on domestic cinema, but having watched it three times I feel like I was there, letting my spirit wander back into the glorified innocence of 1962 and wishing that the lax, juvenile summer nights that had perpetuated teenage angst could last forever. It’s a breathtaking experience in all of the most unconventional ways, but its strengths are magnified by its charming, immersive aesthetic, and an unbelievably realistic portrayal of teenage angst and late-summer West Coast escapism.

It starts off wonderfully with a down-to-earth intro sequence, featuring Charles Martin Smith’s Terry “The Toad” Fields crashing his Vespa Scooter: an accidental deviation from the script that immediately highlights the improvisational approach to the film’s production process. Blissful introductions to Ron Howard’s Steve, Richard Dreyfuss’s Curt, Paul Le Mat’s John and Cindy Williams’s Laurie get the ball rolling, and from there the movie splits them all apart in a web of intersecting adventures.

In a story that’s merely about two high school grads enjoying their last taste of summer before flying off to college, the duo of Richard Dreyfuss and Ron Howard wonderfully project the onerous transition into adulthood. Steve is a homegrown personality who’s beloved by his school, his former employers, and his girlfriend, Laurie, and Howard settles into this big-shot, “my way or the highway” personality that yields an admirable escape from adolescence. He’s constantly pulling away from his old life, urging Curt to fly out East with him for the fall, and convincing Laurie into seeing other people as a sort of fidelity test. The film presents this as Steve’s conflict, and for as well as Howard evokes the arrogance of his character, he’s even better at demonstrating empathy in the latter half. Thanks to a grounded love story illustrated by some incredible dialogue between himself and Cindy Williams, Howard shows us a different version of the character as the night winds down: one who naturally realizes all that he’s poised to leave behind.

However, Steve Bolander pales in comparison to Curt Henderson, and if you’ve already seen American Graffiti you won’t have much reason to question Richard Dreyfuss’s Golden Globe Nomination for the role. Dreyfuss virtually embodies all of us in this movie, as his character is spun all around Modesto searching for a purpose. One moment, he’s looking for love at the drive-in with John; another moment, he’s chasing down a hot blonde in a Thunderbird, and the next he’s stuck playing hijinks with an egotistical street gang – yet Dreyfuss expresses a sharp-tongued confidence and a bubbling enthusiasm that carries over every encounter. He’s always the most energetic person in the room, but Curt is a honest man unsure of what he wants; an uncertainty Dreyfuss explores with aplomb. Curt quickly grows on you as the type of hopeless romantic anyone would love to be friends with in real life, and American Graffiti is at its most adventurous and reminiscent when he’s on screen.

John Milner’s a rambunctious street racer who quite literally lives life one quarter mile at a time, and Paul Le Mat wears that philosophy pretty close to the vest – even when his character is constrained to the role of babysitting. Le Mat builds a commendable amount of chemistry with MacKenzie Phillips, who plays Carol: the bug-eyed pre-teen who’s curfew was up hours ago.

Terry’s adventure, like Steve’s, runs on the prefix of a love story – although Terry’s is virtually fixated on that alone. Given the keys to Steve’s car, Terry hits the town with his self-esteem at an all-time high, betting solely on that when he decides to “shoot his shot” with the thick-haired Debbie, played by Candy Clark.

Then we have Laurie, seen almost exclusively under the guise of her relationship with Steve. Of all the actresses in American Graffiti, Cindy Williams is my favorite, expressing a heartfelt vulnerability in the wake of Steve’s surefire decision to start a new life across the country.

While American Graffiti captures the unique look of early-60s So-Cal, it’s frighteningly well-versed in 50s style teen culture – and this has a lot to do with the cast. These guys knock the whole damn script out of the park. Le Mat and Phillips have loads of fun tearing each other’s hair out before their characters eventually build an innocent, cathartic bond towards the film’s conclusion.

Terry’s insecurities are on full display thanks to Charles Martin Smith, who proves he’s pretty adept at playing the clumsy nerd who’ll pounce on any opportunity to look like the cool jock in town. He’s no match for Candy Clark, though, who is exceptional as the ditsy Debbie. It seems as though Clark was instructed to play the absolute dumbest person on Earth, and it ironically helps her character take off. Clark’s performance is so fitting here. It’s powerful in the sense that she heightens the subtleties of Debbie’s shortcomings as a head-turning dame. She’s simply neither smart nor emotionally stimulating, and that’s not hinted at; it’s actually magnified continuously. But Clark plays the role so joyfully it makes Debbie appear innocently oblivious to the fact that Terry, so oblivious to Debbie’s flaws because she actually likes him, offers little more than the sex-crazed buffoons crowding the streets.

American Graffiti is never too far from a scene worth locking in a time capsule. Steve and Laurie reminiscing over a Snowball dance at a freshman formal; John and Carol’s retribution over a silly prank inflicted upon them; Curt swapping spit with his ex-girlfriend one last time; Terry’s sexual discord with Debbie; John and Harrison Ford’s Bob Falfa settling things on that deserted strip along the edge of town; freaking Wolfman Jack (AS I LIVE AND BREATHE!!) offering up melting popsicles!!

Regardless how old you are, it’s very difficult not to draw similarities and contrasts of teenage life predicted in 1960s Modesto to your very own – and that’s the magic of watching American Graffiti. It’s so good at just showing these characters as real people; as archetypes that defined high school straddling against the inescapable realities behind growing older and with responsibilities. It makes the character development feel natural. These kids have NO IDEA what the future lies in store for them, and we see them fight tirelessly to ensure that they could at least look back at this final night of Summer to some degree of merriment. They’re teenagers you may have hung out with, hated with a burning passion, or witnessed missed potential slip through the cracks as the years went by – but all the same you can relate to each one on an empirical level; as though you were like all of them at some point and time in your life. And for Lucas, his screenwriting crew and the cast to encapsulate that sensation for an entire two hours of runtime is a beautiful thing.

American Graffiti basks in its early-60s setting. There’s a wide angle shot of Mel’s Drive-In with The Crests’ “Sixteen Candles” virtually cradling the screen back and forth like a baby. The streets of Modesto, California are faithfully revitalized with mid-century hot rods and other novel American automobiles of the time. The legendary voice of raspy-voiced icon Wolfman Jack watches over everyone all night long, with a swoon-filled radio station that injects West Coast blood through the movie’s veins. You’re instantly transported into this beautiful, remarkably gleeful period in time, and by focusing so much on ambience Lucas as a director wins out. The set design is breathtakingly real, with historic Modesto landmarks glistening under the 35 millimeter techniscope format, and the city streets coaxed in an orgy of ocean blue street lights and flashes of hot pink neon. Sometimes, you’ll be treated to the outskirts of town, and Lucas respectfully downplays those areas by tinting the brightness down just a tad and relying on a negligible amount of screen filtering. The less visually arresting Northern California truly got in real life, the grittier and more bare it is replicated here. It’s all beautiful. Just a masterful reimagining.

And I’ve got to talk about this soundtrack; this has to be one of the greatest in movie history. It’s as much a character as the flesh and blood parading the screen. From the hip-shaking razzle-dazzle of Bill Haley & His Comets, to the tear-dripping doo-wop of The Flamingos, this carefully-curated list of songs follows the proceedings with a daunting sense of tone. It dances with you, uplifts your spirit, melts your heart, and then strips it away behind a cacophony of melodies and swoons. You’ll want to procure every track played in this movie by the time the credits roll; I guarantee it.

THE VERDICT:

I’ve yet to find the exact words to describe American Graffiti. I came in expecting a gleeful slice of early 1960s pie, but it’s execution took me all the way by surprise. George Lucas’s intent was to bring his account of dwindling adolescence to life, but that’s the least of his accomplishments here. Besides being an innovative art form, it’s a remarkable achievement; a crucial piece of cinematic history that honors the opulence and indulgence of going to the movies. There’s never a dull moment in American Graffiti, and despite its aimless setup you’ll have come away with a meaning of life far more tangible, far more intimate, and far more profound than you could have ever imagined going in.

RATING: 9.8/10

+ Performances

+ Script

+ Soundtrack

+ A never-ending field of memorable moments

+ Visually-pleasing recreation of early 1960s Northern California

+ Wolfman Jack