#32: Swingers — dir. Doug Liman
Look, I know. And I’m sorry for you. I’m sorry that dudebros couldn’t stop calling each other “money” and “baby” for years following the release of this film. I’m sorry that everyone got bowling shirts and wallet chains and that we resurrected the swing music movement. I’m sorry that I personally did all of those things.
But this fucking movie, man. I cannot understate how much this movie meant to me. Aside from the infinite quotability, aside from the becoming a cult movie, aside from the slang and the attitude and all of that. It was Jon Favreau. Jon Favreau wrote this, and then starred in it, and boosted himself from background/bit time to big time. Motherfucker’s directing the Avengers now. And this was Vince Vaughn when Vince Vaughn was the man behind Vince Vaughn. If Kevin Smith gave us Ben Affleck, Favreau gave us Vaughn. And we welcomed him.
But it’s not even that. It’s that this — THIS IS WHAT I WANT TO BE WHEN I GROW UP. I mean, this film is fucking Rob’s speech to Mikey. This film is Ron Livingston. This film is an inside out love story, and it’s so beautiful. This film is Guy Loses Girl. Guy Pines for Girl. Guy Fucking Gets Over It. Sure, he ends up with Consolation Prize Heather Graham. But that’s so not the point. The point is that he’s over her. This film encapsulates the terrible bullshit of dating and having a stupid friend give you shit, and how friends will get your back. Yeah, you’re money, baby, and VEGAS, but it’s more Ron Livingston bringing him salami and orange juice while he’s holed up in his house like a train wreck. That’s the part of this film.
And now I have to fucking listen to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy again.