Miracle Mile (1988, Steve De Jarnatt) (Patreon)

68/100

Second viewing, last seen during its original theatrical run. I mostly (and dimly) remembered the apocalyptic aspect, so wasn't expecting a film that often plays, despite the life-or-death stakes and non-comic violence, like an Angeleno After Hours. What's the L.A. equivalent of trying to get hold of unexpectedly increased subway fare? Of course: running frantically through a 24-hour gym asking everyone whether they're by any chance a helicopter pilot. Kinda wish Nicolas Cage had played the lead, as was briefly planned—this would've been smack in the middle of his initial Expressionistic peak, immediately following Raising Arizona and Moonstruck—but Edwards (who I'd forgotten once had hair!) makes a suitably ardent Everyman, his red shirt presumably popping even more strongly for those of you with normal color vision. Love the cross-section of humanity, though it's just too much of a convenient coincidence that Landa's in the diner with her giant brick of a mobile phone (at a time when virtually nobody carried one) to confirm Harry's wild story and formulate a potential escape plan. And De Jarnatt is so formally confident that I'm surprised he bothered with voiceover narration at the outset—surely he could have found purely visual means of communicating Harry's lonely yearning, given the inventiveness he demonstrates in everything from the use of Johnie's (adding a rotating clock that expertly heightens small leaps forward in time) to a climactic societal breakdown/freakout that's remarkably vivid given the film's modest budget (about $8 million adjusted for inflation, the majority of which must have been expended on the final reel). 

What I still find somewhat unsatisfying is the central relationship, which needed to be either more or less distinctive prior to Harry receiving the fateful phone call. Three decades ago, I'm pretty sure that I wanted a stronger connection between the two—something less cute and more meaningful than tossing a few restaurant lobsters off the pier. (Are we meant to think of Annie Hall, as a sort of romantic shortcut?) De Jarnatt's in so much of a hurry to get his panic on that he doesn't take the time necessary to create a compelling, Before Sunrise-style insta-bond, which in turn renders the lengthy stretch during which Harry's desperately trying to get back to Julie's apartment at best theoretically urgent. On the other hand, I now think that the final scene, which is pretty great as is, works even better if Harry and Julie had previously been more or less indifferent to each other, thrown together by circumstance rather than telling each other "I love you" within 24 hours of having first met. Granted, I'm a weirdo, but it's actually more romantic to me—given the downbeat ending De Jarnatt admirably insisted upon—if their hope of becoming tar-pit diamonds is predicated wholly on Stephen Stills logic (love the one you're with) rather than the prosaic infatuation we get here. Or, again, alternatively, expend some energy fashioning idiosyncratic soulmates in whose mutual passion we're legit invested. Despite Edwards’ and Winningham's best efforts (with the latter hamstrung by a singularly unflattering short-and-spiky '80s hairdo; let's never bring that back, please), Miracle Mile never quite hits the emotional crescendo that would push it past clever and striking into poignant and devastating.