I had somehow missed “Boogie Nights” when it first came out in 1997. I knew it had won Bert Reynolds an Academy Award, in a comeback performance that stunned everybody. But somehow I never got around to seeing it, and eventually it dropped off my radar.
That is, until recently, when I rented the DVD, curious to learn more about P.T. Anderson’s early work.
It’s a great movie, and Reynolds was astonishing, easily deserving of his Oscar. But it was the depth of the cast that really stunned me — a succession of great actors, many still yet to become well known.
One by one they showed up on screen — Julianne Moore, John C. Reilly, Don Cheadle and Joanna Gleason. Mark Wahlberg as the hot-headed young lead knocked it out of the ballpark, William H. Macy in a tragic performance that ripped out my heart, and Alfred Molina who in one electrifying scene managed to be sexy, ridiculous and utterly terrifying, all at the same time.
Even Heather Graham was good.
I remember sitting there, overwhelmed by the sheer bravura talent I was seeing on screen, and thinking “There is no way this movie could be any better.”
Then Philip Seymour Hoffman showed up. And suddenly it was much, much better.