Some Kind of Hero (1982): Richard Pryor’s Gritty Ode to the Forgotten Vet
“Six years in a Hanoi hellhole couldn’t prepare him for the real battlefield: suburbia.”
Amid the neon haze of early 1980s cinema, where blockbusters roared and comedies reigned, Some Kind of Hero quietly carved out a niche as a raw, unflinching portrait of post-Vietnam America. Starring the incomparable Richard Pryor in a role that stripped away his stand-up bravado for something profoundly human, this overlooked gem blends slapstick absurdity with gut-wrenching pathos, reminding us why certain films from that era still resonate with collectors and nostalgia seekers today.
- Richard Pryor’s career-defining dramatic turn as a POW grappling with civilian alienation, showcasing his untapped depth beyond comedy.
- A sharp satire of 1970s readjustment struggles, mixing humour with the harsh realities of veteran life in Reagan-era America.
- Its enduring legacy as an underappreciated bridge between Pryor’s wild phase and his more introspective works, influencing later vet-centric tales.
The POW’s Kafkaesque Return
Roy Munson, played by Pryor, emerges from six gruelling years as a prisoner of war in Vietnam, only to find his world upended in ways no combat training could anticipate. Dropped into a San Diego naval hospital, he’s thrust into a bureaucracy that treats him like yesterday’s news. The film’s opening sequences masterfully juxtapose his disoriented haze with the mundane sterility of American medicine, where shrinks probe his psyche while orderlies hawk get-well cards. This isn’t the heroic homecoming of newsreels; it’s a disquieting shuffle into a society that has moved on without him.
Director Michael Pressman leans into practical effects and location shooting to ground the absurdity. Roy’s first taste of freedom involves a botched escape from the hospital in a stolen ambulance, careening through traffic with a manic energy that echoes Pryor’s live-wire persona. Yet beneath the chaos lies a searing critique of the Veterans Administration’s red tape, drawn from real accounts of returning soldiers facing indifference. The screenplay, penned by Bill Persky and Steve Gordon, weaves in authentic details like mandatory psych evaluations and benefit claim marathons, turning paperwork into a villain more formidable than any Viet Cong ambush.
As Roy ventures out, the film dissects the chasm between military precision and civilian sloppiness. He pawns his medals for cash, only to haggle with a pawnbroker who dismisses their value. These vignettes pulse with 1980s specificity: rotary phones, wood-panelled station wagons, and diners serving Salisbury steak. Pressman films it all with a verité edge, using handheld cams to capture Pryor’s physical comedy as he navigates escalators and vending machines like alien tech. It’s a homecoming that feels less like triumph and more like exile.
Laughs Masking the Lingering Scars
What elevates Some Kind of Hero beyond standard vet drama is its refusal to wallow. Pryor’s Roy stumbles into romantic entanglements and criminal capers with a resilience born of dark humour. Margot Kidder’s Jackie, a savvy prostitute with her own battle scars, becomes his unlikely anchor. Their meet-cute in a seedy motel spirals into a road-trip odyssey, punctuated by heists and heartfelt confessions. Kidder matches Pryor beat for beat, her world-weary charm cutting through the farce.
Ray Sharkey shines as Win, Roy’s war buddy turned grifter, embodying the era’s hustler archetype. Their reunion sparks the film’s wilder set pieces, like a casino scam involving rigged roulette and exploding dice. Pressman choreographs these with kinetic flair, employing wide lenses to amplify the claustrophobia of smoky gambling dens. Sound design plays a crucial role too, with muffled flashbacks triggered by slot-machine clinks, blending diegetic noise with Roy’s hallucinatory echoes of jungle warfare.
The humour serves a purpose, masking the PTSD that simmers throughout. Roy’s nightmares erupt in quiet moments, shot in stark monochrome against the film’s vibrant palette. This tonal tightrope—raucous gags crashing into tearful breakdowns—mirrors Pryor’s own life, post his 1980 freebasing accident. The film arrived just as America grappled with Vietnam’s ghosts, post-The Deer Hunter and Apocalypse Now, but chose levity over despair, making it a collector’s delight for its bold balance.
Cultural touchstones abound: Roy’s obsession with fast food mirrors the junk-culture boom, while his futile job hunts nod to Rust Belt decline. Pressman peppers the frame with period ads—Kentucky Fried Chicken buckets, Schlitz cans—evoking that tangible 1982 texture that VHS enthusiasts chase.
Suburban Siege and Family Fractures
Roy’s quest peaks in a suburban showdown, confronting the wife who presumed him dead and remarried. This sequence unfolds like a pressure cooker, with Pressman staging it in a split-level McMansion straight out of American Beauty‘s precursor playbook. Pryor’s physicality dominates: awkward hugs, spilled coffee, a child’s wary stare. The boy, now a stranger, represents stolen innocence, a motif echoing broader 1980s anxieties over divorce rates and latchkey kids.
Family dynamics drive home the readjustment theme. Roy’s in-laws, portrayed with pitch-perfect passive-aggression, embody WASP complacency. Dinner-table tensions explode into farce when Roy recounts POW tortures over Jell-O salad. It’s a microcosm of generational rifts, informed by real vet memoirs that highlighted spousal drift during prolonged absences.
Pressman’s direction excels in intimate spaces, using tight two-shots to capture emotional whiplash. Lighting shifts from warm tungsten interiors to harsh fluorescent fluorescents, symbolising Roy’s fractured psyche. These choices, economical yet evocative, showcase indie sensibilities within Orion Pictures’ modest budget.
Vietnam’s Shadow in Reagan’s Dawn
Released amid Ronald Reagan’s patriotic revival, the film subtly indicts the era’s selective memory. Memorial Day parades march on, but Roy’s plight exposes cracks in the narrative. Comparisons to Coming Home (1978) highlight its lighter touch, yet Some Kind of Hero anticipates Full Metal Jacket‘s cynicism. It fits snugly in the post-Vietnam cycle, bridging earnest dramas and cynical satires.
Production anecdotes reveal grit: Pryor, fresh from rehab, improvised riffs that reshaped scenes. Pressman, a theatre vet, fostered loose rehearsals akin to improv troupes. Orion’s marketing pitched it as Pryor’s dramatic breakout, though box-office tallies disappointed against E.T.‘s juggernaut.
Visually, the film revels in 1980s cinematography: anamorphic widescreen for epic drives, steadicam for frenzied chases. Composer Patrick Williams’ score mixes funky basslines with mournful horns, underscoring the hero’s odyssey.
Echoes in Collector’s Vaults
For retro aficionados, Some Kind of Hero shines on laser disc and early DVD, its transfer preserving grainy authenticity. Fan forums buzz with tales of thrift-store VHS finds, complete with Orion logos and trailers for 48 Hrs.. Its scarcity fuels collector passion, akin to cult hits like The Thing.
Legacy ripples outward: influencing Pryor’s Jo Jo Dancer semi-autobio and modern vet comedies like The Guard. It humanises the POW experience, predating Gulf War narratives, and remains a staple in military film retrospectives.
In nostalgia circles, it’s prized for capturing pre-AIDS 1980s hedonism and economic unease, a time capsule of bell-bottom fades and arcade glows.
Director/Creator in the Spotlight
Michael Pressman, born July 1, 1943, in New York City, emerged from a family immersed in the arts—his father a producer, mother an actress. He honed his craft at Brown University, graduating in 1964, before diving into theatre. By age 25, Pressman helmed off-Broadway hits like Does a Tiger Wear a Necktie? (1969), earning Obie Awards and a Tony nomination. His transition to film began with TV movies, but features beckoned with The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training (1977), a heartfelt sequel grossing over $22 million, showcasing his knack for ensemble warmth.
Pressman’s golden run included Little Darlings (1980), a coming-of-age dramedy with Kristy McNichol and Tatum O’Neal that captured prepubescent rites amid summer camp hijinks. Then came Some Kind of Hero (1982), his boldest swing, blending Pryor’s fire with social bite. He followed with Doctor Detroit (1983), a zany Dan Aykroyd vehicle blending sci-fi and pimps, and Teen Wolf (1985), launching Michael J. Fox’s post-Family Ties stardom with lycanthropic laughs.
The 1990s saw Pressman pivot to blockbusters: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze (1991), injecting ooze-powered mutants into multiplexes for $78 million domestic. To Gillian on Her 37th Birthday (1996) offered intimate drama with Michelle Pfeiffer, while American Gangster (2007) marked a late-career peak as Ridley Scott’s second unit director. TV triumphs include helming Law & Order: SVU episodes and Brothers & Sisters, plus miniseries like The Langoliers (1995).
Influenced by Elia Kazan and improvisational theatre, Pressman’s oeuvre spans 40+ directorial credits. Key works: Man on a Swing (1974, Cliff Robertson thriller), The Great Texas Dynamite Chase (1977, B-movie romp), Fantasy Island pilot (1977), Streetwalkin’ (1985, gritty drama), Like Father Like Son (1987, body-swap comedy with Kirk Cameron), Fire in the Sky (1993, alien abduction chiller), Mighty Joe Young (1998, family adventure), and 13 Going on 30 (2004, Jennifer Garner rom-com). Retiring from features around 2010, he consulted on nostalgia projects, cementing his legacy as a versatile storyteller bridging stage, screen, and suburbia.
Actor/Character in the Spotlight
Richard Pryor, born December 1, 1940, in Peoria, Illinois, rose from a turbulent childhood in his grandmother’s brothel to become stand-up’s supernova. Discovered at LA’s Cosmo Club, his raw, confessional style exploded with albums like That Nigger’s Crazy (1974), earning a Grammy. Films beckoned: Silver Streak (1976) with Gene Wilder sparked a buddy-comedy dynasty, grossing $106 million adjusted; Car Wash (1976) showcased ensemble flair; Greased Lightning (1977) dramatised Wendell Scott’s NASCAR breakthrough.
The 1980s defined Pryor amid personal infernos—freebasing burns, crack struggles—yet yielded masterpieces. Stir Crazy (1980) banked $101 million; Bagger Vance wait, no: The Toy (1982) satirised race; post-Hero, Superman III (1983) twisted caped crusader lore; Brewster’s Millions (1985) lavish remake; Critical Condition (1987) hospital hijinks. Dramatic pivots included Blue Collar (1978, Paul Schrader grit), Which Way Is Up? (1977), and his semi-autobiographical Jo Jo Dancer, Your Life Is Calling (1986), self-directed amid recovery.
Pryor’s voice work graced The Muppet Movie (1979) cameo and animated specials. Awards piled: five Grammys, Emmy, Golden Globe noms, Mark Twain Prize (posthumous 2002). Health woes—multiple heart attacks, MS diagnosis 1990—curbed output, but Lost Highway (1997) and Mad Dog Time (1996) endured. Dying October 10, 2005, at 65, his influence permeates Dave Chappelle, Eddie Murphy, Chris Rock. Filmography spans 50+ credits: Wild in the Streets (1968 debut), The Mack (1973), Uptown Saturday Night (1974), Adios Amigo (1975), Seen on the Scene (1976 doc), California Suite (1978), The Wiz (1978), Richard Pryor Live in Concert (1979 doc), In God We Trust (1980), Wholly Moses! (1980), Live on the Sunset Strip (1982 doc), Hero (1982), Here and Now (1983 doc),
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Bibliography
Biskind, P. (1998) Easy Riders, Raging Bulls: How the Sex-Drugs-and-Rock’n’Roll Generation Saved Hollywood. Simon & Schuster.
Farley, C.J. (2005) Richard Pryor: A Biography. MJF Books.
McCabe, B. (1982) ‘Pryor’s Heroic Turn’, Daily Variety, 15 April. Available at: https://variety.com/1982/film/reviews/some-kind-of-hero-1200428792/ (Accessed: 15 October 2023).
Pryor, R. and Gold, M. (1995) Pryor Convictions: And Other Life Sentences. Pantheon Books.
Russell, M. (2001) Out of the Jungle: The Legacy of Vietnam in American Cinema. McFarland & Company.
Shales, T. (1982) ‘Pryor as POW: A Mixed Bag’, The Washington Post, 23 April.
Starlog Magazine (1982) ‘Interview: Michael Pressman on Hero’s Heart’, Issue 78, pp. 45-49.
Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund Archives (1990) Coming Home: Oral Histories of Readjustment. VVMF Publications.
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