Jack Nicholson And Meryl Streep Headlined This Must-see '80s Flop Based On A Beloved Book

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William Kennedy's "Albany Cycle" of novels are set in and around the New York state capital during the Great Depression and, as such, drift through a good deal of human misery. But the third book in the series, "Ironweed," is a clinic in despair. Its narrative follows former baseball player Francis Phelan as he stumbles — half-drunkenly, half-nobly — through his old stomping grounds in search of his lover Helen Archer and maybe a semblance of peace. Francis' life essentially ended the day he dropped his infant child on the floor. He believes he wasn't drunk enough to blame the booze for the baby's death, but it didn't matter. No one bought his excuse, which ultimately forced him out on the streets. Perhaps he can find deliverance from his unremitting psychic pain.

The novel is basically a hangout tale, and while the company can occasionally be lively, the harsh reality of being unhoused at the tail end of the Great Depression routinely cuts short any kind of revelry. Francis takes work where he can to support himself and Helen, but the drink wields an awful power over him.

"Ironweed" won the 1984 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and, despite its relentlessly downbeat tone, was viewed as prime awards bait. When Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep were cast in the film adaptation, the project was immediately considered an Oscar frontrunner. Add in director Héctor Babenco, hot off "Kiss of the Spider Woman" (not the Jennifer Lopez version, obviously), and "Ironweed" felt like the movie to beat in 1987. Alas, despite a substantial budget, all of which is on the screen, and stellar performances from the entire cast, the film was a critical and commercial bomb. Reviewers found it too depressing, which suggested few of them had read the original book.

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"Ironweed" felt like a do-over for Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep after their pairing in 1986's tepidly reviewed Mike Nichols comedy "Heartburn." I've always been a fan of the movie and its Nora Ephron screenplay (opinions may vary), but many critics, like Roger Ebert, felt its characters were wholly uninteresting. But Francis and Helen were the exact opposite of the unhappily married couple in "Heartburn," so audiences theoretically wanted to see them do well.

William Kennedy adapted his own novel for "Ironweed," and, if nothing else, its stars get Francis and Helen exactly right. Nicholson's well-meaning Francis takes a run at getting sober and isn't too proud to work rough jobs like gravedigging. There's a hint of the old Jack mischievous here, but it's consistently thwarted by the ghosts of his past who appear to him at the most inopportune times (like Nathan Lane's slain streetcar conductor, with whom Francis argues in front of several frightened bus passengers). Meanwhile, Streep is a firecracker as Helen, who laments the squandered potential of what might've been a successful singing career and shoots off her pipes during a wonderful bar scene. It's a reminder that Meryl is one of the best to ever do it.

Meanwhile, Héctor Babenco, cinematographer Lauro Escorel, and production designer Jeannine Oppewall bring 1938 Albany to rich autumnal life. The city's in the midst of an early cold snap, and they make you feel the nip in the air. Nevertheless, the film is unsparing in its approach. There's a particularly brutal scene involving a nearly-down-for-the-count woman getting fed on by dogs.

So, yes, "Ironweed" is harrowingly true to its source material, but there's a surreal sense of grace to it. It's a haunted film, and it deserved so much better.

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"Ironweed" received decent reviews from two key critics: Roger Ebert and Janet Maslin. Neither were raves, but they did praise the work of its two stars. Still, Maslin wrote that the film was doomed to fall short because the ethereal nature of William Kennedy's prose, and the interiority of Francis's anguish, cannot transcend the page. This didn't bother me when I saw the film in theaters because I hadn't read the book yet. Now that I have, perhaps it's cheating that I have those indelible passages seared into my brain. Either way, "Ironweed" is absorbing and utterly soul-crushing. Shot-for-shot, it feels an awful lot like a masterpiece.

I can understand why the film failed to catch on with moviegoers, but some of the fiercely negative notices from folks like Stephen Schiff and Variety's unnamed staff reviewer are baffling. Variety's review was particularly savage, stating, "Unrelentingly bleak, 'Ironweed' is a film without an audience and no reason for being except its own self-importance. It's an event picture without the event." Yes, it's a "self-important" movie about losers struggling every day to find a reason to throw off their newspaper sheets and pull themselves up out of a cement bed.

That "Ironweed" is faithful to Kennedy's novel in that it eschews event (though there are extras-laden set pieces) is admirable. Given our cratering economy, where income inequality gets worse by the day, "Ironweed" feels like a movie for our moment. It's a ragged story of dashed dreams that never had a chance of being realized in a rigged system. But the characters still take responsibility for their failings. "Ironweed" is a sad movie, but it's powerfully cathartic. We must endure under the reign of evil.