The Wanderers

The Wanderers is probably one of my top ten all-time favorite films. The Ducky Boys are clearly the scariest collective badasses of all time, and Karen Allen is so lovingly endearing in this film that any last shred of manly restraint you might have possessed at the beginning will be dripping down your ribcage by the end. It's just perfect.

So, reading the novel that inspired the beloved film is clearly a setup for letdown, but not here. Richard Price was just 24 when he published the novel, and while it's more a series of character vignettes that document the end of youth for a teenage gang, you care about these guys. Little do they know that playing elbow titty, bowling, rumbling and making out will be the best days of their lives before the army or marriage or death takes them away. They are stupid and violent and relentlessly cruel, but you can't help loving the fucking wops.

I have no idea what Price's other novels are like, but this worked down the emotional line. I couldn't stop rooting for the miserable bastards, no matter how badly they behave. Ain't no masterwork, but I had a quality four hours with Ricky and Perry and Joey, and let's not forget the Wongs. Damn those boys scare me.