Modern Problems

The premise alone is pure Reagan-era B-movie gold: Max Fielder, played by Chevy Chase at the height of his smirking, pratfalling fame, is a stressed-out air traffic controller dumped by his girlfriend Darcy (Patti D'Arbanville). After a near-miss highway encounter with a truck spilling glowing green toxic waste (because, of course), Max develops telekinetic powers. What follows isn't exactly Carrie at the prom, but rather a uniquely uncomfortable blend of wish-fulfillment, petty revenge, and signature Chase slapstick, all filtered through a lens that feels surprisingly dark at times.

This was Chase post-Caddyshack (1980) and pre-Vacation (1983), still riding high but perhaps already showing hints of the more abrasive persona that would later define some of his work. Max isn't always likeable; his jealousy over Darcy's new flame, the absurdly suave self-help guru Mark (Dabney Coleman, perfectly embodying smug superiority), often veers into genuinely creepy territory. Yet, there's an undeniable spark in watching him discover his powers. Remember that scene where he tries to levitate a joint? It’s awkward, slightly drawn-out, but captures that low-fi, almost believable magic trick feel that practical effects excelled at. No slick CGI here, just wires, clever editing, and the power of suggestion doing the heavy lifting.

Let's talk about those effects. The green glow signifying Max's power surge, the objects flying across rooms, the levitation... it all has that tangible, slightly clumsy charm we expect from the era. You feel the effort behind making that dinner plate hover or that salt shaker dance. Apparently, achieving these effects wasn't always smooth sailing on set, contributing to a somewhat tense production atmosphere, with reports of friction between Chase and director Ken Shapiro. Shapiro, previously known for the much more counter-culture The Groove Tube (1974), brought a certain anarchic energy, but it sometimes clashed with the star's comedic sensibilities. It's a fascinating mix – the attempt at mainstream comedy fused with a slightly punk rock, messy execution.

And who could forget the visual gag – intended or not – of Max frequently having white powder residue under his nose after using his powers? In 1981, maybe it just seemed like a quirky side effect; watching it now, it feels like a remarkably unsubtle nod to the era's infamous recreational habits, adding another layer to the film's strange brew.

While Chase dominates, the supporting cast adds necessary flavour. Patti D'Arbanville does her best with a somewhat thankless "girlfriend" role, providing the emotional anchor Max desperately needs (and frequently ignores). But it’s Dabney Coleman who often steals the show. His Mark is a hilarious send-up of narcissistic New Age charlatans, delivering lines dripping with condescending pseudo-wisdom. Watching Max use his powers to subtly torment Mark during a disastrous dinner date is one of the film's undeniable highlights – pure psychic slapstick. It’s worth noting Coleman was on a roll, having just come off 9 to 5 (1980) and heading into Tootsie (1982); he knew how to play smarmy better than almost anyone.

The film cost around $8 million to make and actually pulled in a respectable $26 million at the box office, proving audiences were willing to embrace its strangeness, even if critics were largely baffled or dismissive. It found its real second life, like so many quirky gems, on cable TV and weekend VHS rentals – becoming that movie you vaguely remembered watching late one night, wondering if it was brilliant or just plain bizarre.

Modern Problems isn't a smooth ride. Its tone careens wildly between goofy physical comedy (Chase getting tangled in wires, falling over things) and moments that feel genuinely mean-spirited or just plain odd. Max’s journey isn’t one of heroic self-discovery; it’s more about a deeply insecure man stumbling into power and mostly using it selfishly until a chaotic, effects-heavy finale forces some kind of reckoning. It feels very much of its time – a slightly cynical, messy, but undeniably memorable comedy experiment from an era before formulaic blockbusters completely took over. There's a certain "anything goes" energy that's hard not to appreciate, even when the jokes misfire or the plot meanders.

Justification: It earns points for its sheer audacity, Dabney Coleman's pitch-perfect performance, and its status as a uniquely strange Chevy Chase vehicle. The practical effects have a certain nostalgic charm, and its bizarre tone makes it memorable. However, it loses points for its inconsistent tone, unlikeable protagonist moments, and sometimes sluggish pacing. It’s definitely not a flawless comedy, but it’s far from forgettable.

Final Thought: Modern Problems is like finding a warped cassette tape in the attic – the sound might be muffled, the content questionable by today's standards, but hitting play unleashes a wave of uniquely weird 80s energy that's strangely compelling. Handle with care, and maybe don't inhale the green fumes.

The behind-the-scenes chaos somehow matched the movie's unhinged energy, starting with a darker, R-rated original cut that Ken Shapiro described as an "adult Disney movie... in which Carrie meets Annie Hall." While studio re-editing managed to secure a PG rating, wonderfully bizarre artifacts like a multiple orgasm scene and an inflating ballet dancer's crotch somehow survived the theatrical cut. The real-world production was nearly as hazardous as Max Fielder's telekinesis: during a dream sequence where Chevy Chase wore actual "landing lights" strapped to his arms, he was nearly electrocuted while the crew initially ignored his genuine screams. When he finally regained consciousness, his very first words to the terrified set were, "Don't you know who I am?" To top it all off, the film landed in theaters on Christmas Day 1981, perfectly coinciding with the national fallout of President Reagan firing over 11,000 striking air traffic controllers. Talk about terrible timing for a comedy about a stressed-out tower worker.