Digital Nation by Gary Dretzka

Last week, as part of the Los Angeles Times' hyper-comprehensive coverage of Arnold Schwarzenegger's quest for political glory, Susan King described how difficult it is to find VHS copies of Pumping Iron. That 1977 documentary not only featured the Man Who Would Be Governor, but also the original Incredible Hulk, Lou Ferrigno, and Terminator wanna-be and best man at the Schwarzenegger-Shriver nuptials, Franco Columbu.

The good news divulged in that article, I suppose, is that a revamped DVD edition of Pumping Iron, narrated by Liev Schreiber, will be released on Nov. 11. Warner Home Video also is releasing its Terminator 3: Rise of the Machineson that date, which falls roughly a month after California's recall election.

A more cynical mind than mine might see Arnold's candidacy as a mere prelude to the DVD Daily Double. Indeed, it probably would cost less for him to win the keys to the governor's mansion than what the studio put into its marketing campaign for the theatrical release of T3. By agreeing to appear on virtually every TV and radio talk show in the English-speaking world last June, Arnold apparently merely was warming up for his current mission.

Even though Schwarzenegger already has reneged on his pledge not to accept donations from special interests, he probably won't have to go on welfare if his crusade fails. Arnold likely will be able to recoup his expenditures - and then some -- in the first week of the DVD launch, and not have to do another minute of publicity. So, it's win-win for everyone involved, except, perhaps, the beleaguered citizens of California.

Forget T3, the movie I wish MGM would release on DVD is Bob Rafelson's offbeat 1976 comedy Stay Hungry, in which newcomer Schwarzenegger portrayed a fiddle-playing body-builder in training for the Mr. Universe contest. Set in Alabama, the movie starred Jeff Bridges as a wealthy slacker who gets involved in a lucrative real-estate scheme with a bunch of local fat cats. All Bridges has to do is get the gym rats to agree to accept an offer for their training facility, but, instead, their stubborn refusal endears the bodybuilders to him. In the course of changing his allegiances, he falls for the girl from the wrong side of the tracks played by Field.

At the time of its release, Stay Hungry was noteworthy primarily for Sally Field's decision to shed her Flying Nun image, as well as her clothes, in a movie most people dismissed as yet another quirky art film. Arriving, as it did, five years after Rafelson's far more intellectually strenuous Five Easy Pieces and The King of Marvin Gardens, audiences didn't quite know what to make of the decision to make his return with a movie ostensibly documenting the trials and tribulations of a bunch of steroid junkies and rednecks. That's because bodybuilding was still a year or two away from shedding its freak-show mystique; Alabama was in the South, and, as such, a place to be avoided by Hollywood liberals; and critics were suspicious of the decision to cast Field.

Stay Hungry now can be seen as another worthy addition to the canon of groundbreaking films of the '70s. But, like too many other brave experiments of the time, it didn't fit any of the established niches and foundered at the box office. It deserved a much better fate.

Although the movie itself would quickly vanish from the public memory, several wonderful things emerged from its brief time in the sun. Bridges would begin to be taken seriously as a next-generation leading man who could handle comedy, drama and action roles; Field's courage would be rewarded with a starring role in Norma Rae; Robert Englund would find fame as Freddy Krueger; and Schwarzenegger would raise the eyebrows of those casting directors and producers desperately seeking actors to play comic-book heroes in the new era of tent-pole movies.

After Stay Hungry, Arnold would never seem so human again in his on-screen assignments. In exchange for vast sums of money, the deceptively crafty and charismatic Austrian would give Hollywood the green light to mold him into any shape it wanted. He would meet Maria Shriver and stun the world by marrying into America's royal family. Soon thereafter, he would wink and declare himself to be what essentially amounted to be a Kennedy Republican. Arnold Inc. was born.

Things didn't go nearly so well for Rafelson. Five years would pass before his steamy remake of The Postman Always Rings Twice was released, and another six for the unveiling of the stylish thriller Black Widow. His work would appear sporadically thereafter, but no one held their breath in anticipation of its release.

As far as I know, he's not running for governor.

Anyone who doubts Rafelson's importance to the evolution of the American cinema of the '70s need only catch reruns of the documentary series, A Decade Under the Influence on IFC, or wait for its arrival on video next month. At a time when anyone with a goatee and 16mm camera could anoint himself a rebel, Rafelson was the real deal. Hollywood puts up with its mavericks only as long as their eccentricities help the bottom line, so, when his films failed at the box office, Rafelson paid a heavy price for his convictions.

Nonetheless, I think it would be great fun if someone put together a collection of DVDs based on Rafelson's work, especially his collaborations with Jack Nicholson. These would include the anarchic Monkees' movie, Head; Five Easy Pieces, King of Marvin Gardens and The Postman Always Rings Twice; a mutually acceptable version of Man Trouble; and Blood and Wine, which completes an informal son/brother/father trilogy that began with Five Easy Pieces and The King Of Marvin Gardens. The commentary almost certainly would be humorous, as well as enlightening, especially when it came to dispensing stories about Rafelson's legendary battles with studio executives.

In the meantime, wouldn't it be neat if someone replaced those deadly dull Schwarzenegger-for-governor commercials with something directed by Rafelson? I know that I'd watch … once, anyway.