Ryan O’Neal, who plays rich kid Oliver Barrett IV in the 1970 film “Love Story,” recently reunited with his co-star Ali McGraw on the Harvard campus, where the film was shot and set.
Wikipedia offers this bit of trivia:
Filming Love Story on site caused damage to the Harvard campus; this, and a similar experience with the film A Small Circle of Friends (1980), caused the university administration to deny most subsequent requests for filming on location there.
Below is a short clip courtesy of the Wall Street Journal. — CC
Obviously, their Love Story costume designers aren’t around anymore to guide them in their wardrobe choices. Sheesh.
Trad means never having to say that you read or saw LOVE STORY, because you simply ignored it.
We weren’t permitted to watch it due to the girl’s use of profanity. I’ve never gone back and watched it on my own, if only out of spite.
Probably one of the worst books ever written and one of the worst films ever made, as it planted in some people’s minds the false thought that “love is never having to say that you are sorry”.
Love is never doing anything that you’d have to say that you were sorry for doing.
Smarmy, unctuous, frothy, treacly…but taking my girl to see it in high school got me laid, so by that measure, price of admission as a good investment. Wouldn’t do it twice, though…the movie, I mean.
Selected a batch of tweedy threads for Oliver Barrett IV at the J.Press store on Dunster and Mt.Auburn, the first floor (and basement) of the Harvard DU Club with an invitation to their second floor quarters to partake of a few Love Story pops. It was an all male crew and Ali McMcGraw must have been preparing elsewhere.
I liked the car (an MG TC).
Ali McGraw was in it, that was reason enough to see it in 1970. Same with Goodbye Columbus, a better movie.
Not sure Ryan O’Neal ever finished high school. But for you snobs, Ali McGraw went to Choate and Wellesley College. 😉
Yep. Ali McGraw was what got me into the theater. Not a great movie, but there was a bit of eye candy, not least of which were the clothes and the young Ali.
I haven’t read the book, but I love the movie. The classic “Real Men Don’t Eat Quiche” even approves of it.
(Imagine a world where people try to emulate the behavior glorified by RMDEQ instead of the OPH: real men don’t gnash their teeth and wring their hands over the perfect collar roll, real men don’t…)
And, yes, Love Story makes me cry. Every time.
Back in 1970, I wouldn’t even think of watching stuff like “Love Story” or “Goodbye Columbus.” Back then, I loved movies with tough guys like Bogart and Cagney. “The Roaring Twenties,” Angels with Dirty Faces” and the “Maltese Falcon” were my cup of tea.
After I returned from US Army service, I continued my 1920”s-30’s fascination with movies like “The Great Gatsby” and “Chinatown.” I guess you could call Gatsby a love story, but the clothes and cars made it tolerable, even enjoyable for me.
I think I commented before that after seeing Gatsby, I bought a Panama hat and wore it on occasion. Back then, hats were still worn by some men, although rapidly declining in popularity. Same with smoking pipes.
Cheers!
Ali McGraw was definitely the draw. The movie was horrible and the line about love disastrous. It should have been: “love is always being willing to say you are sorry.” A lost generation.
For those of you under 70, you may not realize the impact that movie made on us baby boomers. We were young, nieve, hopelessly in love, on our first marriages, and that book and movie hit at that most emotionally vulnerable moment. Now you know the rest of the story . . . .
Do y’all remember the even more sappy song “Honey” by Bobby Goldsboro? It sprung to mind as I read the story and thread. I looked up the history and it was a huge hit in 1968, two year before the movie came out.
It made me ask myself, “Why in the hell did this schlock succeed so well?” At the risk of getting artsy about crap art, I am wondering if the grief from the Vietnam War’s physical and psychic casualties opened people’s minds to stories of a perfect love and a perfect life suddenly destroyed. Was the terminal disease a metaphor for a bullet?
I think I’d better get another cup of coffee and some fresh air.