WONDERING ABOUT THE WANDERERS . . .

Many years ago—maybe even twenty-five years ago—I caught just a few snippets, on TV, of a movie that intrigued me partly because of its rock ’n’ roll soundtrack and partly because of the stylish visual impact of its dress-coded rival gangs in the Bronx in the early 1960s. Despite my catching those snippets on my old 12-inch black-and-white telly, two scenes in particular stuck with me vividly: one was of a gang distinguished by their bald heads; the other was of another gang, decked out in bowling-style jackets, parading through the streets, the members whistling up at windows to summon additional members to join them as they staked their claim on the inner-city turf. That movie was The Wanderers, released in 1979.

So . . . fast-forward to last night, when I finally got to see the movie in its entirety . . . but not before reading the book—of the same title, by Richard Price—that it is based on. Price’s current claim to literary fame is Lush Life, which I have on hand and will get to eventually; but The Wanderers (1974)—his first book—has its merits as well. More a collection of linked stories than a novel per se (it lacks the coherent narrative arc of a novel, though the final story does help to tie matters together thematically), The Wanderers depicts not just gang-life in NYC circa 1963 but also the individual lives of gang members as they move through adolescence toward the uncertain responsibilities of early adulthood. A bit rough around the edges stylistically, it nonetheless illuminates both the social and the anti-social dimensions of street gangs.

Directed by Philip Kaufman (who co-wrote the script with his wife Rose Kaufman) and starring Ken Wahl as Richie Gennaro and John Friedrich as Joey Capra, the movie version of The Wanderers is, for my money (I bought it on DVD), more enduring than the book version. Taking liberties with the book—condensing or eliding characters and scenes, eliminating some characters and scenes altogether and adding others—it yet does justice to Price’s original literary vision while also achieving its own cinematic integrity: by turns dramatic, melodramatic, comedic and tragic, it is irresistibly engaging from start to finish. (Presumably Price would agree with that estimation, as he actually enjoys a cameo appearance in the film . . .) Of course, both book and film present highly sanitized versions of gang warfare, yet there are also elements of grittiness and candor that testify to Price’s personal boyhood intimacy with the real-life gangs—the Fordham Baldies, the Del Bombers, the Ducky Boys—that serve as his models.

It took me almost a full quarter-century to focus in on the Technicolor feature film that had teased me in black-and white. But ultimately the film proved to be even more satisfying than I expected; and discovering the book of The Wanderers was a bonus.