Stand by Me

“Everything was there and around us. We knew exactly who we were and exactly where we were going. It was grand.” First of all, I’ll start by saying: rest in peace, Rob Reiner. Stand By Me was one of the earliest films I remember watching that rewired my brain from being a brain that liked watching movies into a brain that needed to watch movies. I have a very distinct memory of watching Stand By Me for the first time when I was around 12 or 13 years old. And the reason I wanted to watch it was because my parents had gotten us this sort of movie-themed Trivial Pursuit game that we’d play as a family. It was one of those DVD Trivial Pursuit games where scenes from movies would play on the screen and you had to correctly guess the title. At one point, a scene came up—the boys running across the train bridge as the train barrels toward them. I remember watching that scene during the game and thinking, What is this movie? I absolutely needed to see it. I sought it out immediately, and the rest was history. It instantly became one of my favorite films, and it was an incredibly formative experience for me. I’ve probably gone the last twelve years or so not rewatching this movie because I was afraid it wouldn’t live up to the version I had in my head from when I was twelve. But having rewatched it tonight, I’ve got to say: it still hits me with the same emotions. Sure, I have a few little nitpicks here and there. I do think the film is often in a bit too much of a rush. But what this movie taught me about life at such an early age—and what it continues to teach me now, at a slightly older age—is something I know I’m going to cherish more and more as I get older. It taught me, at a young age, some harsh truths about myths and realities, about friendship, about the cruelty of being alive and having friends. It’s nearly impossible to watch this movie and not think about the friends you had when you were twelve. At the very end of the film, when Richard Dreyfuss types, “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”—that line so succinctly captures an incredibly poignant, and oftentimes debilitating, feeling. It’s something you feel in your life—or at least something I feel as I approach thirty. I think back to my friends from when I was twelve. I think about Bubba and Joey—two men I haven’t seen in over ten years. I wonder if they think about me as much as I think about them. I hope they’re doing well. But anyway, back to the movie. I do think the film, which is under ninety minutes, moves from set piece to set piece a little too quickly. It could maybe use a bit more breathing room, allowing scenes to linger just a little longer. The scene where Chris Chambers talks about the milk money incident is a great example. In my memory, that scene played for five to ten minutes. And I think when I was a kid, I was so locked in, inhaling every second of it, mesmerized by River Phoenix’s performance. River Phoenix alone is someone I could drone on and on about, but I’ll spare you that. Watching it this time, though, the scene felt like it was over almost before it began. And I felt that way about most of the scenes—they all moved so fast in a way I just didn’t remember. Maybe that just goes to show how badly I wanted to keep living in this world. And maybe the older I get, the more I want to live in this world. Because the older you get, the further away you are from being young, careless, and carefree. And that’s what this film gives me. It gives me that feeling again. I know kids today probably grow up very differently and come of age in a completely different way. But I was lucky enough to be part of a generation where my adolescence felt much closer to the events of Stand By Me than… whatever is happening now. All the Gen Z brain-rot stuff aside. Regardless of my pacing nitpick, the movie is just packed with iconic, unforgettable scenes—one after another. The introduction to the characters in the treehouse. Teddy trying to dodge the train, and Chris stopping him. The “chopper, sic balls” scene. The train bridge run. Gordie telling the Lardass Hogan story. Chris and Gordie confiding in each other by the fire, with Chris breaking down. The leeches. Finding the body. Gordie pointing the gun at Ace and saying, “Suck my fat one, you cheap dime-store hood.” As the film played, even though I hadn’t seen it in over a decade, I realized I could practically quote the entire movie from start to finish. I think for anyone watching this for the first time as an adult, it might not hit the same way. Maybe it’s one of those “you had to be there” movies. You had to be twelve years old, playing Trivial Pursuit, asking, What’s that movie?—and then seeking it out and having your world permanently changed. There are a lot of people to thank for that. Stephen King, for writing the novella. The actors, who all deliver performances that—while maybe a bit inconsistent by today’s standards—are always compelling to watch. And the man at the helm, taken from us far too soon, along with his wife: Rob Reiner. He really knew how to make a film. And he knew how to make a film that would continue to touch people decades later. I remember hearing stories about him directing River Phoenix through the milk money scene. Thinking about that now—knowing that both of them are gone—just feels especially tragic. So I’ll leave it with this. Rob Reiner crafted a film here that really has it all. Adventure, humor, thrills, and searing drama. And it closes with one of the most devastating truths about getting older that I think I’ve ever seen in a movie. Rest in peace, Rob Reiner. Thank you for making this. 9.5/10