Cowboy de ciudad

There's a part of me that wishes I was cognizant in 1980 when the "Urban Cowboy" craze hit; just to experience the hype if nothing else (I saw it in utero, but that doesn't count). As it stands, this is best viewed as a cultural curiosity; a snapshot both of Travolta in his prime and the Western craze. It's that star power that helps the film retain its potency for decades after the fact. The camera belabors that point with the shot of its lead actor posing against the bar, beer in hand, intensity smoldering (they even used that on the poster to sell tickets).

If we're talking substance, hell there's not much. The allure of bull-riding is lost on me and the men in this movie are absolute pigs. Watching Debra Winger go from one loveless abuser to another is a real drag, and she tends to be the film's sympathetic core.

I can't blame anyone for not being able to relate to this movie if their first watch is in 2020, but I can appreciate the mark it made in its time.