On December 23, 1987, Buena Vista unveiled the Barry Levinson-directed feature Good Morning, Vietnam in theaters, where it would go on to gross $123 million. The Hollywood Reporter’s original review of the Robin Williams starrer is below:
Lucy Bird and Linda Bird, former vp Nixon, LBJ, Bob Hope, Freddy and the Dreamers, Ho Chi Minh and Colonel Sanders all the golden oldies from the early Vietnam War years are skewered, roasted and fragged by Robin Williams in Good Morning, Vietnam, a zany and full-assault comic shelling of the first years of the U.S. military “operation” in Southeast Asia. Essentially a scathing series of wild and woolly Williams monologues against the military establishment, Good Morning, Vietnam should delight Williams fans, as well as grunts everywhere.
Those who confuse solemnity with seriousness, preferring carefully researched filmic treatises on the Vietnam War done from the vantage of the British Museum, might find this Buena Vista release flip, raw and not necessarily in lock-step with their own apprehensions of military stereotypes. Nevertheless, it’s just plain funny, and Williams’ potshots rattle off faster than an M-16.
Set in 1965, when the Vietnam War was just a series of “incidents” carried out by “military advisers,” Williams stars as an iconoclastic Armed Forces radio disc jockey who’s pulled out of his obscure Crete radio post to boost the morale of the fast-arriving and fast burning-out troops in Vietnam. A savvy general (Noble Willingham) has noticed his success in regaling the G.I.s in Crete with his straight-shooting lunacy and figures Williams’ bent humor is just the shot in the arm his confused and disillusioned troops need.
Like outsiders everywhere who are handed plum assignments, Williams faces immediate hostility from his new cohorts. The Saigon Armed Forces Radio staff hates him, resents his talent he’s ventured into their territory, and they’re out to sabotage him, especially a sour and uptight lieutenant (Bruno Kirby) who submits “Humor in Uniform” bits to the Reader’s Digest and fancies himself a comedian, as well.
From his trademark cowboy whoop, “Good Morning, Vietnam,” his 6 a.m. radio show, wakes up the brain waves of G.I.s up and down the Delta and pierces the higher-ups all the way to the Pentagon. Lulled and numbed by the Armed Forces Radio’s “happy news” and bored to distraction by its easy listening old-timer sounds (Welk, Mantovani, Como), the young troops can’t believe their ears when they hear Williams’ rip-roaring, anti-military salvos. He tables the polkas and ballads and brings on Dylan and the Beach Boys. In short, the troops have found a guy they can relate to the calls and letters start pouring in, the first time in the history of Armed Forces Radio that they get fan mail.
Naturally, such success breeds contempt, and the clamps come down hard and fast on the freewheeling deejay, especially from the humorless staff sergeant (J.T. Walsh) whose ramrod style most clashes with Williams’ exuberant spirit.
While the first half of the film is hilarious — it’s essentially a series of Williams monologues juxtaposed with appreciative reaction shots from the troops in the field — a story clicks in midway. Writer Mitch Markowitz has expertly loaded this deeply charged comedy with a darkly ironic personal story as the increasingly exasperated Williams becomes involved with a Vietnamese girl (Chintara Sukapatana). Shell-shocked by the constant harassment from his superiors and increasingly rattled by the harrowingly surreal situation, Williams’ personal life abruptly explodes in his face.
Director Barry Levinson shrewdly and carefully exposes the dark undercoat of comedy — it’s clear Williams’ brilliant bursts are inspired by pain and rage — and Good Morning, Vietnam scores more direct hits per minute than other more grandiose anti-military movies.
Give four stars and a wad of arm stripes to Robin Williams for his brilliant, on-target comic volleys and for the insights into the terrible pain the clown suffers and endures in order to make people laugh. Williams’ amazing and varied talents as a comedian and as an actor, it’s becoming increasingly obvious, have not been anywhere near fully tapped, even by this bright offering.
Other performances are similarly distinguished: Forest Whitaker as Williams’ distracted and amused aide, and Noble Willingham as the wise and amused general who sticks up for Williams deserve special commendation, as do J.T. Walsh and Bruno Kirby for their portrayals of the humorless by-the-book officers.
The upbeat, raucous rock sounds (the Beach Boys, Martha and the Vandellas) are well chosen by musical consultant Allan Mason, emblematic of this innocent pre-Stones’ age. — Duane Byrge, originally published Dec. 21, 1987.
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