In 1978, director Don Zavin gave unto thirsty Blazermaniacs a rambly, contemplative, slightly-stoned gift of a documentary, Fast Break. There is no real narrative arc, the closest thing to a through-line basically gets abandoned halfway through, and there's nothing particularly insightful or profound to be gleaned from following the team through their quiet Pacific Northwest adventures following their shock-the-world championship run in 1977.
Which is fine, because Fast Break works best as a time-travel device anyway, a shaggy portal back to a Portland that will never exist again, where Maurice Lucas is chilling at the pool, Dave Twardzik is teaching kids the fundamentals, and big bike-riding Bill Walton is doing that charmingly infuriating Bill Walton thing where gallons of melodic syllables rain down over his jutting chin and evaporate into senselessness right around his collarbone. Walton would break his foot in '78 and flee Portland a year later, the team's chemistry slowly soured, and never another Finals would be won, but Fast Break perfectly captures the weirdly serene scenes before it all fell down.
Fast Break, Mon Sept 17, Hollywood Theatre, 7 pm.
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