The Sure Thing

Synopsis: College freshman Walter (Gib) Gibson decides to go cross country to visit his friend in California during winter break. Awaiting there is a bikini-clad babe whom his friend assures him is a "sure thing". Meanwhile, Allison, a cute (but somewhat retentive) girl at Gib's college has also decided to head out to Cal. to see her boyfriend during break. Gib and Allison are thrust together on a road trip from hell, and somewhere along the way, they find each others company to be tolerable. Now, what will become of Gib's "sure thing?"
Genre: Comedy, Drama, Romance
Director(s): Rob Reiner
Production: Embassy
 
IMDB:
7.0
Metacritic:
76
Rotten Tomatoes:
84%
PG-13
Year:
1985
100 min
2,015 Views


Consider outer space.

From the time of the first NASA mission,

it became evident...

that being in space has a profound effect

on the human psyche.

During the first Gemini mission,

some thought was actually given...

to the notion of sending up

a man and a woman together.

Really?

A cosmic Adam and Eve, if you will...

bound together

in a sophisticated nerve center...

at the head of the largest,

most powerful known rocket...

its giant thrusters

blasting into the dark void...

as they hurtled towards

their final destination:

the gushing wellspring of life itself.

How would you like

a sexual encounter so intense...

it could conceivably change

your political views?

- Would you like to dance?

- Yes, please.

I'll take that as a no.

- Consider outer space.

- What?

Private Gibson! ncoming!

What is this? "Lonely man sitting on a hill"?

It's over, Lance.

It's gone, I've lost it.

High school.

I started off so hot.

Sophomore year, two times.

Junior year was excellent. Four times.

And not all with the same girl.

Senior year looked like the best.

The first day of classes, then nothing.

What do you mean,

nothing your senior year?

What about that time with Barbara DeVillebis

in the high-jump pit?

That was you.

I just can't motivate myself

the way I used to.

Maybe I'm past my prime.

It's not you.

It's these high school girls, here.

They're simple.

They're never gonna stimulate

a complex guy like you.

- Maybe you're right.

- Of course I'm right.

Anyways...

after tonight, you'll never have to deal with

these simple high school girls again.

- But won't these same girls be in college?

- Yeah, but it'll be different.

- Why?

- Because they'll be college girls.

I'm gonna miss you.

It's your own fault. You could be

coming out to California with me.

Yeah, right.

Get a totally bitchin' education

out there, dude.

California.

You could be coming

to New England with me.

What are you, crazy? The lvy League stinks.

They've only got those ugly,

intellectual girls...

with Band-Aids on their knees

from playing the cello. No, thank you.

I'm really gonna miss you.

We're college men now.

Dear Lance, the campus here is beautiful.

I've never seen so much corduroy

in one place.

Classes are classes.

One of them even looks like

it might be interesting.

You never know.

You're wrong about the women here.

I haven't seen one Band-Aid.

In fact, there's plenty of action.

My roommate and I have an understanding.

Hope things are going as good for you.

Your pal, Gib.

P.S. All of the above is bullshit.

I'm floundering in a sea of confusion

and total despair.

But, knock on wood, I still have my health.

This week's assignment

is to rewrite last week's assignment.

Remember, "As the dog returneth

to his own vomit...

"so does the fool to his folly."

Sorry I'm late,

but there was this big problem...

and I'm late because of it.

Katherine, when I told you

that you should develop your own style...

I didn't mean that you should dot the i's

with little flowers.

And this lavender ink...

Would you lose that?

It strains the eye.

You sure take a lot of notes.

Miss Duran, this is very interesting.

Ordinarily, the conclusion comes

in the end of the paper, but...

- I like that.

- Thank you.

Go on.

Gibson.

- Mr. Gibson?

- Yes, what?

I know what an important part

voyeurism plays in your daily life...

but would you mind

if I take up a moment of your time?

- Sure.

- Thank you.

See, I want to tell you...

that I really enjoyed your paper.

- You did?

- Yeah.

I don't remember the last time...

that I have seen this much detail

expressed on:

"How to eat pizza

without burning the roof of your mouth."

Unfortunately, whatever whimsical qualities

that your paper evokes...

are obscured in a morass

of marginal grammar...

creative spelling...

and, as I believe, sausage stain.

Pepperoni.

Clean it up.

Ms. Bradbury.

You, on the other hand...

express your ideas very clearly.

Thank you.

Except that your paper is...

Well, it's dry.

There's not enough of you coming through.

Loosen up, Alison. Have some fun.

Sleep when you feel like it,

not when you think you should.

Eat food that is bad for you,

at least once in a while.

Have conversations with people

whose clothes are not color coordinated.

Make love in a hammock!

Life is the ultimate experience.

You have to experience it...

in order to write about it.

- Yes, Alison.

- What did you say after "hammock"?

- I want you.

- All right.

You're a dead man, dead meat.

You'll hear footsteps.

Set!

One, one thousand,

two, one thousand, three, one thousand.

Gibson, all-pro safety out of Grambling,

makes another sparkling defensive jam.

- I thought Grambling was all black.

- So what?

What are you doing tonight?

I'll tell you, I am not rewriting

my English paper. I have a social life.

That's right, I forgot.

You've got to go to a mixer.

Stand in the corner for three hours,

and not ask anyone to dance.

It's the girls at this school.

All they want is to stay indoors, smoke

cigarettes and relate. I don't like them.

Why do you have to like them?

You're dead meat.

What does Taub mean, I have to live life?

In high school, I was delegate

to the mock UN in New York City.

Twice.

When I was nine,

I broke my brother's nose, boxing.

On a tour of Graceland,

I passed out in Elvis' bedroom.

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Steve Bloom

Steve Bloom (born 1953, Johannesburg, South Africa) is a photographer and writer. Son of South African journalist, novelist, and political activist Harry Bloom, he is best known for his photography books and essays as well as his large scale outdoor exhibitions called Spirit of the Wild. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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