Taking Off (1971)

What makes Taking Off special is the way Miloš Forman turns a “missing daughter” premise into something gentler, funnier, and more revealing: a portrait of parents suddenly forced to look at themselves, not just their kids. It has that early-’70s New York vibe—awkward, curious, slightly stoned, and unexpectedly tender—where comedy bubbles up from embarrassment and the ache of a generation gap you can feel in every pause and sideways glance. Buck Henry and Lynn Carlin are wonderfully human as a couple wobbling between panic and liberation, and the film’s musical moments (including recurring audition snippets) add a wry, soulful pulse rather than stopping the story cold. It’s not for everyone—its loose, observational style and frank, era-specific edges may feel shaggy if you want a tight plot—but if you’re in the mood for a compassionate, bittersweet satire that actually likes its characters, it’s a small treasure.

Taking Off is Miloš Forman trying to bottle the awkward, funny, slightly sad culture shock of early-’70s America, using a runaway teen as the excuse to put the parents under a microscope instead. The problem is the film can feel loose and episodic—more like a string of uncomfortable encounters and satirical party scenes than a satisfying story—so if you want a clear emotional arc or a warm, crowd-pleasing comedy, this may test your patience. Its humor is deliberately cringey and sometimes comes off as smug or mean-spirited, and the content (strong language in a song, brief nudity, sexual talk, drugs) isn’t shy about pushing buttons. Still, there are redeeming qualities: sharp observational moments, an offbeat authenticity, and some genuinely memorable musical/audition sequences that will land if you like messy, time-capsule satire more than tidy drama.