An unmarried, twenty-something hick (played by John Travolta) leaves the farm and goes to Houston, where he learns about life and love in a Texas honky-tonk. At face value, it's a modern love story ... Texas style. There's gobs of cowboy hats, pickup trucks, neon beer signs, and references to big belt-buckles and rodeos. The music, if not Texas native, is Texas adapted, courtesy of the talents of Mickey Gilley, Johnny Lee, and the Charlie Daniels Band. And that Texas twang ... "y'all".
The story and the characters are about as subtle as the taste of Texas five-alarm chili made with Jalapeno peppers. It's enough to make civilized viewers abort the film in favor of a genteel classic, one starring Laurence Olivier or Ingrid Bergman, maybe. "Hamlet" it's not. But "Urban Cowboy" is spicy and explicit, and I kinda like it.
Technically, the film is generally good. The dialogue, the production design, and the costumes are all realistic; the editing is skillful. And both the casting and the acting are commendable, if not Oscar worthy. I would not have cast Travolta in the role he plays, but he does a fine job ... ditto Debra Winger. Barry Corbin and Brooke Alderson, among others, are good too, in support roles. But, the cinematography seemed weak. The film copy I watched was grainy, and at times suffered from a reddish/orange tint, a visual trait I have noticed in other films from the same time period.
At first glance, the film does not seem to offer any social or political "message". But I would argue that when "Urban Cowboy" was released twenty-five years ago, it had rather prophetic implications. In 1980 the U.S. had all kinds of problems, not the least being American hostages held by Iran. In the minds of a lot of folks back then, the U.S. was being pushed around, bullied.
This film, along with others of its time, offered something that Americans wanted to see in their political leaders ... toughness. "Urban Cowboy" is a very physical film. The characters in it may not be the brightest people on Earth. But, they're tough!
Everything about "Urban Cowboy" is anti-intellectual. As a vehicle for cultural expression then, this 1980 film was one of several that augured a new get-tough era for the U.S. It started in 1980 with the election of Reagan. And that era continues to this day, with a President who probably will not be remembered for his intellect, but will be remembered for his toughness and aggression, traits that Americans seem to gravitate to as surely as Texans to five-alarm chili.

If you hit your teens in the 70s, as I did, you probably remember the stories about Studio 54 whether or not you liked disco. An exclusive club, it was the perfect symbol of 70s cultural overindulgence and self-absorption; there's even an excellent VH1 documentary about the club that could tell you everything you wanted to know about its heyday, and the stories are easily interesting enough to spawn a very captivating film.
Sadly, this isn't it. 54 follows the lives of a few of its employees, a bartender named Shane (Ryan Phillippe), a busboy named Greg (Breckin Meyer), his wife, a coat-check girl, Anita (Selma Hayek), and of course the master of ceremonies himself, Steve Rubell (Mike Meyers). While the goings-on at the club are well represented, this film concerns itself more with the personal lives of the workers, following Shane's story the closest.
The movie works in spurts. Sometimes it captures perfectly the shallowness of the nightlife culture (such as when Shane is taken to a dinner party and doesn't know who 'Errol Flynt' is), and other times it waxes into hokey melodrama. Some of that is inherent in the premise  following the underlings as they mingle in the world of the rich and fabulous  but a lot of it is due to the kid-gloved treatment with which both the club and Rubell are given throughout the movie. While Rubell certainly electrified the scene in New York with his penchant for over-the-top spectacle and his exclusive hand-picking of the crowds each night, the rampant drugs and sexuality are only briefly touched on; and Rubell himself, while his excesses are mentioned, come off oddly positive for a guy who was in life a liar, a cheat, a drug abuser, and promiscuous as all hell. Not that I was looking for the man to be pilloried here, but his ego directly contributed to the fall of his club and the diminishing of the nightlife culture he helped to elevate. A final scene where he gazes down at the regulars paternally is so emotionally false as to be patently absurd.
Meyers does his best to capture Rubell, but he's given so little to work with here it's surprising his performance is effective; but he's good, and he helps to anchor the film. Philippe, whom I find generally to be a good actor, is hamstrung here by the shallowness and stupidity of his character; he's limited to a deer-in-the-headlights smile or a sullen uncomprehending frown, and even he can't translate that into a strong performance. Hayek and Meyer are both okay, again, undercut by the writing, and Neve Campbell  prominently featured on the DVD cover  appears so briefly she really has an extended cameo.
For some reason I still find myself interested, even fascinated, by the popular culture of the second half of the seventies. But even given that, this is not a film that particularly engaged me, despite a predisposition to like it. I'd say if that era, or that club, has any interest for you, track down the VH1 special rather than this middle-of-the-road melodrama.