The Dude

An amusing article in today’s NYT arts section reports on an academic conference devoted to the film The Big Lebowski and on the book that came out of it, The Year’s Work in Lebowski Studies, published by Indiana University Press. This cult film has apparently spawned a cottage industry of academic criticism, and as a former member of the university press community I have to smile. Over the 26 years I held down a desk in that endeavor, I always felt that the slogan of university presses should be “Keeping the World Safe for Pedantry”; it’s nice to know that some are also keeping it safe for insanity.

I actually re-acquainted myself with this film a couple of months ago. I had recently read Pynchon’s latest, Inherent Vice, whose protagonist, Doc Sportello, reminded a few critics of the Dude. The commonality is that both are potheads trying to solve a mystery, within a plot conducive to paranoia, while negotiating the world on their own terms. The difference is that, while Doc Sportello is a private eye who solves mysteries for a living, the Dude is your Hitchcockian victim of false identity simply trying to find out who peed on his rug. Because as fans know, that rug really tied the room together.

This is definitely a film that retains its quirky charm over repeated viewings. John Goodman and Steve Buscemi in supporting roles perfectly complement Jeff Bridges, while a band of German nihilists capture the Coen brothers’ innate wackiness. Sam Elliot narrates charmingly for no apparent reason. And the musical sequences are high-camp Hollywood via acid flashback.

Quoting the article, “Admirers of the Dude are already dangerously close to becoming Internet-age versions of Parrotheads, the weekend-warrior Jimmy Buffett fans who tip back margaritas — and embarrass their children — while wearing flip-flops, board shorts, Hawaiian shirts and coconut bras.” I like to think not. I prefer to imagine admirers of the Dude as folks who’d just as soon maintain a healthy detachment from an insane world. Some of us choose solitary pursuits; the Dude chose bowling. Whatever it takes.

The Dude abides.

Still Far from Easy after All These Years

Working out on the Nordic Track is almost the only time I watch movies anymore, and I still have a ways to go with the Woody Allen collection. (Small Time Crooks was marginally better than I remembered; The Curse of the Jade Scorpion just as lame as I’d recalled.) Occasionally we’ll view one at night on our kinda puny TV, which we don’t much otherwise turn on. But sometimes I’ll watch one on my laptop in the evening while Beth reads.

Given the fact that I went ahead and listed my favorite movies for this blog’s profile, I decided it was time to re-view one. The first five are my all-time faves, in order, and I realized it had been a while since I’d watched Five Easy Pieces. So a couple of nights ago I popped in the disk and took myself back to 1970, when some segments of society were still stuck in the fifties and Jack Nicholson’s hairline hadn’t completely receded. (Jeez, we’re talkin’ nearly 40 years here! Back then would I have watched a movie from 1930?) 

 

It’s gotten to the point where I can practically recite the dialogue along with the actors. “You play that thing one more time, I’m gonna melt it down into hairspray.” ... “We’ve had our break, Miss Dupea.” ... “I don’t even want to talk about it.” ... “I’m sitting here listening to some cracker asshole compare his life to mine.” ... “You play the piano all day and then jump on a horse, you could get cramps.” ... “Where we’re goin’, it’s gonna get colder than hell.” And of course the immortal “I want you to hold it between your knees.”

Robert Eroica Dupea, who abandons a career as a classical pianist for a haphazard life in the blue collar world, is one of cinema’s most fascinating character studies, as well as one of Nicholson’s standout roles. He seems to be a man unsure of what he wants to do but determined to resist other people’s expectations. Yet he can’t easily shake off an inner code that compels him to be concerned for his father’s health, show affection for his sister, and even defend his dimwitted girlfriend in front of a group of snobs. The scene with his father is particularly telling. . . . 

When Bobby says "We both know I was never that good at it anyway," does he mean piano or apology? No matter: I don’t know that Nicholson ever topped that scene.

There are other delights, of course. Great supporting cast: Susan Anspach, Ralph Waite, Billy Green Bush, Fannie Flagg, Lois Smith. There’s Sally Struthers in her first big role, and Toni Basil (Hey Mickey, whatever happened to Toni Basil?) as the less-vocal hitchhiker. The great juxtaposition of music, country & classical. And of course, best of all, Karen Black as Rayette Dipesto, pouting her way into our hearts as she sings Tammy Wynette tunes. (How, do you suppose, did screenwriter Carole Eastman settle on the names Dupea and Dipesto?)

BTW, I once corrected VideoHound’s Golden Movie Retriever over their entry for this film. Their snippet claimed that Nicholson’s character had been away from home for something like twenty years; I pointed out that not only would Jack have had to look a lot older, there was the scene at the dinner table where his absence was discussed as being around two years. I was pleased to see it corrected in the next edition – just my small contribution to the public record. Meanwhile, there still seem to be a lot of synopses out there that assume that Bobby’s working on an oil rig sets the early scenes in Oklahoma – but it’s really California.

Never seen it? It’s worth a rental. And I guarantee you’ll never feel the same about requesting substitutions in a restaurant.

A Face in the Crowd

Lately I’ve been working my way thru a bunch of Woody Allen movies, taped from cable over several years, while putting in sessions on the Nordic Track (a futile effort in waist management). I recently watched Zelig for the first time in a while and found it fascinating.

No doubt about it, the technical tricks in this tale of a flapper-era “chameleon man” are amazing, and I was pleasantly surprised that there were more laugh-out-loud lines than I’d remembered. One incidental touch I found startling was seeing the Mia Farrow character with a cigarette in hand in nearly every scene – it made me wonder whether it was some strange inside joke.

But that wasn’t nearly as jarring as the bit where the vanished Leonard Zelig resurfaced in Nazi Germany. The voiceover spoke of Hitler’s popularity as a product of economic hard times and renewed nationalism, and it gave me a bit of a chill to think that it could happen here.

Before I proceed, some disclosure might be in order. I’m what is known on the right as a “left-wing moonbat.” To quote Will Rogers, I don’t belong to an organized political party - I’m a Democrat. (Actually I used to be Independent and then registered Republican so I could vote against the loonies in the last congressional primary, but I got so sick of the mail I started getting from the RNC that I re-registered Democrat for spite.) I would gladly entertain Republican arguments regarding fiscal policy, but I have no time for their social agenda. As was famously said by my long-time hero Barry Goldwater, people like Jerry Falwell deserve a kick in the ass. When McCain chose Palin as a running mate, it clinched my vote for Obama (I preferred Hillary); although despite the idealism surrounding his candidacy, I feared he would be too divisive – and he’s proven to be just that.

Even so, I’m frankly bewildered by the Obama/Hitler analogies espoused by the wingnuts. Granted, that stylized poster was creepy, but these people have severed all contact with reality. A few months ago, Beth and I were having lunch at the local brewpub, which faces our town square, when we noticed a commotion across the street and saw a teabagger demonstration forming. Some of the signs read “King Obama,” and I wanted to ask the people holding them where they had been when W was expanding executive powers and generally pissing on the Constitution – but then you don’t have to resort to thought processes when you take your cues from an admitted rodeo clown. The rantings of Beck, Hannity, & Limbaugh as they wrap themselves in the flag make me think of another classic movie, Elia Kazan’s A Face in the Crowd.



If you’re not familiar with this gem from 1957, you’d be startled to watch Andy Griffith in his first screen appearance, portraying a philosophizing bumpkin who becomes a manipulative media sensation. It views like a precursor to Glenn Beck (and if you’ve never seen Jon Stewart’s brilliant parody, check this link); yet when I looked at the comments on Amazon I was startled to see that at least one person likened the character to Obama. I suppose it’s all a matter of one’s point of view; unfortuntely, when that p.o.v. is spoonfed by Fox News, it tends to be a bit skewed.

The teabaggers ignore one indisputable truth: if a Hitler were to emerge in this country, such a tyrant could never come from the left - like Rogers said, we’re simply too disorganized. But ever hopeful, I remain open to suggestions for any politician who can unite what W hath put asunder.