ADDED TO 'GREATEST FAVORITES': The Big Lebowski (1998)

Directed by the Coen Brothers

It’s the Coen brothers that get the last laugh at the end of The Big Lebowski – quite an accomplishment, because chances are the viewer has had quite a ball with the movie. About two hours later, after all of those antics, the relentless running around, the wacky characters, the White Russians, after all of Sam Elliott’s wonderfully dramatic narration, the Dude’s coveted rug (which prompts the entire film, remind you) is never compensated. In other words, there is zero resolution. In fact, has anything of merit or value really happened at the film’s end? If I’m questioning the movie this much, is there any point in even watching it? It’s only that last question that I’m comfortable and confident in answering: absolutely.

Endlessly quotable with a wonderful cast of outrageous and memorable characters, complimented by pitch-perfect performances, there is no doubt in my mind that The Big Lebowski stands (and will continue to stand) as one of the greatest comedies in recent memory. Twenty years later, with its massive cult following (one of my close friends is an ordained minister in the Church of Dudeism) and frequent intrusions in pop culture, at this point it is fair to say that The Big Lebowski is not just great, but it is iconic to the point of essentiality, almost a rite of passage for cinephiles worldwide.  

I want to say that a plot synopsis isn’t even needed at this point (who doesn’t know the story of this movie?), but I think the reality is that a synopsis cannot do The Big Lebowski justice of any sort. After all, we’ve already established that there’s not much resolution, but we’ve also established that there is at least a start to everything – case in point: the rug.

Jeff Lebowski (Jeff Bridges) is a man who walks a line of a lifestyle that borders between Zen and slacker. He comes home one night to two men who have broken in. They’re looking for Jeff Lebowski…but perhaps they’re looking for a different Jeff Lebowski; something about some money (which this Lebowski doesn’t appear to have much of), something about some chick named Bunny, Jackie Treehorn – all the while this Lebowski’s head is being shoved down the toilet. It doesn’t take much for this Lebowski to know they’re looking for the wrong guy – after all, he’s more affectionately known as ‘The Dude’. The two goons realize this, depart, but not without soiling the Dude’s rug by way of urination.

He doesn’t appear to be significantly distressed, but there is no doubt that the Dude is still annoyed by the incident (that rug really tied the room together, after all). Some encouragement from his bowling buddy Walter (John Goodman), an unhinged Vietnam vet, prompts the Dude to pay the millionaire ‘Big Lebowski’ a visit, to which the Dude is scolded for being an underachiever. Though the Dude manages to score a rug, it is taken away from him by the Big Lebowski’s feminist artist daughter Maude (Julianne Moore). Not long after, the Dude gets contacted by the Big Lebowski in an effort to rescue his young trophy wife, Bunny (Tara Reid), but Maude thinks the alleged kidnapping is a complete lie.

Confused? Yeah, well so is the Dude. Speaking of His Dudeness, let’s talk about him first. He’s essentially the lifeline of The Big Lebowski. Without him, the film could be unbearable. The film grabs the viewer by the wrist and aggressively drags them through a confounding plot that begs for cohesion, packed with characters that don’t belong in a mystery/kidnapping plot whatsoever, topped off with random interactions with inexplicable characters like the Stranger and the Jesus. But then there’s the Dude, a man who’s such a slacker that his own being won’t allow him to get totally involved in what’s going on. As the film proceeds, one gets the impression that he realizes it’s more worth it just to go along with the very insanity he’s thrown into – who knows what would happen if he were to get too invested.

I think what makes the Dude work so well (other than a wonderful performance from Jeff Bridges) is, ultimately, his relatability. I think we not only relate to the Dude in countless ways, but I think we all want to be him in some way or another. Deep down, we all want our lives to be simple and without too much hassle. While we have those that we’re happy to interact with, in spite of whatever quirks or downright craziness they may inhabit, we otherwise want our solitude, to be left alone with whatever passion ties our lives together. With that in mind, look at the Dude: he’s happy to befriend Walter and the eternally clueless Donny (Steve Buscemi), but as long as he’s got bowling, White Russians, and his rug, he’s got it all, no matter how little it may be to others. Like the rest of us, though, life and it’s love for throwing curveballs and monkey wrenches reaches the Dude, and here is where the hilarity kicks in. Watching the Dude passively accepting all of this insanity is funny enough as it is, especially considering this is all because of a rug.

But what would the Dude, or the entirety of The Big Lebowski for that matter, be without its wonderful script? If the Dude is the primary lifeline of this film, the Coens’ screenplay is like the surgeon’s tool-handing assistant. With the wacky plot and colorful characters, each scenario that follows keeps the viewer wondering what’s going to go wrong this time, no matter how lost they are in the plot – I’ve seen The Big Lebowski countless times in the past decade or so, and I always get lost somewhere, and I still love the hell out of it. And the cherry atop this allegorical sundae is the dialogue, packed with lines that beg to be immortalized, best of all being the Dude’s always passive smart-assery, as well as Walter’s compulsion obsession to tie everything back to ‘Nam.

Propelling the comedy further is the collage of characters – a grumpy aristocrat, a trio of German nihilists, a cowboy, a clueless nitwit, a among many. For me, Goodman’s loose-screwed Walter is perhaps the funniest aspect of the movie, brought into full array when he completely screws up a plan to hand off ransom money. What does Walter say when he and the Dude realize they may have just been responsible for a woman’s death due to his convoluted incompetence? “Ah, fuck it, Dude. Let’s go bowling.”  

The key word in that previous paragraph is “collage”. It’s a comedy with a kidnap-mystery plot, in Los Angeles with characters who not only don’t belong in this movie on any level (as previously established), but also don’t belong with each other. My most recent viewing of The Big Lebowski brought to light a lot of stark contrasts. First, I took a lot of notice to the color scheme. This is a very colorful movie – not uncommon for a comedy, but what makes the scheme here so unusual is the always-present backdrop of early ‘90s Los Angeles and all of its urban grit. Nothing fits in the best and funniest possible way in this movie.

The Big Lebowski closes with Elliott’s Stranger giving a coda, with the line “It was a pretty good story, don’t you think?” Of course, it’s hilarious considering nothing of value has happened, but as I thought more about this line, deep down, it all ties back to the essentiality of the Dude’s relatability: life throws all sorts of craziness at us that we hate going through, but end up becoming some of the best stories to tell. I can picture it now, being at a party chatting with the Dude and hearing him say “Oh, man, let me tell you about this time these two guys broke in and peed on my rug.”

UPDATE: 8 November 2018

Greetings, readers. I hope you are all well. Been a while since I've made an update, but current circumstances demand one. 

As many of you know, Red Eye is not what I do for a living, and there are a lot of changes going on with my current job (which is to remain anonymous here). Firstly, I am currently going through a five-week academic/training course after recently receiving a promotion, and it is imperative that this course takes priority over anything else. Furthermore, I have discovered that I will be moving away from Tucson at the beginning of 2019, so I will have a short window of time to get moving preparations done before I hit the road, and then there's going to be a period of time settling into my new place.

So, what does this mean for Red Eye? As you could imagine, there will be significant impact on the site. Most notably, I'm ceasing Weekly Recaps until further notice. While I'll be watching a movie every once in a while, I won't have as much time to watch nearly as many as I usually do, and with that said, I just won't have the time to do the Weekly Recaps. Granted, I will still publish a little bit of content here and there, but the key words there are a little bit. 

Rest assured, though, this is not the end of Red Eye. If anything, I would like to give you a couple of things to look forward to for the New Year:

1) I am looking at getting a legitimate website built rather than using Blogger. If anybody knows any good web designers, or if anybody knows any good designers, don't hesitate to get in touch with me.

2) I want to try to get back to doing regular reviews of current releases. For my Facebook friends; the idea is still in the works but here's my idea: at the beginning of every week, I will be putting a prompt up with the releases for the upcoming weekend. It will be up to you guys to take a vote on which releases you want to hear me review, and I will see the releases that got the most votes.

So, until next time, I appreciate you taking the time to read this, and I hope you all understand.

Sincerely, 

Jakob

THE WEEKLY RECAP: October 29 - November 4

Beetlejuice (1988)

Directed by Tim Burton

* * *

Barbara and Adam (Geena Davis and Alec Baldwin, respectively) are a modest, mild-mannered, and seemingly normal couple living in a lovely countryside house…except for one little detail: they are ghosts, having died in a car accident, and are now spiritually confined in the walls of the house. Even though they are assigned a guidebook entitled “The Handbook for the Recently Deceased”, the transition to spiritdom is seemingly impossible. It gets worse for them, as the house has just been occupied by the Deetz family. Though they are initially intent on getting the family out of the house (even resorting to spooky bedsheets with eyeholes), everything changes when they form a bond with the teenage goth Lydia (Winona Ryder), which leads to Barbara and Adam being more welcoming. But a con artist posing as a bio-exorcist named Betelgeuse (Michael Keaton) might ruin it for everybody.

How funny that for the longest time I remembered the Beetlejuice cartoon show (albeit, very vaguely), but never knew that it was based off of a live action film. Well, having been in the mood for something a bit more fun and synonymous with Halloween season, I finally got around to Tim Burton’s cult classic. I had a ball with this movie. The characters were all lovable with wonderful performances to compliment those great characters (Ryder is exceptionally adorable, and that’s an understatement). The whole premise in general is also great fun in its originality – I especially loved the idea of Barbara and Adam being assigned a caseworker.

While a good movie, I couldn’t exactly call Beetlejuice a great movie, interestingly enough not for the reasons I expected – Tim Burton is usually overbearing in his style for my taste, but not the case here. My biggest criticism is the somewhat lack of depth in the characters – they have enough personality that we enjoy their company a lot, but we never get to know them, especially Keaton’s titular Betelgeuse. Speaking of him, the tone of the movie shifts Betelgeuse from villain to potential hero in the rather convoluted climax, then back to villain at the last minute. It may not be perfect, but Beetlejuice was still a clever take on the ghost story and, more importantly, great fun.

The Black Stallion (1979)

Directed by Carroll Ballard

* * * *

After a horrifying shipwreck, young Alec (Kelly Reno) groggily awakens on the beach of a desolate landscape. He wanders about, in search of whatever hospitality he can come across, but instead he only treads nearer to death’s door. In the nick of time, when death was literally inches from his face, Alec’s life is miraculously saved by a beautiful black stallion. With nobody else around, the two share a bond – they are mutually hesitant at first, but grow closer and closer. Alec is eventually rescued from the island, but not without his trusty and noble steed. With the proper training, he just might have the potential to master turn this horse into a racehorse the likes of which nobody has ever seen.

Like Alec’s trial through the sinking liner he was once aboard, we are sometimes thrown into life itself via horrifying means. If we triumph through our trials, who knows what glory awaits us in the next step in life. I think this is what The Black Stallion is getting at, and these are the kind of open-allegorical experiences that I insatiably crave in cinema, especially in the first half. With little dialogue, a very unique and original score that gives the film a silent movie vibe, it is purely experience, and what bliss I experienced watching the film. Let me put it this way: certain circumstances left me slightly distracted from the movie, and I was still struck by it regardless.

As for the second half...I’ve read some criticism stating that The Black Stallion becomes “routine” after that first half. There is indeed a difference in feeling from the first and second chapters of the movie, considering there’s more plot going on in the latter, but it doesn’t feel like an abrupt tonal shift. It never gets locked in the narrative, and still maintains a level of elusiveness that allows for allegorical meditation – honestly, give me a few more watches, and I could probably do an “Under the Microscope” entry on this film. Regardless, though, this beloved film is one I will cherish for quite some time.

The Color of Pomegranates (1969)

Directed by Sergei Parajanov

* * *

Though technically about Armenian musician Sayat-Nova, this is not a biopic. In the opening titles, the following is stated: “This film does not attempt to tell the life story of a poet. Rather, the filmmaker has tried to recreate the poet’s inner world through the trepidations of his soul, his passion and torments, widely utilizing the symbolism and allegories.” And the result? Well, as a work of art, it is literally spectacular. Parajanov adopts a somewhat meditative style with a colorful and whimsical visual palette, almost as if Tarkovsky is channeling his inner Fellini. Speaking of Tarkovsky, I was reminded of The Mirror in the way the film is less a narrative than a collection of artful moments. There are some terrific images here, too. Many a time I felt like I was gazing at paintings from the Middle Ages (and I mean this as a compliment). As artsy as this film may be, and it’s certainly not for everybody, it’s never arrogant or pretentious. In fact, it is very humble, and I really liked this quality about it.

So, The Color of Pomegranates is an exceptional artwork, but as a film…I can appreciate it for what it set out to achieve, and it indeed achieves its ultimate goal. However, it won’t have much lasting power for me. I’m all about film as an art form, but this film begins to feel like a series of moving paintings rather than a movie. It’s great to have on in the background, but the film never gives you much room to actually get into it (ironically, I have the same criticisms of The Mirror). Also, as Tarkovskian and Felliniesque this film is, it has trouble balancing these tones – it’s never bombastic enough to be Fellini, but it’s too animated to allow for artful meditation like Tarkovsky. Granted, it’s not trying to be either, but it’s my way of voicing my criticism. Overall, it may not amount to much in the long run, but it’s an ambitious achievement in its humble way. At the very least, at less than 80 minutes, it doesn’t overstay its welcome.

Eternity and a Day (1998)

Directed by Theo Angelopoulos

* * * *

Renowned poet Alexander (Bruno Ganz) is a weary man, from his rugged appearance to his life’s work – regarding the latter, he has slavishly attempted to finish a 19^th century poem started by Dionysios Solomos. Alexander has just discovered he is ailed by a terminal illness, and he is to be checked into the hospital tomorrow. Today, however, he wants to enjoy this day as if it were his last, wandering about and musing on the significance of his work and life up to this point. Along the way, he meets a young boy (Achileas Skevis), a vagrant whom he rescues from the police. Though the child displays a hardened exterior, there is a great fear within his being, a fear of the unknown. In the face of his own mortality, Alexander shares this same fear.

My first experience with Angelopoulos was Landscape in the Mist. Next was the Palme d’Or-winning Eternity and a Day. With these two films under my belt (with more to follow), he has the potential to become one of my very favorite filmmakers. These films are timeless and universal, always leaving you to think about something with beautifully composed and poetic shots (at the very least, his films are amazing to look at). While Eternity wasn’t as striking as Landscape, it was still an exceptional film, tackling the eternal fear of the unknown ahead of us, whether living or dying. Topped by a great score and the lovely presence of Bruno Ganz, I really loved this movie.

I was originally going to give Eternity a 3.5, but this was one of those cases that the more I thought about it, the more fondly I recalled of it. While it did maybe dwell a little bit here-and-there, it didn’t detract from the overall experience in the long-run. I honestly don’t have much to say about this one. It was a great film from a great, if underappreciated and maltreated, filmmaker. Honestly, the only bad thing I have to say is in jest, as the title sounds way too much like the name of a melodramatic metalcore band. Other than that, a beautiful film.

The Piano (1993)

Directed by Jane Campion

* * *  

We hear Ada’s (Holly Hunter) voice only once throughout the movie – Ada is inexplicably mute, and the voice we hear is that of her mind. She has just arrived on the shores of New Zealand, where she is to marry Alisdair (Sam Neill) under the contract of an arranged marriage. Alongside Ada is her beloved daughter Flora (Anna Paquin) and, equally cherished, her piano, which is not only an artistic outlet for her but also a way of communicating to the world around her. As Ada starts her commodity of a marriage with Alisdair, it is, unsurprisingly, cold and arbitrary with a little bit of tension over the piano. It is here that their relationship turns into a slow-burn when Ada begins mingling with Baines (Harvey Keitel), a local who becomes infatuated with her.

Sometimes, the key to getting an incredible performance out of an actor is by finding a dynamic character that is grounded in the actor’s abilities, rather than a character that is completely out of their league. Some of the best examples I can think of are Schwarzenegger in The Terminator, Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and now I can confidently add Holly Hunter in The Piano to this topic. Her trademark feistiness and fire are very present here, but the character’s circumstances paint her abilities in a light very unique to Hunter’s career. Needless to say, she’s incredible here, enough to earn herself an Oscar along with young Paquin, who brings a remarkable performance from a child.

Production design and cinematography are also fantastic, the latter especially. Campion’s approach to the feminist message is very unique without being overbearing. The bond that Hunter and Paquin share is absolutely gorgeous, but I wish I could say the same about everybody else involved. I never felt much for Baines or Alisdair, as they feel kind of “there”, so to speak, and I can’t help but feel they didn’t add all that much. Maybe not a masterpiece (for now, anyway), but still a solid movie.