When did it become uncool to like The Eagles? Or hip to hate them? I don't get it.
On this, the Dude and I disagree. I Can't Tell You Why (see what I did there?).
The Dude and I agree on beverages, however. Believe it or not, I wasn't much of a beer drinker back when I first started drinking. Thankfully, I had the Dude to guide me. And White Russians did right by me for quite a long while. I have yet to drink sarsaparilla, Sioux City or otherwise. But thanks, anyway, Dude.
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| "Obviously, you're not a golfer." |
On the heels of the film which would widely be regarded as their masterpiece, Fargo (we'll get there eventually), the Coen Brothers released what seemed at the time to be a disappointing and aggressively minor stoner comedy. But time has been kind to The Big Lebowski, which now has its own fan fests held at (you guessed it) bowling alleys countrywide. And for good reason.
Jeff Bridges (who wouldn't get an Oscar until Crazy Heart, many years after his best role) is iconic as Jeffrey "The Dude" Lebowski (or "His Dudeness" or "El Duderino" if you're not into the whole brevity thing). The Dude lives in Gulf War I era Los Angeles. Unemployed and fond of his j's, the Dude leads a simple life. He likes to roll in a local bowling league with his buddies, the Vietnam-obsessed shabbos observer Walter Sobchak (John Goodman, also iconic) and the constantly out of his element Donny (Steve Buscemi).
The film opens with a classic MacGuffin. Two unknown assailants, one a Chinaman (or Asian-American, to use the preferred nomenclature) confuse the Dude for some other Jeffrey Lebowski and piss on a rug that really tied the room together in the Dude's apartment. Convinced by Walter to not let sleeping dogs lie, the Dude tracks down the Big Lebowski (David Huddleston) to get his rug replaced. He winds up not just mixed up in the apparent kidnapping of the Big Lebowski's trophy wife, Bunny (Tara Reid), but (misadventures) involving German nihilist porno actors, the sexual hangups of one Maude Lebowski (Julianne Moore, employing the anachronistic Mid-Atlantic film dialect to great effect), his landlord's lyrical dance concert, a 15 year old joy rider, and a fascist Malibu cop fond of hurling coffee cups. Oh yeah, and Sam Elliot shows up in full on cowboy mode to explain it all. Sort of.
Just from that description alone, you can gather that there's a complicated plot lurking underneath the film's stoner movie facade. Faithfully subverting the film noir genre while at the same time subtly lampooning 90's American culture is no small feat, but the Coen Brothers manage to pull it off. Not to mention that the movie is consistently hilarious and rewards repeat viewings with eminently quotable dialogue, such as:
A movie that inspires something like that has to be good, right? I'd write more. But I'm going bowling instead.
Final verdict: KEEPER
Next: BLOW
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