What can you say about a movie where the dramatic through-line is a pee-stained rug? The Big Lewbowski is a freewheeling masterpiece that ambles along like a sun-drenched tumbleweed in the Hollywood Hills. Never before or since has such an insubstantial movie been so highly regarded or endlessly quoted. Remarkably, like its hero, Lebowski endures. With every rewatch, the reasons why become a little clearer.
We’ll circle back to that in a minute. Fresh from their Oscar-winning success on Fargo, Joel and Ethan Coen follow up with this shaggy, shambling noir mystery. Everything centers on The Dude (Jeff Bridges), one of the laziest and most passive protagonists in all of movie history. The Dude (inspired by real-life film promoter Jeff Dowd) takes joy in life’s simplest pleasures: A fresh White Russian, an open bowling lane, and a loaded bowl of marijuana. His best buddies are the burly, abrasive Walter (John Goodman), still haunted by the horrors he may or may not have endured in Vietnam, and poor Donny (Steve Buscemi), a mousy stooge who’s always one step behind the conversation.
From this inner core of weirdness, the Coens build up and out. The Dude’s chief bowling rival is the Jesus (John Turturro), a lanky, high-strung pervert in a purple jumpsuit. Further down the lanes, Smokey (Jimmie Dale Gilmore) is a pacifist who may or may not be cheating.
This docile world of 7-10 splits and indica doobs gets rocked when thugs barge into the Dude’s apartment and piss on his beloved living room rug. As this rug brought the room into an aesthetic balance, El Duder is understandably pissed, man. Turns out, this was an old-fashioned case of mistaken identity: The rug-peers were looking for a different guy who shares the Dude’s given name. Jeffrey Lebowski (David Huddleston), is a belligerent, wheelchair-bound businessman who sees the Dude as just another stinky, freeloading hippie.
The Big Lebowski–in a tasty piece of irony, the movie is not named for the Dude–is married to Bunny (Tara Reid), a trophy bride who’s run up debts all over town. And that’s just one layer of this gnarly onion: We also have the nihilists (Flea, Peter Stormare, and Torsten Voges) who may’ve kidnapped Bunny for ransom. Maude (Julianne Moore, sporting a loony Transatlantic accent) is Lebowski’s eccentric daughter, who has her own plans for the dude.
We’re just warming up. We’ve also got Jackie Treehorn (Ben Gazzara), a sinister pornographer, a joyriding kid (Jesse Flanagan), and the belligerent police chief of Malibu (Leon Russom)…a real reactionary. Finally, there’s Brandt (Phillip Seymour Hoffman, stealing most of his scenes), the Big Lebowski’s boot-licking underling. All these disparate characters have one thing in common: They’re all trying to either manipulate or intimidate the Dude for their own gain.
And really, my description can’t do Lebowski the proper justice. Nothing about its freewheeling, willfully bizarre screenplay goes where you think it will. In fact, bewilderment is a common first reaction to this movie. I know I stumbled out of it, unsure of the ungainly strangeness I had just seen. Clearly, it was well-acted and well-made. But, at the same time…huh?
After a couple viewings, I found my brain turning its dial to the movie’s wavelength. All the kooky, scorchingly profane dialogue began to soak in. Its dogged unpredictability became fun. I mean, there’s a dream sequence with oversized bowing pins, Busby Berkeley choreography, and a Saddam Hussein cameo because…of course there is! (And that’s to say nothing of the soundtrack, where Kenny Rogers goes full psychedelic with “Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)).
The entire cast goes all in on the weirdness. Bridges doesn’t so much play the Dude as achieve full symbiosis with him. For all his success, for all his Oscar and Emmy noms, mention Bridges’ name and many fans will immediately quote the Dude. (“I was a roadie for Metallica–Speed of Sound Tour. Buncha assholes.”) Goodman excels as the wild-eyed bully, ditto for Turturro as the mean-ass Jesus Quintana. With all that said, my personal favorite has gotta be Sam Elliot as The Stranger. He’s the amiable galoot who drawls the film’s aimless narration. He even pops up to swig a little sarsaparilla and chastise the Dude for swearing. I don’t know why they chose Elliot for this part. I only know he fits in perfectly.
As much as I adore this movie, it’s not quite perfect. At just under two hours, Lebowski goes on far too long for such a flyweight story. The drag is especially apparent in the final act, where the loss of a lovable character is a real bummer, man. I know this movie is the structural equivalent of a lazy river, but a little more discipline would’ve bumped my score up to perfection.
Still, I won’t pick too many nits. Lebowski is a magnificent comedy. It’s may be light on substance, but this film is rich in flavor. That’s why Lebowski has become a cinematic staple: After so many viewings, I can still find new things to love. My friends and I still quote it as shorthand. It might too be aggressively strange for some tastes, but any serious movie fan has to give Lebowski at least one watch.
117 min. R. Amazon Video.
