The Big Lebowski

‘Sometimes there’s a man. . . and he’s the man for his time and place.’

The Big Lebowski (1998)  is a film about a man who ‘nobody calls. . . Lebowski.’ He is ‘The Dude’ (Jeff Bridges): and his journey to secure a replacement rug for his home pits him against his friends, a millionaire, a pornographer and a band of marmot-wielding nihilists. I’m not going to describe the plot. If you haven’t seen this film, then you’d better get hold of the DVD and watch it so you’ll be able to die with a smile on your face without feeling like  the good lord gipped you.

As the protagonist’s self-applied name suggests, The Big Lebowski is a film about a man. That’s not to say it’s not about women, too. But it’s true: The Dude is a guy. And in early ’90’s LA, masculinity is in crisis. George H. W. Bush is bombing the heck out of Iraq, Vietnam vets are struggling with middle age and obesity, and it truly seems that ‘the bums lost’ in the now-distant idealism of the 1960’s and 70’s. Nihilists have promised to ‘cut off [The Dude’s] Johnson’: a threat that worries him significantly. The ways in which competing models of masculinity are portrayed in the film are various: the disabled Mr Lebowski asks ‘what makes a man?’, to which The Dude answers ‘a pair of testicles’. Yet, as well as his testicles and his now-endangered Johnson, The Dude’s identity is constructed with a number of objects and places that he surrounds himself with.

First: of course — is the bowling alley. The film’s thrilling opening sequence does more than any other cinematic moment to make bowling look damned cool. It’s a space for male bonding: a team-sport consisting of the launching of projectiles down a runway to knock over a helpless configuration of skittles. Perhaps no more fitting domestic metaphor for the war in Iraq could be imagined. Yet, as The Dude’s friend Walter insists (with a loaded gun): ‘This is not ‘Nam! This is bowling! There are rules!’ The bowling alley becomes the space for discussion of religion, sexual perversion and The Dude’s deepening crisis. The bowling alley is a place to escape the rest of the world and share a ‘Lite’ beer with guy friends, but probably not a place to bring your ex-wife’s Pomeranian.

Moving on. In suburban, west-coat America, no commodity represents individuality (and especially male individuality) more than the automobile, and The Dude’s car gets progressively more trashed as the film goes on. First, his friend Walter suggests a crazy scheme to trick the apparent-kidnappers out of their million dollars, which goes badly wrong, and results in The Dude running the car off the road. Then, after a game of bowling, the Dude finds the (totally worthless) car has been stolen. As he tells the police about the theft, he lists valuable items within the car: including a tape deck and Creedence Clearwater Revival tapes. The police tell him ‘I wouldn’t hold out much hope for the tape deck. / Or the Creedence.’ CCR is a kickback to the countercultural west, and the songs capture that period with a hard, salty edge. I can’t provide you with a tape, but let’s have a listen:

CCR – Run Through the Jungle

Finally, (to use the parlance of our times) let’s get to the drinks. The first view we get of The Dude is at the supermarket, as he shops for a carton of milk: one of the three ingredients for his drink of choice: the ‘White Russian’ or ‘Caucasian’. For much of the film, The Dude is either sipping or carrying one of these white, creamy beverages: amazingly, even avoiding to spill it as he is dragged into a limo. Following the cult success of The Big Lebowski, the ‘White Russian’ enjoyed a huge surge in popularity. The drink perfectly represented and conveyed The Dude’s mode of being. Simple, but with a perfect combination of bite (2 parts Vodka) and smoothness (1 part Kahlua coffee liqueur, 1 part cream), it demonstrates The Dude’s insistence on taking it easy: easy preparation, easy taste. In his home, he grabs one of two huge bottles of Kahlua and mixes the drink himself, then holding it level in one hand as he carries out a martial-art-style move on his new rug. Balance has been achieved: expressed through a cold beverage in an old-fashioned glass.

We’ve taken the most brief tour of the Coen brothers’ masterpiece in a series of places and senses: the bowling alley, the trashed automobile with the Creedence tape, and the White Russian cocktail. Yet these objects are really just the accessories that are expressions, surrounding The Dude himself. The Dude is the distillation of his time and place: LA in the early 90s, as the film tells us. He is the right man for that time and place. And that’s why we love watching his adventure. Anything more than that must just be ‘well, uh, just like, uh, your opinion, man.’

And with that, I leave you with a vision. The Dude Abides.

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NEXT WEEK: Tying in with Mel’s post  on ‘Sacred Cows’    this week, let’s take a look at a head-on, direct and sceptical view of religion, with Kevin Smith and ‘Dogma’ (1999).  For our schedule, check in here.