IMDb #144: The Big Lebowski (1998)

Source: Wikipedia

Oh, man. What can I say. How do I encapsulate the apex of sociopathic comedy in a couple hundred words. There's no way, man.

Here goes.

In Los Angeles, there live two guys, both with the unfortunate name Jeffrey Lebowski. One, an accomplished millionaire philanthropist, lives in a mansion with his many trophies and nymphomaniac trophy wife. The other, a deadbeat stoner, likes weed and bowling and weed. And not having his home invaded by Asian thugs who piss (sorry, "micturate") on his rug. Which happens.

The Dude's quest for justice, to avenge his smelly rug, stirs up the hive. To stretch the metaphor, the hive is LA, the hornets are the maniacs who live there, and the whole swarm is stinging itself to hilariously agonizing death.

Right, the cast. There's the Dude. Obviously. He recruits the "help" of his violently psychotic bowling buddy, a very vocal Vietnam veteran. There's Jesus, an alarmingly intense competitive bowler and registered pederast -- but he's just funny, not that important. The millionaire's daughter, a sexually liberated mad artist who overanalyzes smut films and creates incomprehensible postmodern artwork via dive-bombing paint splatters from a nude flying trapeze. A stonefaced ninth-grade dunce. A pack of German-accented nihilist thugs. A charismatic filthy-rich pornography mogul who might be the key to everything -- or might not.

And Sam Elliot's intimidating mustache, playing a fourth-wall-shattering cowboy narrator who probably wandered into the wrong movie.

The casually horrible heroes fuck up everything they touch. More specifically, the Dude's tagalong nutcase jumps to conclusions and overreacts, dragging the Dude along by the short leash. The ride gets weird fast. Severed toes, a briefcase of literal unwashed briefs, sudden nudity, and bowling-themed turn-of-the-millennium CGI dream sequences featuring devils with red bodysuits and giant scissors.

Every other line is quotable, and every other other line contains the famous F-bomb. It's...fun.

It's impossible to tell where it's going, so just buckle down for the ride.

You got me, Coen brothers. This thing's unclassifiable. And unforgettable. What other cult film could unintentionally inspire a legit religion.

You can join and donate to the church of Dudism here: http://dudeism.com/

117 minutes.

IMDb #153 Review: Fargo (1996)

Source: Wikipedia

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a wife must be in want of a needlessly complex scheme to dispose of her which inevitably goes horribly wrong in the most entertaining of fashions.

The same principle applies in the snowbound Midwest in the late eighties. Far enough north that people care about hockey.

A shady car salesman hires two even shadier characters to kidnap his wife so he can pump his rich father-in-law for ransom money. But the old fart's wallet is tighter than his anal sphincter. And just like real life, everything goes to shit because of one traffic cop doing his job. For the last time.

Things spiral out of control. Negotiations break down like a leg in a wood chipper.

It's a strange, sordid, locally flavored tale. A world where the most unquestionably evil characters, the silent psychopath and the angry foul-mouthed chatterbox, can be the funniest. Where cars break down and televisions don't work, no matter how hard you smack 'em. Where greed and tempers and itchy trigger fingers cause a rash of easily avoidable deaths. Where singsong regional accepts slip into daily speech like musical word parasites.

On that note, the seven-months-pregnant lady cop is just the best person ever. She supports her husband's stamp-painting dream; takes time out of her case to visit a lonely-and-awkward-as-hell Asian guy from her past; and she braves the cold and snow to figure out what the deuce happened out on the open road. Moreover, it takes a miracle to catch up with the darkly hilarious killers, when the only lead is two mosquito-brained barfly sluts.

But the best character is the world, an absorbingly demented slice of reality. Nothing goes as planned, which feels painfully real. The dialogue sparkles, as if the directors constructed every idle word to not sound constructed. The story's so convincing, I believed it was actually on a true story. (It wasn't. Despite the title card insisting it was. Part of the world, I guess. Just roll with it, drink in the madness.)

IMDb #171 Review: No Country for Old Men (2007)

Source: Wikipedia

A sad old sheriff chases a strong young psychopath who chases a befuddled middle-aged white guy fleeing to Mexico with a briefcase full of drug money. This could easily veer into slapstick territory; it doesn't. Instead, it opts for breathtaking vistas of the Tex-Mex borderlands, not to mention breathtaking brutal murder.

(Thanks, Cormac McCarthy. And congratulations on the Nobel Prize for that book about the slow agonizing demise of post-apocalyptic civilization.)

So there's this game hunter, out by his lonesome in the Texas wilderness. He finds a bunch of shot-up pickup trucks and bloated corpses. A drug deal gone wrong, he supposes. He finds money. At the worst possible imaginable time of night, he takes the money. He evades murderous drug dealers and his wife's passive-aggressive barbs.

Who could have figured on a brilliant blank-eyed psychopath with a killer oxygen tank.

A moment to explain. The shaggy-haired villain uses what Wikipedia calls a captive bolt pistol. It pushes a bolt down a shaft through a tank of compressed air. Usually used to brain cattle, this guy uses it on humans and stubborn doorknob cylinders. (There's a metaphor in there somewhere. People are cattle? Save beef, eat doorknobs?)

A battle of blue-collar ingenuity ensues. A war ignobly fought in motel showers and roadside gas stations. The killer is so detestable for his propensity to casually murder strangers, the heroes so helpless to protect themselves and their loved ones, the law enforcement so befuddled by it all, that can result in suspense. It would be sensational, if it weren't so mercilessly depressing.

Harrowing escapism melts into a lukewarm puddle of harsh reality. Where good guys die horribly, bad guys get away, and old people retire to wallow in failure, survivor's guilt, and hard-earned PTSD. FUN FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY.

122 minutes.