El DUDErino, Where's my Kahlua? or my rug, man...in the parlance of our times

Rating: 6/10 (6 March 2006)

I first stumbled onto this movie in 1999 and happened to catch it again recently, and it just still makes me want to grab a glass, pour that Kahlua and add milk and vodka to join Jeff Bridges for oat soda and a slacking good time of a convolutely escapist and trashy experience with the odd character 'heroes' of LA. But this film is not as great a film as it is rated as it lacks truly redemptive qualities of reconciliation, or say, tying together a greater purpose behind it, let alone a great plot like say its parallels with Raymond Chandler's 1939 novel, The Big Sleep, of which it does no justice to in being loosely related. However, in another sense, it's greater purpose can be looked at differently: that since its the ultimate slacker film, it has no need for a greater purpose in the first place. But, that's just like, my opinion, man. Let's say, just like the rug that 'held the room together', Bridges, the Dude, in an oddly engaging way, was the only thing that held the film together for me. And save also for an unbelievably spaced out and unconventionally witty and nihilistic (which is ironic considering the brilliant Coen brothers seemed to be mocking nihilists) script, not the plot, the film is one of the most anti-establishment in terms of relativism.
Of course, there is a certain sad genius to it all, owing in some sense to the elements that lie in the film's references to double crossing and pseudo complications, of course, with updated time-lines (1991- Sad'm and I-raq) and anti-yuppie achievement ethos coupled with unconventional 'heroes', that is complete with the standard issue oddball fest of characters in Coen Bros parlance (they seem to be competing with Fellini for numbers of colorful characters). This film's best bits are in fact not the parallels with the Big Sleep but its unpredictably predictable plot directions which may be part underbelly psychological black comedy and part pseudo film noir laced with double entendres. The plot is not the main steal, rather its almost a straw man, as it is just a vehicle for the hilariously zany dialog between characters' to platform itself. Want to know just how insane the dialog was? Read the memorable quotes from the film on the Internet. There are even parallels in this film that might lead some to speak of a religion in 'Dudism' and its enlightenment of non-ideals, and I bet there are some crazed converts out there right now, lost in its futility. Nonetheless, because of these slacker ideals and the Dude's apathy or value system (relativism) toward life, and however I feel about the futility of it all, obviously, the 'Dude' character must have been classic enough to warrant such attention.
In the story, The Dude obviously steals the plot, for without him there is no impetus, after all, the plot is that he is forced out of slack jawed Bohemia as a result of his rug getting micturated on by a pornographer's thugs whose boss wants cash owed by the young trophy wife of a rich tycoon who is his namesake. Hilarity ensues under series after series of incredulous circumstances when the Dude asks the Bigger Lebowski for compensation and in turn gets the Big L offering a 'cash' job for him. The dude loses the 'cash' only to find he the had been duped in a 'ringer for a ringer' when the paraquat tycoon wanted his porn acting wife dead and handed him an empty briefcase. The Dude assumed the wife kidnapped herself, and then later discovers that nihilists want a share of the money and are out to kill him. Big L's daughter gets acquainted with the Dude as she opposes the plan, and a PI trails the Dude looking for the wife, who in the end, had just gone away for the weekend, in a shock Hitchcock-esquire secondary macguffin on top of the basic macguffin of the 'rug'.
Some unique film techniques are also used in this film, including blending soundtracks from previous scenes by way of songs being played on radios, or having dialog repeated, such as when the Dude constantly rehashes phrases he heard in the previous scenes (from Julianne Moore's character, Bush's speech, etc). One of the most quirky bits of the film can be described by a phrase from the Dude yet again- occasional 'acid flashbacks'- spaced out hallucination scenes where the cannabis smoking Dude flies through the bowling lane, or over LA. Making the bricolage plot even more colorful is the character of Walter, played brilliantly by John Goodman, who is a highlight of the film- representing a Vietnam scarred war veteran who associates events in the world with the horrors he has experienced. Yet, what is interesting about Walter is that it seemed he is modeled as a possible cross between the Jewish German Walter Kaufmann (the irony again) and an anarchistic gun crazy war machine- a rambunctious combination that results in lines like 'at least the Nazis had ethos' and so on. Coen fave Steve Buscemi's character adds the fragile dimension by asking the obvious questions and being constantly told to shut up in a reference to their previous hit, Fargo, before dying off unceremoniously. Likewise, many of the other characters are borderline offensive to the mainstream yet one can't help but crack up in wake of their absolutely crazy antics- the visual gag that saw the Dude trace pornographer Jackie Treehorn sketching a giant erection was an absolute nut-job and case in point. The stranger has a memorable cowboy cameo just for 'style' while Da Farino's scenes were a study in comedic nothingness. And that's what this film is- nothingness that served no purpose- I mean, as I said, it's the dude, man. El duderino for those who think brevity is...but most important now, don't forget to sip that white Russian while you slack off watching this.
By Stephen Thanabalan