The Power of Drifting through Life: Reviewing The Big Lebowski, Fight Club, and Cowboy Bebop
- Benjamin Wiebe
- Feb 8, 2022
- 8 min read
Reminiscing about the '90s stories about being without purpose.
The Dude abides. I don't know about you, but I take comfort in that. It's good knowing he's out there, the Dude, takin' 'er easy for all us sinners. - The Stranger
Sometimes, you watch a film at the right time, in the right place, and it all clicks. Recently, I've been feeling a fair bit of anxiety and stress. This year has started off really promising, but with a faculty, strike hovering over my semester of school, a wide release of a film that I missed because Canadian distribution got cancelled, and a few weeks of just watching movies, I feel numb. Like I am just drifting through life, waiting for the next movie to watch to run away from life. I've stopped engaging with art; I have stopped loving talking about movies. And part of that is due to sitting in the most toxic place on earth for an hour each day. But most of it comes down to feeling uninspired. Like everything I do has no meaning at all. And maybe it's all because I jumped the gun. I joined a few new critics groups recently, some with lots of structure, and some still creating that structure. But it has left me feeling hollow. Like I accomplished my goals, but without getting anywhere.
So with all this apathy, anxiety, and disappointment flowing through me, I did what I always do. I ran away from my problems. I tried to find the passion for stories that led me to want to be a writer, but forced love is no love at all.
This shot conveys so much of who the Dude is: someone who glances at opportunities and says "maybe next time."
And it was mostly by accident that I stumbled upon the Coen Brothers classic The Big Lebowski. I have known about this movie in passing for years now. It's a Coen classic, and along with Napolean Dynamite, is one of the few great 90's comedies about nothing at all. So when I finished watching Jaws, a movie that hit a little too close to home after a pandemic response that was similar to the mayor of Amity Island, I wanted an escape. And I put on The Big Lebowski. I didn't entirely know what to expect from the film, and it surprised me. Because like many other turn-of-the-century films, its focus was not on the mythological heroes of the old, but on the everyday people who didn't have much to live for.
Jesus is one of the all-time funniest side characters with 5 lines. John Turturro kills it.
With stellar performances from Jeff Bridges and John Goodman, The Dude and Walter will forever be engrained in my mind as the masters of meandering. Thanks to Tricia Cook's and Roderick Jaynes' editing, there is little that truly matters within The Big Lebowski. It's a film that has more similarities to a series of skits than a film. Most side characters have less than 2 scenes dedicated to them, and while their plotting has no impact on the film, they manage to be fundamental to the story. The writing by the Coen's is worth all the praise in the world. This is a film that should not work on any level. Too many characters are present in the film, each being an overdeveloped cameo, and an underdeveloped supporting character. But that's the point of the film. Thanks to the myriad of fantastic performances, each character becomes a larger-than-life representation of people in the world. They often have contrasting beliefs, contrasting motives, but they all enlist the Dude for help cleaning up their dirty work. The Dude's simple existence as a wandering bum enables him to be useful to anyone. He won't get in the way, because all he wanted was a rug to tie the room together.
We are all in “the perpetual quest for keeping oneself occupied, entertained, and important—which burns at the edge of addiction. - Spike Spiegel
If you have followed my work these past few months, you might have noticed that I became obsessed with a little Japanese anime called Cowboy Bebop. Life for the crew of the Bebop always moves forward, even when their ghosts still haunt them. Whether it's the ghost of Julia and the life Spike tried to leave behind, or Jet's former partner in crime and lover, each member has to carry their own weight. Over 13 hours, we learn who each of these bounty hunters is and what they are running from. We learn of Faye's monstrous medical debt she never asked for. We learn of Ed's father who forgot about them because he was obsessed with work. It's an unkind world for the Bebop, and in spite of their similar journeys, they never truly embrace one another like family. Emotions are a weakness in the world of Cowboy Bebop. Hold onto someone too close, and it will get you killed. Or worse, when you have to head in different directions, you will feel the emptiness they left behind.
It really shouldn't be a surprise that this short show about broke space cowboys resonated with me. It's a show about entering adulthood without a guide, with little to your name except for an old rusted fisherman's vessel and a fridge full of long-forgotten lobster. It's a show with pitch-perfect voice performances in both the sub and the dub. It's a show with violence and dystopia; that would never be made nowadays. And it's a show about the process of drifting through life. There is no continuity between episodes. The timeline only truly matters for the last 3 episodes, because in between episodes 24 and 25 is the Cowboy Bebop Movie (which got made 3 years after the success of the show somehow) and both episodes 25 and 26 are a two-part finale. It's a relic of a past age; a VHS recording that brings both the hopes of tomorrow and the bitterness of knowing there will never be another show like Cowboy Bebop.
What an iconic starship. And to think executives thought Cowboy Bebops ships wouldn't make good toys.
And what's not to love? The 1998 hand-drawn space anime delivers some of the best storytelling through the most gorgeous visuals. Each spaceship was brought to life meticulously. Spike's Swordfish is a functioning ship with detailed switches, screens, and buttons. The Bebop maybe a fishing vessel, but within it stores everything the crew needs, from a living area with a computer, to an attic that definitely needs a deep cleaning. Entire episodes can take place on the Bebop, and it doesn't feel dull, because the ship is fleshed out and full of character. Even Fayes ship, the Red Tail, suits her, with a revolver-style cannon, that signifies the gambler that Faye has become. And Jet's Hammerhead is one of the most iconic ships, with retracting cables used to grab onto targets and never let go. That is the magic of Cowboy Bebop, every single element of the show is infused with character. Even the episodes that are homages to other classic sci-fi films feel distinctly unique. The Toys in the Attic episode is inspired by Ridley Scott's Alien, but it never feels like an Alien rip-off. When HAL is alluded to by the character design of a satellite in the ninth episode, it doesn't seem like a rip-off of Kubricks classic 2001: A Space Odyssey. And that all stems from the show's focus on character. Each episode is snappy, with runtimes no longer than 25 minutes. And the writing can jump between funny, heartbreaking, tense, and contextual within the span of 30 seconds. It's a show worth watching no matter who you are.
If you don't know what you want," the doorman said, "you end up with a lot you don't. - The Narrator
The first rule about Fight Club is that we don't talk about Fight Club. Everybody knows that. David Fincher's fourth film has, in retrospect, become a classic film of 1999. It's violent, brooding, dark, and full of twists and turns. So much praise needs to be given to Jeff Cronenwreth for his immaculate cinematography. Fincher loves precision, and Cronenwreth knows how to shoot precisely. This film is also given the perfect colour palette to make everything grimy. The narrator's day job is given a bleached-out, green colour grade that makes it painful on the eyes. The sequences within the fight club are painted with shadows that creep up everywhere. The mise-en-scene creates the grime that defines this film. It's all furthered by the Dust Brothers score, which builds tension in each sequence along with the sound design by Dale Bartlett. No other film's punches are quite as visceral as Fight Club's are, due to the wetness of each punch.
And how could I not mention the phenomenal work being done by Brad Pitt, Edward Norton, Helana Bonham Carter and Meat Loaf? It's genuinely gripping work from all these actors, with Brad Pitt eating up every single line perfectly. His posture screams sex appeal, and it makes this film work. And Carter deserves some praise for her work as well, playing off of Edward Norton as if she has known him forever when Norton has to play aloof.
All these elements come together, through Fincher's direction, to create one of the best cult films of the '90s. And more importantly, it tells a very 90's story about having no purpose. Fight Club is a movie about loneliness and isolation. Few films capture the timeless nature of being purposeless. Where each of Spike's adventures lasts a day or two, and while the shenanigans of The Dude seem to only last a few days, Fight Club is a movie that spans an undetermined amount of time. It could be 6 months or a year. But how can we know when nothing marks the passing of time. The people you know stay the same, day in and day out. The activities you do mark the days of the week, but how do you differentiate the weeks? That question of what drives you drives the film. We see the broken, angry fragments of the narrator (whom we will refer to as Jack from here on out) in Tyler Durden, portrayed with infinite charisma by Brad Pitt. Tyler is everything longs to be. Tyler looks how Jack wants to look. He f**** how Jack wants to f***. He's smart, capable, and most importantly, free in all the ways Jack could never be. At least, that's what Tyler thinks he is. Because ultimately, Tyler is the self-destructive byproduct of isolation. Tyler doesn't allow for meaningful connections. Tyler blames everything on Marla, on society, and won't take any form of responsibility. Tyler is the ego within Jack that drives him forward. And that path only leads to destruction, until it's too late.
What a gorgeous way to introduce the lead female character. The black sunglasses create soulless eyes, and the smoke is a final breath. I love Fincher's work.
So why did I want to talk about these meandering movies? What makes them so special? Well, part of it comes down to feeling like I am a wandering dude, just living through life. For as much as Walter and the Dude make fun of Nihilists, they are Nihilists, not anchoring themselves to any one belief. Each of these shows is inherently nihilistic; Cowboy Bebop has an array of characters that will believe whatever is necessary for the next bounty, and Fight Club is a David Fincher movie. These films are all about the personal suffering induced by a society that empowers the immoral to be the most powerful. But each of these doesn't end in nihilism. For the Bebop Crew, they confront their pasts and have to move forward; even if that means accepting death. For Jack, the only way to find meaning was to become a selfless martyr for someone who was suffering from purpose just like him. And for The Dude, well, he continues to wander through life. But he doesn't wander alone; he continues forward with Walter.
And maybe that's what I am trying to get at. Moving forward through purposelessness requires that kind of kinship, that mutual respect, that gives each interaction a new meaning. It doesn't have to be (and shouldn't be) romantic, but it requires intentionality. It requires being a friend for someone else. That's what these three movies from the '90s taught me (along with the Matrix, which follows in the same footprints, but it deserves an article all to itself.), and I felt like sharing it with you all.
So go, and make some new friends today. Because it's a lot easier to carry that weight with someone else.
You're Gonna Carry That Weight.
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