Don’t Get Schwifty, Raise Your Posterior

Of all the episodes of Rick and Morty that bend serious sci-fi to a casual comedic audience, ‘Get Schwifty’ sticks out the most. A giant head appears from the dark recesses of outer space and causes major geological disasters immediately before it issues one command to the people of earth: “SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT.” The allusion to climate change is made immediately by a tv news reporter who is swiftly told to “not make this political.” The entire fate of the earth and its inhabitants now depends on showing the giant space heads, the Cromulons, what we got. It’s so simple and thrusts upon us so suddenly that there is no time to collectively discern how to react. The Cromulon heads are calling on us, demanding to give them what they want.

Now, turning earth into a game-show for the amusement of some cosmic being is not a new idea. South Park did it years ago. What makes this episode unique is the response from Rick and the songs he and Morty must play for the Cromulons. The reaction of their hometown in reverting to cultish religious despotism is instructive enough, but the song that eventually appeases the Cromulons is what deserves a further look. Too many have narrowed in on Rick’s first song and its coarse, jubilant celebration of sex when interpreting the message for a proper reaction to the imminent doom of climate change. ‘Get Schwift’ is after all the title of the episode and it’s the only new phrase that Rick conjures up, making it easy to meme-ify. “Don’t panic” the phrase seems to impress on us, let it all out, let out the instinctual improv skills harboring within you and dance away. Show those aliens how we party down here and good things will eventually happen that demonstrate how life on earth is worth living.

The song ‘Get Schwifty’ is not the performance that wins the day though. Rick’s quick thinking and previous knowledge of the Cromulons only buys earth more time to come up with a better performance that will later win them over. He and Morty then go into the studio to craft a song for the upcoming competition between planets for the Cromulon’s entertainment. The song they perform, after some lessons and morals are learned about working together and trusting your betters, has only two lines: “Head bent over! Raised up posterior!” This song sung with gusto, together with some inspired breakdancing from an Obama-like president, is what pleases the Cromulons – going so far as to convince the them to end the interplanetary reality tv show altogether. They found the secret formula for what the Cromulons wanted the most.

I had to give this one some thought. After much rumination, nudged along by the sheer joy of repeating the episode’s lines in my head all day long, it started to make sense. When the Cromulons speak they only use imperatives. They are all powerful beings that can whisk away earth to a planetary stage in the blink of an eye. Their commands are explicitly taken as the word of god by Rick’s fellow townspeople, going so far as to throw away the old Christian god and establish a new one based around the actual head in the sky that seems to be controlling the weather. Nuclear weapons meant to blast humans out of the cosmic musical performance are met with simple “BOOOOO NOT COOL.”

Before I go on you must watch this clip of the Cromulon’s line. There is something so delightfully hilarious about the delivery of this line that I haven’t been able to shake it from my head. It’s so quick and nonchalant but it’s spoken with such authority. It’s as if a divine voice that fills the receiver’s heart with a paralyzing terror and the utmost necessity rolls right off the tongue of a wiry preteen experimenting with language for the first time. The young upstart quick to judge is after all what will carry the future.

Once Rick and Morty and the President break out into their song we hear the two lines, “Head bent over! Raised up posterior!” The head referred to could be a way of sympathizing with the Cromulons and their lack of a body. As giant all-powerful heads in the sky, the Cromulons are looking down at earth and the other planets and simply observing for their own pleasure. Extrapolated for us humans and our ability to view all manner of cosmic scenes through satellites this could apply to us too. We look up into the sky for our source of inspiration but perhaps this is wrong. “Head bent over!” Look down! We already have the same viewpoint as the Cromulons. Instead of waffling about with our heads tilted toward the clouds and deep space, look down at the earth.

As Rick and Morty DJ for their audience they match Cromulons in their manner of speaking: they give orders just as the Cromulons do. “Head bent over! Raised up posterior!” could also be a description of their own appearance, as if Rick and Morty were showing the Cromulons ‘what they got’ by mimicking their simple language in a kind of call-and-response dialogue. “Head bent over!” would then be the response of deference to the might of the Cromulons – giving them exactly what they want: deference. But this deference comes in language that he Cormulons can understand, a simple posture for a simple command.

The Cromulons don’t give one of their farts about the devotion that the townspeople show. The entire reaction of the town is a mere sideshow to the main event that Rick and Morty and the President will put on. When they believe they have done wrong and angered the giant heads in the sky they raise their heads up and pray, even comically punishing sinners by sending them up into the sky with balloons. In total contradistinction, Rick and Morty ring out: “Head bent over!”

That brings us to the second part of their song, “Raised up posterior!” This is the exact opposite of the prayer position. Stand erect and face the task at hand. Straightening your back gives off a sign of resolve, the kind of posture that commands respect. Good posture coming from a responder creates a sense of assurance that the one being addressed is capable of meeting a challenge without wavering. In the eleventh hour a trio of humans can still get down and dance with confidence. Their song describes the proper pose for responding to such a challenge.

Casually, this straight body does not match up with a head bent over. “Head bent over! Raised up posterior!” is an awkward pose that doesn’t lend well to dance, much less dialogue. It exists within a creative tension that demonstrates deference to power beyond one’s control but resolve in the face of it.

‘Get Schwifty’ brings a few vastly important threads together into a cartoon that last less than 30 minutes. I haven’t touched on everything, including Ice-T’s intentionally tacked-on sub-plot about “caring.” What it demonstrates at its core is how game-shows and pop-music belong together with presidential politics and military strategy when facing the nearly unfathomable catastrophes of climate change. But then it goes one step further. I can’t say for sure but I feel like not enough people have picked up on the message of “Head bent over! Raised up posterior!” Bowing one’s head in the face of a power scarcely imaginable is not a sign of weakness. Knowing when to display deference can be a path towards resolution. But its important that whatever the outcome we keep a stiff posture that exudes a feeling of confidence (especially to the young) suggesting that when we hear the command “SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT” we can answer.

Starting Over with The Last Jedi

Here we go again, another Star Wars movie. After the reboot of the franchise in The Force Awakens took the safe route and essentially mimicked the original Star Wars episode IV, expectations were pretty low that The Last Jedi would give this next generation something sizable to chew on. When Disney bought the rights to the Star Wars brand it was safe to assume that the same tropes and themes would resurface in shiny new graphics, that they would give enough fan service to keep up with merchandizing profits, that they would sustain continuity between the generations. The fairy tale magic that George Lucas brought to the baby boomers was such a strong force in pop culture that it was bound to make a come-back and Star Wars probably will continue build on its universe in a time when its world is so well-entrenched in the mainstream consciousness. I still remember when my parents took me to see the 1990’s remakes of the original trilogy: it was a kind of inter-generational transference of pop-culture that (most importantly) brought families out to buy movie tickets of a movie they had already seem (many times I’m sure). After that success, Lucas Arts hit the accelerator on filming the prequels and turning this legendary trilogy into a billion dollar franchise that will seemingly never go away.

But then something strange happened. The Last Jedi didn’t play it safe, it threw everything that Star Wars represented out the window, at least for most of the movie. The primary protagonist Rey’s back-story suddenly doesn’t matter. The evil villain is killed unceremoniously and his back-story is even less important. The great legend Luke Skywalker seems to have reverted to his teenage self and whines and pouts about how things could be different, only this time with a brooding sense of failure. Yoda burns books. Leia can fly through space. Much is left unexplained. And fans were pissed.

Though critics received the movie well, the fans were divided straight down the middle: you loved it or you hated it. Fanboys who invested so much of their time and energy into the Star Wars universe were devastated that someone could send such a wrecking-ball into their dreams. Much of The Last Jedi is outright ridiculous and feels almost like it was calculated to provoke outrage; after all, we live in an age of online social media fury where trolls abound under the bridges of every post and making controversial statements seems like the only way to get attention anymore. And this is what brings me to a curious thought about Star Wars and pop-culture: is this hot-mess of a movie actually brilliant for being bad? Did it torpedo itself on purpose?

Perhaps the problem with The Last Jedi is not with The Last Jedi but with Star Wars. Perhaps there was something deep within the Star Wars themes and story structure that was wrong and needed fixing. The biggest criticism of The Force Awakens was that it was basically the same movie as A New Hope. It’s easy to see why people would think that Disney took this complaint seriously and took too far a turn in the opposite direction, giving the fans something so completely different that it upset them. What Rian Johnson did with the script of the Last Jedi was fundamentally alter the logic of the Star Wars universe. It was a bold move and it opens up a crack in one of the biggest (perhaps The biggest?) fantasy worlds of the present. Judging the movie based on how far it strays from its source material and how uncharacteristic its portrayals were is only to announce that you don’t want your fantasies altered. A proper critique of The Last Jedi must ask what themes the film is trying to convey to its audience, what message is it trying to send to the children that it so acutely advertises to.

And this is the first big point about The Last Jedi, broadly speaking: it severs the ties from one Star Wars fan base (the original one) and the other (the new one). It tells the new fan base: the old heroes failed. Luke Skywalker is a cynical recluse. General Leia led her rebel army into oblivion (and that’s after allowing the fascists to rise again after winning the first great galactic war). Han Solo, well, I guess wasn’t very fit to be a father. The Last Jedi opens up the possibility that the entire Star Wars ethic that champions a rag-tag group of rebels tapping into a long lost ancient metaphysic to defeat the empire is simply and inevitably a losing option. As Kylo Ren says in a line that was repeated ad nauseum in the trailers and set the tone for the movie: “Forget the past, kill it if you have to.”** It’s all wrong. The Jedi order, the rebels fighting the empire, the entire moral code that Star Wars perpetuated so effectively throughout American culture and farther: throw it all away and start over. Though everything is put into question, The Last Jedi doesn’t actually start over. It challenges and alters the conventional Star Wars ethos but keeps some things in tact. I’ll try and suss out what it keeps and what it casts away.

Second point, the empire in its totalitarian fascist form is only a symptom of a greater systemic problem. It’s as if Rian Johnson was trying to solve a problem caused by his predecessor’s rehashing of A New Hope: the rebels allowed the First Order to rise in power after gaining control of the galaxy and nobody was willing to admit it. Something must have happened that forced the rebels to be rebels again instead of new legislators making a new and more perfect government. After all, we caught a glimpse of an intergalactic federal republic in the prequels, so why are we back to square one fighting the machine instead of running it? The Last Jedi doesn’t just hint at this defect in the The Force Awakens, it offers an explanation: a whole planet of rich weapons manufacturers in Canto Bight. Even if it is mentioned in a side-quest with only marginal consequences for the main plot, this completely changes the game in the Star Wars universe. The dynamic of totalitarian empire-builders rising to dominate the world and the rebels rising to challenge them are the inevitable and infinitely repeatable outcome of a world in which rich weapons manufacturers can profit off of both sides. The existence of a military industrial complex (neatly wrapped-up in a single planet) all but necessitates war and unending precocity for the world.

Third point, the force is not hereditary anymore. Rey is not a super-powerful jedi-to-be because of her parents bequeathed that power to her, it was a random occurrence, a miracle. At this point, the force is dispersed and accessible to anyone. This ‘democratizes the force’ and removes any elitist presumptions about who can exercise this spiritual power. This gives the viewer the sense that they can use the force if only they got lucky, which can happen to anyone. Kylo Ren still has force powers, being the child of a family lineage with the force, but it can equally surface within a nobody. Kylo himself rebels against his parents directly when he is being trained. Again, the broader point is that the older generation does not determine the course of the next. We need not remain attached to the powers and deeds of our forebearers. Try something different kids.

Fourth point, the jedi order is a fraud that fails as spectacularly as the rebels. The ancient jedi texts that Luke keeps hidden away are unimportant. They are helpful at best, idols at worst. Luke Skywalker focuses Rey’s attention to the Jedi Order’s failures rather than their successes, as if their entire reason for existence is negated because they were undermined by one powerful Sith lord. It never is explained why this is more than a mere one-time failure of the jedi instead of something that shatters their benevolence to the universe. At any rate, Luke Skywalker has decided (with Yoda taking an even more extreme position) that every artifact, all of the training manuals, every piece of received wisdom from past jedi’s, all deserve to be destroyed forever. Rey’s fate is still of paramount importance and Yoda councils Luke to do all that he can to keep her on the light side, but, because of this one failure, all of the tools that will help Luke and future jedi train adolescent jedi-to-be are set ablaze.

With the fifth point things get weirder. After suggesting that nearly everything about Star Wars, the Jedi order, the rebel strategy, and the whole infrastructure that the good guys set up, is wrong, The Last Jedi brings it all back. The fault for the current situation of the rebels and the jedi now seems to rest entirely on Luke Skywalker’s shoulders, or, the problem is with the Jedi Order and not the force itself. Never is the idea of balance questioned, or why leaning heavily on the light side of the force creates the much revered metaphysical balance. The jedi’s failures that result from Luke are evidenced by Kylo Ren’s going toward the dark side, just like Darth Vader’s turn after being trained by a good jedi. Since the order representing the light side of the force keeps producing dark off-spring, there must be something wrong with the order of light itself. Why the blame should rest with the order of light instead of the very notion of a light and dark side of the force is a mystery. To insist that balance is good but that only light possess the good and dark the bad is contradictory: there must be some bad (roughly half) for balance in this manichean force to exist. Rey and Kylo could have together balanced the force in their relationship but instead she chose light at the crucial moment. She does this despite Luke Skywalker himself telling her that the past order of the jedi, with all of their institutional knowledge of the force holds no authority on the force. Believing the jedi know the force better than others is “vanity”: it is anti-democratic. Perhaps they are building up to a true balance of the force in the relationship that Rey and Ren will have but, at this point in the franchise reboot, Rey is still trying to keep to the light side of the force within a broken jedi system that has failed her and her generation.

Six: it was all a misunderstanding. Luke “in a moment of pure instinct” nearly tries to kill his apprentice, but it was a mistake that he realizes just before making the strike. So the divergence between Skywalker and Kylo Ren, what turned him onto the wrong path, is simply a misunderstanding. This appears to make a reunion between Kylo and the light side of the force, just like Darth Vader’s redemption at the end of Episode 6, a live option. Kylo might have stayed on the true path if not for Luke’s lapse of judgment. This leaves open the possibility that the troubles this new generation is facing are all a matter of miscommunication, a momentary fissure that can be mended if everyone simply expressed themselves properly. This is, of course, at odds with the willingness of Yoda and Luke to burn down every important jedi artifact: if everything went wrong because of a simple misunderstanding, then why is the entire edifice judged to be obsolete?

Seven: The lesson that the older generation of freedom fighters must now pass on to the younger is of failure. Teach them how to fail well and keep at it despite failure is more important than education with books or planned master-apprentice relationships. There seems to be nothing worth passing on but, again, it is still imperative that the young stay on the path of light. Teaching someone how to cope with failure and still try to succeed amidst a series of failures is suddenly the only lesson that needs to be passed on for this purpose. It all rests on the decisions of each person makes individually first, and then how whether or not they learn from those mistakes (all by themselves now), second.

Eight: the good leaders are the ones who know how to fail well. Almost every older character messes up in The Last Jedi, whether it be the dashing pilot who over-commits his fleet, Luke Skywalker who fails his apprentice, the new vice admiral Holdo who allows the rebel alliance to be ground down into almost nothing, Fin and his new friend fail to prevent the First Order from tracking the rebels. Good leaders like a redeemed Luke and Holdo sacrifice themselves for the cause of the rebellion in the end. The youth like Fin are told to go on living, carrying the torch of resistance. Martyrs are praised for their devotion to the cause, turning their failures into positive outcomes in spite of their previous mistakes. Everyone of age is wiped out by the end of the movie except for Leia, who is the odd exception. A glorious death that contributes to the cause of fighting the evil power is the way to rectify your failures. Here again, the only lesson the older generation has for the younger is to fail well. It is as if Rian Johnson became obsessed with Samuel Becket while he was writing the script.

Conclusion: If these points really are in the subtext of The Last Jedi, then it feels like what is being passed down to a new generation of Star Wars fans is how to continue failing. Once the old Star Wars characters have lived out their failures and sacrificed themselves for the hope of a better future, the next characters are faced with the burden of an absolute form of choice. Gone are the relics, books, schools, and army that would help guide the youth into an anti-imperial adulthood. At this point, Kylo Ren decided to destroy it all willfully and join the empire. This is one response to the utter failure of ones teachers. But Rian Johnson is asking us to hold onto the idea of the goodness of rebellion against domination and anti-imperialism. It is a message of holding onto hope for the future in times of near collapse. The righteousness of this decision to fight rests on no institutional authority anymore: the jedi and the first rebels only botched it after their initial success. This means that ones choice is now (theoretically) totally free.

This might seem like a fitting ending and a message of hope, but what becomes of it in the end? This movie trilogy has not reached its ending just yet, but already we get a glimpse of what results from the breakdown of institutions and the casting off of all authority. Poe Dameron decides that the chief admiral of the rebel army is deploying a losing strategy and attempts a coup. His insubordination goes unpunished and is even lauded by General Leia and Vice Admiral Holdo. This constant in-fighting is no way to run a military, in fact, it almost guarantees that army’s destruction. Either Poe is reprimanded for sedition or he succeeds in his coup, taking charge and leading the military on a new course. We cannot have it both ways. Without proper discipline to lead an army, rebels have absolutely no chance to defeat an empire. The chain of command was upheld in the previous Star Wars movies and it allowed them to defeat the empire with a carefully laid plan, but in the latest run, including Rogue One especially, insubordination is for some reason a winning trait. If this is what the take-home message of the latest iteration of Star Wars movies is, then the clearing away of all authority, all connection to the past, and any memory of the stability of the old republic is obliterated.

Perhaps the Jedi Order was elitist and futile. The prequels didn’t exactly paint their council meetings in a very democratic light and they resemble more of a revolutionary guard for the republic: a strong arm to quell any dissent within the old order. But this is might be a clue as to why the original rebels failed to prevent the return of an imperial force in the First Order: they lacked the cohesion and discipline to take power after the defeat of the empire. If the new generation of Star Wars characters are ever going to end the cycle of rising empires and rebuild the old republic, then there are some rules and procedures that they will need to establish in order to maintain their power. This cannot happen if a pattern of infighting, insubordination, and absolute anti-authoritarianism are all that an institution-less force can provide. The point of resisting empire is to succeed, not to let every newcomer to the resistance fail all by themselves and hope it will eventually all turn out better in the future.

So those are my gripes with the direction of Star Wars, a franchise I never had that much attachment to in the first place because of its simplistic ‘good vs evil’ Manichean world-view. The force that pervades all throughout the Star Wars universe has a hard and easily distinguished split cutting straight through it, making it fairy-tale simple and vaguely spiritual at once. But this latest installment has done something fresh by introducing shades of grey and suggesting that the real problem for the rebels lies elsewhere. Perhaps the jedi had the wrong idea about the force and perhaps the real enemy was hidden out of sight the whole time. The sidequest we get to Canto Bight, while not having any consequences for the main storyline, opens up the possibility that it is the rich and connected weapons manufacturers that are the root cause of all of this galactic death and totalitarianism. Rian Johnson has written in its own semi-secret military-industrial complex into the Star Wars universe and should be praised for doing so. He’s also challenged the hero-worship of the franchise, forcing the new characters to face stark choices. How far they will go with this new version of the Star Wars mythos is unclear, but the fate of their universe seems now to lie in the hands of Rey and Kylo Ren together. The Yin and Yang relationship will come to full blossom when they together decide which aspects of the old Jedi Order to keep and which to throw away.

The Dude and the New Left in the Post-Cold War Era

It would be hard to overstate the impact that the Coen brother’s 1998 movie The Big Lebowski has had on contemporary pop culture. Social gatherings often fall into competitions for who can quote more lines from memory, cosplay for the movie’s characters is frequent, and twenty years after its release one can still find late-night screenings at the cinema packed with viewers. The fan base for The Big Lebowski has shown remarkable endurance and this may or may not be because of the points I will make in the following exposition, but shot throughout the film are references to the predicaments facing leftists in the post-Cold War period. Though the film is a patchwork of styles, genres, and character types often labeled ‘postmodern’ for being such a hodge-podge, but there are clues running through the story that allow for the viewer to put together an over-arching message – like a puzzle. With the shear amount of interest in and admiration for this movie, a large chunk of the population has a chance to learn about the perils of leftists political activity and the difficulty in maintaining it.

The Big Lebowski has already been subjected to numerous studies and cultural analysis on a variety of topics and its popularity will see to it that it will remain fertile grounds for diverse interpretations. The old-Hollywood style musical dream sequences filled with Valkyrie women, phallic bowling ball pins, giant scissor-wielding nihilists, and Saddam Hussein ensure that Freudian takes will crop up and references to the dude’s youthful activity as a New Left radical in the sixties ensure that its political context can’t be ignored either. It’s in taking stock of the images popping up throughout the film that we can detect a firm connection between both: The Dude’s predicament and the greater predicament facing America in the 1990’s overlap, so that the anxieties and concerns of the dude are a reflection of the time-period. The dude’s unconscious desires are not merely private, they resonate with his own Baby-Boomer generation rolling along past the collapse of the Soviet Union, but the movie has struck the greatest cord among their children. Those who came of age in the nineties or “Gen-Xers” and those proceeding them as “Millennials” are the people who have taken Lebowski most close to heart. It’s not the older generations who are putting on their best Walter impressions and acting out scenes over drinks; the youth have embraced the rich personalities in The Big Lebowski while, both curiously and provocatively, they reflect the anxieties of an older generation. What results is an odd kind of inter-generational transference of the afflictions of Baby-Boomer leftists onto the younger, post-Cold War babies. It’s not an accident that Maude Lebowski doesn’t want The Dude to father the child she has conceived with him: the problems of the left will be transferred to the next generation by a non-familial medium, like a film.

There are many ways to interpret a film so off-the-wall and popular, but I want to stick with the one involving politics and inter-generational relations. For this purpose I will draw on the assistance of particularly thoughtful work of film studies edited by Edward P. Comentale and Aaron Jaffe in The Year’s Work in Lebowski Studies, particularly in the essays by Stacy Thompson and David Martin-Jones. Thompson helps highlight the significance of The Dude’s history as a member of the New Left during his heyday, while Martin-Jones helps draw the connection between the film’s motifs and American national policy since it has emerged as the dominant world power after World War II. Though the conclusions drawn by the latter remain more convincing to me but together they demonstrate how the Dude and Walter’s adventure has a significance that stretches deep into the American national psyche.

Lebowski Studies

We are told at the outset of the film by a deep-voiced cowboy narrator that its main character will be “The Dude.”He says of the Dude: “I won’t say a hero, because what’s that?”, but a protagonist nonetheless. The mystic cowboy that sandwiches our story doesn’t have much to say about the Dude aside from the fact that he has a certain fondness for him and that he is quite possibly one of the laziest people in the world. The crucial point that he works himself up to saying is that, aside from labeling him as a sort of anti-hero, “he’s the man for his time and place. He fits right in there. And that’s the dude.” So, despite the fact that the monologue is delivered in a sleepy tone that wanders without urgency, we learn from the get-go that somehow (without explicitly explaining why) the Dude has a special significance for the city of Los Angeles. More broadly speaking, he also mentions the era in America in the time of the first Gulf War or Operation Desert Storm. The opening remarks trail off with: “[s]ometimes there is a man, sometimes, there is a man…” before he abruptly cuts himself off, not sure where all of this talk about “a man” is really going.

As The Dude floats through a big-box grocery market to buy the one missing ingredient for his favorite cocktail, the ‘White Russian,’ he catches a glimpse of the former CIA director and current commander-in-chief George H.W. Bush giving quick justification for his sending the United States military into battle to fight against Iraq: “this aggression … will not stand.” It’s this phrase that will set off The Dude on his quest and offers us the closest thing to a motive. When his house is broken into and his rug soiled, it’s this feeling of being violated that works him up into seeking a replacement rug. Without this sentiment – that unwarranted aggression is unacceptable and must be challenged – the oft-repeated desire for a new rug will be a red-herring. Even when The Dude gets a new rug, he isn’t particular about which one it is, and the rug’s desirability is only to “tie the room together.” The rug only serves as an object on which to focus his sense of injustice – The Dude has been wronged and something must be done in response.

It’s only after some inflammatory conversation with his friend Walter at the bowling alley that The Dude has his sense of injustice flared up enough into doing something about it. The conversation that provokes him into action is confusing and multi-layered (“you have no frame of reference Donny”), having become something of an infamous point of reference for film critics and others. I’ll leave comments on this conversation for another time, but what’s important for the point I am trying to illustrate here is at the end of this jumble of contentious words is that Walter eventually wins out and convinced the Dude to retaliate for this wrongdoing.

Walter provides much of The Dude’s support throughout the film by egging him on. He’s a persistent instigator who often wrecks havoc on the situation, more bravado and impulse than a helpful collaborator. As a stereotypical Vietnam War veteran, Walter’s outbursts give the film tension-filled comic relief that makes him out into a buffoon. His personality is a perfect contrast to the Dude’s lazing-about attitude, but the point here is that the two of them are both in agreement that something must be done to right the wrong of The Dude’s soiled rug. People just can’t go around destroying the property of others in America according to Walter’s inflated sense of righteousness and he becomes The Dude’s partner in the quest for retribution because, ultimately, he’s right. His methods look like taking a bulldozer to a garden party, but there always remains the possibility that he really is “calmer than you are.”

After taking the initial action in the name of retribution, The Dude is strung along by hopes for a big pay-out from the big Lebowski, an apparently rich man who touts his own achievements as a wealthy businessman. And this further demonstrates how the rug is a red herring: the Dude allows himself to stumble into the scheme of another for the sake of quick cash. Having gotten himself caught up in a rat race for a briefcase full of lost money, our “man for his time and place” must now figure out what’s going on with the big Lebowski’s money. What began as play for compensation following an injustice will result in something much more complicated.

Eventually, we learn that The Dude had quite an interesting early career. He did go to college but spent most of his “time uh,  occupying various administration buildings,” “breaking into the ROTC,” and playing the part of the rabble-rousing young man of the New Left era. He claims to be one of the authors of the “original” Port Huron statement (“…the original Port Huron Statement, not the compromised second draft.”) and a member of the Seattle Seven. All of these claims place him firmly in the tradition of the New Left – more of a phenomenon than a coherent movement in which young students engaged in civil disobedience in large numbers to protest and disrupt the imperialist policies of mid-century America. The Coen brothers have admitted that their character The Dude is inspired by a real-life person named Jeff Dowd, himself one of the members of the Seattle Seven and the Seattle Liberation Front. Dowd himself went on to be a film producer and not the casual lay-about, so the image of The Dude as an intentionally lazy single man is a product of the Coen brother’s imagination. He represents the retreat from the wild political activity of the 60’s and 70’s into individualistic tranquility. Whether by physical exhaustion and burnout, disillusionment with the cause, reactionary suppression, or some other reason, the New Left fizzled out before the Reagan revolution swept into power. Both The Dude and Walter are contrasting character profiles in coping with the trauma of that time period, with Walter having fought in the Vietnam War and The Dude undoubtedly having protested against it.

Port Huron

The New Left generation was inspired by Martin Luther King’s sustained movement of civil disobedience in the Jim-Crow South for a morally righteous cause. They sought alternative forms of political participation because they felt marginalized by the towering bureaucracy of Washington and looked towards adult professional life with dread. Gravely concerned that their nation was becoming a malevolent empire, students created their own cultural shift to ward off the banality of American life in the early 1960’s. The movement was given a foundation by a group of students with aspirations toward building a greater body of activists throughout the country, calling themselves The Students for a Democratic Society or SDS. The Port Huron statement was crafted by a charged-up party of students sequestered in a camp retreat that was owned by labor unions. Dozens of students would all participate in a group-writing process that crystallized their hopes and beliefs for reinvigorating democracy in America. Suddenly it felt like they had a voice in creating a new founding document, a document that carefully covered all of their ideological bases but kept their vision for the future vague. In that exciting atmosphere, a guy like Jeffrey Lebowski was pushing for the more militant version (on which there is some contention over its historical existence), staking out his claim as a revolutionary.

The protests and street demonstrations that flowed from the positions of the SDS gave a generation the radical sense of possibility. With young people swarming together over principled concerns and unified in a sense of outrage over an unjust war it felt like something new and better was emerging within American culture. The activists within and around the SDS wanted to stop their own nation’s turn towards imperialism and they weren’t shy from instigating mob actions to do it. Someone like a pre-Dude Jeff Lebowski would fit in nicely with the radical wing of this milieu.

Initially met by some success, the SDS had immense difficulty scaling-up its direct democracy practice (or ‘participatory democracy’) to cover its expanding base. Attempts were made to streamline the process for a more centralized organization but these were never brought to consensus. Alas, the organization was taken over by “Old Left” sectarian Marxists that the New Left had tried to distance itself from from the get-go. The movement could not sustain itself and the SDS splintered into individually driven campaigns and initiatives, some of which turned out successful. It’s hard to know where to place the character of Jeffrey Lebowski in all of this, but it’s made fairly clear that The Dude has achieved a kind of happiness, or at least comfort, after a flurry of contentious political activity in his youth. The image of the dashing protester fighting for a just cause and coming from the New, resurgent Left has now been transformed into an aimless man of leisure.

This is thrown into The Dude’s face early on in the movie by the businessman he decides to confront. After getting the brush off, he stands firm: “The Dude minds man!”, “This aggression will not stand, man!”, and he takes the wealthy mans rug by deceit. This is not before The Big Lebowski gets in a few pointed lines: “Your revolution is over, Mr. Lebowski! Condolences! The bums lost!” The Dude takes it all in stride. Unfazed, he gets what he wants, but on his way out he comes into contact with some other characters trying to take a piece out of the Big Lebowski: Bunny Lebowski and her accomplices, the nihilists. They too want a piece of his fortune and so have similar objectives. A few scenes later we learn that Bunny Lebowski has been kidnapped and The Dude is tasked with delivering the ransom money for a hefty reward. At first glance, it appears that the nihilists are behind the kidnapping. After The Dude can feel smugly satisfied in replacing his soiled rug, he allows himself to be dragged into a ransom affair. At this point, The Dude and the nihilists share a goal of purely monetary gain.

The nihilist are the true foil for The Dude, not simply because they are his competition but because they represent an extreme version of a potential path for him. The Dude’s laziness is ever at risk of falling into a passive nihilism whose ideological content is nearly identical to the film’s active nihilists who threaten to “cut off your Johnson!” They abuse their (non)ideological affiliation as a justification for behaving like thugs. As with every other character in The Big Lebowski, the nihilists are stereotypes. Lacking any real presence as criminals, they place all of their weight behind their ideological attachment to inspire fear. After all, what is so intimidating about a pet marmot?

The nihilists are made to look utterly ridiculous by the end of the film. Their empty exclamations (“We believe in nothing Lebowski!”) aren’t what worries The Dude so much as having his dick cut off. But they represent one of the many challenges for The Dude’s mind – the fate of his lifestyle and whoever else takes it up (and there are many out there, just read about Dudeism). In a truly care-free world without rules or beliefs of any kind, anything goes and everything is justified. Murder and the disintegration of the world can be met with a shrug, apathy and anti-politics can wash over the left, aggression can go unchecked. While the criminal nihilists are another colorful exaggeration of the film, the children of the New Lefties were widely derided in the 90’s for their apathy and non-involvement in politics. The serious viewer of The Big Lebowski must face the possibility that the Dude and his type has brought on a period of nihilism and political quiescence – exactly what The Port Huron Statement tried to fight off. It is certainly feasible that in 1998 the Coen brothers are provoking their viewers with the question of The Dude’s nihilism, or, in other words, how does our lovable aging hippy in The Dude separate himself from nihilism?

It’s in facing this question that we can turn towards Stacy Thompson’s essay ‘The Dude and the New Left.’ There is much digression into Lacanian psychoanalysis and terminology borrowed from Badiou, but she sketches an intriguing image of The Dude as a faithful adherent of New Left ideology. The founding document of the New Left is rather wordy and vague, standing primarily on principle but adding heaps of quick analysis on top of it. The Port Huron Statement shows signs an intense collaborative writing process by beginning with a shared sentiment, that American society is deteriorating into empire and meaningless work, and aggregates on top of that sentiment a multiplicity of responses by numerous participants. It’s the product of committed individuals trying to act out their dreams for a better society by including as many voices as they can, leaving no stone of their political anxiety unturned. It’s publication marks a turning point for the left, but one that left the organization (and perhaps a generation?) without a clear plan, only vague expressions of a desire for “more democracy.”

It is the Dude who maintains a fidelity to the [Port Huron] Statement as an event that shattered and reorganized the situation of his mid- to late-1960’s California life.

But where does laziness (as a sign of a failed New Left) fit into the SDS, the Statement, and fidelity? A clue can be found in the fact that the Port Huron Statement can be read as a lazy Communist Manifesto, where its laziness is precisely what allows for the Dude’s apparent shiftlessness. Where Marx and Engels list the famous Ten Steps Necessary to Move from Capitalism to Socialism and insist upon the “[e]qual liability of all to labour” (490), the Statement lists a series of “root principles” that must be implemented to move from a “domineering complex of corporate, military, and political power” to a “participatory democracy.” In relation to labor, the Statement argues that “work should be educative, not stultifying; creative, not mechanical; self-directed, not manipulated, encouraging independence, a respect for others, a sense of dignity, and a willingness to accept social responsibility.” Isn’t it possible, then, that in the context of the Statement laziness can be something more than itself? Perhaps the Dude is not lazy but refuses to work at stultifying, non-creative tasks. The Dude takes the Statement at its word and refuses work (or refuses to look for work) that doesn’t interest him. Only when the Big Lebowski offers the Dude a sleuth gig, ironically recently upbraiding him for laziness, does the Dude, intrigued, accept the job.”


On this take, the Dude is actually faithful to The New Left and the Port Huron Statement by being lazy. It was a lazy document lacking discipline and so the Dude is the long-term consequence of this moment, considered within the hindsight of the 1990’s. Considering that the New Left was marked by a surge of activity both aggressive and morally inspired, the Dude is its natural product. This feature of the Dude could be read negatively because the New Left is regarded as a failure that withered away but it could also be read generously; in a world where work indeed is largely unfulfilling and tedious, the Dude is a shining example of living comfortably and as he wishes. The Dude is beholden to nobody, does what he pleases, and isn’t forced to compromise his beliefs for a boss. Living like the Dude is something many people around the world can only dream about. A legion of fans can attest to the Dude’s status as a cultural icon of doing as one pleases, a west coast superstar of hippy hedonism.

But the Dude’s celebrity has a blemish: he is the loyal inheritor of a failed movement. As a lovable sage for a new generation of citizens he risks becoming the champion of blissful, self-indulgent apathy. This is why the Coen brothers must have him do battle with the nihilists or… at least confront them. The Dude does believe in something and it is a widely shared belief operative throughout the international community: aggression cannot go unchecked. A nation or a person should not be allowed to attack and steal from another unprovoked. The Nazis can’t just invade all of Europe and thugs can’t just walk into someone’s house and pee on a stranger’s rug. The Dude and the New Left’s formula for how to remake the world into a more principled one might not have been well-defined enough to persist but they do reflect a commitment to justice – a commitment perhaps too fleeting to be carried on all by itself.

And here is where Walter Sobchak must enter the picture. Just as the Dude is the caricature of the aging New Left radical, so Walter is a blatant caricature of the traumatized Vietnam War veteran. Walter is obsessed with upholding a principled order of civil liberties and civil rights in a world he believes is letting them slip away. And that’s putting it mildly. No incident and no encounter is too small for Walter to miss a chance to get on his high horse and rant about how he risked his life for the liberties they enjoy. He says, “Lady, I got buddies who died face down in the muck so that you and I could enjoy this family restaurant!” – apparently believing that Vietnam was a defensive war. Given the Dude’s extreme care-free attitude, it makes sense that his buddy is such a complete opposite on the spectrum of assertiveness. This all measured on scales of personality and not on the scales of belief mind you: we assume that they don’t have glaring differences in opinion because they are such good friends. This means that the Dude has actually accomplished something that the New Left wanted to do but couldn’t bridge the cultural gap to achieve: binding the anti-war protester with the war veteran. Despite the demonstrations and the large publicity, the New Left was unable to end the Vietnam War and it wasn’t until internal sentiments of the troops reached such a high pitch that true pressure was felt by the high command. It was the grunt soldiers that fragged their commanding officers and the military disobedience that forced the US to exit Vietnam without victory, not the civil disobedience. There is no indication that Walter knew anything about this, or even the thought that the war itself was anything but noble, but Vietnam isn’t a point of contention that has ripped through his friendship with the Dude either. It is more likely that their friendship is bound by their shared ethnic background in being Polish. Sobchak and Lebowski are both Polish names and it is another well-hidden clue from the Coen brothers that ethnicity is what brings an old leftist and a wing-nut libertarian together.

Walter believes with far more zeal than the Dude can muster that aggression cannot go unchecked. He’s carried it down to the smallest of places in LA, like in coffee shop etiquette or bowling rules, well, “league games” at least. He sees himself as a knight that must protect the order of society through force and determination. But he’s not your typical law-and-order conservative at all, certainly not when carrying a machine gun to… help the Dude perform his task as a bag-man in the ransom episode. His type is that of the civil libertarian watchdog, putting up a fight against all the forces that would conspire to erode our “basic freedoms.” His disproportionate use of force against Smokey at the bowling alley for stepping over the line and committing a fault gives us everything we need to know: “Has the whole world gone crazy?! Am I the only one around here who gives a shit about the rules?! Mark it zero Dude!” Walter is easily agitated because he thinks that nobody has the backbone to defend their rights anymore. He sees himself as the last defense against a world without a purpose, a world that will let its liberties slip away with a shrug, he’s the last defense against, in other words, nihilism.

It’s no accident that Walter knocks out the nihilists all by himself, while the Dude is trying to hand them a few dollars to make them go away. He calls them out for being toothless and puts his foot down on the same principle that sparked the Dude initially: “what’s mine is mine” whether what is owned is a rug or the contents of his wallet. It’s not so much a question of guarding one’s private property that is the issue here (nor is it “the Chinaman”), the issue is “unchecked aggression”, a sense of injustice that must be righted. This is a unifying sentiment for the Left and no person or group of people is spared from reproach for committing an unjust act. The sense that insufferable harm is being systematically inflicted on people anywhere around the world is partially what defines the left. The Dude senses this too but he has left his activism days behind as he attempts to revive his own personal dignity, hence, the nihilists are a threat to his manhood. Walter, on the other hand, has no lack of confidence and he ejaculates his frustration all over every situation. That the two have buddyed-up is a little glimpse of a representation of both the left and the right coming together in a tense but not exactly dysfunctional relationship.


Walter represents more than just an over-correction to the Dude’s placid character. He’s also a converted Jew who at one point loudly quotes Theodore Herzl, the father of Israeli political Zionism (“If you will it, it is no dream”). His constant effort at staving off cultural complacency has led him zealously hold onto a belief in Judaism, a belief that he gained when he married his now ex-wife. The Dude calls him out near the end of the movie by saying, “your not even fucking Jewish man!” but Walter follows the rituals and takes his religion seriously, so its not his commitment that is at stake here. What matters is that his devotion feels arbitrary and he comes off as desperate holding onto it with such ferocity.

Walter’s conversion and resolve is an allusion to the US’s unwavering attachment to the state of Israel. Support for Israel in the US is something of a political necessity in Washington, despite an ongoing occupation, slow-motion colonization of Palestinian lands, massive poverty, and disproportionate use of force. It’s gotten to the point where professors at universities are losing their jobs for their criticisms of Israel. It’s as if every question of the legality or morality of the actions of the state of Israel is met with a Walter shouting in your face to shut up. This is just one of The Big Lebowski’s foreign policy references and when put together they create an important world-political subtext that runs throughout the Dude and Walter’s adventure.

Our rambling cowboy friend who introduces us to the Dude from the outset of the movie also sets us within the stage of history. He informs us that this affair took place “just about the time of our conflict with Saddam and the Iraqis”, right before going on about how the Dude fits into this time and place. Saddam Hussein himself makes an appearance in one of the Dude’s trippy dream sequences (to complement George H.W. Bush’s t.v. appearance early on) and we are never spared from Walter going on and on about the Vietnam War. It’s within this loose association of early-nineties images that there is a connection (“not a literal connection Dude”) to the uneasy place that the left occupied – and perhaps still does. Walter persistently invokes Vietnam because of the trauma of his experience in the war no doubt, but on the world stage, the war tarnished the image of the United States as a benevolent global actor. The atrocities committed by soldiers, fruitless and destructive bombing campaigns, chemical warfare, and civilian murders all worked against the national image, provoking deep regret and soul searching among the American population. Opposition to the Vietnam War unified much of the left and helped confirm the worries of the SDS that their country was becoming an empire without conscience. Anti-war demonstrations were massive and inflammatory, no doubt where Jeffrey Lebowski cut his chops as a radical. The nation will forever live with that stain on its record but the perception of the nation shifts as time keeps a rollin on…

After the end of the Gulf War, the first president Bush was quoted privately saying, ““By God, weve kicked the Vietnam syndrome once and for all!” It was the ease of achieving victory and the apparent righteousness of the American cause in operation Desert Storm that brought on a sort of reappraisal of the United States as the only remaining world power. The war faced almost no opposition at home, compared to Vietnam’s mass demonstrations, and Washington could portray the event as an assistance in Kuwaiti self-defense. Moreover, this was facilitated by images that well-depicted the US military’s might. New footage from a behind the cross-hairs perspective placed the viewer in the shoes of a soldier. The Soviet Union had collapsed, Americans could rejoice, and the world suddenly had a triumphant superpower winning wars it could be proud of. There was only one problem: nobody could figure out what the war was all about. The motive, the reason for engaging in such an expensive war couldn’t be pined down aside from a few catch phrases like “stabilizing the region” and “unchecked aggression.” But there was a nagging suspicion that this all had something to do with the huge reserves of oil in Kuwait, oil that Saddam had his eyes on and the US wouldn’t let him take.

Guf War Time

With these developments, the chip on America’s shoulder was removed, or it appeared to be removed at least. And that’s what matters in this context: the Walters of the world could suddenly be made out to be less crazy and more sympathetic. It would be difficult to counter the narrative of a benevolent American superpower “making the world safe for democracy” now. This sense of victory for tradition and militarism, combined with the disintegration of the communist bloc in eastern Europe, plagued the left throughout the 90’s and beyond. There wasn’t a good enough analysis for what had just happened to challenge the prevailing image of purely idealistic motive for the US. They would have to wait until the second Iraq war turned out to be such a disaster for that sense of possibility to return.

The confusion surrounding the First Gulf War, together with its revitalizing effect, remains in the background of the Dude’s story. Aside from images and name drops, the progressive destruction of the Dude’s car holds symbolic value. Martin-Jones brings the connection to light: “Far from “pop cultural potpourri,” The Big Lebowski uses its intertextual references and film buff-directed allusions to invite the viewer to make the connection between the life of the Dude, his car-oriented context, and the legacy of America’s past.” (p.210) Cars have been integral to American culture since the days of Henry Ford and the mass manufacturing of consumer products. The mass production of automobiles that the working class could both build and afford to buy marked a turning point in capitalist development, dubbed Fordism. Fordism “created a feedback loop in which interminably fed consumerism. Moreover, as this process began to spiral outward, car production also affected the spatial geography of the United States.” (p.211, Martin-Jones) As highways were built following WWII, Americans had a massively upgraded range of motion. With a car and freeways to drive them on one could travel across the country with ease – but only with a few tanks of gasoline. Oil became the primary strategic asset for American policy planners because it was and still is required to sustain the new economic program (really just a new version of capitalism) that kept consumers satisfied with their new automobiles. Sold as a ticket to freedom, these cars gave America a new image to replace the cowboy now occupying a frontier-less West, an everyman’s dream of self-mobility.

all america car 52

Our wistful cowboy friend in The Big Lebowski seems out of place at the bowling alley. His presence in late-90’s LA helps us bridge the jumble of background images related to US national policy with the Dude and his story. Located on the West Coast, Los Angeles could be read here as the termination of the frontier, or the final outpost in the wild west. The tumble weeds of the western plains blowing by the dueling gunman locked in a stare-down rolls its way into an LA beach. The auto-mobility now available to the American consumer means that everyone gets to don the image of the free and lonesome cowboy explore the open lands. The frontier is now anywhere in America. The cowboy becomes a symbol of freedom that see in the movies and romanticize. LA represents not only the advent of consumer-car culture but the Hollywood era of cinema. It was Hollywood films that gave us the image of the romantic cowboy to go along with its construction of highways and freeways for car owners. It is here that our Dude will have his car stolen, beaten and battered over the course of the story until finally the nihilists torch it. The Dude’s car is destroyed along with his freedom of mobility, his masculinity placed in jeopardy, his Johnson on the chopping block.

Right around the time SDS folded up and splintered off, a new international norm took shape that locked in US dependence on maintaining a steady supply of oil. Oil already was a vital aspect of any modern economy and the US was was outproducing all others with its steady stream of oil coming from various parts of the globe. Currency values were determined by the amount of a nation’s gold reserves, which also played a major role in the strength of an economy. With America bleeding gold in the early 1970’s and its relative economic strength diminishing, Nixon felt he had little choice but to end the gold backing of the dollar and let its value float. This means that dollars would not be redeemable in gold, instead changing in value relative to other currencies from day to day. As the 1970’s wore on and other nations began to challenge US economic superiority, a deal was struck with a Saudi Arabia that held more oil than any other nation on earth: Saudi Arabia agreed to accept only dollars, effectively forcing every other nation to borrow dollars to buy this necessary commodity. The result was effectively a new and bigger regime of imperialism, summarized under the term ‘petrodollar recycling,’ that was birthed right under everyone’s nose. A fractured left had no means to confront this development and the machinations of power politics eluded anti-imperialists, sending the US economy and others into a tailspin of oil shocks and high debt.

All of this had the effect of bolstering the US power position, but it was to the detriment of of domestic its domestic manufacturing base. The American automotive industry (and others) were no longer required to maintain economic supremacy. The Dude’s car could be smashed and burned, it didn’t matter. And as we turn back to the Dude in post-Fordist LA, we see that the New Leftists had the right enemy (US imperialism) but not the right mix of energy and discipline. His story takes place in LA because it “is perhaps the point of at which the westward expansion of the interstate necessitated by Fordism literally ran out of room.” (p.213, Martin-Jones) LA is a city of cars and highways, a place where America’s need for oil is best symbolized, and it is that most westward city in which US economic manufacturing gave way to another kind of economic management involving the rest of the world. The road of imperialism goes through LA and out to a new frontier, no longer on the American continent.

None of this is on the Dude’s radar, it fills the background of his quest initiated by his need to take a stand. He’s not so defeated that he cannot see it through to the end and discover that the money everyone is chasing around doesn’t exist. There is something potent in having the big revelation in The Big Lebowski be the moment when the Dude realizes he has been tricked by the wealthy businessman; in fact, the wealthy businessman isn’t actually wealthy or successful at all. It was all a con to make everyone think there was a lot of money where there was none. This doesn’t mean that dollars are all fake or that rich people aren’t rich, it means the source of their wealth is the result of a system based on a lesser-known trick: the diplomatic invention of one Henry Kissinger. That the Dude can see through the big Lebowski’s trick makes him a redeeming character: lazy people can be good detectives too.


The ultimate Irony of The Big Lebowski lies between it and its fan base. Just as the American Left stumbles along after the New Left pool of righteous anger dried up, so do its fans adore its characters without detecting the critical subtext. Just as ecstatic fans enjoy the movie without grasping it as a political commentary, so does the state of American political discourse continue fire-up or slough-off by turns without understanding the geopolitical dimensions of international politics that underwrite every important political decision. In a strange way, the themes of Lebowski are reflected in the cultural space its fans created, making the movie seem like it’s trolling its own fan base. Even film critics and scholarly commentary miss the significance of US militarism lurking underneath the plot. Everyone loves the movie, but nearly everyone misses the geopolitical aspect; the cheeky caricatures keep everyone coming back, while the political realities that move the world the most nestle their way into our unconscious desires, seemingly destined to remain their forever. Such is the way of the world that the New Left could not change for its children: our understanding of world powers and the man moving the levers behind the curtain are only brief images flashing before our eyes that sometimes persuade us what it is we should be getting angry about and without much effort.

We would do well to take heed of the wisdom of Hannah Arendt when she says in a late interview:

The New Left has borrowed the catchword of the third world form the arsenal of the Old Left. It has been taken in by the distinction made by the imperialists between colonial countries and colonizing powers… This imperialist leveling out of all differences is copied by the New Left, only with the labels reversed. It is always the same old story: being taken in by every catchword, the inability to think or else the unwillingness to see phenomena as they are, without applying categories to them in the belief that they can thereby be classified. It is just this that constitutes theoretical helplessness.” (p.210, ‘Thoughts on Politics and Revolution,’ from The Crisis of the Republic)

This situation is reflected in the script each time a character mimes the words of another. Even “the Dude abides” is taken from the big Lebowski’s line, “I will not abide another toe.” This persistent passing around of words and catchphrases in the movie focuses our attention on how the language we use is both passed down and manipulated by media.

The response to The Big Lebowski itself demonstrates this copying by the proliferation of catchwords and quoted lines. The Coen brothers could have more effectively conveyed these subtexts, a criticism Martin-Jones (citing Mike Wayne) brings up, but then it is doubtful that it would have achieved such a devoted following. That the script from The Big Lebowski has burned its way into the hipster lexicon means that these topics are ripe for discussion whenever the movie is brought up in a social setting. This is perhaps what has given the film its 20 year longevity as a cultural phenomenon: the viewer must think to tie the loose ends together, just like the Dude must straiten out the mess of competing actors trying to get their hands on the briefcase to learn the truth. This puts the Dude within that category of anti-hero detective which so prospered in Los Angeles for American cinema (think Jack Nicholson in Chinatown or Humphrey Bogart in The Big Sleep): the man who can move about a corrupt milieu and play the part but keeps his conscience intact. This savvy, grizzled stereotype is updated by the Coen brothers to include the man who has burned himself out of political activity early on but is still capable of discovering certain truths. This image of the Dude as anti-hero makes his shortcomings appear less fatal and his character more complex.

Fatherhood is not the Dude’s strength and he would agree. Luckily for him, when we learn that “a little Lebowski is on the way,” he will not have to do any child rearing, nor is he wanted to. Everyone seems to love the Dude like a puppy, not as an authority figure. The Coen brothers seem to be saying that the new generations of political leftists must navigate through the world without a father figure, as if the New Left could not manage to reproduce itself in the traditional familial manner. The New Left was born in rebellion not just of American society but of their Old Left ancestors. Now the question we are left with at the film’s ending is, what happens to the children born from rebels rebelling against rebels? Yet more rebellion? Is the vicious cycle is broken with the absence of a father, or does this only create more inter-generational strife? This is less of a lesson than a situation which confronts young people, a send off. Even if the Dudes of the world don’t handle authority very well they usually have good stories to tell, and occasionally we can learn something from them. They don’t take shit from “real reactionar[ies]” either.

The Old Left was united in a particular critique of capitalism that supplied the confidence necessary to interpret the ongoing developments of world history. It was when the explanatory power of this analysis broke down and the atrocities of the communist bloc became known in the west that the next generation felt it was time for a new beginning. The Dude’s passing reference to Lenin (“Vladimir Illanich Uleninov!”) suggests that he has (or at least he had) a critical understanding of the political economy of capitalism. Though the New Left was right to reject communism and the SDS folded when communist groups took it over, a new analysis of what was moving the great powers never filled the void. No doubt such analyses exist, but nothing that could function as a unifying current for the left as a whole has emerged. As we stand at the new frontiers of America, perhaps it would be wise to go back even farther than the Old Left and find out what it was that pushed so many onto the old frontiers. For no matter what becomes of the new in each generation, the continuity with the old must be reckoned with lest it haunt the new. But that’s just like, my opinion man.

On Cowboy Bebop, part three

The final bounty that the Bebop crew sets after together tests the crew’s mettle like none other as they go after the leader of a cult. A man named Londis has been appearing on TV and convincing people to join his cyborg cult or “migration.” He has purportedly found a way to store someone’s brain activity – all of the electrical patterns in the brain and so the entire cognitive activity of a person – into data. Once your “soul” is digitalized and mapped into electron-silicon content instead of electron-neural content, you can then release that soul from the body and join the ethereal space of the internet. What if our minds or souls could escape the confines of our bodies and exist somewhere else? It’s an old thought experiment with a Cowboy Bebop twist: a figurehead has created a scandal by forming a cult around his new “technology” and is killing people with it. People get the word that they can leave their impure bodies behind and find ascetic bliss in the “other world” of the internet and they start committing suicide or otherwise going missing. The awakening that the SCRATCH movement preaches is that of the spirit transforming from the imperfect material world to the perfect world of spirit, via a new piece of technology whose powers people are unsure of. The old mind-body problem has taken on a new dimension with the new ability to store a massive amount of material data, and now people are becoming convinced that living in the internet can make their spirits immortal. Continue reading “On Cowboy Bebop, part three”

On Cowboy Bebop, part one

Cowboy Bebop crams so many different styles from visual art, music, and storytelling together that it becomes easy to miss how profoundly deep it reaches into the human condition. The allure of wayward dreams, friendship and finding home, and facing up to a difficult past and certain death all subsist beneath the flare of this single 26-episode season. Fight scenes dazzle with such exuberance, the soundtrack composed by Yoko Kano and performed by The Seatbelts unleashes a fury of notes reminiscent of all-night jam-sessions, and the tv show’s writing so seamlessly weaves death-defying adventure with boredom and bickering-inducing downtime that it’s easy to get caught up with the Bebop crew. Look close enough at the show and you will find more than an abundance of style; Cowboy Bebop’s brilliance lies in capturing the affections of an entire generation and putting them into a single story.

It’s a bold claim, as bold as the sign the show throws up in the middle of an episode, prompting a commercial break, that reads: “The work which will become a new genre of its own will be called Cowboy Bebop.” But hang with me a bit longer. This anime tv show launched in Japan in 1998 to universal praise. It tops many a list of best anime shows of all time and I am not alone in my unflinching praise of it as a masterful piece of art. What I will do here is attempt to probe Cowboy Bebop and unearth some things that might have been missed by viewers, hoping to explain just what it is that has kept this show so fresh. Continue reading “On Cowboy Bebop, part one”

On Cowboy Bebop

Cowboy Bebop crams so many different styles from visual art, music, and storytelling together that it becomes easy to miss how profoundly deep it reaches into the human condition. The allure of wayward dreams, friendship and finding home, and facing up to a difficult past and certain death all subsist beneath the flare of this single 26-episode season. Fight scenes dazzle with such exuberance, the soundtrack composed by Yoko Kano and performed by The Seatbelts unleashes a fury of notes reminiscent of all-night jam-sessions, and the tv show’s writing so seamlessly weaves death-defying adventure with boredom and bickering-inducing downtime that it’s easy to get caught up with the Bebop crew. Look close enough at the show and you will find more than an abundance of style; Cowboy Bebop’s brilliance lies in capturing the affections of an entire generation and putting them into a single story.

It’s a bold claim, as bold as the sign the show throws up in the middle of an episode, prompting a commercial break, that reads: “The work which will become a new genre of its own will be called Cowboy Bebop.” But hang with me a bit longer. This anime tv show launched in Japan in 1998 to universal praise. It tops many a list of best anime shows of all time and I am not alone in my unflinching praise of it as a masterful piece of art. What I will do here is attempt to probe Cowboy Bebop and unearth some things that might have been missed by viewers, hoping to explain just what it is that has kept this show so fresh. Continue reading “On Cowboy Bebop”