Two men break into a shabby apartment somewhere in Los Angeles. They start beating on a disheveled middle-aged man, thinking he is a millionaire who owes them or their employer money. It’s standard gangster fare, actually a throwback to noirish thrillers of a bygone era, only with Tarentinoesque vulgarity. One assailant shoves the renter’s face into a toilet while he makes threats that the moment will only get worse. The other intruder unzips and pees on the man’s carpet, which turns out to be the most offensive gesture. Thus begins The Big Lebowski, a noirish, somewhat Hitchcockian dramady made by the Coen Brothers, not Quentin Tarantino. It’s Hitchcockian because it’s a wrong man situation, like the central plotline of North By Northwest, my favorite Hitchcock film of this type. Jeff Bridges’ Lebowski character is like the Cary Grant figure, only he’s much less tailored and suave than Cary Grant, though he is equally insouciant. Anyway, the wrong situation: one of the hoods realizes that he and his partner are looking for another man, also named Lebowski, who is a millionaire, and as that person’s namesake victim of this break-in points out, he is not exactly living like a millionaire.
His name is Lebowski, though he goes by the “dude”. We’re meant to know him, as in his type, and this is why this film is a cult something, a classic maybe. It sits alongside (cue Tarantino) Pulp Fiction, or Glengarry Glenn Ross, or, say, Waiting For Godot, as a story that is less about what it’s about in terms as plot as what it simply is. I started to think something like this as I was about two-thirds of the way through the film and realizing that I was losing the thread of the plot, or at least some of its details. I realized that it didn’t matter. I realized I was feeling like what I thought the dude thinks and feels: it doesn’t matter. Life’s plot doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that he’s being victimized by a pair of hoods over money, because that’s pathos. A mistake. Shit happens, he thinks as he is forcibly gazing down a toilet bowl. As for piss—that happens too—but that was unnecessary, he thought. That was something he can and should do something about, because the carpet had value for him; it meant something, and that something is linked to respect, or simple dignity. So, plot: or rather, the plot in so far as it meant something: dude finds his namesake in his extravagant mansion, has an unlikely audience with him, and argues as to whether the millionaire should reimburse him for the soiled carpet because he-the millionaire-is indirectly responsible for the assault. The latter is unmoved. Further, he is indignant, has a chip on his shoulder about being disabled (in a wheelchair), plus feeling superior to bums like the dude, so he flatly refuses the dude’s request/demand.
That could have been the end of the drama as dude returns to his daily existence, the most important aspect of which seems to be his bowling hobby/ritual, which he shares with a pair of fellow slackers, one of which, Donny, is a passive yes-man who is ever being shouted down. He’s played by Steve Buscemi against type, as that actor is rarely passive in his roles, I think. The third in the clique is a gun-toting rageaholic played memorably by John Goodman. His character, Walter, is a sabbath-observing Vietnam war veteran who acts like he’s still in ‘nam, activated by anyone who is out of line, not following the rules of life, especially those of a bowling alley. He punctuates all diatribes with the quasi-question, “Am I wrong?”, bellowed to whomever he is arguing with at such times. The best debate-stopping line in the film occurs when dude replies, “no, you’re not wrong, you’re just an asshole”, which of course sums up that it’s all a matter of who you are and what you’re about, not what’s happening in any given moment, which also reflects the juxtaposition of their characters: one who over-reacts to everything; the other who under-reacts. Instead, the dude “abides”.
According to a friend with whom I watched the film for the first time (thus getting my Lebowski cherry popped), the “dude abides” means something like “I’m still here, I’m carrying on, and I’m okay with whatever life brings”. But there’s deeper philosophical meaning. What does it mean to abide? The word abide can mean to endure, remain, accept, or continue to exist. When the dude says, “the dude abides”, he’s expressing a particular attitude toward life: acceptance. Life unfolds as it does. There’s no need to fight everything that happens. Equanimity: even amid chaos, you can maintain a certain inner ease. Nonattachment: you don’t have to control every outcome or make everything go your way. Authenticity: you can simply be who you are without constantly trying to become someone else. Resilience: whatever happens, life goes on, and so do you. So, whatever happens, keep bowling. Throughout the film, dude is exhorting Walter to be like himself: to let things go, stop being a controlling asshole. Of course, that’s not going to work, and Walter will himself illustrate the principles by being unrepentantly the way he is despite dude’s insulting confrontation. Except at the end, and in the context of death, Donny’s death. Here, Walter shows a tender and contrite side of himself when messing up the spreading of Donny’s ashes over the Pacific, sending them flying into dude’s face. The dude abided and was forgiving, so they hug in grief over their lost friend and resolve to resume bowling. Such is life.
After the film, I shared with my friends with whom I watched the film that I resemble the dude the most in our friend group. This was at least a reference to my appearance, and especially my shoulder-length, auburn mane and not necessarily my attitude, demeanor, or philosophical outlook. Affectionately, the group responded by quickly dispelling any resemblance between myself and the dude, save for the physical similarity, which they also thought was minimal. They said that I am busy, obsessive, driven, uptight, energetic, edgy, neurotic, ambitious, if similarly intellectual, and argumentative, but not in the ironic way that dude is argumentative. Are we wrong? I felt them asking, especially one member of the group who is most reminiscent of Walter, and not just physically. No, you’re not wrong, I was tempted to say. You’re just assholes.
