Cult Movie #9 - Dude, Where's My Rug?

Picture it: Los Angeles. 1998. 

An unemployed stoner dude who has rechristened himself "The Dude", takes a late-night stroll to the local supermarket to pick up a carton of milk. After writing a check to cover the 67 cents he owes for the milk, The Dude returns to his downscale abode, only to be immediately tackled in the doorway and dragged off to the bathroom where he subsequently finds himself kissing the bottom of the toilet bowl. Somewhat dazed by recent events, The Dude fails to comprehend the gravity of the situation until one of his two assailants demands to know where the fucking money is. "You're Lebowski, right?" one of the thugs shouts, shoving The Dude's head back underwater before he can answer. 

In fact, The Dude is--or was--Lebowski, Jeff Lebowski, and once he is allowed to breathe again, he informs his inquisitors that he is no longer that person, the Lebowski who, for some reason, has commanded their unsavory attention. No, he is now known only as The Dude, although he is always amenable to His Dudeness, El Duderino and The Duder. These guys aren't buying it. They've shown up to collect on a debt owed by Lebowski's wife to pornographer and all-around bad guy Jackie Treehorn, and oh by the way, it's in the million-dollar-range and they want it all RIGHT NOW! They know Lebowki's fat with cash and can easily cover the expenses incurred by his beloved! So show me the MONEY! howls one of the thugs.

There's just one problem: The Dude has never been married and is, quite obviously, not rolling in the green. That would be another Jeffrey Lebowski, some other dude (little d) in the city who is married, flush and apparently in BIG trouble with some very bad people. This dude (little d) is, in fact, The Big Lebowski. 

"Look at me," the half-drowned Dude protests. "Look at where I'm living! Do I look like a millionaire to you?" 

It takes a few seconds before the goons have their aha moment and by the time it happens, one of them has cracked the bathroom tile with The Dude's bowling ball and the other has taken a healthy, satisfying piss on his beloved oriental rug. Realizing that they've gotten hold of the wrong Lebowski, the dunderheaded duo skulk out the door to the sound of The Dude cursing them for ruining his carpet.

Determined that someone make amends for this outrage, The Dude pays a visit to the estate of the Big Lebowski to see what the old man can do to rectify the rug situation. Which, to make a long story short, is how The Dude winds up becoming an unwilling private dick and bagman in the employ of his namesake. And just like that he's involved in extortion, a kidnapping scheme, embezzlement, several assaults and a couple of conspiracies. 

Joining The Dude on his nocturnal mission(s) is his easily triggered, violently overwrought best friend and bowling partner, Walter. A Vietnam vet and strict observer of Shabbat, Walter also happens to be packing heat in his bowling bag, just to make sure he gets his point--whatever that may be--across. Sweet-natured bowling buddy, Donny, sometimes tags along with the boys but if you know anything at all about noir, sweet-natured almost never sees you through to the end credits. 

The Dude careens from one trainwreck to another until he finds himself in the middle of a massive clusterfuck that is further complicated by Walter's decision to make off with the million dollars intended for, ummm--someone else, not them. 

So many of the antagonists have their own hustles going on that it's hard to keep track of who wants what, and who is working for whom. It's a bit like a shlumpified The Big Sleep (an obvious influence on the film) only without the professional dick-ism of Bogart's Philip Marlowe: that movie (and book) was also high on style, dialogue, mood and action though famously lacking a coherent plot. 

Decked out in ratty thrift store cardigans, mind-altering pajama bottoms, plaid shorts and a mellow vibe, Jeff Bridges, one of my very favorite actors, is perfection as The Dude. With The Dude eternally perplexed by all the things happening to him, Bridges' facial expressions, lumbering physicality and line deliveries are right on target: he is so effortlessly cool, funny and comfortable in his own skin that you come away believing he might really be The Dude. John Goodman's Walter is larger-than-life, a force of nature who is both hilarious and scary: he's someone you might want to have as a friend but not necessarily someone you want to hang out with. Steve Buscemi (Donnie), John Turtutto (an uproariously competitive bowler named Jesus), David Huddleston (the titular character), Philip Seymour Hoffman (his flitty underling), Flea (from Red Hot Chili Peppers), Ben Gazzara (Jackie Treehorn), songstress Aimee Mann and a young Tara Reid round out the supporting cast, while Julianne Moore is a wonderfully eccentric Maude Lebowski, the Big L's artist-daughter and the film's femme fatale with her own secret agenda. And last but far from least, a grandly uber-chill Sam Elliott functions as our omniscient narrator, an Old West archetype who functions as a sort of Zen-master/sage to The Dude. Elliott, listed in the credits as The Stranger, opens the movie by referring to L.A. as "Los Angleez"--just like my cowboy grandfather used to pronounce it--so I was immediately hooked.

I've been a major fan of the Coen Brothers ever since their debut film, Blood Simple, appeared in 1984. In addition to that darkly funny masterpiece, their extensive portfolio includes classics like Raising Arizona, Miller's Crossing, Fargo, O Brother Where Art Thou?, No Country for Old Men, and 2010's True Grit (for which a returning Jeff Bridges was nominated for an Oscar). Incredibly, The Big Lebowski bombed at the box office upon its release in 1998. It was a different time then, I guess. Titanic was the big hit of the year and audiences apparently weren't clamoring for the absurdist surrealism of a comic crime story featuring a stoned, middle-aged lay-about as the central character. To be honest, I hadn't seen the movie until just last week. I've long known that the movie amassed multitudes of fans after it came out on VHS and DVD but, for whatever reason, I thought it was a movie aimed at the straight bros and, therefore, just couldn't be bothered. Boy, was I wrong. I laughed out loud more times than I can remember and felt weirdly elated when the movie ended. As for The Dude, after all the Sturm und Drang, he finally winds up living happily ever after with his White Russians and a new rug. What a trip!