And, indeed, I will ask on my own account here, an idle question: which is better—cheap happiness or exalted sufferings? Well, which is better?---Fyodor Dostoevsky ---Notes from Underground Fyodor Dostoevsky ---Notes from Underground Even now, so many years later, all this is somehow a very evil memory. I have many evil memories now, but ... hadn’t I better end my “Notes” here? I believe I made a mistake in beginning to write them, anyway I have felt ashamed all the time I’ve been writing this story; so it’s hardly literature so much as a corrective punishment. Why, to tell long stories, showing how I have spoiled my life through morally rotting in my corner, through lack of fitting environment, through divorce from real life, and rankling spite in my underground world, would certainly not be interesting; a novel needs a hero, and all the traits for an anti-hero are expressly gathered together here, and what matters most, it all produces an unpleasant impression, for we are...
Hope
To be human is to be a miracle of evolution conscious of its own miraculousness — a consciousness beautiful and bittersweet, for we have paid for it with a parallel awareness not only of our fundamental improbability but of our staggering fragility, of how physiologically precarious our survival is and how psychologically vulnerable our sanity. To make that awareness bearable, we have evolved a singular faculty that might just be the crowning miracle of our consciousness: hope.--
Erich Fromm
"Nebraska" is full of complicated people marked by flaws and failures, mistakes and regrets; they can be selfish bastards, too. It often feels as though Payne is trying to strip away the cliché that the region is populated exclusively by hardworking, decent hearted types, But for all the cragginess Woody exudes with his etched face and mess of white hair, he has also inspired a great deal of love in this director. The film's starkly beautiful final images have a poignancy that might leave a lump in your throat.
The movie focuses on the pathetic, quixotic quest of Woody Grant, a senile and alcohol-addled Korean War veteran. Woody is not only foolish enough to believe he's won a million dollars from one of those sweepstakes letters that the rest of us customarily toss in the trash, he's also insistent on collecting his winnings personally.
We first meet Woody trudging bow-leggedly up the highway, wandering through traffic, apparently intent on walking the 750 miles to collect his winnings. Returned home by the police, Woody sets straight out again on his pilgrimage, despite his family's insistence that there is no pot of gold waiting for him at the end of this scam mail-marketing rainbow. Eventually his harassed son David (Will Forte) decides it's safer to just drive the old fool to Lincoln, and so they hit the road, stopping en route in Woody's old home town of Hawthorne, where a careless word about their mission makes him the subject of local gossip, celebrity and (inevitably) greed.
David seems like one of the good guys. A single and struggling electronics salesman, he trudges along in work and in life. He and his father aren't terribly close because Woody isn't terribly close to anyone; family is the expected phenomenon that just sort of formed around him at some point. But when Woody keeps pressing to pick up his prize money, David sees an opportunity to spend some time together, and maybe even enjoy some long-overdue father-son bonding. So they hop in David's car, to the frustration and disgust of Woody's loyal and long-suffering wife, Kate, played by scene-stealer June Squibb. Don't let this woman's diminutive size and frumpy wardrobe fool you: she is a formidable force, a foulmouthed voice of reason.
This is a rare film that Payne directed but didn't help write—the script comes from Bob Nelson—but it nevertheless allows the filmmaker to return to his home state, which was also the setting for the high school satire "Election" and the road movie "About Schmidt." The sense of place is unshakable. "Nebraska" is shot in bleak black-and-white by Payne's frequent cinematographer Phedon Papamichael ("Sideways," "The Descendants"). It's a choice that highlights the story's prevailing sense of melancholy and decay rather than trying to impose a cloying nostalgia.
"Processed in grainy black and white (the crisp digital image has been degraded to approximate arcane monochrome celluloid) and owing a tonal debt to David Lynch's sentimental road movie The Straight Story, Nebraska tunes its bittersweet "personal journey" riffs to the plaintive waltz of picked guitars and lyrical fiddles, played out against a backdrop of fading midwest towns and long, lonesome interstates."
He is a master of "cringe comedy" that hurts as much as it amuses. He captures the awkwardness of real life, where sad moments are often interrupted by the mundane or the ridiculous.
Script: This was the first film directed by Alexander Payne that he did not write himself. Bob Nelson, a former sketch comedian, wrote the script based on his own experiences with his father.
Casting: Bruce Dern was cast against type; known for playing "nutjobs" and villains, here he plays a man defined by fragility and melancholia. Will Forte, primarily known for Saturday Night Live, surprised critics with his grounded, dramatic performance.
The Decline of the American Heartland
The fictional town of Hawthorne serves as a microcosm of rural decay. The film captures the "brain drain" of the Midwest, where the young have left for cities (like David and Ross), leaving behind a landscape of empty storefronts and elderly residents who communicate in brief, stoic sentences.
About Schmidt (2002)
Warren Schmidt is a man without resources. He has no intellectual curiosity. May never have read a book for pleasure. Lives in a home “decorated” with sets of collector’s items accumulated by his wife, each in the display case that came with the items. On his retirement day, he is left with nothing but time on his empty hands. He has spent his entire life working at a job that could have been done by anybody, or, apparently, nobody. He goes to the office to see if he can answer any questions that the new guy might have, but the new guy doesn’t. In a lifetime of work, Warren Schmidt has not accumulated even one piece of information that is needed by his replacement.
“The mass of men,” Thoreau famously observed, “lead lives of quiet desperation.” Schmidt is such a man. Jack Nicholson is not such a man, and is famous for the zest he brings to living. It is an act of self-effacement that Nicholson is able to inhabit Schmidt and give him life and sadness. It is not true to say that Nicholson disappears into the character, because he is always in plain view, the most watchable of actors. His approach is to renounce all of his mannerisms, even the readiness with which he holds himself onscreen, and withdraw into the desperation of Schmidt. Usually we watch Nicholson because of his wicked energy and style; here we are fascinated by their absence.
“About Schmidt,” directed by Alexander Payne, written by Payne and Jim Taylor, is not about a man who goes on a journey to find himself, because there is no one to find. When Schmidt gets into his 35-foot Winnebago Adventurer, which he and his wife Helen thought to use in his retirement, it is not an act of curiosity but of desperation: He has no place else to turn.
Here is the single devastating performance that seems to give us all of what makes Nicholson such a radioactive screen presence: the truculence, the sexiness, the insolence, the irrepressible wit and craziness, the unexpected sensitivity, the sadness, the anger and the desolate self-reproach. He is Bobby Dupea, a failed classical pianist who, in his resentment and rage at his own aborted career, abandons his vocation and refined upper-middle-class family to become an oil-rigger out west, trapped in a toxic relationship and hanging out with people who have no idea of what he used to be. His snarky, needling manner comes out in that memorable scene where he mocks a waitress for the apparent difficulties in meeting his demand for toast. Finally, Bobby must come home (with his girlfriend) when his father has a stroke. His angry, painful encounter with his home and his past is unforgettable.
2. About Schmidt (2002)
This poignant Alexander Payne tragicomedy is Nicholson’s late-career masterpiece; he described it as the most free from egotism he has ever performed. He is Warren Schmidt: an angry, disappointed, depressed old widower who had always secretly resented being chivvied by his late wife, who had made him sit down on the lavatory to urinate; the sight of Nicholson actually doing this on screen is awe-inspiring. Schmidt finds himself on a mean-spirited mission to sabotage his grownup daughter’s wedding to a man he doesn’t like, but he is also making regular charity donations to a disadvantaged six-year-old in Tanzania. Having been encouraged to enclose a personal letter with each payment, Schmidt finds that this has become a journal of self-expression and self-inspection. For the first time, he is thinking about what his life means.
3. Chinatown (1974)
Nicholson’s performance as the Los Angeles private detective Jake Gittes in this remarkable 30s neo-noir from Roman Polanski was worthy of Bogart – although hyperactive in a way Bogart wasn’t. He gave us another famous image: the slashed and bandaged nose, showing you what happens to people who stick their noses into dangerous business. This louche and seedy gumshoe, in his white suit, falls in love with the mysterious shady lady Evelyn Mulwray (Faye Dunaway), whose troubled psychology is at the centre of the film’s plot as Nicholson’s detective investigates a corrupt conspiracy in California’s Department of Water and Power. Yet there is something poignant, even tragic, in this tough guy’s inability to grasp the swirl of sexual dysfunction that lies beneath everything: the insoluble Chinatown of the title.
4. The King of Marvin Gardens (1972)
Bob Rafelson’s underrated masterpiece and jewel of the American New Wave features a wonderfully subtle and introspective performance from Nicholson – the kind that he was later increasingly unwilling or unable to attempt. He is David, a gloomy and self-important radio talkshow host in Philadelphia, given to long, literary, self-indulgent monologues about his life and opinions. Bruce Dern is his rackety and disreputable brother, Jason, who is dating a former beauty queen played by the excellent Ellen Burstyn, who needs David to come to Atlantic City and bail him out of jail. The odd-couple energy between Nicholson and Dern is palpable and their dialogue is a joy.
5. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975)
The producer, Michael Douglas, had the difficult task of telling his dad, Kirk, who had created the role on stage, that it would be going to Nicholson for the movie. Nicholson made the role iconic and it made him a megastar – a cousin to his character from The Last Detail. He is the rock’n’roll wildman McMurphy, sent down for statutory rape, whose troubled personality gets him a transfer to a mental institution. He leads a revolt against the clinical regime and faces off with a worthy opponent: the terrifying Nurse Ratched, played by Louise Fletcher.
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