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In 1991, Richard Linklater released his inexpensive, sprawling look at Gen X slackerdom, aptly named "Slacker." Written and
directed by Linklater himself, this film was one of the first of the indie revolution of the early 90's and is the definitive
film of the generation it studies (only non-Gen Xers grant "Reality Bites" this title).
In 1996, the Jon Favreau penned "Swingers" (dir. Doug Lyman) became this generation's next big landmark. A film about actor-wannabes
in mid-nineties Los Angeles, "Swingers" looked at the emptiness surrounding self-possessed dating and partying. As "Slacker"
studied us in our "college years" (regardless of whether we actually attended), "Swingers" studied our "professional years"
(regardless of whether we actually worked).
These two films have many commonalities, not the least of which is a biting look at the postmodern ironic distance Generation
X embodies. In these films, popular culture omniscience replaces conversations about real issues and real feelings. And
the filmmakers both coddled and criticized their protagonists for the disconnectedness inherent to this kind of life.
The indie film craze of the 90's gave ideas to large, studio movies, which commodified rather than criticized ironic distance.
But like Alanis Morrisette, many of these corporate films had not looked up the meaning of irony in the dictionary, and they,
instead, redefined the term "funny" as "cruel," which is something that Linklater and Favreau had managed to avoid. This
can especially be seen in the ouvre of Adam Sandler and films like "The Grinch," a movie that makes nostalgia a commodity
rather than a yearning for the meaning behind the thing that is nostalgic.
Now it's 2003, and an amazing thing has happened. Linklater and Favreau, who always loved their characters as much as they
chided them, have made the two most honest, saccharine-free, warm-hearted films in years (although neither as writers). And
they are not independent films.
Linklater's "School of Rock," starring the ever-caffienated Jack Black as Dewey Finn, is the tale of a perma-slacker in his
30's who has large rock and roll dreams. When he becomes the substitute teacher for a class of private school tweens, he
uses them to create a band he can mold the way he wants. Hilarity insues. Lessons are learned. What is most notable about
this film, co-starring writer Mike White, Sarah Silverman and Joan Cusack, is that it isn't selling anything. There
are no poppy boy-band tie-ins. The glam outfits warn by the band did not become this season's hottest Halloween costumes.
The music that most interests Dewey is 70's rock--music from a time when "it was all about the music." The kids, too, are
drawn to non-commodity tunes, choosing classic rock, soul, and punk over the typical MTV fare.
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| The Dewey Decibel System |
Favreau's "Elf," a Christmas film starring Will Ferrell as Buddy, a human raised by elves on the north pole, is another feel-good
film that, perhaps even more surprisingly, avoids selling anything but ideas. Buddy leaves home for New York in search of
his biological father, Walter Hobbs (James Caan), a man on Santa's "naughty list" who gives more time to his money than his
family. Hilarity insues. Lessons are learned. Christmas films are made for tie-ins, but the most oft seen toy in "Elf"
is an old favorite: The Etch-a-Sketch. Buddy's creativity and desire to please everyone he loves--his step-mother (Mary Steenbergen),
little brother, and love interest (Zooey Deschanel with pipes that will blow you away)--in the self-involved, pre-boxed big
city are very pure. He is an outsider not because he wears yellow tights and a green elf outfit, but because his joy is like
a child's--without apology. I laughed until my gut hurt during this movie, but not at Buddy. This is the film's best ace,
and it sets it apart from films that think humor is best served with a dose of vitriol.
Both films, in fact, are cruelty-free. There is no attempt to "appeal to an adult audience" through jokes based on adult
disenchantment. These films have a broad appeal because they are funny, and they are honest. Where the typical Hollywood
"family" film soaks itself in saccharine, hitting fewer emotional beats even than comedic ones, these films dazzle with balls-out
true feeling.
What is not lost, however, from the filmmakers' early days is their pop-culture savvy. Both films are chock-full of nostalgia.
Not the kind of nostalgia found emptily in lesser films (back to "The Grinch")--nostalgia based on the thing rather than
the feeling--but real nostalgia. The kind that makes us yearn not for toys and dolls and records and guitars, but for a time
when we were awed with the ability to cream a bully with snowballs, or the raw energy of music made up of bed-jumping and
air guitars rather than bling bling and clothes too small to fit a Cabbage Patch kid. A scene in "School of Rock" reveals
Linklater's anal-retentively accurate "History of Rock" chalkboard, reminding the audience that they are not in hired-hands:
Linklater's passion for music is the real deal. "Elf's" North Pole is a beautiful re-creation of those brilliant Rankin and
Bass Christmas specials we all grew up with not only in look but in feeling. It is a recreation of the hippie-dippy world
of those programs in the way that everyone is full of goodwill and love. Each director is flawless in his execution of reminding
viewers of truer, kinder possibilities for themselves.
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| Cottonball, Protein-Enriched |
What is perhaps the greatest feat, however, of both films is their subversiveness. There is an unflattering trend in Hollywood
to make movies out of fear of the studio rather than love of the medium. Though these directors have (for now) left the independent
sphere, they have not abandoned the independent spirit. They aren't pandering to anyone, least of all their audience. There
are ideals and morals to be found here, but not in an Oliver Stone I'm-gonna-beat-you-till-your-head-pops-off sort of way.
Neither main character changes or gets a make-over. They aren't forced to assimilate into accepted society to reap their
high rewards; rather, they are allowed to stay in the fringe where they belong, and they are able to introduce other characters
to the joys of being different.
Throw these two directors in the pot with the previously-indie Peter Jackson of "Lord of the Rings" fame, and
maybe what we have on our hands is a new wave of Hollywood filmmaking. Maybe as more and more unafraid directors make their
mark in big studio films, the industry will begin to trust that it's creativity and love, not repetitiveness and fear that
make the greatest movies.
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