True Grit

 

I originally saw the Coen Brothers' True Grit the week after Christmas ten years ago. I’d forgotten just how good it is. Everything about it is spot on - the cast, the direction, and the adaptation from the original novel. The last third of the movie really - and surprisingly - provoked such an emotional response in me tonight, from the scene where Rooster Cogburn faces down the Pepper Gang by himself, to Rooster riding Mattie Ross to safety on Little Blackie. That night ride is so beautifully shot, and when Rooster has to put the horse out of its misery, it brings tears to my eyes. Yes, I’m a big John Wayne fan, but the Coen Brothers/Jeff Bridges version is in a separate universe from the 1969 film. It’s one of my favorite movies.

Summer of the Monsters

One of my brother Ray’s greatest contributions to my life was introducing me to the magazine Famous Monsters Of Filmland before I was even old to read it by myself (Ray used to read it to me.)  “Famous Monsters,” as we affectionately nicknamed it, was all about the great Universal Studios monster movies of the 1930s and 40s - Dracula, the Wolfman, the Mummy, and of course, Frankenstein. The magazine contained photos and articles about cinematic classics - a least in my eyes - featuring those monsters, as portrayed by Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, and Lon Chaney, Jr.

We also actually got to watch those classic monster movies on Nightmare Theater every Friday night at 11:30 on Channel 4. My mom used to sit up and “watch” - actually doze - with me while Bela Lugosi snuck into a victim’s bedroom in the original 1931 version of Dracula. I had to smack Mom’s leg and wake her up when that happened, because it gave me the creeps:

Our favorite place to buy Famous Monsters Of Filmland was Palace Drug on Main Street in Heber. Palace Drug had an awesome selection of magazines, comic books, and paperback books. Here’s a photo of it from 1968:

The old Palace Drug - before it was remodeled and expanded in 1974 - was long and narrow, with the magazines in front, a marble soda fountain running along one side, and the pharmacy in the back. There was a large window by the magazine area, an awning to block the sun shining through that window during the summer, and black and white tile on the outside of the store. There was also a large orange Rexall sign above the awning.

By the summer of 1972 Ray had outgrown Famous Monsters, but because he had me hooked, I started buying the magazine myself. I mowed my parents‘ lawn to earn the enormous sum of seventy-five cents that each issue cost.

One warm August evening I convinced my mother to take me to Palace Drug because I just knew the latest issue of Famous Monsters had to be there. I ran into the store, turned to my left toward the magazine rack, and this is what I saw:

I happily bounded back outside. Mom took one look at me and knew why I was so happy. She handed me seventy-five cents and said, in mock exasperation, "I was afraid it would be there."

She was teasing me of course. I knew that, because I knew that Mom was an avid reader of Batman and Superman comics back in the early 1940s when she was a kid. I was just grateful I had a mom and an older brother who broadened my horizons.

Not many eight-year-old boys could brag about that.

A Different Country

I watched The Last Detail last night. The Last Detail is a movie made in 1973, and stars Jack Nicholson, Otis Young, and Randy Quaid. It tells the story of two career navy guys, Nicholson and Young, who are assigned to escort a young enlisted man, played by Quaid, to the brig. Quaid’s character made the mistake of attempting to rob forty dollars from a charity box. Quaid’s character is also incredibly young and naive, and Nicholson and Young are appalled at the unfairness of his sentence. Quaid received his harsh sentence because the charity he robbed was his commanding officer’s wife’s favorite. Nicholson and Young decide to show him a good time on their way to the brig, where Quaid is to serve eight years in the old Portsmouth Naval Prison.

And that’s basically the plot of the movie.

I hadn’t seen The Last Detail in a very long time, but I had it on my computer hard drive so I decided to watch it, which is why and how I end up watching most movies anymore. The Last Detail isn’t a classic, but it holds up well as a portrait of America in the early 1970s, mainly because it was filmed on location all along the northeastern seaboard, from Norfolk, Virginia to Portsmouth, New Hampshire. The people and places in the background of The Last Detail are real, not CGI. Also, The Last Detail stars Jack Nicholson, and everything Nicholson did between Easy Rider in 1969 and One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest in 1975, is worth a look.

The Last Detail isn’t a movie for everybody. The language is raw - it is about Navy guys, and the incessant use of the F-word caused quite a stir back in ’73 - and there is also some violence and sex depicted in the film.

What appeals most to me about The Last Detail is its realistic depiction of America circa 1973. 1973 America was almost a different country than America 2010. If you hadn’t lived during that era, it would be hard to explain to you how different Watergate-era America was from today, but being blessed (or cursed) with a good memory, I remember a lot about that time, and The Last Detail is very accurate:

• The cars in the movie are all pre-fuel crisis, American-made, steel constructed, behemoth gas guzzlers. They remind me of the cars my dad, grandpa, and uncles drove when I was growing up. I miss those big cars. They made the demolition derby at the Wasatch County Fair back then a lot more interesting than it is now. It’s hard to get excited about watching a 1987 Ford Taurus fall apart.

• The characters in The Last Detail are all throwbacks to a completely different time, from the redneck bartender who inspires one of Nicholson’s greatest lines (“Call the shore patrol? I am the m*th*rf*ck*ng shore patrol!”) when the bartender hesitates to serve a beer to Young (because he’s black) and Quaid (because he’s underage), to Nicholson’s old-school hedonistic character (booze and broads are his vice) Billy "Badass" Buddusky.

• I smell cigarette smoke when I watch The Last Detail. Seriously. The movie takes me back to an era when quite a few people smoked, even in small town, Mormon Utah. I remember being a nine-year-old sitting in a barbershop in Heber and every adult male there, except for my dad and the barber, was smoking. The movie also evokes memories of a snow sledding outing with my best friend and his older brother, who smoked and swore as he drove us up to Lindsay’s Hill in his old truck. It was sort of like going sledding with Billy Buddusky. That’s actually a pleasant memory, and one of the reasons that smoking doesn’t bother me as much as it seems to bother other people.

• Watching The Last Detail makes me cold. The movie takes place during winter, and it reminds me of all the old, drafty buildings we used to shop in (and live in) when I was a kid. It doesn’t seem like there were many new homes in Heber when I was growing up, certainly not like there are today. Most of the stores - except for the new Safeway, which replaced an old building that had burned down, and the brand new Day's Market that opened in '73 - were in old buildings, as were the library, movie theaters, and schools.

• Finally, although politics never come up in The Last Detail (Buddusky seems happily apolitical; he’s too busy chasing women and whiskey to worry about Watergate, and I can’t even imagine what his reaction to Don’t Ask Don’t Tell would be), it’s gotta be hard for politically aware people in their twenties and thirties today to imagine  how universally despised the President of the United States - Richard M. Nixon - was. Ol’ Tricky Dick Nixon - despite any good things he accomplished, like establishing the EPA or saving Israel during the 1973 Yom Kippur War - didn’t stand a chance because of the innate corruptness of his administration.

I could go on and on about the differences between 1973 and 2010, but I’ve made my point: things change, not always for the better, but not always for the worse either. Movies like The Last Detail don’t get made very often anymore. Only Clint Eastwood seems to make the same type of movie now. There isn’t anyone to really cheer for in The Last Detail. There aren’t special effects or big explosions. The underlying message is the unfairness of life and the dehumanizing effect people wielding too much unchecked power have.

The Last Detail is a realistic depiction of an era when mores and expectations were a lot different from what they are now. Whether that’s good or bad is up to you to decide.

Here's the original movie trailer for The Last Detail:

A River Runs Through It and the Meaning of Life

  

Me with a favorite book, September 1993

I’m working my way through Norman Maclean’s A River Runs Through It this summer for the hundredth time, and thinking about family.

I first read A River Runs Through It over seventeen years ago. I came to the book by way of the Robert Redford movie, which I saw with a good friend at a movie theater one snowy winter night in Heber the first year I taught school. I liked the movie so much I bought the book, and as good as the movie was, it couldn’t hold a candle to Maclean’s original story. Norman Maclean is a great writer; he’s one of my favorites. The man’s prose is like most authors’ poetry; A River Runs Through It is a very beautifully written book. Maclean uses fly fishing as a metaphor for - and counterpoint to - life. Maclean’s description early in the story of his brother Paul’s fly-fishing ability and technique is some of the best writing I've ever read, and you don’t have to be a fly fisherman to enjoy or appreciate it.

 

Running through Maclean’s book like the river in the title is family. A River Runs Through It is funny, but Maclean isn’t a comedian and doesn’t go for cheap laughs. Instead, the humor comes naturally from growing up home-schooled by his Presbyterian minister father, and with his argumentative younger brother. One of my favorite parts of the book describes the one and only fist fight Maclean ever had with his brother, and their mother’s unfortunate intervention in that fight:

 ... I did not see our mother walk between us to try to stop us. She was short and wore glasses and, even with them on, did not have good vision. She had never seen a fight before or had any notion of how bad you could get hurt by becoming mixed up in one. Evidently, she just walked between her sons. The first I saw of her was the grey top of her head, the hair tied in a big knot with a big comb in it; but what was most noticeable was that her head was so close to Paul I couldn’t get a good punch at him. Then I didn’t see her anymore.

 

The fight seemed suddenly to stop itself. She was lying on the floor between us. Then we both began to cry and fight in a rage, each one shouting “You son of a bitch, you knocked my mother down.” 

She got off the floor, and, blind without her glasses, staggered in circles between us, saying without recognizing which one she was addressing, “No, it wasn’t you. I just slipped and fell.”

 

So, this was the only time we ever fought.

When I first read that passage it reminded me of the relationship I had with my younger brother Phil, except we definitely fought more than once. When we were kids, we would pound on each other one moment and be best friends the next. Even as teenagers we still occasionally settled things with a punch up, and yet no one else could ever settle things that way with one of us if the other was around. A River Runs Through It gained unexpected poignancy for me a few years ago when Phil, like Macleans’ brother Paul, died an untimely death. Like Maclean, there wasn’t much I could do to prevent Phil’s death, and I’ve brooded about it ever since.

 

Despite that ending, A River Runs Through It is not a morbid book. Another aspect of the book that keeps me coming back is Maclean’s love of - and almost reverence for - the mountains in which he grew up. I can relate to that. Like Maclean, I spent several summers working for the US Forest Service when I was younger, and I miss being in the mountains every day.

 

Rereading A River Runs Through It also reminded me that one of the great things about my Forest Service years was the opportunity I had to retrace the path my grandparents - my mother’s parents - made (almost literally) through the mountains during the early and middle parts of the twentieth century. They were from the same generation as Norman Maclean, and ran a sawmill set in the Uinta Mountains, east of Heber. Maclean’s parents had a cabin in the mountains because they liked to fish; my grandparents had a cabin in the mountains because they had to earn a living. Thanks to some exploring I did as a Forest Service employee, and thanks to some great road trips with a favorite uncle, I learned my way around the areas in the mountains where my grandparents (and parents) lived and worked.

 

My cousin Jim recently e-mailed me a photo of one of the cabins my grandparents lived in while they cut down trees in the mountains. Here it is:

Not exactly the luxury mountain cabin common nowadays, is it? There wasn’t a jetted hot tub in it, anyway. The cabin doesn't exist anymore; it was only meant to be a temporary accommodation for my grandfather and his family while they worked. The Forest Service demolished it fifty years ago.

 

Finally, the lesson Norman Maclean teaches in A River Runs Through It is that our families define us. Who we are and what we do with our life is shaped by our family, for better or worse. Ultimately, we have our free will to choose our own path through life, but our family sets us on that path. As Maclean writes, near the end of the book:

Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand are dead, but still I reach out to them.

  

A River Runs Through It is a great book. Check it out if you haven’t already.