The Dude Testament

36. Get out of this thing cheap.

According to the original listed runtime of the film (98 minutes), the movie should be over now. But there are still 20 minutes to go! Now that’s fucking interesting, man. Is there an unspoken message here? Perhaps it’s to underscore the fact that the conventional part of the story should be seen as separate from what it’s really all about.

Back among the flock of holy bowlers, Walter is holding forth as usual, blathering about how the Gulf War is all about oil, comparing it unfavorably to the Vietnam War—“now that’s fucking combat.” On the heels of this statement, he and the Dude and Donny face real-life combat out in the parking lot. The nihilists still want the money, and they’re prepared to “fucks you up” to get it. Though they will settle for pocket change, Walter adheres stubbornly to his 3,000-year-old Code of Hammurabi tradition of “desert warfare” rather than adopting a more flexible attitude. The Dude insists, “C’mon man, we’re getting out of this thing cheap!” but they go to battle anyway. Walter vanquishes his enemy, but Donny dies in the melee—from a heart attack. In a war between fanaticism and nihilism, the naive pawns among us will find themselves batted around like bowling pins.

Delivering a eulogy on the bluffs south of Los Angeles overlooking the ocean, Walter tries to wrap up the life of his friend Donny, but just as the Coens do with the story itself, he too will fail. There is nothing in the film to indicate that weedy, pale Donny is a surfer, and his best friends don’t know how he wanted to be disposed of.[27] Walter dumps the cremains from a cheap coffee can and the ash blows back in their faces.

This is what our lives amount to in the end: a silly comedy of errors in which we aren’t even truly known or understood by our closest compeers. Sadly, real life does not wrap up as neatly as a typical Hollywood movie. Yet from the Dudeist point of view, this is no great tragedy.

Ultimately we all get out of this thing cheap. Regardless of all that we might acquire or achieve in life, we are all pisspoor in death, and recognizing that might allow us to recognize the priceless value of life. Our lives are our only true asset, and aspiring toward greatness, or power, or glory, or gold utterly misses the point of what we’re supposed to do with our seed capital. Living is the end in itself. It is the greatest art imaginable, and everything that helps us appreciate it is an investment in our modest temporary checking account and the club of value.