The Dude Testament

5. There’s a little you should ask.

Let’s not beat around the Bush. The film starts with Bush the Elder declaring war on Iraq. Now, in spite of all the philosophical and ideological pronouncements, if there’s one thing Desert Storm was really all about, it was the “fucking money.” Yet there’s nothing strange about this. Money is one of the principal pillars of civilization. Are you surprised at our tiers? Gotta feed the monolith.[7]

In The Big Lebowski, characters may espouse the value of work, heroism, freedom, story, production value, feelings, and so on, but what they’re all really after is more money and power. “Where’s the money, Lebowski?” is the refrain underlying the entire wild 118-minute ride, even as it’s camouflaged by all varieties of competing philosophies, lifestyles, and ethical proclamations. Well, all except for those of the Dude, of course. All he expressly wants is to get his rug back (the thugs pissed on it before they left). However, even this modest fragment of material want ends up affording him all sorts of woe.[8]

The Dude thus provides an example of exalted ordinariness and humility, which we might all aspire to if we ever want to enjoy this a-here story you’re about to unfold. Looked at through the long (and wide!) lens of history, everyone is astonishingly ordinary. The words of proto-Dude Oscar Wilde seem especially apt in a bowling alley decorated extensively with “googie” motifs: We are all of us in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.[9]

As if to set the stage for this Dudeist ideal, the opening credit sequence may be one of the most beautiful ballets of ordinariness ever filmed. A standing army of extras bowl in slow motion, showcasing a wide variety of everyday folks having a grand old time. It’s easy to forget, with all the beauty and makeup and stylishness inherent in cinematic production, that we are in fact these roly-poly rollers, not dramatic heroes or villains. And thank Dude for that. That sounds exhausting.