There is a scene in Alexander Payne’s Nebraska in which about a dozen aging men are arrayed before a
television set, slouched in their chairs and sofas, beers in hand, staring
blankly at a football game while the women prepare the Sunday dinner in the
kitchen. The drone of the play by play
is punctuated with a low-key conversation between two old brothers about a 70’s-vintage
Buick one of them used to own.
Ray: “They don’t make ‘em like that
anymore. Those cars’ll run forever. Whatever happened to it?”
Verne: “Stopped runnin’.”
The scene encapsulate’s Payne’s comment on the dying culture
of the Great Plains and, perhaps, the nation of which the title state is the Heartland. The main character, with the All-American
name of Woodrow Grant (Bruce Dern), is an aging alcoholic former Nebraskan who
must journey back through his old hometown (with another All-American name,
Hawthorne) on his way to claim what he mistakenly believes is a million dollar
prize in a publisher’s clearinghouse sweepstakes.
He is accompanied on this fantasy quest by his son David
(Will Forte) playing Sancho Panza to Woody’s Don Quixote, a reluctant travel companion
who knows full well that Woody’s stubborn quest will end in disappointment.
This is familiar territory for Payne, as Nebraska is his fourth film set in his
native state. Payne has an affection for
the taciturn culture of the Great Plains that is tempered by a sad
realism. Those unfamiliar with the ways
of the Heartland may mistake Payne’s affection as mockery, but he loves the
state and its people much as Woody’s harping wife (June Squibb) loves Woody –
deeply, warts and all. The characters in
Nebraska, like the real-life towns
they inhabit, are run-down, weather-beaten, and falling apart, but are living
memories of a way of life that has endured more than its share of noble
suffering, rather than side-show relics to be mocked by modern sophisticates. Nebraska is a place where every person,
every place has a past that is cumulatively present, so that 70-somethings can
still speak of their teenage yearnings and traumas as if they happened
yesterday.
Payne is a master at capturing the subtleties of character and
emotion, and Bruce Dern gives a career performance with a submerged humanness
that is encrusted by many layers of repression and guilt. What distinguishes Nebraska among an impressive Payne portfolio that includes Election, About Schmidt, Sideways, and The Descendants is the visual style of
the film. Cinematographer Phedon
Papamichael has captured the stark beauty of the Great Plains in a rich toned
black-and-white that conveys both the nostalgia and the emotional character of
its subject.
In its depiction of the great American middle, Nebraska is less mocking than Fargo, less bleak than The Last Picture Show. Its closest cinematic relative is David Lynch’s
The Straight Story, with a touch of Melvin and Howard. Like Richard Farnsworth’s Alvin Straight,
Dern’s Woody Grant has a determination born of desperation to bring closure to
a life – and a way of life – that is slipping away. Like Paul LeMat’s Melvin Dummar, he is a lost
soul in search of redemption chasing the American dream of instant wealth.
Nebraska is a classic
that will merit Oscar consideration for best picture, director, screenplay,
cinematography, and acting (for Dern and Squibb in particular). 4.0 stars out of 4.0.
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