Being There (1979)

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Hal Ashby's 1979 masterpiece Being There stars comedy legend Peter Sellers in his finest hour. Chance (Sellers), a simple-minded and TV-addicted gardener, has been living and working on the property of a wealthy old man in Washington D.C. for as long as he can remember. When the old man passes away, Chance is thrust into the real world--a place he seems hardly suited to survive in. Within a few hours, though, a lucky accident introduces him to Eve Rand (Shirley MacLaine), wife of the wealthy and powerful industrialist Ben Rand (Melvyn Douglas). The Rands are quite charmed by Chance, and take each of the inane and dim-witted things he says as gems of Zen-like wisdom. Because he is white and well-dressed, they assume that he's a gentlemen of property, a professional. Oblivious to all of this, Chance soon finds himself a confidant to Mr. Rand, a TV celebrity, an adviser to the President of the United States, and a potential lover to Eve.

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Chance watches television, all the time, every day. This is not because he is a member of the younger generation; on the contrary, it’s the 60s, and he’s already old. No, Chance watches so much television because he is so empty inside. There is nothing to him, only surface. It’s as though, in watching TV, he can momentarily fill himself up with the flashing images and inane chatter. It's his only teacher.

It's fitting that, when Chance finally leaves the house of his employer, entering the world for seemingly the first time, a revised version of the 2001: A Space Odyssey theme starts playing. This is, indeed, an epic journey for the simple gardener, no less life-changing than Dave's journey to--well, whatever happens in 2001.


I think that one of the reasons the Rands accept Chance as one of their own--mistaking his name, "Chance the gardener" as "Chauncey Gardiner"--is that Chance himself would never think negatively of anyone else. His perspective effects others. But of course, that's not the main reason for the confusion. Louise, the African-American maid who used to work with Chance at the old man's residence, spells it out pretty clearly:

"It's for sure a white man's world in America. Look here: I raised that boy since he was the size of a piss-ant. And I'll say right now, he never learned to read and write. No, sir. Had no brains at all. Was stuffed with rice pudding between th' ears. Shortchanged by the Lord, and dumb as a jackass. Look at him now! Yes, sir, all you've gotta be is white in America, to get whatever you want. Gobbledy-gook!"


Visually, one thing I found striking about Being There was how much of the background was let in to each shot. It seems to me, in today's Hollywood, that films are shot almost entirely in close-up, and instead of close-ups we get extreme close-ups. Being There is filled with master shots, with scenes composed so that the true size and weight of the Rand's mansion is felt by the viewer. It helps to evoke the wealth of the Rands, and it helps to show how small each individual is when compared to his or her surroundings. On a more psychological level, it helps situate Being There in the real world. This isn't the comedic world that so many films inhabit nowadays, where the insane antics of the main characters are somehow normalized; this is the real world, and so the jokes resonate on a different, deeper level, even if they aren't the laugh-out-loud howlers you might expect in today's comedies.

As a comedy, Being There is, essentially, a one-joke movie. Chance is an imbecile, but everything he says is accepted as wisdom. The laughs come from seeing how each of his simple-minded observations are taken as stunning and honest insights, how people bend over backwards to accept Chance as brilliant and profound. It should be repetitive and dull. But it isn’t. It speaks something to the brilliance Sellers and the craft of the screenplay that Being There never overstays its welcome, and even on repeated viewings it always seems fresh.


Chance sees the world with a fresh perspective, with new eyes. People see him the same way, unable to accurately place him. He accepts people at face value, and expects the best of them, unable to think otherwise, and his outlook seems to have a reciprocal effect. After becoming immersed in the film, something miraculous happens: the viewer begins to see things the way Chance sees things--simplistically, honestly, without judgment. You are not just watching the film, but seeing it (and the people in it) a new way. You see Benjamin Rand and the President of the United States as people, as humans, rather than as the roles they fill. That they are wealthy, powerful white men--ruthless capitalists, part of the machine--becomes secondary, and their existence as people, just people, comes to the forefront.

We’re supposed to laugh, at the idiocy of Chance, at how people accept his words without question, with a critical response. But the last time I watched Being There, I couldn’t help but think: what if he isn’t stupid? What if he is professing wisdom, and giving it out honestly, and freely, without a thought of himself? What if Chance is some modern-day Buddha, providing enlightenment to those who will listen? The evidence is there, after all.


The recently released and hilariously-titled “Deluxe Edition” of this fine film is a bare-bones affair with the following special features: Memories from Being There with Ileana Douglas. That’s right, the granddaughter of Melvyn Douglas vaguely recalls some stuff about the filming of the movie, which took place when she was 14. Great. But it doesn’t matter, because Being There is one of the best films of the 70s, or any decade, and you should own it.



The Devils (1971)

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When Cardinal Richelieu’s plans to control the country are thwarted by the willful Father Urbain Grandier (Oliver Reed), the head priest of the fortified town of Loudun, the esteemed religious leader of France decides that the best course of action is to remove Grandier by any means necessary. Grandier is an unwitting ally in his own downfall--his womanizing ways (doubly inappropriate for a priest) have left him with few allies, and there are many who would wish to see him wrestled from power. Still, it is Sister Jeanne (Vanessa Redgrave) who holds the key to Grandier’s ultimate destruction; the deformed nun has become sexually obsessed with the priest, and when she discovers that he’s been secretly wed, she accuses Grandier of witchcraft and demonic possession.

Using the charges of witchcraft as a pretense, Baron de Laubardemont, Father Mignon, and Father Pierre Barre (a professional witch hunter) coerce the rest of Jeanne’s convent into playing the part of possessed nuns, and blaming Grandier for the condition. The antics of the “possessed” nuns are so over-the-top and extreme that they attract large audiences (and are so sacrilegious that the film has often been censored, and remains unreleased on DVD, in North America, to this day). When Father Grandier returns to Loudun from having met with the King, he discovers that his town is in an uproar, and that he’s at the centre of it.

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Ken Russell’s The Devils, based on a book by Aldous Huxley, is a hell of a show. Those who seek out the film based solely on the controversy surrounding it won’t be disappointed: there is nudity, the sexual assault of a statute of the crucified Christ, simulated masturbation (with a large candl)e, forced enemas, immolation--most of which involves nuns. However, those drawn to the film for its apparent sleaziness may be shocked to discover an incredibly well-made film, with some fine performances by Reed and Redgrave, and brilliant production design by Derek Jarman.


In fact, those who are not so sensitive to religious taboos might find the film to be a bit of a disappointment in the filth department. The actions of the “possessed” nuns might be over-the-top, but they’re never really uncalled for or excessive, considering that you know they are being forced to play the part. You might actually think of their actions in largely symbolic terms--the literal rape of Christ brings attention to the fact that the Church has been metaphorically doing just that, as far as the film is concerned.

Russell’s zany take on the historical event actually brings to mind the work of Terry Gilliam, or the Monty Python period pieces. Some care has been taken to make the clothing, the accouterments, the material things of the film seem authentic to the period, but everything is also slightly off, over-stylized or in some way made strange, so that our perception of the action seems somewhat fevered.


The Devils is a horror film, if only to the extent that the true horror of the film is not the “demonic possession,” which is completely fictitious, but the horror of a lone rational man, Grandier. Confronted with all the irrationality of religion, the passions of the mob, and the hunger for power of the highest levels of society, Grandier knows that he is doomed. He cannot compete against the overwhelming insanity and irrationality of all the forces leveled against him. What makes the film all the more successful is the fact that Grandier is not held up as some sort of ideal man, and thus made into a martyr; rather, Grandier is a mortal man with some serious character flaws. If he was entirely innocent, the film would lack any real punch. That Grandier contributes to his own downfall makes his ending all the more tragic.

Ken Russell’s The Devils really does deserve its own DVD, with a good transfer (unlike the bootleg I had to watch) and some extra features explaining the difficulty the movie experienced after its release. More people need to see this film--not just because of its controversial status, but because it’s a damn good film.