“He Believes What People Tell Him”

If not weeping for Woody, then we weep for ourselves for what we’ve become.

It’s we who linger in the abyss and who deserve the pity.

MOVIE REVIEW:  “NEBRASKA”

Nebraska, the movie, is like a fine wine.

It’s subtle.  It’s dry, rather than sweet.  Appreciating its complexities takes both time and emotional investment.  And, it’s certainly not to everyone’s taste.

Nebraska is directed by Alexander Payne, who’s developed his own signature approach to filmmaking.  If you enjoyed his previous work including The Descendants, Sideways, About Schmidt, or Election, you’re likely to come away thinking about Nebraska long after leaving the theater.

Payne’s cinematic signature is allowing time for the story, and our attachment to the characters, to develop.  It’s an aging process.  Nothing is forced. Everything is genuine.   The laughs and some tears come naturally.

That said, Nebraska moves more slowly than his other films.  It’s also shot in black and white.  While probably not the wisest decision when it comes to box-office appeal, purely on artistic merit, these distinctions serve the film well.

For one thing, black and white de-glamorizes the Midwest and all the people in it.  These are not colorful places, nor people.  They are shades of gray.  This doesn’t apply merely to appearance, but personality, as well.  In fact, they’re boring people.  You wouldn’t want to spend more than five minutes in their company, because that’s when everyone runs out of things to say.

So, why would a black and white film about a bunch of dull people be interesting?  Perhaps for the same very reason, you’re still reading this review.  We seek the point of it all.

Nebraska tells the story of a boozing father named “Woody,” who’s teetering on the verge of Alzheimer’s.  He makes a journey with his son.  The odd pair — with little in common other than a bloodline — drive from their homes in Billings, Montana to Lincoln, Nebraska.  Their mission — to collect a million dollars.

Woody, played wonderfully by 1970’s bad guy Bruce Dern, receives one of those worthless computer-generated letters from a boiler room marketer of magazines.  While most of us throw those kinds of things away, Dern believes every word the letter says.  So, he’s determined to drive 1,000 miles to collect his prize money.

The son, played with just as much conviction by the understated Will Forte, knows the letter is a complete scam.  The journey is a waste of time.  But he also recognizes that his father has nothing left to live for, and in a very sad way, needs this chance to believe — to believe in something.

Along the way, father and son stop in a small town in order to see several relatives and old friends, reminiscent of the family gathered around the dinner table in Deliverance.  Once these opportunists (mistakenly) believe that Woody is about to be a millionaire, well, you can imagine how their tune suddenly changes.

This is a movie filled with laughs, which are more like smiles and giggles.  The actions, the reactions, the expressions, the jaw-dropping inappropriate things we’ve all heard our own family and friends say — this is what compels us to watch.

Character actress June Squibb also gives an Oscar-worthy performance as the cantankerous mother, no doubt driving Woody to the drink.  Squibb previously starred in one of Payne’s earlier films, playing Jack Nicholson’s wife in the vastly underrated About Schmidt.

Alert:  Minor spoiler coming.

Towards the film’s end, father and son reach their destination, at a small strip mall in Nebraska.  In the middle of the day, they confront a bored office worker, who’s shocked that anyone would drive 1,000 miles to come and collect some phony prize money.

“He believes what people tell him,” the son says about his father. when forced to explain why they would embark on such a pointless journey.

The office worker nods sadly.

There’s a deep poignancy to this line, which — intended or not — moved me as the film’s lingering message.

We’ve spent this entire movie laughing at Woody for his utter foolishness.  Several days were wasted driving across four states — all because someone told him something.

It’s only at this moment that we begin to realize that Woody grew up in quite a different time when people mostly told the truth.  When people could be trusted.  When people were basically honest.  When neighbors cared for each other.  When a letter, even from a stranger, meant something.  For believing all this, we think of him as the fool.  Fact is, instead of laughing, we should be weeping.

If not weeping for Woody, then for ourselves for what we’ve become.

It’s we who linger in the abyss and who deserve the pity.