Well, as opposed to following up on my tepid promise in May to keep posting reviews, I instead decided to be lazy and let my opinions fester in my head. They're beginning to smell, so I do believe it is time to re-open the window and let them air out. Check out the site every once in a while for movie reviews, music reviews, and whatever else I might feel passionate enough to write/rant about. Cheers!
On that note, I figured it would be appropriate to kick off the grand reopening with an analysis of one of my top three favorite films, Raising Arizona. I've been meaning to write about this film for a long time, as no one in the entire world seems to understand it the way I do. Be warned, this is more of an essay than a review. Double-spaced, it's about eight pages on Works. I also describe the plot in fairly great detail, so if you'd feel offended that I "ruined it" for you, don't be afraid to wait and come back once you've seen it. Additionally, apologies if the first half isn't my most premium writing. I was more focused on the analysis than the synopsis.
Every great piece of art is great for two reasons: what its purpose is, and how it achieves that purpose. This applies to all forms of art, even cinema. Perhaps more so given the time it takes to absorb most films. There are good movies that have the what but not the how (e.g. Multiplicity), and good movies that have the how but not the what (e.g. Avatar). But the best filmmakers keep both in mind, and it leads to films like Pulp Fiction and 2001. With their sophomore effort Raising Arizona, Joel and Ethan Coen, in a particularly Coen-y way, take a stab at the trickiest and most debated question in art: what is the meaning of life? Or, rather, they create a character that asks the question, and let their imaginations pave the path to enlightenment.
"My name is H. I. McDunnough. Call me Hi." So begins the contemplative narration of our main character, H.I., recidivist convenience store robber. Hi is not a particularly bad man, simply disillusioned. He doesn't even use a loaded gun. Through his criminal actions, he meets Ed, the female police officer who takes his mug shots. It's short for Edwina. Serving his first prison sentence, H.I. considers it tedious but finds an appreciation for the spirit of camaraderie. When the parole board allows him to return to the world he can't help but fall back into crime. Having his mug shots taken once again, Hi learns that Ed's fiance (which she pronounces like "finance") has run off with another girl.
Returning to prison, Hi describes a feeling of "homecoming." He tries earnestly to listen to the advice of his counselor, listens to his cellmate's tales of eating sand, and waits until his parole meeting. Upon being arrested yet again, he slips a ring on Ed's finger as she takes his fingerprints. Looking forward to the new life ahead of him, H.I. finally feels the pain of imprisonment. Following his release, he finds Ed at the station and delivers one of the film's most amusing lines: "I'm walkin' in here on my knees, Ed. A free man proposin'."
The newlyweds move into a trailer home just out of town and H.I. acquires a humble job as a metalworker. As he explains, these are the salad days. It all comes crashing down when Ed discovers she is infertile. The couple attempt to adopt a child, but are rejected because of Hi's criminal record. Ed, heartbroken, quits the force and becomes utterly indolent. H.I., too, begins to lose interest in his work and home life, and feels the temptation of crime once again.
A solution presents itself in the arrival of the "Arizona Quints," born to the wife of Nathan Arizona, a local furniture store mogul. Ed asks, begs and forces H.I. to sneak into the Arizona household one night and kidnap one of the quintuplets, assuring him that they have too many to handle. Bewildered, Hi experiences a Looney Tunes-inspired episode while trying to wrangle up the five babies, Harry, Barry, Larry, Garry, and Nathan Jr. He returns to the car with what he believes is Nathan Junior, and Ed bursts into tears of loving joy as if he was her own. She is ecstatic about the family they have "created," but admits that she is apprehensive concerning the massive amount of responsibility they have taken on. Hi is even more confused by the responsibility he is faced with, but he pushes the feeling deep down and replaces it with merry babbling.
Things start to get complicated when they are visited by Hi's jailbird buddies, Gale and Evelle Snoats. Having just escaped from prison, Gale and Evelle make H.I. convince Ed to let them stay. Under their influence, Hi feels the enticing lure of the freedom he once had. That night he has a nightmarish vision of "The Lone Biker of the Apocalypse," a burly, leather-attired, Terminator-esque killing machine. The next morning, unbeknownst to H.I., the beast of a man arrives at the site of the Snoats' breakout. He later shows up at Nathan Arizona Sr.'s office and identifies himself as a bounty hunter named Leonard Smalls, initially offering to find Nathan Junior but ultimately relaying his intention to re-kidnap him for a higher ransom.
Several days after the Snoats brothers arrive, they are told to stay away from the trailer for a while when the McDunnoughs are visited for lunch by Hi's loudmouthed, senseless supervisor Glen, his shrill wife Dot, and their many (approximately five, possibly more) rambunctious children who set about destroying the trailer while Glen makes fun of Polish people. Having been told that the McDunnough baby was adopted, Dot rattles off -- to an increasingly worried Ed -- a list of the many shots and health precautions and education plans that need to be taken care of with an infant. After lunch, H.I. and Glen go for a walk in the desert and Hi confesses his confusion and frustration, hoping to find an answer from someone more experienced. Glen at first pokes fun at him, but reveals that he has of course felt the strain of responsibility. His solution, however, is an offer of wife-swapping. Offended and enraged, Hi punches him in the face.
That night, H.I. and Junior and a very upset Ed go to buy some diapers at the store, and when Ed looks up to see her husband holding the cashier at gunpoint she loses her temper and drives off. A chase ensues in which Hi is pursued by cops, clerks, and dogs. Eventually, Ed turns around and rescues him after he evades capture in a supermarket. Back at home, after Ed storms into the bedroom with Nathan Junior, Gale and Evelle swoop in and persuade H.I. to join them on a series of bank heists. Believing himself truly no good, that it would be best for Ed and Nathan Junior if he were gone, he writes a heartfelt letter explaining his reasons for leaving.
Gale and Evelle wake H.I. the next morning after Ed leaves to run errands. They are interrupted by a knocking at the door. H.I. steps out to find a furious Glen, wearing a neck brace and keeping a safe distance. Glen explains firstly that Hi has been officially fired, not to Hi's surprise. He then reveals that he and Dot have deduced Nathan Junior's true identity, and if Hi and Ed don't want to be turned into the police they need to hand over the baby in the next few days to fulfill Dot's desire for another child.
Glen drives away, but Gale and Evelle, having overheard that their friend's baby is actually the missing Arizona Quint for whom there is a juicy $25,000 reward, overpower H.I., tie him to a chair, and abscond with Nathan Junior. At first planning to turn in the tot for the money, the Snoatses grow attached to Nathan Junior after they leave him behind at a gas station and speed screaming back to him. They decide to keep him as their own. They take him along to their first bank heist, a "hayseed" bank apparently far from any other establishments, but when they drive off with the money they realize they have forgotten him once again. In their moment of panic, they hit rock bottom when an anti-theft dye canister explodes in the loot sack and nearly runs them off the road.
Ed and H.I. arrive at the bank just moments too late. Smalls appears on his motorcycle, packing two shotguns, knives, and several grenades. He scoops up Nathan Junior in his car seat from the middle of the road and blows up the McDunnoughs' car. A brutal and surreal fight ensues in the street. Despite considerable odds against them, Hi and Ed make it out a live with Nathan Junior. Agreeing to return him to the Arizonas, they sneak in through the window that night and place the baby in his crib. Nathan Sr., having heard them enter, confronts them. He is glad to have his son returned, but soon realizes that they had taken him in the first place. He takes pity on the couple, asking only for an explanation. Nathan offers earnest advice, and when Hi and Ed confess their plans to separate, he suggests they sleep on it. They do.
Now, to fully understand this film, one must understand the world in which it takes place. It is set in Arizona alright -- the cinematography even shows the aridity of the atmosphere -- but the characters often seem to be a little too odd to be accurate portrayals of the everymen they are supposed to be. The Coen brothers, two of America's most idiosyncratic filmmakers, have a wonderfully droll gift for dialogue. To a dedicated Coen watcher, a remarkable number of their lines become inside jokes of sorts. The Coens are able to turn almost anything into a timeless one-liner (e.g. "Son, you've got a panty on your head"). Though the characters here speak in a properly southern accent, it is not uncommon to hear certain phrases wiggle their way in that seem to be outside of the normal vocabulary range. Perhaps the Coens are trying to make a statement about stereotyping, or perhaps it is merely a quirk to draw in a certain audience. More likely, in a delightfully backwards sort of way, they are in fact making their film more realistic. Do we not run into bizarre persons on a daily basis? Are there not aspects of our personalities that we don't always accurately represent in public? Is life really as black and white as we want it to be, or is it peculiar?
Upon its release, Raising Arizona was not considered to be much of a big deal. Many critics thought it too frivolous, and even those that did like it only liked it because of its frivolity. It has since earned a name for itself as a "cult comedy," but even this honor does not do it justice. Too many viewers get caught up in the goofy aspects of the film. Yes, there is certainly a silly and strange outer layer, and yes, it is a large part of the film's appeal, but there are poetic undertones than can slip by if you don't pay attention. The question becomes: "How does this film explain the meaning of life?" If H.I. is the part of us that wants to know, the answer can be found in the supporting characters.
There is Edwina, who herself is a very interesting and ambivalent individual, one who experiences moments of great strength and moments of great weakness. In a way, she represents our inbred selfishness, and how it can distort what we view as right. As a cop, she is an upstanding citizen and a strict follower of the law. But her desire for a child gets the better of her, and she breaks the law to get what she wants. She is, as anyone would be, apprehensive about raising a child, but she trusts her husband to be there for support. Once her perception of right and wrong falls back into order, she regains her strength and dedication. In the climactic scene, when she sets out to rescue Nathan Junior, notice she is again wearing her police uniform.
To H.I., Ed represents freedom from imprisonment, but imprisonment from freedom. There is no doubt he loves her, but it seems he had more than one reason for getting married. She provided the support he required to stay straight. Yet, the pressures she then imposes on him, such as her disapproval of his friends, are what push him back into crime. She makes the biggest decisions in their relationship; having a baby, stealing a baby, returning the baby, even their plans to separate, though she claims to still love him, are largely her idea. However, H.I. often holds himself accountable for her choices, the poor ones in particular. The Coens, who are big fans of repeating dialogue, effectively implement some early on in the film. Hi's three parole board meetings end with the board members asking him if he has learned his lesson. He says yes. The board replies, "OK then," and he is free. Later, at his wedding, after Hi says, "I do," the minister's response is, "OK then."
Then there are the bumbling, conniving Snoats brothers: the older, unflappable, more charmingly loquacious Gale, and the younger, more happy-go-lucky Evelle. To H.I., they represent the carefree debauchery he gave up for family life. When things get rough, when the pressure sets in, Hi wants to run away and return to the comfortable life he knows how to handle. It might not be the noble thing to do, but with a life of thievery he doesn't have to feel the fear of ruining a child's life. If he fails as a robber, the only one who suffers is himself, and he can deal with that.
Then there are Glen and Dot, who represent what Hi thinks is coming. He wants to raise his family well, but does it mean he has to be reduced to the point of telling idiotic racist jokes and applauding his kids for writing "fart" on the wall? H.I. is forced to ask himself the same question as the audience, "Are these people successes or failures? Even if they aren't the most reputable individuals, they've raised quite a few kids without totally collapsing." Hi figures if they've gotten that far, they must have some answers, and it couldn't hurt to ask.
Nathan Junior, too, is a fairly thought-provoking character. His life, so early on, is shrouded in lies and deceit, yet he remains an innocent observer, unaware that he is the cause of so much tumult and emotion. H.I., completely unprepared for child-rearing, refers to the baby book that follows Nathan throughout the film as the "instructions." But intimidating Hi is not his only purpose. Nathan Junior represents uncertainty of identity. In the first place, H.I. is not even sure if it is Nathan Junior that he has taken. Neither is Nathan Sr., as a matter of fact. To Gale and Evelle, he is introduced as Junior. When Glen asks what his name is, Hi says, "Ed Junior." When Dot asks what his name is, Ed says, "Hi Junior." When Glen returns to blackmail H.I., he yells defiantly, "I guess we'll be callin' the baby Glen Junior from now on." And when the Snoatses return to him at the gas station, Gale proclaims, "He's our little Gale Junior now."
By far the film's most cryptic character is the mysterious Leonard Smalls, "The Lone Biker of the Apocalypse," the "warthog from Hell." When first seen in H.I.'s dream, the narration identifies him as "the fury that would be as soon as Florence Arizona found her little Nathan gone." Whether or not he is a real person or a manifestation of Florence's grief, he is responsible for the film's most perplexing elements. Notice, for instance, that although he is, as he is described, demonic and evil and the epitome of hellaciousness, Smalls has bright, serene blue eyes. His presence also results in the film's most surreal sequences. The climactic fight scene between him and H.I. presents several curious moments. Earlier in the film, while his mug shots are being taken, we see that H.I. has a tattoo of Woody Woodpecker. During the fight, he finds that Smalls bears the exact same tattoo. Additionally, there are several sequences in the fight that oddly parallel event that occured in the scene where H.I. compares the quintuplets in the Arizona home. Probably the best rationalization of the Smalls character is to call him a manifestation of Hi's guilt, something he's never really felt within, but haunts him after the kidnapping until their final confrontation. The only thing Hi ever actually says to Smalls is, "I'm sorry."
Though he is the most short-tempered and, relatively, the least intriguing (despite having many of the film's funniest lines), the most respectable character in the film is Nathan Arizona Sr. He leads an honest life, he makes his money honorably, and he loves his family. He may seem irritable, but he tries to do right by those he cares about. In the penultimate scene, upon hearing Ed and Hi's troubles, he makes a sincere effort to say the right thing, to help them find a reason to stay together. Perhaps the closest he comes is the moment when he opens up and says, "I sure hate to think of Florence leavin' me. I do love her so."
The film concludes with a dream H.I. has that night, which we see clips of and hear him describe in a befittingly beautifully-delivered narration. In it, he envisions Gale and Evelle returning themselves to prison, Glen in trouble with a Polish-American cop, and Nathan Junior growing up into a happy adolescence. He dreams years into the future, of an elderly couple, seen only from behind, being visited by their children and grandchildren. Maybe they are Hi and Ed. Maybe their roles can be filled by any couple. In the end, H.I. McDunnough doesn't learn what the meaning of life is. No one can really know, we can only search for reasons to live. Sometimes they're hard to find, but who knows, they might not be too far away.
All of us, cop or criminal or furniture salesman, are capable of selfishness, judgment, imprudence, honesty, dishonesty, dedication, insecurity, guilt, and love. Responsibility's a scary thing. But being surrounded by people you love is something well worth living for.
