Left Field Cinema

Though it may have been rendered a relatively minor footnote in the temporary revolution that galvanised American film during the 70s by works more illustrious or grandiose, Bob Rafelson’s Five Easy Pieces was one of the best and most significant films of that remarkable decade and may in fact better represent what distinguished the filmmaking of that era than the epic masterworks of Coppola, Altman or Scorsese, as well as remaining one of the touchstone entries of counter-cultural cinema.

Coming at the dawn of what promised to be a new golden age in American pop art, Five Easy Pieces – produced in 1970 and ironically titled for a quintet of classical music cues performed by the film’s ensemble of misfit characters - superficially appeared to pick up where Dennis Hopper’s massively successful Easy Rider left off only a year before. The story of Robert Eroica Dupea, a once precocious musician named for Beethoven’s 3rd Symphony languishing in a life of aimless slumming who is summoned home to the bedside of his seriously ill father, harkens back to the earlier film in its central focus on a disconnected generation lost in apathetic stupor, in addition to the presence of Jack Nicholson after so memorably appearing as the lawyer-turned-tragic drifter in Hopper’s picture. The somewhat deceptive tagline “He rode the fast lane on the road to nowhere” was undoubtedly an attempt to capitalise on the sudden interest in the rebellious, zeitgeist-defining iconography of Easy Rider but Rafelson’s more contemplative and mature approach produced a far superior film and one of the most enduring character studies of the time.

Much like Dupea, Bob Rafelson was something of a virtuosic talent himself – one who peaked too early and seemed to lose direction. Partnered with Bert Schneider – one of the key driving forces of the New Hollywood - they initially established their production company Raybert in the television arena, most notably with popular sitcom The Monkees. They then formed BBS – so called for Bert, Bob and new partner Steve Blauner – with the intention of shaking up the dominance of the studio system and introducing a European flavour to American film. Easy Rider was the company’s break-out work, an anarchic call-to-arms for a different kind of cinema.

In many respects, BBS was arguably as significant as Roger Corman’s New World Pictures or Francis Coppola’s ill-fated American Zoetrope experiment in that it provided a vital early stamping ground for budding directors, writers and actors, many of whom would go on to play key roles in some of the best films of the period. Whilst not as prolific or high profile in the long run, the impact of Easy Rider, Five Easy Pieces and Peter Bogdanovich’s The Last Picture Show in 1971 heralded an era of auteur-driven production that promised substance to match their esoteric new style. BBS hardly held the patent on such films – indeed, Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde, Mike Nichols’ The Graduate and John Schlesinger’s Midnight Cowboy were already in cinemas – but the influence of these key works, the subjects they discussed and the audiences they reached, cannot be underestimated. The former captured the stoned imaginations of hippie youths and the latter remains one of the frankest explorations of teenage sexuality startlingly set against the sacred backdrop of smalltown America. Five Easy Pieces, which Rafelson conceived with Carole Eastman, tackled the looming obsession of a society teetering over the edge of an existential void.

We first encounter Dupea in California working on an oil rig and living with the sweet but guileless Rayette (as played by Karen Black), a waitress at the local diner, though it is quickly established that this working class environment is somewhat at odds with the man’s abilities. Though he strives to fit into this milieu, it is clear that unlike those in his immediate circle, he is there by choice rather than determination by any natural order and so things never really seem to fit together. It materialises that he was meant for great things but has strayed from the path that was chosen for him, rejecting the wishes of his wealthy family to pursue something else.

In its prioritising of behavioural characteristics over plot and clear-sighted depiction of blue-collar working class life and the trailer parks, bowling alleys, industrial backdrops and country music that make up that world, Five Easy Pieces embraced without irony all of those elements that were previously considered distasteful and unwelcome by the aging hierarchy of the Hollywood dream factory and this antithetical portrayal of America would become de rigueur in the reinvented cinema that would follow over much of the next ten years. Furthermore, themes exploring the loss of identity and an increasingly wary view of those in authority, both in and outside of the family, tapped into the wave of confusion and doubt that was falling across a country in transition – themes that many subsequent films would return to for inspiration time and again.

In only his second film after the underwhelming Head in 1968, Rafelson’s low-key directing style demonstrated a commanding blend of nuance, sensitivity and acute social observation, eliciting outstanding performances from his impressive ensemble led by Nicholson in his first leading role. Looking back now, one can’t help but wonder what a career Rafelson may have had if only he had retained this level of inspiration. Instead, it is thought he was consumed by the trappings of his initial success and though he continued to work sporadically (and often with Nicholson), he made few further films of any real distinction, with only The King of Marvin Gardens (1972), which established a small but enthusiastic following, and his reasonable remake of The Postman Always Rings Twice (1981) being notable. Five Easy Pieces was undoubtedly fuelled by a personal connection with his lead character given that he too had rebelled from his roots, rejecting the chance to go into the family business to pursue work in television but quickly became disillusioned and saw the medium as being beneath him. Until he teamed up with Schneider, who at the time was running the TV arm of Columbia Pictures under the watchful eye of father and company president Abe Schneider, Rafelson was a stifled man with big ideas and no outlet with which to realise them. That having worked so hard to build a platform from where his talent and that of others could flourish only to squander the opportunity amid seismic clashes of ego and brazen infidelities renders the fact that his defining work hinges on so many contradictory forces entirely appropriate.

Dupea’s personal crisis manifests itself in petulant, arrogant, and temperamental reactions, erratically lashing out at those who revolve in his orbit without discrimination. It is also clear he is preternaturally intelligent, broadminded and considerate, and the way these two sides of his personality conflict present an enigma that the film ambiguously refuses to fully resolve. Dupea is informed that his father has suffered a stroke just as the rest of his life is thrown into turmoil following the arrest of his best friend and the discovery that Rayette has fallen pregnant. He is prompted to return home, reluctantly bringing Rayette along for the ride and the pair hit the road. This passage of the film again echoes Easy Rider on a surface level, though recourse to staple road movie encounters are limited to a pair of colourful hitchhikers who Dupea and Rayette share a memorably comic scene with at a diner before arriving at the island retreat where his family, all musical prodigies, reside in various states of dysfunction.

Five Easy Pieces is filled with memorable scenes and characters. One of the hitchhikers, for instance, imaginatively named Palm Apodaco (played by Helena Kallianiotes), animatedly tells of how she likes things “clean” and wants to make it to Alaska to get away from “the stink” man can’t help but create. Her continued inane chatter and hostile diatribes on all manner of myriad subjects prompt Dupea and Rayette to dump her and her travelling companion on the roadside in one of the film’s funniest moments. This follows shortly after the aforementioned scene at a roadside diner which has entered the pantheon of iconoclastic confrontations on film – a scene which has become part of the cultural lexicon in that even people who have never seen the film are likely familiar with the exchange, a privilege usually only reserved for the canonical likes of Citizen Kane, Casablanca or The Godfather. Dupea tries to order a plain omelette with tomatoes instead of potatoes and he is curtly informed by their intractable waitress that no substitutions are allowed. He then requests a side order of wheat toast to which he is told they do not offer side-orders. In response, Dupea then orders a chicken salad sandwich on wheat toast but asks that the waitress hold the butter, the lettuce and the mayonnaise. As the waitress recaps the order, Dupea confirms the details but slyly adds that she then hold the chicken, simply bring him the remaining slices of toast but still bill him for the chicken salad sandwich so that she hasn’t broken any rules. She exasperatedly repeats back to him his assertion that she should “hold the chicken” to which he venomously replies that he would like her to “hold the chicken between her knees”! The rambunctious foursome is asked to leave and Dupea leads them out in defiant tantrum. Though a classic crowd-pleasing reverie, the scene is an incisive distillation of one of the film’s key concerns, namely the loss of individualisation in the face of authoritarian control. Whilst highly amusing, it is a foreboding warning against non-conformity and the way such an insidious stripping away of personal choice eats away at Dupea’s soul. It’s not about the omelettes and wheat toast, this stand-off is symptomatic of a larger malaise gradually taking hold throughout the culture. Palm congratulates him on his quick-thinking in devilishly devising a way to get what he wanted and putting the waitress in her place at the same time, but Dupea reminds her that he still didn’t get his food. The brief exultation of his minor triumph has achieved little more than the slightest catharsis.

When Dupea returns home he engages in an affair with his brother Carl’s fiancée Catherine (played by Susan Anspach). The attraction between the characters feels genuine and believable, despite being based on a mutual antagonism fuelled by a potent mix of lust and hate that seems rooted by sharing only talent and the casual indifference both feel towards cheating on their respective partners in common. In one of the film’s most compelling scenes, Dupea is asked by Catherine to play her a piece of music on the piano, and as he plays the camera passes by the many family portraits hung proudly on the wall that belie the corrosive effects at work behind the images. Catherine watches on, visibly moved by the performance, a perfect rendition of Chopin’s Prelude Opus 28 in E Minor. She compliments him but he mocks her response, stating he only played the easiest piece he could think of - “I faked a little Chopin”, he says, “you faked a reaction”. Their subsequent argument is heated and explosive, their chemistry palpable – that they end up in bed seems almost inevitable.

There is a distinctly Bergman-esque quality to the film’s preoccupations and it is entirely possible given the stated ambitions of BBS that the Swedish master was a prominent influence on Rafelson. This is most apparent in the second half of the picture on the north-western island where Dupea’s family resides, which is reminiscent of Bergman’s frequent use of island locations in his films - the sense of isolation combined with the chilly, autumnal atmosphere serves to crystallize the growing feeling of unease and regret. Themes of alienation, class divide and the search for one’s place in the world are all ones that Bergman regularly explored, and even the car ferry the characters use to travel to and from the mainland recalls Bergman’s Shame. But Five Easy Pieces differs by way of a far edgier style, offering a rougher, and in many ways, more naturalistic portrayal of these people and the places they inhabit. The impressive use of real locations rather than sound stages demonstrates a commitment to capturing a social realist aesthetic – something still new to American audiences and somewhat removed from Bergman’s particular brand of metaphysics.

Five Easy Pieces has very little in the way of non-diegetic sound, something quite common in world cinema at the time but until then rare in American productions. As with The Last Picture Show, Sidney Lumet’s Dog Day Afternoon and Alan J. Pakula’s All the President’s Men among others, it goes largely unnoticed until the final, empty images that preceed their rather ominous end credits, silently rolling without musical accompaniment, augmenting the bleak outlook. This is, of course, not to imply that music is irrelevant to the film - the varied source music is, in fact, of the utmost importance. The obvious contrast between the country music icons such as Tammy Wynette that Rayette and the other working class characters listen to and the classical piano sonatas of Bach, Mozart and Chopin the Dupea family study subtly illustrate how boundaries in class can often be most tellingly displayed by the variations in which something comparatively incidental is consumed and interpreted. At the same time, just as the film also attempts to establish a common emotional bond between disparate people, art is also shown as a means of uniting those seemingly opposed – consider the undeterred aspirations of Rayette who yearns to emulate the radio stars she listens to over and over again and the painstaking diligence with which the Dupeas practice. Neither end of the spectrum is seen as being better or worse – they’re different and they’re the same. Similarly, the perceived vulgarity of the working class and their tacky, crass, undereducated existence is countered by the rugged beauty of the dusty Californian oil fields, blanketed by burning sunsets that are memorialised with the kind of unvarnished “magic hour” visual poetry that Terrence Malick would soon be lauded for, whilst the comparative refinery afforded by the privileged elite is offset by the cold and desolate depiction of their environs, where little consolation is seemingly sought or found in the natural beauty of the unspoilt coastline and the wildlife that surrounds them. This contradiction runs through the inhabitants of both worlds; Rayette’s naivety irritates Dupea and her lack of formal social graces makes for comical viewing, but she is good-natured and her heart is always in the right place, whilst conversely the intellectual set are the opposite - though thoughtful and intelligent they are also pretentious and vain. Five Easy Pieces strives to present a cross section of America where all are human and all are flawed.

The most fascinating facet of the film, however, remains inarguably Dupea himself. His live-wire eccentricity and the series of unpredictable expressions of the frustration, talent, fear and love that compete for autonomy over his fragmented psyche combine to produce one of the great symbolic anti-heroes. Whether it be the casual cruelty with which he mistreats Rayette to the playing of the piano on the back of a moving truck during a traffic jam in a spontaneous outburst of prodigious hubris whilst everyone else stews in their cars, the myriad ways in which he reacts to the people and situations that surround him make for alternately intense and bizarre viewing. His many flaws, erratic temper and frequent indulgence in the empty, disposable pleasures that come all too easily to those in possession of such killer charm, tellingly mark Dupea as a man of his time. One of the key tenets of the American cinema of the 70s was a propensity to use film as a means of scrutinising the social and political landscape and there are undeniable parallels between Dupea and America itself – parallels that arguably remain just as true nearly forty years later; capable of great compassion and fortitude, his qualities are tempered by a muddled self-righteousness, resulting in an inconsistent moral imperative that has a tendency to spill over into unrestrained fury when provoked. His needless altercations with the police officers who come to arrest his work buddy Elton at the oil rig or the undignified scrap with his father’s care worker who he finds engaged intimately with his sister at the family house invite comparisons with the country’s misadventures in Vietnam as he is humbled by getting in over his head when things get violent. However, Dupea – like America - still retains our empathy, if not our sympathy, because he will purport to do the right thing, such as stand up for those in need when the time calls for it. When an intellectual snob sets about condescendingly humiliating Rayette at a dinner party, Dupea defends her by clinically ripping apart the offender’s pretence and artifice. We applaud this small victory but there is an unmistakable hollowness to it all the same as we are privy to the hypocrisy that underlines it, chiefly because Dupea has been guilty of the same wilful misdemeanour himself – and on more than one occasion.

The stand-out scene of the film, and one of the finest Nicholson has ever played, arrives when he finally attempts to speak to his ailing father, who unable to respond sits in silence whilst Dupea tries to disencumber himself from the burden of a deeply conflicted conscience. He starts to explain himself, his decisions and his failures, but finds he is unable to define how he found himself at this point, exiled in an emotionally barren wasteland despite the best efforts of those around him and staring into an abyss of his own engineering. When the words turn to tears that flow like those of an infant pleading for his parent’s lost affection, one thinks he may have stumbled upon an inadvertent breakthrough, but before long, when faced with choosing between two worlds and taking responsibility for more than just his own well-being, he decides, once again, to go his own way. Dupea remains one of the most interesting characters in American cinema; his innate charisma, undeniable talent and capacity for human kindness is hugely appealing and ingratiate him to audiences, but his persistent reverting to a form of self-destruction that hurts others as much as himself, if not more so, greatly complicates our reaction to him. He could, perhaps, even be seen in retrospect as a metaphorical figure for the New Hollywood of the 70s – he burned fiercely, though all too briefly, took success for granted, misbehaved a little, attempted to reconnect before it was too late but ended up ultimately underachieving and slipping away into oblivion, cast adrift and unable to fit into a world that had irrevocably changed.

M.Dawson and Alec Price