RUSHMORE (1998)
A Film Review by Ted Prigge
Copyright 1999 Ted Prigge
Director: Wes Anderson
Writers: Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson
Starring: Jason Schwartzman, Olivia Williams, Bill Murray, Mason Gamble, Seymour Cassel, Brian Cox, Sara Tanaka, Stephen McCole, Ronnie McCawley, Keith McCawley, Kim Terry, Connie Nielsen, Andrew Wilson, Luke Wilson
Max Fischer's such a sublime creation that the only way you could make a bad film about him would be by either determination or utter incompetence. At the very least, you'd have to make a mediocre film about him, with his character standing out amongst it as the film's true, and perhaps only, master stroke. In fact, a film called "Bottle Rocket" come to mind: made by the same guys (Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson), it featured several great characters, but most notably it featured a guy named Dignan (played by Wilson) who was about the funniest character of that year. With a short haircut, a mixed accent of parts hick and surfer dude, and a knack for devising overly ambitious schemes that were almost bound to fail from the moment they were introduced, he was the best thing about this frequently funny but somewhat unsatisfying film (read: it dragged here and there). But there was something about that film that made it better than a lot of comedies (indie or not): the creators came up with comic yet completely dimensional characters, people who were funny but complex and even human, making the laughs come without a sense of condescension (like you're laughing at them, but yet you're not, if that makes any sense...).
They bring the same droll detachment to "Rushmore," a giant improvement on "Bottle Rocket" because it's nearly successful in every way. It's witty, laugh-out-loud hilarious, and, for the kicker, strangely poignant and touching. The reason it's the most original comedy of the past couple years by a long shot is because Anderson and Wilson have managed to make big laughs out of the lives of fully realized characters, people who are very hilarious but whom we care deeply about and are deeply complex. For example, in the film's opening scene, Max is shown having a revealing dream about solving the hardest math problem in the world, and receiving the accolades of his entire class. Like many of us (read: me), Max is insecure and constantly worries about how other people perceive him, and maybe that's why he's so happy attending the elite Rushmore Academy, the stage where he sets his numerous overly ambitious artistic achievements. Max is currently enrolled in at least a couple dozen extracuricular activities, usually as either the founder or at least the president, including the leader of the Max Fischer Players, a dramatic club that is currently putting on a stage production of "Serpico." Always wearing his school blazer, while most students can barely stand the blue suit shirts, Max has set himself up as at least the school's most famous student, if not the most popular, and seems to take glee in his black-rimmed glasses, his braces, his perfectly combed hair, and his mature vernacular without letting anyone else know about it. Yet he never lets anyone know about the truth behind his life: that he was given a scholarship to the school in second grade for penning a one act play about Watergate, and his father is not a neurosurgeon but rather an unambitious barber (Seymour Cassell, of Cassavette films).
And, of course, as the film begins, he's placed on "sudden death academic probation" by the school's long-suffering dean (Brian Cox). But that only means more dandy work for Max, as his life is interrupted by meeting two people who begin to bring about his long-due "coming of age" (as this is, tradionally, a "coming of age" story, told untraditionally): Herman Blume (Bill Murray), a self-made millionaire whose two bratty teenage twins go to Rushmore; and Rosemary Cross (Olvia Williams, late of "The Postman" ha ha), a pretty first grade school teacher at Rushmore. The first becomes his mentor; the second becomes his objet d'obsession. Always needing something to do, he makes his main point of business the courting of Rosemary, first becoming her volunteer assistant (pouring her lemonade, replacing her red marking pens, etc.), but soon makes grand gestures in order to win her over, including a would-be romantic dinner and building a multi-million dollar aquarium (donated by Herman) on, of all places, the baseball diamond. But these grand gestures and his setting the bar way too high soon take a turn for the worse, and things begin escalating out of control. He's expelled from school. Max's best friend and loyal assistant (Mason Gamble, late of "Denace the Menace" ha ha) turns against him. Herman and Rosemary meet and fall in love. And Max and Herman go to war against eachother.
All this is done with a uniquely droll sense of humor, the kind that was the saving grace of "Bottle Rocket" and here just another way in which it's a phenomenal and original comedy. There are plenty of laughs in this film, from the ridiculously funny (Max as a back-flipping male cheerleader) to the deadpan (Max asking Herman about Vietnam: "So were you in the shit?" "Yeah I was in the shit.") to the sublime (a montage of static shots showing every actitivity Max takes place in), all presented with beautiful and even witty direction by Wes Anderson, who mightily improves over his completely deadpan direction of "Bottle Rocket." This is a film of lots of colors and glorious wide shots (I can't imagine this cropped for the TV screen), and filled with either glorious British Invasion obscurities (from The Kinks, The Who, Cat Stevens, Chad and Jeremy, and others) or Marx Mothersbaugh's hilarious neo-baroque score. The script is absolutely killer: there's more laughs than an episode of "Seinfeld," and more dead-on insights into teenage behavior than an entire multi-seasonal run of [pick your teenage soap opera, prime or daytime].20
And Max will go down in history as one of the truly great comic creations: he has the refreshing, cynicism of Holden Caulfield, the restlessness of Huck Finn, and the wit of Woody Allen, but a completely original desire to be more mature than he is, just because that will elevate him above everyone else. And he could have been cold and eerily manipulative, but as played by Jason Schwartzman (son of Talia Shire, proving once again that there's something in the Coppola bloodline, by god), he's easily an anti-hero, someone we root for even when we can't believe what he's doing, whether he's trying his best to form a fencing club at his newest high school or tampering with the brakes on Herman's car. Along with Eamonn Owens from "The Butcher Boy," this is the most striking new arrival of the year: a multi-dimensional performer who's not afraid to show the flaws of the character while also showing off his many redeeming qualities. Thankfully, his object of obsession, Rosemary, is also mutli-dimensional: a damaged widow who's also irresistable and easily charming, and Williams plays her with such ease and intelligence that I, who haven't seen "The Postman," cannot fathom that her performance can be anything short of wonderful (then again, I've been disappointed a lot). And there's many other great performances here, including sharp supporting turns from a gentle Cassell, a reserved Cox, a hilarious Gamble, and even a Ewan McGrgeor-lookalike Stephen McCole as a scotish bully/fellow student.
But if there's any truly brilliant performance here, it's by Bill Murray, recently snubbed greatly for an Oscar nomination for a performance that is not only delightfully Murraysian, but surprisngly subtle and tragi-comic. Herman, the opposite of Max, owns a giant factory but loathes his empty life, his potentially-unfaithful wife, and his two monstrous sons, and not only finds a refreshing change of pace in the friendship with Max (at first bewildered, but later finds pure ease with him), but he also finds that while Max yearns for adulthood, he personally yearns to be a kid again. In one wonderfully cinematic moment at his sons' birthday party, Herman gets up on the high dive of his pool, complete with cigarette dangling from mouth and cup of booze in his hand, he cannonballs into the pool, and stays underneath, curled up with eyes closed which is straight out of "The Graduate." What's so great about this performance is that it's so easy to overlook. Instead of the usual Murray schtick, like in "Stripes" or "Ghostbusters," Murray opts to speak in a defeated and saddened tone, and acts with worldweariness but new life thanks to Max. His performance is, yes, funny, but also touching and sad, and if anyone out there has recently lost faith in Murray for quality (with "The Man Who Knew Too Little," I had), here's the best performance he's ever given, and maybe the best supporting performance of the year (he and Billy Bob Thornton are, at the very least, head-to-head in my opinion).
Ditto the film. It's hilarious, and plenty witty, but it's also extremely affecting, and watching it, I not only felt for the characters, but also was able to identify with what was going on because everyone, I hope, at some point, faces something similar: a feel of inadequacy that you try to overcome in the most idiosyncratic ways. Someday, when the hype and all that has been lifted from this film, we may hopefully be able to rank it along with several Ernest Lubitsch and Woody Allen films, Hal Ashby's "Harold and Maude," and, well, "The Graduate," as one of the most unique and weirdly touching comedies to ever be made. Hopefully.
MY RATING (out of 4): ****
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