LUCKY B
USA (88 mi) 2017
‘Scope d: John Carroll Lynch Official
site
Well, I gotta go, my
shows are on.
—Lucky (Harry Dean Stanton)
A slow and meandering tale about the journey of life, as
seen through the eyes of an aging character who has been fortunate to remain
healthy through his waning years, none other than 90-year old actor Harry Dean
Stanton, someone known affectionately as Lucky throughout the small
Southwestern town he lives in, where it follows in the footsteps of other
outstanding films on the subject, namely David Lynch’s Disney film THE STRAIGHT
STORY (1999), starring 79-year old Richard Farnsworth in his final role, with
Harry Dean Stanton making an appearance at the end of that film which couldn’t be
more appropriate. Amusingly, David Lynch
makes an appearance here as a man suffering from the profound effects of losing
his best friend, a 100-year old tortoise that goes by the name of President
Roosevelt who makes an escape through an open gate and scoots away, adding a
touch of personal intimacy throughout, the kind of characterization that
defines the film. Much of it emblematic
of Stanton’s own life, Lucky is seen doing crossword puzzles, watching old game
shows on TV, while exhibiting a passion for singing Mexican songs, yet what’s
most poignant is the actor’s own death coming just weeks prior to the release
of the film, making this a stunning final farewell, becoming the centerpiece of
his own film, where he is viewed as a national treasure, with the camera
following his every move. With nearly
two-hundred credits in a career spanning six decades, Stanton was a regular on
various westerns on TV in the late 50’s and 60’s, was the best man at Jack
Nicholson’s wedding in 1962, and even lived together for more than two years
after his divorce, while also singing “Danny Boy” at the funeral of Hunter S.
Thompson. Working with eclectic
directors from Monte Hellman in Two-Lane
Blacktop (1971), Sam Peckinpah in Pat
Garrett & Billy the Kid (1973), Ridley Scott in Alien
(1979), and John Carpenter in Escape
from New York (1981), always playing a character actor in secondary roles, Stanton
is among the best to ever do it, where his big breakthrough came with Wim
Wenders strange American odyssey film, Paris,
Texas (1984), with Stanton finally playing a starring role, a psychologically
damaged character who was mostly silent, but whose stunning monologue near the
end is a thing of legends, written by Sam Shepard, backtracking through the
most painful moments of his life in dreamlike flashback sequences, actually
improved upon in Robert Altman’s Fool for
Love (1985), another Shepard effort, where Stanton’s profound eloquence speaking
over the flashbacks is simply mind-altering.
To his credit, Stanton has become an endearing character on the American
cinematic landscape playing primarily isolated or lonesome characters, building
his reputation as something of an outcast or an outlaw, a man on the fringe of
society who always speaks his mind, uncensored, yet inevitably ends up alone,
having spent a lifetime accumulating memories filled with regrets. According to Shepard, Stanton didn’t really
have to act in order to tell a story, reminding us “His face is the story.”
While David Lynch has developed a particular fondness for
casting Stanton, appearing in several shorts, four of his feature films, while
also featuring him in five episodes of his revamped television series of Twin Peaks (2017), where he is seen here
singing “Red River Valley,” Harry Dean Stanton - Red
River Valley - YouTube (1:09), this same tune becomes the predominate theme
with Stanton on the harmonica playing throughout this new film, where we watch
him follow his daily routine, waking up, turning on a Spanish music radio
station, washing his face and armpits, brushing his teeth, combing his hair,
lighting a cigarette, doing morning yoga exercises in his underwear between
puffs, drinking the only thing he has in his refrigerator, a chilled, already
poured glass of milk, with several cartons lined up to be next, before finally
selecting what he’s going to wear. As he
walks out the door to face a new day, it looks pretty much like every other
day, where his established routines define his life. Heading for the local diner, he orders coffee
and works the local newspaper crossword puzzle, frequently asking customers for
assistance, where he’s well looked after by the cook, Barry Shabaka Henley, the
bartender playing a similar role in Jarmusch’s Paterson
(2016), while a doting waitress, Yvonne Huff as Loretta, takes a personal
interest, treating him as if he’s family, expressing one of the joys of small
towns, where people tend to look after one another. Afterwards, he heads around the corner to a
local market, buying cigarettes and his carton of milk from the Mexican
proprietor (Bertila Damas), exchanging pleasantries in a combination of English
and Spanish before disappearing back home to watch his quiz shows. Each evening, he drinks Bloody Mary’s at the
local bar, owned and operated by Elaine (Beth Grant) and her husband Paulie
(James Darren), often meeting his best friend Howard (David Lynch), commiserating
over his missing tortoise, who happens to be Howard’s best friend. This little touch offers a glimpse into the
lives of the elderly, or just lonely people, as often the only friend they have
in the world is their pet, heaping all their social skills onto that one
animal, not knowing what to do with themselves when the animal is gone. Howard is particularly effected, making what
might be the most heartfelt defense of his missing friend during an anguished
moment of exposed vulnerability, yet it’s especially affecting, small and
tender, the kind of moment you’ll only find in a film like this, Lucky
clip - Gone (2:29). It’s always fun to share moments with film
directors “in front of” the camera, as it feels like a rare privilege.
About as intimate as you can get, there are deafening
silences in this film, small and large, but there’s also an understated
humanness in every sequence, including Ed Begley Jr. as his physician, where
Lucky visits him in his office after suffering an inexplicable fall, indicating
the tests reveal no lingering issues, who simply has no medical answers for how
one man can smoke nearly every day of his life and his lungs are completely
clear, reporting Lucky is amazingly healthy for a man of his age, informing
him, “You know most people don’t get to where you are, they never get to the
moment you’re in right now, where you have the ability to witness what you’re
going through and clearly examine it.”
One of the sweeter moments is a visit from Loretta, who simply stops by
one day unannounced, checking up on him, catching him in an awkward moment
watering his plants in his underwear. With no ulterior motive other than pure
friendship, they sit down and share a joint together while watching Liberace on
TV, an entertainer so flamboyantly different he may as well be from outer
space, yet it leads to a stunning personal confession, revealing for perhaps
the first time in his entire life that “I’m scared,” a universal truth when it
comes to aging. Tom Skerritt shows up in
the diner one morning wearing a Marine insignia on his cap, drawing the
interest of Lucky, who was in the Navy, as the two rehash old war stories about
World War II, but certainly not the kind we’re used to hearing. While there are moments between moments that
are filled only by the presence and personality of Stanton, who easily fills
the screen with his monumentally recognizable face, there are a few stand-out
moments, one of which is a lengthy scene simply watching Lucky at home alone
smoking a cigarette as we hear the somber tones of Johnny Cash calling out to
us from the grave, Johnny
Cash - I See A Darkness. - YouTube (3:42), a particularly haunting song that
sends chills up the spine contemplating one’s own mortality. Lucky is extremely aware he’s closer to the
end, but that doesn’t seem to bother him, instead he shares what little wisdom
he has with others while remaining true to himself, laughing in the face of the
void, even offering a singular moment when that look is directly at the camera,
a cinematic tribute to none other than Giulietta Masina who does the same near
the end of Fellini’s THE NIGHTS OF CABIRIA (1957), easily one of her most
poignant moments. But perhaps the scene
of the film belongs to Stanton, invited to a young boy’s birthday party, “Juan
Wayne,” the son of the grocery lady, where they have food, flan, a piñata, and
even a mariachi band, when suddenly out of nowhere Lucky breaks into a
traditional mariachi song, “Volver, volver,” dramatically singing in what
appears to be perfect Spanish, Exclusive Lucky Clip
“Mariachi” - Harry Dean Stanton - YouTube (1:19), surprising everyone,
including those in the audience, providing a kind of effortless poetry that is
a beautiful tribute to his memory.
As a kind of bonus video from an earlier documentary, HARRY
DEAN STANTON: PARTLY FICTION (2012), Actor Harry Dean Stanton
sings (Bonus video) | Kentucky Muse | KET ... YouTube (4:10), Stanton can
be seen joyously singing more songs in his living room with Michelle Phillips
of The Mamas and the Papas.
