The Inherent Vice of Big Lebowski

in defence of the alone and stoned

To write coherently from a stoner’s perspective (what I like to call stoner-telling), you internalize your perception of the world when you’re high, and express it coherently when you’re sober.

Both The Coen brothers’ The Big Lebowski (1998) and Paul Thomas Anderson’s Inherent Vice (2014) are masterworks of stoner-telling. The two cult classics feature imperturbable characters chasing ridiculous MacGuffins to untangle nonsensical mysteries while tackling absurd antagonists — not any different from the rat races we run.

In The Big Lebowski (set in early 1990s), Jeff, “The Dude” Lebowski’s (Jeff Bridges), mistaken for a millionaire of the same name, gets dragged into solving the abrupt disappearance of the millionaire’s wife, when his "rug that really tied the room together” is ruined by debt collectors who mistake him for the millionaire.

The Dude spends most of his time bowling, smoking weed and enjoying White Russians. He rejects the American dream. His primary motivation is to maintain a state of tranquility. Perfectly content in the present moment, he neither wants to move forwards nor backwards.

In The Inherent Vice (set in 1970), ex-cop turned private investigator Larry "Doc" Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix), while solving a series of unconnected cases, uncovers a conspiracy involving his ex-lover and her missing current boyfriend, cops and their secret CIs and a real-estate mogul’s abrupt come-to-Jesus moment. At the centre of it all is a dentist conglomerate called The Golden Fang who supply heroin and rehabilitate addicts, even fixing their teeth, profiting off both ends of the spectrum.

Doc is perpetually stoned, and has a hard time distinguishing between reality and hallucination. Despite his “altered” state of perception, he seeks truth and justice, and fights for those who can’t fight for themselves. His mind, as bent as the world around him, is the only thing that sees straight.

The Tenets of Stoner-telling

Although both cult classics are wildly different (set in different eras, vary in degrees of humour intensity, and how high protagonists get), both achieve their cinematic effect by sticking to these stoner-telling tenets.

Draw a line between coherence and incoherence

The simplest way to create a coherent narrative about incoherent characters is to draw a line between narrator and protagonist. While the narrator remains coherent, the protagonist is free to meander through a drug-induced haze, allowing the audience to enjoy the story’s absurdness without losing track of the story logic.

In The Big Lebowski, the narrator is an unnamed cowboy (Sam Elliot), whose deep gravelly voice adds a folksy, philosophical undercurrent to the film.

In Inherent Vice, Sortilège (Joanna Newsom) acts as quasi-narrator, providing introspective, poetic musings that compliment the film’s dreamlike atmosphere. Her voice echoes Doc’s inner thoughts and emotions rather than serving to clarifying plot points or logical turns of scene.

Thread outlandish incidents together

Plots of stoner comedies are meant to be murky and fragmented. While dramas are designed to make you laugh and cry at every turning point in the story, comedies are full of incidents that happen to make sense if you think about all of them together really hard.

Just as your vision cannot accommodate a single brush stroke and the whole impressionist painting in the same moment, you can’t savour a single scene and relish the entire plot in the same instant.

When writing stoner comedies, focusing on live-wire characters and their idiosyncratic quirks (Doc’s incoherent note-taking, The Dude’s assertion that “New shit’s come to light”) and outlandish incidents is more important than sculpting a meticulous three-act storyline.

Create hilarity through haziness

The Dude and Doc have impeccable comic timing. Perpetually perplexed, and prone to misinterpreting other people’s intentions, they often obliviously stumble into unknown, dangerous situations, or find themselves in embarassing, awkward physical positions.

Watch the “Where’s the Money” scene, for example, where The Dude is more upset that his rug was peed on than that his head was dunked in the toilet.

Use cinematography to distort perspective

Both films employ specific cinematographic techniques to further enhance the hallucinatory visual experience. Skewed, titled or unusual camera angles elucidate the characters’ altered states of mind. Vivid and saturated colours, often used in conjunction with neon lighting and bold palettes, add to the psychedelic, surreal feel. Long takes and tracking shots immerse the viewer In the scene, creating a fluid, continuous flow of movement.

In moments of vulnerability, like this Ouija board scene in Inherent Vice, the camera uses soft focus to highlight the loneliness and vulnerability of the two characters.

Juxtapose with loud and boisterous characters

The Dude and Doc’s respect for other people’s boundaries is juxtaposed against loud and boisterous characters who fret, fume, and throw their weight about, while achieving nothing.

The Dude’s friend, Walter Sobchak (John Goodman) is a Vietnam War veteran who’s angry about everything. His explosive temper and volatile personality further emphasize The Dude’s unflappable calm. In an attempt to be loyal and help his friend, Walter involves himself in The Dude’s misadventures without invitation, and instead, further complicates the situation.

“This is not ‘Nam. This is bowling. There are rules.”

Walter Sobchak, The Big Lebowski

Lt. Christian F. "Bigfoot" Bjornsen (Josh Brolin), an intimidating LAPD detective who reluctantly works with Doc, embodies a sense of high-strung authority, aggression and condescension. Unlike Doc, Bigfoot believes that the law can help him control the chaotic nature of the world.

However, as the film progresses, Bigfoot loses conviction that the LAPD will do the right thing. In the climax of the film, Bigfoot breaks down and becomes vulnerable in a strange, reckless way.

Tiny Bubbles & Locked Perspectives

Beyond being masterworks of stoner-telling, these films are close to my heart because the characters are so light and loveable. The Dude and Doc don’t take themselves too seriously. They step on no one’s toes. They may slip through the cracks of society’s fabric but at least they do so endearingly. They live life at low pitch, seeking neither glory nor fulfillment, but only to be left alone.

While the rest of the world lives within its little bubbles and locked perspectives, The Dude’s and Doc’s lack of judgment of the world enables them to access different worlds and connect the dots while those around them are busy being furious.

If an inherent vice gets you off your strung-out, egotistical high horse and out of your cowboy boots, into sandals, is it still a vice?

If an inherent vice helps you un-complicate life while seeing the complexity of life for what it is, is it still a vice?

There is something to be said about being at peace with our place in the world, with, if not clarity, if not haziness, with, at least empathy. There is value in moving through this world without friction or guilt while finding the motivation to do the things we love.

For these lessons, I will forever cherish the inherent virtue of The Big Lebowski.