Deixem-nos Viver

I had all but forgotten about the film of "Alice's Restaurant", which was inspired by (as opposed to based on) Arlo Guthrie's classic and comic song of the same name. Viewing it again on DVD made for a curious experience.

Midway through the film, director Arthur Penn (fresh off of "Bonnie and Clyde", I believe) literally shoots the events on which the song is based, and they are if anything even more amusing on screen than on record. However, anyone expecting the film itself to reflect this tone overall is in for a surprise.

By the time Arlo (playing himself) has his litter-inspired run-in with the draft board (which is, again, hilarious) we have come to know him as one of a commune-like group of people in Stockbridge which is more or less centered around Alice and Ray. The two live unconventionally with their friends in an unused Church. Alice seeks to add some stability to her life by opening a restaurant, which she does successfully with the help of friend Arlo's jingle. She and Arlo are the only members of their group who look beyond the aimless lifestyle of the members of their commune, who are content to meander through life riding motorcycles and getting stoned. We see Alice affected by the drug-inspired struggle and death of addict Shelley and Arlo affected by the long illness and eventual death of his father, Woody Guthrie. Perhaps their emotional connections to their lost loved ones are what clue them in to the shallowness of the lives around them. But if Arlo has his music to move on to, Alice is fairly glued to her life with the stoned-out Ray, their friends and her restaurant. It is with great sadness indeed that she watches Arlo ride off to resume his life on the road.

The point made about the trappings of the Hippie lifestyle being so unfulfilling are well ahead of their time when juxtaposed with other movies of the era and are actually quite haunting. The problem is that they make the wonderful recapping of the events surrounding Arlo's writing of the song seem out of place. This shift in tone is never quite reconciled by director Penn, rendering the film more of a curiosity than a success.

In addition to the now-fabled Thanksgiving sequence, highlights include James Broderick's lively performance as Ray, Pat Quinn's understated one as Alice and Guthrie's ever present charm and humor. It is also a wonderful bonus to see Arlo perform his father's "Pastures of Plenty" and "Car Song" with the wonderful Pete Seeger. (That's folk music producer Harold Leventhal as Woody's manager.) The film itself is ultimately as ramshackle as the group whose story it tells, but if the era means anything to you you will find it worth watching.

After seeing all the negative criticism, I just had to say a few words in the films defence. ALICE'S RESTAURANT is unconventionally produced, but it DEFINITELY has themes running through out it.. It deals with some profound issues about the era, particularly the concept of the pursuit of happieness. Note the significant change in tone in the last section: The marriage ceremony and party at the end brilliantly convey the idea of the characters trying to "be free" and have a good time, but that if there is aimlessness in your life, there will be a sadness there and you won't know were it is comming from. True, it also helps if you like folk music (witch I do). I found the scenes of Arlo by his father Woody's bed side quite touching, especially when he is performing with Pete Seagar. And of course, seeing the ALICE'S RESTUARANT MASSECREE acted out is delightful.

Those who write complaining that the movie isn't like the song are missing the point. The movie isn't about the song, nor is the movie supposed to be based around the song. The movie merely includes the song - and some events in Arlo Guthrie's life in the 1960s. Get over the fixation about the song and you might begin to see what the movie is about.

Alice's Restaurant is about life and loss, and the traps we allow ourselves to get caught up in. It's about addiction, youth, anarchy, death, and aimlessness. It's a celebration and a lament for all those things.

As most students of 1960s filmmaking are aware, "Alice's Restaurant" was director Arthur Penn's unsuccessful follow-up to "Bonnie and Clyde." It was based on -- or rather inspired by -- a good idea: Arlo Guthrie's famous autobiographical song, which told the humorous and ironic tale of two run-ins with the "establishment," as we used to say, during a Thanksgiving in Stockbridge, Mass., and a subsequent draft board examination in New York City.

Thirty-three long years later, seeing this cultural artifact from the late '60s is less like watching a story unfold than stepping into a time machine. The good, bad and tragic aspects of that turbulent era are all represented here, and the past -- as observed from our tainted and narcissistic age of SUVs, AIDS and the Internet -- seems positively innocent. And -- with a few obvious exceptions -- idyllic.

The 1960s may have been a tumultuous era, but those years embodied one crucial concept sorely missing from today's society: youthful idealism. Way back when -- before a six-figure salary became the college student's holy grail, when saving the world was more important than earning a law degree -- young people were actually passionate -- about freedom, about peace, about the long- term prospects for humanity. If that passion has not completely vanished, it has certainly been redirected -- and not, in my view, toward a positive or productive end.

Whether Penn's film works or not as a cinematic adaptation of Guthrie's song, whether it successfully mixes deadpan humor (hippies vs. bureaucratic clods) with tragedy (the dark side of drug use) seems almost irrelevant now. The movie succeeds in capturing a remarkable moment in time, a short period when the future may have been uncertain, but there was still a brilliant ray of sunshine at the end of the tunnel -- and a youthful force propelling us toward it.

The hippie movement may have been naive, but it was a movement nonetheless, and a positive form of rebellion. As seen in the film, young people often used the word "peace" instead of "goodbye" -- not just as a pleasant sentiment at the end of a conversation, but as a serious reminder of what was important -- that nothing was more vital than global, harmonious accord, to "live as one." That spirit may have died with John Lennon; it may have left this Earth with Jerry Garcia. In any case, it's pretty much gone now, and already -- except, perhaps, within a few small, nostalgic circles -- nearly forgotten.

Today, the concepts of "peace" and "love" seem hopelessly quaint. The era of Flower Power has long since passed, and most young people would readily agree that All You Need is Cash -- the majority of them knowing infinitely more about money markets than peaceful coexistence. Teenagers who once joined together to enjoy music, freedom and a sense of community (Woodstock) have been replaced by a disenfranchised generation who angrily rape, steal and burn (Woodstock '99). Somewhere along the line, the hopeful enthusiasm of folk music and rock'n'roll gave way to the fury of punk, rap and hip-hop. Freeform artistic expression (Prog-Rock, Pop Art, tie-died clothes, experimental filmmaking) was discarded in favor of nihilism and self-mutilation (Industrial/ Goth-Rock, Heavy Metal, piercings and tattoos). The ray of hope faded. "Make Love, Not War" degenerated into "Show Us Your Tits." The "us" decade ('60s) became the "me" decade ('70s). And now -- God help us -- we are firmly entrenched in what surely would've made the founding fathers wish they'd never been born: the"whatever" century.

This apathetic new millenium has ushered in not a glorious Odyssey of space exploration or a Brave New World of modern medicine -- but terrorism, fear, ignorance and intolerance. Politically, Ashcroft's medical marijuana raids and "President" Bush's environmental atrocities likely cause even die-hard liberals to fondly recall the days of Tricky Dick! Who could have ever imagined?!

And so "Alice's Restaurant" is another tragic arrow through our empty, modern- day heart -- a damning reminder of just how low this country has sunk, how far a nation of bloodless, soulless opportunists has strayed from the garden. Think of it! Once, this country poured its life blood into electing leaders who would end war and famine; now, we waste millions trying to impeach them for receiving blow jobs.

Jim Morrison was 35 years ahead of his time. The '60s -- in retrospect -- was the beginning. And this, now, is the end.

Peace.

Except for the bloody politician's war in Vietnam, I still have some affection for the '60's. The period was certainly a liberating experience from the uptight 1950's. However, viewed now apart from the hype of the time, Penn's movie has not worn well at all. It does convey something of the communal spirit of the day; plus the sweet-faced Guthrie has an appropriately congenial screen presence. But too many passages now seem pointlessly meandering, having lost whatever topicality they might have had. Another reviewer's comparison of the film with that of a home movie captures, I think, the basic flaw.

Nonetheless, the movie manages a couple of amusingly revealing episodes. It's no surprise for the '60's, that both have to do with authority run amok. First the cops go to absurd lengths to convict Guthrie of littering, of all things; then in the film's highpoint, the tyrannical army- processing center treats him like a criminal. Though done satirically, each represents a popularly rebellious attitude of the time. Then too, unlike the rest of the film, the impact here is structured for effect.

One other noteworthy point—it's no accident, I think, that it's a church the youngsters convert for their purposes. This can be understood as another subversion of authority by replacing the formal rules of authoritarian religion with those of the more easy-going humanism established by the communal restaurant. (At the same time, the sacramental wine of the former is replaced by a ceremonial joint that gets passed around.) Of course, without anything like formal rules, a downside is revealed once Alice ends up doing all the restaurant work, which the others happily shirk.

The ending remains something of a puzzle. I take the forlorn bride (Alice) as a comment on the Hollywood cliché of 'they lived happily ever after'. Shrewdly, Penn doesn't want to leave us with the impression that a hippie ethic solves all social problems. Anyway, seeing the movie now, I realize how far into obscurity it has sunk after the big splash it made on initial release. For a much more entertaining and insightful glimpse of the period, check out Hal Ashby's mordant black comedy Harold and Maude (1972).