The Haute Critique

We went to the woods. Down the National Park road the direction Yogi told us. There was supposed to be a helipad there. The flat rock outcropping would suffice. We climbed up and smoked a bowl at sunset. Thousands of feet below a river ran. Its motion making static the vast forest in front of us. Next to the table-top flat stone was a fire ring that looked as if it had been recently used. We were not the first to rest here at dusk. As the darkness rose from the forest floor up to the stars we decided to head back. Instead of following the road, we would follow romance and the rugged path through the uncharted woods. Just in case, we kept an eye on the road to make certain we would not end up lost, stoned hikers. 20 paces further and the road had disappeared. For a split second we were there… primal purity.

The search for that sensation drives the main characters in both of the films in this double feature, the titular Jeremiah Johnson and Chris McCandless of Into the Wild.

Jeremiah Johnson hangs up the uniform in the mid 19th century to seek solace as a mountain man in the American West. We don’t get elaborate details of his motivations, but the spirit of jaded disillusionment runs through anyone that found dad eating Santa’s cookies or waited for that sophomore album after a glorious debut. Everyone at one time has caught a boot to the teeth. Jeremiah doesn’t need a backstory. He can borrow ours.

The cinema of Jeremiah Johnson is epic. The quiet solitude. Robert Redford’s eye creases. Bits of comic relief underscored by a Hollywood Studio Orchestra. Technicolor looks great through the cannabinoid lens. Sidney Pollack’s direction puts out a meal for your psyche with triumphs and failures told by a filmmaker craftsman with enough movie magic to make you feel satisfied. In the end, though, it is a period piece, but not of the old west. It is a period piece of 1972.

As the movie was being prepared for release, burglars broke in to the headquarters of the Democratic National Committee. Before that Vietnam. Before that civil rights. Almost 20 years of wrenching social turmoil. And what is a man to do? While Woodward was meeting with Deep Throat, Redford was in the mountains, purifying Jeremiah Johnson of the ills of society.

There is a subconscious feeling that this dark-side of humanity is the price paid for progress. Human cruelty increases with every txt message. For every new airbag and wonder drug, there is a trail of dysfunctional families. Families like that of Chris McCandless.

While Jeremiah Johnson meditates on solemnity and quaint virtues, Into the Wild is a new millennia of motion picture. The only character that was not a star (the libidinous 16 year old, Tracy) is the lead in the Twighlight series. The celebrity extends to the celebrity soundtrack by Eddie Vedder. Writer, Director Sean Penn.

Its the 21st century and nothing is as simple as it seems. Alexander Supertramp, nee Chris McCandless, claims to be on a spiritual journey, but his calculations feel much more like a cry for personal celebrity. Without the social strife immediate to the character of Jeremiah Johnson, Alexander Supertramp is on a reactionary anti-pilgrimage against society in general. As the movie progresses, my 4 hour buzz is waning, Into the Wild is getting me seriously aggro. His, aww-shucks schtick seems more like a veil to his imagined future as a Gen-X Kerouac.

Here he is, flaunting his inexperience in the face of unforgiving nature. His arrogance makes his quest for the rugged individualist epiphany seem like a self indulgent masquerade. The film has music for every segment. It all seems a bit contrived. His hatred of untruth and rejection of society seem cliche and tired.

Didn’t Hal Holbrook get nominated for an oscar for this movie? On cue, he hits the screen. After being taunted and emotionally bullied up onto the mountain with McCandless, he drops a fortune cookie, the way only an old man can. He tells the Supertramp that forgiveness brings love. And love brings the light of god. I know it is cheesy, but as selfish as McCandless was, I forgive him… more than nature ever could or would. And that makes me feel human.

Back in the National Park, we took a 90 degree turn and found our way back to the road. The instant of primal purity now a memory, we were heading home. Thinking back to that emotion, it was much better realized in Jeremiah Johnson. The intense explication of Into the Wild continually drove a wedge between me and the Supertramp. Forgiveness of these sins brought love, and maybe even the light of God, but it couldn’t bring back my buzz.

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