What makes a man?
Raymond Chandler, father of hardboiled crime fiction, offers his definition of masculinity in his 1939 debut novel, “The Big Sleep.”
Often ranked as one of the greatest American novels, “The Big Sleep" set the tone for a generation of noir mystery thrillers and has inspired thousands of imitations, parodies and everything in between.
One work that lies firmly in the “in between” category is “The Big Lebowski,” which is one of my favorite movies and, like its predecessor, has had an enormous impact on our popular culture and lexicon (“the parlance of our times,” as Lebowski fans might say).
With “The Big Sleep” celebrating its 80th anniversary this year, I revisited the novel with fresh eyes—and evaluated it against the Coen Brothers’ 1998 cult classic. Comparing the novel and the film, I found dueling takes on the archetypal male antihero—Chandler’s Philip Marlowe and the Coen Brothers’ The Dude—that speak to the evolution of our culture.
The novel, of course, has long been heralded and mocked—sometimes both at the same time—for two distinctive features.
One, it’s peppered with cringe-inducing similes, which have become a staple of the noir genre. (“The General spoke again, slowly, using his strength as carefully as an out-of-work showgirl uses her last good pair of stockings.”)
Two, it has a ridiculously convoluted plot. The protagonist, Marlowe, is hired to investigate an attempt to extort the daughter of a dying millionaire, General Sternwood, and quickly finds himself tumbling down a rabbit hole of murder, bribery, possible kidnappings, police coverups and other complications. A lot of ins and outs and what-have-yous.
Nearly six decades later, the Coen Brothers crafted an equally convoluted plot for their film, “The Big Lebowski”—only they placed a stoner, rather than a hardened detective, at the center. As director Joel Coen told IndieWire shortly after the film’s release, “We wanted to do a Chandler kind of story—how it moves episodically, and deals with the characters trying to unravel a mystery. As well as having a hopelessly complex plot that’s ultimately unimportant.”
The film includes dozens of references to the novel, some obvious and others quite subtle. In the novel, for instance, Sternwood is a military veteran in a wheelchair who hires Marlowe to investigate the extortion attempt against one of his two rebellious daughters—just like a Korean War veteran in the film, also a wheelchair user, hires The Dude to investigate the kidnapping of his rebellious trophy wife. In addition, Sternwood tells Marlowe he gives his daughters “generous allowances” and, later, sanctimoniously instructs Marlowe that “this matter is now in your hands”—phrases also uttered in the film, nearly word-for-word, to great comedic effect. Both the novel and the film take place in Los Angeles and involve naive women turning to pornography to escape their debts. Also in both, the word “naked” is used as a synonym for “unarmed.” The novel even mentions a mysterious rug.
But there are stark differences in the moral landscapes that underpin the novel and film.
Both are products of their times.
Set in the early 1990s, “The Big Lebowski” features (unwitting) cameos from George H.W. Bush and Saddam Hussein. It depicts the United States at a time when the country was preparing to enter the Gulf War even as it was still wrestling with the legacy of Vietnam and the lasting trauma the war had inflicted on a generation that was then reaching middle age—including those who protested (The Dude) and those who served (his best friend, Walter Sobchak).Meanwhile, “The Big Sleep” reflects an America still reeling from the Great Depression and eager to return to the Roaring 20s. Throughout the novel, cynical characters dream of a simpler, bygone era. At one point, the Los Angeles district attorney laments the fact that Sternwood allows his adult daughters to roam the city freely: “I guess he doesn’t realize what the world is today.” The novel is a reminder that for many Americans, a glorified past will always be better than an uncertain present.
“The Big Sleep” is also a reflection of a more moralistic America, set during a time when the country was grappling with the lingering effects of Prohibition and when many states banned gambling, pornography, sodomy and other perceived vices—giving rise to the organized crime syndicates that would become a major force in U.S. politics and culture. Just about every character in the novel but Marlowe is involved in some kind of racket—whether running an underground casino or a black market for dirty magazines. When everything is criminalized, everyone becomes a criminal. Or, as one of the novel’s four—yes, four—femme fatales puts it, “As long as people will gamble there will be places for them to gamble.”
The novel defines its male archetype in the terms of this prudish, black-and-white moral landscape—a wisecracking figure who embodies comic-book masculinity.
Nearly two decades before James Bond first uttered the phrase “shaken, not stirred,” Chandler’s Marlowe was ordering his coffee “black, strong and made this year.” He’s an alcoholic who almost always has a drink in hand or is in pursuit of one. He’s a vigilante who, when he stumbles upon a dead body or witnesses a murder, takes it upon himself to investigate rather than calling the police. And when Marlowe believes he’s found the perpetrators, he doesn’t hesitate to administer his own form of street justice—for he is the ultimate arbiter of right and wrong. Marlowe is a superhero who works by night in a costume of blue and black.
The male archetype as defined by Chandler is misogynistic and homophobic—and irresistible to women. There’s sexual chemistry between Marlowe and every woman in the novel, all of whom are dangerously attractive—and two of whom attempt to seduce him, one by sneaking into his bed at night, “as naked and glistening as a pearl.”
Marlowe’s misogyny and homophobia are treated as virtues. He refers to a gay man as a “fag” and a “pansy” and says such men have “no iron” in their “bones.” He despises women, in one case slapping one of the Sternwood daughters and then stating: “Probably all her boyfriends got around to slapping her sooner or later. I could understand how they might.” Marlowe’s chauvinism only makes him more attractive to the women who inhabit Chandler’s universe. And yet he spurns all their advances, just like he turns down numerous attempts to bribe him with sums much larger than the $500 he’s being paid by Sternwood. For Chandler, the male archetype is the highest moral authority, his mind and body incorruptible, setting him apart from the sex and corruption all around him.
Enter Jeffrey Lebowski, The Dude.
Where “The Big Sleep” is moralistic and bigoted, the film is ambiguous and accepting, taking place in a colorful world of dueling philosophies with no clear answers. The film features nihilists, feminists, pacifists, and “reactionaries”—along with strait-laced members of the “square community”—all pushing their competing visions of right and wrong. This is reflective of a diverse, modern America that is rightly drifting away from the rigid, Puritanical values of the past—but has not yet figured out how to replace them. Everyone purports to have an answer but there’s no longer a societal consensus.
For his part, The Dude reacts to this confounding moral landscape by turning inward, developing an answer of his own, a philosophy best summed up by the (no joke) Church of the Latter-Day Dude: “Just take it easy, man. Stop worrying so much whether you’ll make it into the finals. Kick back with some friends and some oat soda and whether you roll strikes or gutters, do your best to be true to yourself and others—that is to say, abide.”
Jeffrey Lebowski is everything Philip Marlowe is not.
He’s unemployed, unkempt and utterly unqualified for the task of solving a complex mystery. Where Marlowe is incorruptible, The Dude embraces the vices of his age: sex, drugs and the occasional acid flashback. Where Marlowe resists the temptations of the femme fatales constantly throwing themselves at him, The Dude’s love life seems designed as an intentional rebuke of Chandler’s misogyny: He succumbs to the temptations of an empowered feminist who is using him, literally, for his manhood. She wants to conceive a child with a deadbeat who won’t have any interest in being a father.
Is that all the male archetype is good for in today’s world?
The Coen Brothers’ mockery of Chandleresque masculinity is laid bare when The Dude is asked directly about the virtues of manhood. His answer shows just how little regard the film has for the traditional portrays of manliness of the past, exposing Chandler’s Marlowe for what he really is—a fraud.
“What makes a man, Mr. Lebowski?” asks the Korean War veteran who hires the Dude. “Is it being prepared to do the right thing, whatever the cost? Isn't that what makes a man?”
“Sure,” The Dude responds glibly, “that and a pair of testicles.”
