ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST (1975) (A) - An overcast Sunday afternoon was the perfect circumstance to duck into the Guild Cinema to watch Jack Nicholson at the top of his game, leading one of the great ensemble films of all time.
Bo Goldman and Lawrence Hauben adapt Ken Kesey's 1962 novel, and Milos Forman herds cats behind the camera in one of cinema's most deft blends of comedy and horror among the patients at a mental facility in Oregon. The production shifts the narrative point of view from stoic Chief Bromden to wise-cracking Randall McMurphy (Nicholson), who finagles a spot at the psychiatric facility to put off a prison term over his latest violent act that broke the law. (As he puts it, "I fight and fuck too much.")
McMurphy figures that, while he's gaming the system, he will vindicate the rights of the men who are suffering under the iron rule of mean Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher). Kesey's story mines humor from the band of crazies without mocking them. And the story only gradually darkens, as it becomes apparent that the grip of the authorities will always be able to strangle any rebellion, no matter how organized or passionate.
Nicholson and Fletcher were the Ali and Frazier of big-screen rivals, Nicholson with his arched eyebrow and rubber face, and Fletcher with that stony expression that haunts to this day. Around them are talented character actors, some who would become well known -- like Danny DeVito and Christopher Lloyd (in his film debut) -- and others with vaguely familiar faces, such as Sydney Lassick (as Cheswick), William Redfield (Harding), Vincent Schiavelli (Fredrickson), Scatman Crothers (Turkle the guard) and Brad Dourif, also in his debut, in the critical role of stuttering young Billy Bibbit. Will Sampson towers over the proceedings, both literally and figuratively, as Chief, the true hero of the film.
But it all revolves around Nicholson's reckless bad-boy McMurphy, who at times literally upends the ward with his riotously funny antics and blunt talk. He not only challenges authority but also corrupts his weaker co-horts, roping them into poker games, rowdy TV watching and a blowout Christmas party that leads to the horrific climactic events that will forever nag a viewer's psyche.
Shifting that point of view from Chief to a generic omniscient one might upset purists, but it broadens the appeal -- perhaps the ultimate example of the key difference between books and movies. It just would not have worked nearly as well to trap us in one character's mind. Retooled, the story exudes confidence and becomes fundamentally entertaining. McMurphy's aphorisms are too numerous to replay here. (Of his goal in breaking Nurse Ratched, he proclaims, "In one week, I can put a bug so far up her ass she don't know whether to shit or wind her wristwatch.") When he leads the men in the pantomime of pretending to watch the World Series on the blank TV, or breaks them out for an illicit fishing trip, there is a palpable thrum of joy and rebellion among the giddy inmates.
Meanwhile, Chief will break your heart as he finally opens up about his upbringing, referencing his alcoholic father and noting that "when he put the bottle up to his mouth, he didn't suck out of it, it sucked out of him." And throughout, Nurse Ratched's psychological browbeating of her charges is subtle, like the banality of evil, culminating in that shocking climax.
There probably has never been a film quite like "Cuckoo's Nest," either before or after it. Fifty years after its release (and more than 60 years after its setting), its chilling message still seems sadly relevant. Go ahead and fight the system -- see how that works out for you.
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