The Brown Bunny

My first exposure to Vincent Gallo was a viewing of Buffalo '66 in my American Independent Cinema class senior year of college. I’m not sure exactly why it had taken me so long to see that film since I heard quite a bit about it. Yet there are only so many films a person can view and thus, Buffalo '66 stayed off my radar for a number of years. When I finally did see it, I was mesmerized. Many might disagree with me here but I think Vincent Gallo has a phenomenal charm about him. In some senses he could be considered a narcissistic filmmaker and the characters he plays are not always sympathetic or accessible. However, he’s very unique in physical appearance and the way he captures the world he inhabits both as a filmmaker and as a character is beautiful in its innocence, candor and simplicity.

At the same time my class was studying Gallo and his first film, Gallo’s sophomore film, The Brown Bunny, was garnering a great deal of exposure and criticism due to the now infamous sex scene between Gallo and Chloë Sevigny's characters at the end of the film. When it was first screened at Cannes, The Brown Bunny did not go over well with audiences. According to Gallo, he was pushed to show the unfinished (or rather uncut) version of The Brown Bunny against his better judgment. It is not surprising then that the film was not received well. Besides the sexual explicitness, viewers were bored to tears due to painfully lengthy sequences of almost no dramatic significance. These sequences would eventually be edited for the American release, although some might argue that even the edited version of this film is just one large painfully lengthy sequence of almost no dramatic significance.

I was not deterred by the criticism, however, and as luck would have it, my American Independent Cinema professor wasn’t either. I recall a conversation I had with him in which he told me, “I just want to see this movie because everyone else seems to hate it.” While that wasn’t necessarily my reasoning for wanting to screen the film myself, I did wonder what certain people’s aversion toward The Brown Bunny was all about. Did the sex scene ruin the entire viewing experience? Was the film so boring audiences simply could not find anything else redeeming about it?

As my taste in cinema has become more refined, I often find it necessary to go against the grain when I encounter a film the majority of people dislike. It becomes my own personal goal to find an element of that film that everyone else missed because I want to be one of the few who saw something unique.

So instead of taking a pass on The Brown Bunny because of what I had heard about it, I rented the film as soon as I could. When I first watched the edited version of The Brown Bunny at a very tolerable 93 minutes, it did feel like the film played a lot longer than that because the dialogue is extremely sparse and honestly, nothing really happens through much of the film. I can understand why audiences at Cannes were so angry and hostile being that the version they saw was just under two hours. While most of The Brown Bunny could really be cut if we were measuring the dramatic value of each scene, Gallo was able to recognize where he went overboard with the more monotonous sequences in the first version of the film. The opening scene of the motorbike racing, which was edited down a great deal, still feels lengthy but just lengthy enough to get the point without wanting to skip to the next scene or turn the film off entirely. Maybe some people would have given up on Gallo after that scene, but the strange repetitious beauty of it reeled me into the story. I also feel as though the scene takes on new meaning once the whole film unravels itself. But those are musings for a whole other analysis.

Watching The Brown Bunny was like being in a sort of dream state for an hour and a half. I felt myself floating along with the character of Bud Clay as he traveled across the country in his beat up old van. For anyone who’s ever taken a road trip, there’s a kind of hypnotic mysticism that occurs when you just sit back and absorb everything around you. The road seems to stretch out infinitely and while you are going somewhere, you could just as easily be going nowhere. You escape reality and are left with nothing but the open road and your own thoughts. For the viewer, the shots of Bud driving along lost highways and desolate terrain are peaceful, almost comforting. Yet for Bud, the open road is nothing but false hope. Bud is clearly plagued by a relationship he once shared with a woman named Daisy. Because we know they lived together in California and Bud is traveling to California, one can assume he is going back to find her. Something in their relationship must have gone awry because when Bud is alone with his own thoughts, he becomes distraught. He drives and drives in an attempt to fool himself that this journey will bring him back to a life he once had. However, the road mocks Bud. It is an illusion constructed in Bud's mind to help him avoid the pain and regret. He attempts to make emotional and physical connections with women along the way, yet these connections never last and he can only keep up the illusion for so long. The close-up images of Bud, lonely and haunted, are reminders that no matter how far he may drive, the past is never too far behind.

What I love about Vincent Gallo’s performance is how raw and unfiltered it is. While he may enjoy filming himself in states of melancholy and resentment, and for some people this is off-putting because it suggests a kind of pretension on his part, I am able to separate the director from the actor. I personally love to watch Vincent Gallo in states of melancholy and resentment because I consider them to be beautifully filmed and beautifully performed. Gallo has pure talent and he recognizes it. This is not such a bad thing. He is confident in his abilities as an artist, and that confidence comes out on the screen in the form of beguiling cinema.

Now, if you have heard of The Brown Bunny at all, you have most likely heard about it in conjunction with “the scene” in the hotel room. I’m not going to divulge any information about that scene in this review, however, because it is such a small aspect of the film in my opinion. I will say that it does stand out, not so much for its explicit sexuality, but more so because the scene is quite visceral while the film up until this point feels much more delicate and composed. The interaction between Bud and Daisy is messy and frustrating and while there is good reason for this, it is a difficult scene to watch when comparing it to the rest of the film which, for me, plays out like a bitter yet consoling Chopin nocturne. I think the scene has its place within the greater context of the film but it certainly should not be used as criteria for judging The Brown Bunny in its entirety. I will say that whether Gallo intended it or not, his decision to create this scene and consequently get everyone in the film community intrigued and disgusted was a brilliant marketing ploy. If this scene is the reason people see the film, then I am that much happier it was included in the final cut.

The viewing experience I had with The Brown Bunny was not unlike the one I had with Lost in Translation, another film that seemed to go over the heads of many people. Although much of the film is simply watching a character float through time and space, it is liberating to not see that character bound by narrative convention. Dialogue is rarely exchanged making what the characters do say to one another all the more acute and effective. It is minimal cinema, and it certainly takes some getting used to if you are only accustomed to the kind of filmmaking that puts audience expectations before artistic merit. What you can find in a film like The Brown Bunny or Lost in Translation is the filmmaker’s spirit, untainted and sincere. While there are a variety of films that could only be successfully executed with the contribution of thousands of crewmembers, there are films that succeed because they remain under the control and design of one individual. No external forces manipulated that filmmaker’s intentions for the film and therefore the end product becomes a true echo of the artist. To me, getting to witness that echo is a rare privilege.

I don’t begrudge anyone who disliked The Brown Bunny or finds Vincent Gallo to be a pompous, self-involved film snob. However, part of me does wish that people could recognize the power of art in its purest form. The Brown Bunny is not a series of Hollywood clichés strung together for the sole purpose of entertainment or profit. Gallo’s film is honest with its audience without fear of insulting it and consequently stands apart as one of the few cinematic breaths of fresh air.