The Last Picture Show

Directed by Peter Bogdanovich

Screenplay by Larry McMurtry and Peter Bogdanovich

Based on the Novel, The Last Picture Show, by Larry McMurtry

March  2011

The first image we see in Peter Bogdanovich’s 1971 film, The Last Picture Show, based on the loosely autobiographical novel my Larry McMurtry, is a deserted street in a small Texas town. The wind is strong and the dust is blowing . . . it is almost as if the town itself is blowing away, the signs and power lines swinging and waving a sad goodbye. The next image is that of an almost futile attempt to start an old pickup truck followed by a lingering shot of a boy sweeping the street amidst the dust storm. All the while, Hank Williams is singing, “Why don’t you love me like you used to do?” Powerful statement by Bogdanovich: lonely, forlorn, almost without hope. Picturesque in an ominous sorta way.

 

The interesting thing about the imagery in this film is that it is shot entirely in black and white, a choice made by the director in a time of vibrant color. There is something about black and white that adds to the bleakness of the location and time as we enter the world of Anarene, Texas in the 1950’s, a world where people’s lives seem to lack color or aspirations. We know where and when we are without a word ever being spoken. That . . . is great filmmaking.

 

The first words spoken in the film are by Sam the Lion, (Ben Johnson, winner of the Academy Award for best supporting actor), to Sonny (Timothy Bottoms), “You ain’t ever gonna amount to nothin”. This pretty much sets the stage and sums up the events about to unfurl for Sonny, the anti-hero of the story, as well as for the population of Anarene.

 

Bottoms’ portrayal of Sonny can easily be likened to a Hank Williams tune (many of which set the mood throughout the film), as a sad man’s homage to loneliness. No matter what Sonny is doing, his lament is unwavering, his sadness pronounced. It is his journey we follow, the journey of a young man coming of age in a town that is fading away. Bogdanovich’s depiction of his world is raw and unrelenting. It’s small town life and, as Genevieve (Eileen Brennan) tells Sonny, “You can’t sneeze [in this town] without ever’ body offering you a hanky”. Everybody knows everybody else’s business and makes sure to share and embellish it. Gossip is as common as dirt, and the main gossip--or at least the most interesting gossip--is who is sleeping with whom and, more specifically, with whose wife.

 

We watch Sonny move from relationship to relationship, trying to hold on to something but never quite finding his grip. He and his best friend Duane (Jeff Bridges) play football, but their team just never learned to tackle and are reviled as just about the lousiest team on earth. Handsome Duane and beautiful Jacy (Cybill Shepherd) are the apple of everyone’s eye and what everyone else aspires to--the perfect couple--while Sonny is going out with frumpy Charlene Dugg (Sharon Taggart), who won’t let him into her drawers on the eve of their one year anniversary so they break up. And who wants to go out with a girl called Charlene Dugg anyway? This event doesn’t really seem to bother Sonny much, so he moves on. When Coach Popper (Bill Thurman) asks Sonny to drive his wife, Ruth (Cloris Leachman - winner of the Academy Award for best supporting actor) to her doctor’s appointment, it results in a Dr. Pepper and the beginning of long standing affair with Ruth.

 

Jacy is not happy with Duane and his ‘performance’ and begins to move through men like moviegoers through popcorn. She goes from Duane to Lester Marlow (Randy Quaid) to get to the town rich boy in hopes of marriage. When this plan doesn’t work out, she sleeps with her mother’s lover Abilene (Clu Gulager), but again to no great avail.  After a few more missteps, Jacy turns to Sonny for a bit of the action. Sonny, out of his league, falls under her spell. He dumps Ruth, hurtling her deeply, and when Duane comes back to visit and learns of the situation, he smashes Sonny upside the head with a beer bottle for going out with his girl. Then he leaves again, joining the army, one of the few who actually escape this town. The others who do, like Jacy, simply vanish from the scene.

 

Intermittently, Sonny hangs out with Sam the Lion and his mentally impaired boy Billy (Sam Bottoms).  Sam the Lion is a bit of a surrogate father to Sonny and too often spends more time with memories than real life or thoughts of a future. When Sam dies unexpectedly and leaves his pool hall to Sonny, it is the worst thing that could happen to him, as it is just another tie to the drudgery of Anarene.

 

The last picture show in Anarene is, in fact, what Duane and Sonny go to see when Duane comes back to town on his way to Korea, and it ironically reaffirms their friendship and bond.

 

In the final images of the film we see the wind blowing through the landscape of Anarene, and hear the sounds of a honking horn and screeching tires. Sonny steps outside to see what the ruckus is and sees disabled Billy lying in the street, hit by a truck, his broom lying on the ground, a moment of haunting imagery. Here, for the first time, we see Sonny erupt in rage and distress. He jumps in his truck with all the passion and determination it takes to get out of Anarene, to shake this town and all its pain from his limbs--one might even think to hunt down Jacy. He speeds out of town, past the city limit sign, finally making his way out of this hell hole. Not far past the black and white sign announcing ‘Anarene,’ he is umbilically pulled back: He slows the truck, turns around, and drives to the house of Ruth Popper.  She initially throws a tantrum, chastising him for his treatment of her. Then the two sit holding hands and consoling one another until she says to him, “Never you mind . . . never you mind.” This is what remains to him.

 

Bogdanovich deftly directed The Last Picture Show, putting together a cast so well suited to their roles that one might question whether they were acting at all. He created a town so sparse and gritty that you can almost feel the grains of sand gathering on your skin and the dry wind blowing through your hair. It’s film to be remembered and passed on from generation to generation, as a testament to when something crucial and mythic was lost in our homeland.

 

As the film fades into the credits we again hear Hank Williams singing the song from the beginning of the film, and we have come full circle:

 

Why don’t you love me like you used to do?

How come you treat me like a worn out shoe?

My hair’s still curly and my eyes are still blue

Why don’t you love me like you used to do?