The Straight Story

I swear, I'm not on a David Lynch kick right now, but this weekend I did get to see Lynch's 1999 film The Straight Story. And I have to say before I go any further, there are two phrases that I never thought I'd hear associated with David Lynch: "Walt Disney presents", and "rated G". For the master of the surreal, a G-rated road movie isn't quite what I expected from David Lynch, but he nevertheless created just that—and a very heartwarming one at that, too.

Supposedly based on actual events, The Straight Story tells the story of 73-year-old Alvin Straight (played by Richard Farnsworth in his final film role), who lives in Iowa with his daughter Rose (Sissy Spacek). Rose is either slightly retarded or has a speech impediment, but she nevertheless has to be the bearer of bad news one stormy night: Alvin's brother Lyle, with whom he had a falling out 10 years prior, has suffered a stroke, and Alvin, after some quiet reflection, decides that he must travel 300 miles to Lyle's home in Wisconsin to see him. But therein lies the problem: Alvin has no driver's license, Rose has no car, no bus will travel to Lyle's small town, and Alvin's vision is minimal, at best. But in his determination, he improvises a mode of transport for himself: a 1966 John Deere riding mower, towing a make-shift trailer that he uses for sleep.

Laugh if you will (I did), but by his own admission, Alvin is a determined (read, stubborn) man, and he wants very badly to see his brother again before their time is up. His first foray out onto the road wasn't too successful, for his original riding mower died only 5 miles into the journey. But that's when he picked up the '66 model, which made it just a little further—and by further, I mean the entire trip, which I think took him close to 6 weeks, if my math skills are still intact.

I want to say that this film followed the standard template of road movies, wherein a lot of self-discovery takes place as our hero travels to his ultimate destination, but The Straight Story somehow felt a little different. I can't quite put my finger on it, but somehow it was just different—in a good way, though! It helped that director David Lynch loves to tell stories that take place in small towns (think of Blue Velvet and Twin Peaks), and as such, this imparts a certain authenticity to The Straight Story.

As Alvin travels, he sets up camp each night along the road, cooking his dinner over a campfire and enjoying the company he gets from time to time. Sometimes people join him in his camp at night, while he encounters others during his daytime journey down the largely deserted roads of Iowa. Somehow, in some way, each person he comes across brings him a little more perspective on life—and in some cases, he brings perspective into theirs. The first was the pregnant teenager who was running away from her family. Her sees her hitchhiking along the road early in the day, and that night she comes to join him at his camp. What struck me as odd is that they don't even introduce themselves; the girl just sits down by Alvin's campfire and slowly starts opening up to him. And of course, Alvin's words of wisdom encourage her to go back to her home and family, to face what she was running away from (telling her family about her pregnancy).

Alvin also has an encounter with a lady who keeps hitting deer with her car, because the road she drives to work is just littered with them, and it seems that no matter what she does, she ends up hitting a deer every single day. Her long tirade is both disconcerting and hilarious, but you can't help but understand and relate to her frustration (I know I do, from having a close call too many with deer on the road; that's my PA upbringing right there). But Alvin has his most fulfilling—and longest—encounter with a family when he's going down a hill and the brakes on his mower almost give out. The family offers to help him get his mower fixed up, and Alvin graciously accepts (though he stays in his makeshift trailer rather than their house while the work is done). While he waits, Alvin and another older man go for a beer one afternoon and begin trading World War II stories. This is where things really got interesting for me, because with each man's story comes a tale of deep regret, of having seen too much, of having committed wrongs that they can never set right—even with themselves. In the words of Shakespeare's immortal Hamlet, "There's the respect that makes calamity for so long life." It's a terribly sad scene, for here are two World War II veterans who can't rid themselves of the emotional scars that they've carried for more than 60 years. The scene wasn't a commentary on war itself (at least I didn't interpret it that way), but it did show that while long life comes with much happiness, it also comes with much regret. And I think in this particular scene, Richard Farnsworth genuinely shined as an actor.

As I said earlier, I know the road movie is a tried-and-true genre that's been done to death, but somehow, in the hands of David Lynch . . . it just works! Like it's starting anew. I think it was the notion of family that made it work here, for Alvin thinks so much about his brother during his long journey, recounting how close the two were when they were much younger, how they knew each other better than they knew themseves, and how painful it was for them to fall out like they did. Even though I'm an only child, Alvin's explanation of why they fought still rings true with me: in his own words, it's a story as old as the Bible, as old as Cain and Abel—about how their vanity got in the way of their closeness, and how Alvin must swallow his pride (a bitter pill, he admits) in order to forgive Lyle (and himself!) for their past transgressions. In some ways, The Straight Story reminded me of Five Easy Pieces, insofar as coming to grips with familial anger, of having to let go of that anger, and discover some true facets about yourself along the way.

Alvin's final reunion with Lyle (Harry Dean Stanton) is very brief, actually, but the years upon years of brotherly love and anger shine through without words needing to be said. And even though these two proud men may not say much to each other, their mannerisms, their facial ticks, and their tears—not to mention their final gazing up at the stars before the end credits roll—say all that's needed to be said. Here, the anger of old gives way to guilt, with each man wanting to love the other, wanting to forgive the other, wanting to forgive themselves.



In the final analysis, The Straight Story is a simple story—of family, of self-discovery, and of forgiveness. I must give kudos to director Lynch for pulling off a film as heartwarming as this. After growing accustomed to Lynch's trademark surrealism, it's refreshing to know that he can also make a film about the human condition that's so true, and so unforgettable. I must also praise the wonderful soundtrack before I forget, composed by Lynch regular Angelo Badalamenti.

But most importantly, this was a remarkable role for Richard Farnsworth to undertake, and I didn't even realize that he was Oscar-nominated for it (losing to Kevin Spacey for American Beauty). He doesn't overplay Alvin or try to make him into some kind of moralistic hero. Quite the opposite, really: he plays Alvin as a simple man who's led a full life, almost too full a life, and who's ready to let go of his demons and make peace with the world before he leaves it. And in a sad twist of fate, Richard Farnsworth died only a year after this film was made. (From what I understand, he committed suicide after being diagnosed with terminal cancer.) So in a way, The Straight Story also served as Richard Farnsworth's own swan song, his own epitaph. And if I may say so, this role was a very proper and very fitting end to his film career. 8.5 out of 10.