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Though Rushmore just opened nationwide, you've probably
been hearing about it for a while now, because it had a brief run in New
York and L.A. to qualify for the 1998 Oscar race. Since that short run
a couple of months ago, Bill Murray's performance as Herman Blume has been
singled out for praise, and deservedly so. Blume is a man who hates himself
almost as much as he hates his family and the life he's been leading for
the past twenty years, and Murray captures every bit of his self-loathing
and self-doubt, along with the occasional flash of hope. He manages to
remain one of the screen's funniest presences without falling back on any
of his trademark moves _ there's no Murray smirk here, just a fully realized
character portrayal. There's a scene early on in which Blume, at his twin
sons' birthday party, stops tossing golf balls into the pool long enough
to get up, amble to the diving board, and jump in. That doesn't sound like
much, but it's a brilliant scene, summing up without words almost everything
we need to know about this man. Once in the water, he sits there, holding
his breath, looking as if he'd rather not get back out. That shot reminds
me of a scene in The Graduate, in which Ben Braddock stands in the family
pool and looks forlornly at the camera. Like Ben, Blume is at a crossroads
in his life. He wants something to happen, for his life to change in some
way, but is unable to find a way to make that change. He's a fascinating,
funny, and sad man, and he's not even the film's main character. That would
be Max Fischer.
Played by newcomer Jason Schwartzman, Max is unlike anyone you've
seen on film before. "Geek" is too simple a term describe him, but he's
got the horn-rimmed glasses, braces, and misguided superiority complex
to fit the bill. But more important, he has unbridled enthusiasm for life,
and for Max, the Rushmore Academy is his life. He's the president of most
of the clubs his school offers _ from the beekeeping club to the
French club and everything between. And that's not counting the clubs he's
founded, such as the Double-Team Dodgeball Society and the Max Fischer
Players, who perform the bizarrely elaborate plays that Max writes (the
all-kid production of Serpico is worth the price of admission by itself).
He's really less a nerd than a fifteen-year-old Renaissance man.
As the film opens, Max's life is about to change in several
significant ways. His dedication to extracurricular activities has made his grades
suffer, and he's dangerously close to being expelled. Soon, he meets Ms.
Cross, the school's new first-grade teacher. Max is not a kid who does
things halfway, so he doesn't develop a mere crush on Ms. Cross _ he becomes
obsessed with her. When she runs out of lemonade, he's there with a refill.
When her pen runs dry, he's got a fresh one waiting for her. She's not
the only person to enter and affect Max's life. He also meets Mr. Blume,
a self-made millionaire whose twin sons attend Rushmore. Blume sees a little
of himself in Max, a misfit who doesn't quite fit in, but who has no trouble
making things happen for himself. In part wishing to relive his own youth
and in part needing a son figure that doesn't disgust him, Blume takes
Max under his wing, offering him a job at his factory and helping him with
his newest scheme.
It's that scheme (involving the unauthorized construction of
an aquarium on what was Rushmore's baseball diamond) that finally gets
Max expelled. Then his world comes crashing down around him. He's forced
to go to public school, the woman of his dreams won't date him because
she's twice his age, and, worst of all, his friend Mr. Blume has fallen
in love with the same woman. When Max declares war on his
mentor-turned-romantic-rival,
things kick into high gear.
Director Wes Anderson has said he wanted to give Rushmore
a feeling of hyper-reality, something akin to the works of Roald Dahl.
He succeeded beautifully. Small details give the film its fable-like
quality. The passage of time is shown using curtains labeled "September," "October,"
and so on, opening to reveal a new scene; Mr. Blume uses a giant,
old-fashioned pneumatic tube in his office. The real feat of the movie is its ability
to combine the almost surreal aspects of the plot with likable, eccentric,
but ultimately believable characters that at times can be downright
heartbreaking.
But, above all else, the movie is exceptionally well written.
The script, by Anderson and Owen Wilson, is letter perfect, and possibly
one of the funniest ever committed to celluloid. From the opening shot
(a horrible oil painting of the Blume family) to the last, everything in
the film is exactly what it should be. There's not a wasted shot or a
superfluous scene. When the Oscar nominations come out in a few days, I'll be expecting
to see a Supporting Actor nod for Bill Murray, but I'll also be hoping
for a Best Actor nomination for Jason Schwartzman, a directing nod for
Wes Anderson, a screenplay nomination for Anderson and Wilson, and, of
course, a Best Picture nomination. I don't think Max Fischer would settle
for any less.
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