As the country prepared for Independence Day this year, I did what any sensible citizen would do and watched TV. Specifically, I watched Easy Rider, the 1969 cult classic directed by Dennis Hopper, featuring Peter Fonda and himself. It is even more serendipitous because newspapers two days later bring news of Peter Fonda’s passing. There is a dark poetry to watching Easy Rider on August 14th 2019. This is more than a road film involving Harley Davidsons and a fantastic soundtrack. It is a metaphor for freedom disguised as a story of two young men who set out to discover their country, before their idyll is defeated by bigotry. Images of Kashmiri youth were never far from me, providing a meta element for viewing. Watching it 50 years after it was made is a shock to the senses because this is 2019, and life has been sped up far beyond the easy going 60 bpm that Nature or God intended. So, Peter Fonda’s body language, tuned in and cool, makes one burn with envy and pine for 1969 or thereabouts.
The story begins with a cocaine sale in Mexico that buys our protagonists, Wyatt and Billy, enough money to ride their bikes from the west coast all the way south east, to New Orleans, in time for Mardi Gras. Somewhere in New Mexico, they meet the alcoholic lawyer, George Hanson, played by Jack Nicholson. George decides to put on his old football helmet and hit the road with them. The grandeur of the cinematography is great. Thanks to the Hungarian born cameraman Laszlo Kovacs. An homage to the vast midwestern landscapes of the United States, he throws everything and the kitchen sink in. Natural lighting except for the campfire scenes where he added some halogens, hand held camera footage mixed with stunning motorcycle shots and road scenes.
The budget being too small to rent a camera vehicle, Kovacs suggested they purchase a 1968 Chevvy Impala that was a smooth ride. He mounted his Arriflex camera on a plywood plank and put this on top off the Impala. He recalls “Everything was improvised. I just shot what felt right.” This could only be a film of the ’60s. Nomadism and the pursuit of freedom is written into its DNA. Cast and crew were already living on the wild side and wished to make a film that spoke for the counterculture.
Peter Fonda’s star spangled jacket, Dennis Hopper’s signature hat and fringed suede jacket stamp every frame with the spirit of desperados, running from the conformity of the ’50s, riding with the zeitgeist. The edit locks horns with the politics of the ’60’s, by including subliminal images of President Nixon’s resignation over Watergate. As the three head south east, the scale of their challenges increase with the changing landscape. Initially, the legendary Route 66 offers utopia. Bucolic paradise, free love, generous sharing. But as their motorcycles chug south east onto the lowlands of Louisiana, Spanish moss and plantation mansions enter the frame, and things turn sinister. The turning point is a visit to a diner, symbol of all-American optimism. The encounter is fraught. Local men in collared shirts and baseball caps are openly hostile, while local girls in poplin frocks are excited and flirtatious. Despite their non-threatening nature, the protagonists seem to represent danger. Not wanting trouble, they leave. That night by the campfire, George makes the masthead monologue of the film "Oh, they’re not scared of you” he says “They’re scared of what you represent. Freedom. It’s real hard to be free when you’re bought and sold in the market place.”
It is interesting to learn that the diner scene was shot without actors, everyone were civilians, so to speak. The acid trip scene in the New Orleans French Quarter cemetery is riveting for both camerawork and edit. Using Bolex 16 mm cameras, Kovacs explores the physiology of a psychedelic experience. Angels and gargoyles play footsie with the actors. Trapped against marble gravestones, they flashback and flash forward. Last but absolutely not the least, the soundtrack is a musical commentary for the times. From Steppenwolf’s searing war cry, Born to be Wild, to Bob Dylan’s iconoclastic words “…they dare to push fake morals, insult and stare/While money doesn't talk, it swears/ Obscenity, who really cares/ Propaganda, all is phoney” it serves to give one pause. To ask: When did we leave the garden? What was the trade off?
