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My Dinner With Andre
(1981)
Dir: Louis Malle
Inconceivable! To think that a movie about two theatre people eating dinner together could be so overwhelming, and so fucking engaging. This screen adaptation of the play written by Wallace Shawn--playwright, known to middle America for his role as the genius, in The Princess Bride--and Andre Gregory--avante garde theatre director--stars both men playing themselves. It is told from Shawn’s point of view and is quite simply--but then again … not so--about his dinner with an old friend, the supposedly estranged, Andre. As the two men begin discussing Andre’s recent adventures in hyper-bohemian, European, theatre workshops, and progress haphazardly from there, the conversation repeatedly turns inward to expose both men’s world views and acute neuroses. Although at the outset, the topics of conversation are a bit foreign and heady--to both the viewer and Wallace--the gravity of Andre’s experiences pulls his audience in tight. This movie is existential fodder, but unlike most of that crap, it is neither condescending of masturbatory. Andre’s convictions in his thoughts, his visions, and his experiences are unflinching, and Wallace’s skepticism and scrutiny of Andre’s deposition strikes a fine balance between two worlds of thought. Neither conversationalist is closed minded to the other’s inquiry and both men benefit greatly because of it. If you are as affected by it as much as I was, this movie will seriously undermine any and all bar conversations in your immediate future. This is real communication. By the end of their time together, both men wear different skin. Wallace is shocked and intrigued, and Andre seems further entrenched in his quest for the answers to the scariest questions. Not to step too heavily on Rex Reed’s toes, but this movie is really something of an emotional roller coaster. It careens wildly from topics like acting and marriage to anvils like Buddhism and the apocalypse of creative thought, without even dipping it’s toes into tepid chitchat. I still can’t say for sure if I sunk into this movie or if it sunk into me. Thinking about it now, I am simultaneously giddily invigorated, and genuinely terrified. My Dinner with Andre opens up numerous, scattered, labyrinthine boxes of thought in your head, and then lurks there like a friendly but stern vapor, while you try and put the puzzle together. This movie has the breadth and power to remind us what a bunch of chickenshit monkeys we truly are, without belittling our historical, and interpersonal sagas. Fuckin’ buckle up dude, it‘s time to go to dinner with Andre! (feel free to borrow that one, Mr. Reed)
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