The two movies that opened the door to “youth culture” in Hollywood, The Graduate and Easy Rider, were milestones to be sure. But can it really be said that they were milestones in the art of cinema? “I think The Graduate is not really a very good film,” said Monte Hellman when I interviewed him in 1984, “but it’s a great film because of just what it is.” In other words, nothing much as a film strictly speaking, but very much as a cultural event, the Saturday night at the movies that gave the American middle class its first real glimpse of the paltry value placed upon its legacy by its own sons and daughters. “There are certain very strong stories or ideas for films that touch the core of the psychology of the audience so profoundly that they absolutely cannot fail,” Hellman went on to explain. The Graduate marked the beginning of countercultural consciousness in American movies. In the fading memory of that moment, now layered with so many ironic reversals, retrenchments, and disappointments, it is less the film that is recalled than the potent effect it produced, an effect largely unavailable to artists more nuanced and less fixated on the public eye than Mike Nichols. Shorn of its contemporary context, Nichols’s film is a nicely executed comedy of romantic embarrass-ment tarted up with Felliniesque close-ups, Antonioniesque spatial configurations, and Bergmanesque silences. If nothing else, The Graduate is a terminally “esque” experience.
A similar fate has befallen Dennis Hopper’s 1969 bombshell, the movie that finally breached the already crumbling fortress of old Hollywood. Andrew Sarris hit the nail square on the head, as he often did: “See Easy Rider for Nicholson’s performance, easily the best of the year so far, and leave the LSD trips and such to the collectors of mod mannerisms.” As Dustin Hoffman, Anne Bancroft, and Buck Henry were to The Graduate, Jack Nicholson and, to a slightly lesser extent, Peter Fonda were to Easy Rider. Hopper’s chosen cinematic forebears were, if anything, even headier than Nichols’s (Bruce Conner, Kenneth Anger, Jean-Luc Godard), but, ultimately, both films rested their thematic affectations, stylistic embellishments, and musical accoutrements on the shoulders of less noticeable items: that bravura comic timing in the former and beautifully crafted characterization in the latter.
Hellman was able to make his greatest film thanks to the massive success of these two cultural coups, Easy Rider in particular. “We realized that the reason that deal was made was because of Easy Rider,” he told me. “There was no question that we appreciated its success as a ticket to a kind of freedom that wouldn’t have been available to us otherwise.” The now celebrated moment of youthful enfranchisement that swept through Hollywood in 1969, allowing films as diverse as Taking Off; The Hired Hand; Drive, He Said; Five Easy Pieces; and Hopper’s infamous Easy Rider follow-up, The Last Movie, to be made, did not last long—three years to be exact, until The Godfather ushered in a new era of high, wide, and handsome Hollywood moviemaking. They are not all great films, to be sure, but they inaugurated a wave of invention and exploration in Hollywood that more or less thrived all the way through the early eighties.