At third annual Lebowski Fest, The Dude abides

By LOUIS B. PARKS

Houston Chronicle

 

LOUISVILLE, Ky. -- If the policeman sitting in his patrol car looks perplexed, or appalled, who can blame him? It's a sight not even a cop sees every day. Five young men dressed only in underpants and wreaths, dancing in synchronized imprecision in a bowling alley parking lot. To do this they've come all the way from Boston, made their own costumes and practiced, from the look of it, at least once. The dancing is terrible. The crowd loves it An hour later, still in their distressingly silly outfits, the barefooted dancers are inside the bowling alley rolling a few lines -- bowling lines that is -- with 1,100 new best friends. It's cool, Dude. It's Lebowski Fest. Louisville proved its courage last weekend by again welcoming the annual gathering of the clan to pay homage to the Dude, Walter, Bunny, the Stranger, Donnie and all the other befuddled characters of The Big Lebowski. The underdressed Marty's Dance Quintet represents a very minor character in Joel and Ethan Coen's hilarious, profane, bizarre 1998 black comedy about bowlers, kidnappers, feminists, artists, pornographers and nihilists. The movie went almost unnoticed when first released, perhaps because it was the Coen brothers' first movie after their seven-Oscar-nominated Fargo. Since, however, something unexpected has happened nationwide. Fueled by twisted but memorable dialogue and a few trillion beers, the movie has become a cult hit. "I don't feel so crazy anymore," says an awed Scott Jolsen, a Lebowski fan from Harrisburg, Pa., looking around the crowd that packs every inch of the giant 52-lane Executive Strike & Spare, located just across the freeway from Louisville International Airport. It's not a unique feeling. Many of the estimated 4,500 Achievers -- the name for Lebowski fans -- who have come to Louisville from 35 states and Canada used to laugh at the movie alone. "We get e-mails from people all the time who say 'Holy cow, I thought I was the only person who was crazy about this movie.' " says festival co-founder Scott Shuffitt, a Louisville truck driver, as he surveys the crowd. The movie is what happened when the Coens wanted to write a Raymond Chandler-style twisted mystery. But instead of a detective, the hero is a '60s political activitist who, by the time of the first Iraq war, is an unemployed bowler who calls himself the Dude. His associates include Walter, a well-intentioned but violent Jewish Vietnam vet; a wildly aggressive Hispanic bowler called the Jesus; a porn star named Bunny; and Bunny's rich sugar-daddy husband, who, like the Dude, also is named Lebowski (hence, the Big Lebowski). Definitely not for all tastes, the film is a succession of hilarious and bizarre scenes. On about the third viewing, you just might notice it's also rather sweet-natured -- for a Coen film. "It's kind of heartwarming," says Natalie Sternberg, a young Achiever who usually finds Coen films too violent. Sternberg drove seven hours from Chicago to be at the festival's screening of the movie Friday night. Lebowksi Fest got its start when Louisville pals Shuffit and Will Russell were trying to sell temporary tattoos at a tattoo convention. Bored, the pair started swapping lines from The Big Lebowski. Soon other dealers began tossing in lines and before long the guys were thinking "party." No, wait, "convention." "Will and I were like, 'Hey let's put this together and maybe some people will come out,' " Shuffit says. They did. But instead of the expected 35 Achievers, the event drew 150. Cue Lebowski Fest 2, 10 months later, in July 2003. Thanks to stories in USA Today and Spin, plus the Internet buzz, the word went bicoastal and the event was a huge success with more than 3,000 attendees. Shuffit and Russell put on the first non-Louisville-based festival in Las Vegas in February. Another sellout. For the third Louisville gathering last weekend, the spotlight event sold out -- 1,100 tickets -- in about a week. Tickets go on sale July 1 for the first Lebowski Fest New York: Achievers are being warned to sign up fast. After Friday's late-night movie screening, the action resumes at 1 p.m. Saturday with concerts and festival games in the grassy field adjacent to the bowling alley. Achievers pay $1 a chance (proceeds going to Big Brothers/Big Sisters) to try their hand at Lebowski-inspired games such as the Marmot Toss, the Malibu Sheriff Mug Toss and the Ringer Toss. In the latter, contestants sit in an approximation of the Dude's big, battered, rusty green car and try to toss the ringer (a bag full of dirty undies) at a make-shift target. (In the movie the Dude and Walter are supposed to toss a bag with $1 million to the kidnappers, but they toss the ringer, instead.) The prize is either a whoopee cushion or a cheeseburger yo-yo. I take the yo-yo. "This is nothing like a Star Trek convention," says Chino Connell, who has come from Ann Arbor, Mich., for the festival. Dressed in a purple bowling outfit with the name Liam written above the breast (homage to a character seen for only a minute in the movie), Connell fears people will confuse Achievers with Trekkies. Connell generally attends the festival dressed as pornographer Jackie Treehorn. This time he's partnered with one of Lebowski Fest's most visible guests, Rick Young of Cleveland, Ohio. Young, also in purple duds plus a hairnet, has gone to three festivals as Liam's bowling partner, the Jesus, who ceremoniously licks his bowling ball before rolling. The best attired of several fans dressed as the Jesus, Young is constantly in demand to pose for photos or to demonstrate the character's somehow bawdy ball-polishing technique. College dorms are a major breeding ground of Achievers, so it's no surprise many of the fans here are in their 20s. "I went to college in Morehead State (University), where (trophy wife) Bunny is from," says Mara Thomas, the 23-year-old winner of the festival's hotly contested trivia competition. "All of my friends love Lebowski, and it was sort of our code during college. "I watched the movie every day before I went to class," says Thomas, who now works in the legal department at the University of North Carolina. "It was like, `I'm making eggs, I might as well watch The Big Lebowski.' That line of reasoning." One of the event's oldest fans and its top celebrity is 54-year-old Jeff "the Dude" Dowd, the real-life indie film promoter and producer on whom the Coens based the character. Though not a slacker nor unemployed, Dowd was one of the Seattle Seven who were indicted for "conspiracy" following antiwar protests in 1970. (Charges were later dropped.) Actor Jeff Bridges even modeled the Dude after Dowd's unkempt hair and unconventionally casual dress. "It's a very friendly group of people," Dowd says of the Lebowski Fest's Achievers. "There's a great sense of camaraderie. This is kind of a gathering of the tribe. Strangers having a white Russian together, or exchanging lines." Sitting in his hotel room, sipping a Mello Yello between appearances, Dowd sounds almost like he's promoting The Big Lebowski. "This festival is not the phenomenon," Dowd says. "Army guys are huge into this movie. I guarantee you, half the guys in Iraq have seen this movie. There are Wall Street firms so into this movie that (in job interviews) they throw out lines from the movie, and if the (applicant) doesn't pick up on it, they won't hire him." At 8 p.m. the parking-lot party moves inside to the feature attraction, a night of bowling. OK, bowling and drinking. Or drinking and bowling. One section of the bowling alley's bar is devoted strictly to selling white Russians (the Dude's signature drink) and the line is looooonnng all night. Despite, or because, of that, a friendly atmosphere reigns through hundreds of games -- yes, a lot of people actually bowl -- until the final prize, to the winner of the costume contest, is handed out well after midnight. The winner is a guy dressed as a Credence Clear Water Revival cassette tape. Don't ask. Bowling completed, the party moves again, back to the Executive West Hotel's Boozeseller Cocktail Lounge -- where it's almost impossible to squeeze through the crowd packed between the bar and the fake fireplace -- and the Derby Shire Dining Room. It's after 1 a.m., but a few stout souls dance to a laid-back band. For some, the party never ends. As the man says, "The Dude abides."