Brewster McCloud

I rewatched Robert Altman's Brewster McCloud for the first time in 45 or so years and the baffled bemusement with which I initially watched it chopped up on TV remains. This is pure Altman for both good and ill and a more realized distillation of his vision than his previous film MASH, which would prove to be his greatest commercial success. That success afforded Altman the indulgence to film a very curious script by the now obscure Doran William Cannon whose scant credits include Skidoo and Knots Landing. Cannon was peeved enough about the changes wrought by Altman and the improvisations of his ensemble to write about it in the New York Times. Altman turned the story of a boy who lives inside the Houston Astrodome into a carnivalesque celebration/denunciation of the USA; much like Nashville and Buffalo Bill... I prefer Brewster McCloud to either film. Altman's sour tone does not lend itself to affection for any sort of American mythos, be it that of Country music or the Pioneer West. Yet, the sweetness of Bud Cort's Brewster provides a fitting contrast to Altman's gallery of grotesques in this acidic portrait of Nixonian America.

The puerility of Brewster McCloud stuck in the craw of some contemporary critics, but I find it consistent with Altman's affection for childlike outsiders. Amidst the polyphonic cacophony of Altman's mature canvases there are often childish men whose irresponsibility stands as an affront to traditional values: Hawkeye and Trapper John, McCabe, Philip Marlowe, Popeye, OC and Stiggs in a too little seen film which is Brewster McCloud's twin in the Altman canon. The bird shit that rains on the various villains in Brewster McCloud is a juvenile gesture, but is also an appropriate one given the disgust Altman feels towards America. The guano sprays down upon an symbolic array of American ills: environmental ravagement, misogyny, sexism, racism and an occupant of the White House. Brewster McCloud is a purposefully childish film which stands as a rejection of the garish monstrosities of American life, epitomized here by the Astrodome.

The Michael Murphy subplot is a specific satire of the Steve McQueen hit, Bullitt, and a more general critique of American individualism as mindlessly macho. In contrast to this, as always in Altman's films, is a celebration of the collective and the feminine. From MASH on, Altman's work stands as a "life is a carnival" tribute his his players. In Brewster McCloud, a trio of actresses emanate a life force that stands in contrast to the sterile culture that surrounds them. Jennifer Salt had a number of choice roles in the early 70s, most particularly in De Palma's Sisters, before she became a successful writer and producer. She is winning here as is Sally Kellerman who is given a chance to exude warmth as Brewster's mom before she became typecast as a kook. Shelley Duvall makes her film debut here and that alone would make Brewster McCloud significant. Her quirky charm both uplifts and grounds this strange film. (11/17/18)