My normal intolerance for aw-shucks Americana notwithstanding, I had plenty of room for the graciousness and insight of Alexander Payne’s black-and-white gem, Nebraska. Peppered with genuine humor, it achieves a feel for what in sunnier days was called “Middle America,” that is at once affectionate and steely-eyed observational. What ends up entertaining in this slice-of-life study of a particularly sturdy archetype of the unfazed, seen-it-all Midwestern character, is the usual uncanny ear for detail that Payne always makes look so effortless. You may hear the opinion this film isn’t up to the standards of previous Payne works like Sideways and About Schmidt. Nebraska goes for a more subtle subtext but is no less piercing in its commentary on the American condition of stubbornness in the face of despair.
Which brings us to the film’s main character, a notched-up, cranky coot (an excellent 77-year-old Bruce Dern), whose taciturn nature enforces an undercurrent of a lifelong build-up of pissy anger. His passive-agressiveness extends not only to his loved ones but to the world at large–here represented by, of all things, a Sweepstakes notice that he has won a million dollars.
His older, much more straight-laced son (Bob Odenkirk) making rushed visits in between his gig as a TV news anchor, thinks Dern is nuts and ready to be put to pasture. The younger, ostensibly more shiftless son, played by comic and former SNL cast member Will Forte, takes a kinder and gentler approach, deciding to take Dern on a 1,000 mile road trip. Nebraska doesn’t need a lot of dialogue between son and father as they embark to Lincoln to “collect” the bogus money. Their dynamic is captured in incisive vignettes as they play off the various misfits and sycophants they encounter as they stop off in Dern’s hometown. Stacy Keach, all gregarious but really unctuous and glib, wants to reclaim money he claims Dern still owes him. Family members are respectful, yet slip in similar requests like a master slipping his dog a pill inside a piece of baloney. Forte tries to tell them there’s no real money but it’s too late to stem the tide. Only the requisitely harsh June Squibb, as Dern’s wife, is able to put these gold diggers in their place. None of them seem to be bad people. They’re more like irritable and irritating mirror images of Dern himself, who rolls through it all quipping the likes of “None of it matters” and “I don’t care” as a ready-made comeback to whatever gets in the way of his essentially wanting to be left alone. We can’t tell how much of his gullibility about the sweepstakes is due to an altered mental state brought upon by his advanced years and how much of it is simply a venting of pent-up revenge.
Forte attempts to connect by way of his own particular non-connecting with Dern by giving his dad no more than honest feedback but no less than a grand gesture. Dern may be less likeable than most screen heroes but he oozes character from a source as mysterious as it is compelling. Squibb (like Dern, a likely Oscar nominee here) resonates in the memory, a heightened version of that crazy relative we’ve all had who may have been nuts but seemed to know more than everyone else. Payne himself, with Nebraska, is a likewise loose cannon of pure truth in all its sloppy splendor.