Big Sur

"Big Sur" (2013), based on the 1962 book by the enigmatic Jack Kerouac, details the author's three retreats to a friend's cabin in the magnificent eponymous location a hundred miles south of San Francisco. Sometimes he's alone and sometimes he's with friends. Kerouac can't handle his fame and success as the leader of the beatniks and so descends into the darkness of alcohol addiction.

While this is a well-made artsy film featuring narrations from the author himself throughout, it's done in by its subject. At least with 1991's "The Doors," which chronicled Jim Morrison's downward spiral, we got great music, entertaining concert footage and colorful characters. "Big Sur," by contrast, only has Kerouac's stream-of-consciousness verbiage (i.e. "interior monologue") and the beautiful cinematography of Big Sur. Yes, it's professionally made with a quality cast and it kept my interest for the first 45-50 minutes, but then it just drones on to the bitter end. I hate seeing people waste their talents, especially by their own foolish addictions. Of course this is the only way the story COULD end since it's based on real life. Jack was dead at 47. Despite my criticisms, "Big Sur" is worthwhile if the topic interests you and the film's obviously a must for Kerouac fans; it will leave most everyone else bored or depressed.

Interestingly, it was 1957's "On the Road" that propelled Jack to beatnik stardom, but he later confessed it "was really a story about two Catholic buddies roaming the country in search of God. And we found him." Too bad his revelation didn't help him out with his increasing substance abuse.

The film runs a mere 81 minutes and was shot in Big Sur and San Francisco.

GRADE: C

If you're fascinated with Kerouac, the Beats, or the era, you may enjoy this picture. Everything is solid, but we're not given music as viewers to digest. Stuff happens, and more stuff happens. Is there a conclusion? Maybe there doesn't need to be.

Jack Kerouac (Jean-Marc Barr) is almost 40, bored and jaded after his tremendously successful novel 'On the Road'. He leaves the overwhelming media attention for the isolation of Big Sur, California to regain his sanity. There is no booze, no drugs, and generally no people. After only 3 weeks, his boredom drove him mad and hitchhiking out of the cabin back to San Francisco where he spends his time drinking with friends. His friend Neal Cassady (Josh Lucas) has his wife Carolyn (Radha Mitchell), 3 kids, and mistress Billie (Kate Bosworth). When he goes back to the cabin, he is surrounded by a group of friends. After he goes back with Neal, he develops a relationship with Billie.

It is cinematic representation of the literary aimless midlife crisis of Big Sur. It has the overwhelming and constant stream of consciousness Kerouac narration. There is no story that is anything close to a traditional movie. This imparts more of a mood rather than an actual story. Jean-Marc Barr is a relative unknown away from Europe. It allows the Kerouac character to exist in a tired and empty state. If a bigger star played him, I think the audience could slip into wondering about the acting prowess of the star. Kerouac almost exists as a hole exerting no force on this movie, but Barr can turn it on if it's required.

Was not aware of this one. Found it on Prime. Was really enjoying this - a pleasant surprise - until the last 10 or 15 minutes. I got lost there at the end.

I think it is fair to warn people that the telling factor on whether you will enjoy this film or not is your relationship with Jack Kerouac and the writers of that time and crowd. The more you enjoy Kerouac's writing the more you will enjoy this film which has remained true to him and his words. If you don't enjoy Kerouac or are not familiar with him, then you might be tempted to walk out, or pass out with boredom.

M. David Mullen's cinematography is spectacular and the Big Sur coast is stunning even on a bad day. But for the average viewer, this is a film with not much of a story or character development and an often irritating narration (Kerouac's words) that, depending on your love of Kerouac will come across as either evidence of his genius or delusional in it's presumption of profundity.