Breakfast of Champions

Kurt Vonnegut's satirical novel of 1973 resonates as deeply now as it did way back then. The themes of suburban paranoia and soulless consumerism have motivated some of the best films of the last twelve months, so an inspired interpretation of Breakfast of Champions would have been warmly endorsed.

It's clearly been a labour of love for director Alan Rudolph, who has tried for twenty years to make this film. Sadly, twenty years of work appears to have produced one bad draft copy. And Rudolph does not have the slightest grasp on what is funny.

Nick Nolte wanders aimlessly around in a dress but it isn't funny. Albert Finney searches out his chaotic literary masterpieces in pornographic magazines but it isn't funny. Barbara Hershey's character is a product of the chaos, but her appearances lack a motive. She isn't required until the film bursts into chaotic life in its last ten minutes.

This means three great actors are left stranded. It results in the unlikely event of Bruce Willis stealing the acting honours. He is good, but one feels it would have been no great stretch to act insane.

Among the problems here is that the film keeps its feet on the ground. While we're expected to believe the world has gone mad, the actual events are as uninspired as they are unfunny. This doesn't mean it is any easier to understand. In fact, without having read the novel, you'd most likely be lost from the beginning.

The chaos of Vonnegut's vision was its real joy. The way characters conspired to come together was inventive. The film though plays like a cliche. The ending is anarchic, but you get the impression it only serves one purpose: to stop you making rational sense of the rest of the film. And as much as you want to like it, or applaud Rudolph's commitment, the truth is that BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS is a sad, poor film.

I'm a fan of both Kurt Vonnegut and Alan Rudolph (especially Alan Rudolph), but I was just appalled when I saw this film. The only redeeming feature is Bruce Willis's performance. Other than that, it's a real mess. What was Rudolph thinking?!

After a recent Vonnegut reading binge I was eager to see Breakfast of Champions when I saw it on the video shelf. A great cast, a director (Aland Rudolph) who has made several films I've enjoyed (Choose Me, The Moderns, Trouble in Mind). Sadly, BofC is quite a disappointment.

Two things really stick out for me. Although Bruce Willis was quite good as Dwayne Hoover, too many of the other characters, notably Harry LeSabre (Nick Nolte) and Wayne Hoobler (Omar Epps) are portrayed in frenetic over the top performances. OK...we get it that there are all sorts of crazies running amuck in Midland City, but the point Vonnegut was making in his novel was that this madness is displayed in the "normal" everyday way that we live our lives in America. The values (consumerism, greed, violence) and actions that are considered normal in the United States are themselves proof that we are all suffering from a form of madness...showing these fine actors jumping around and uttering indecipherable gibberish shows only that they are annoying.

The film also has a problem in creating a consistent point of view. In the novel the author guides us through Dwayne Hoovers' unfolding madness and is actually a character in the book. The movie can't give us the background information the books' narrator did and I would guess that anyone who hasn't read the book will find the movie tough going...perhaps downright incomprehensible.

Lastly, as a great fan of Kilgore Trout (Vonnegut fans know him as a character who pops up in several Vonnegut novels) I thought Albert Finney did quite a nice job; he had just the right air of unkempt, curmudgeonly, insane genius that makes Trout my favorite Vonnegut character of all time. Still, it's hardly enough to save this mess...I admire the effort in bringing Breakfast of Champions to the screen, but in the end it's likely that this is an unfilmable novel.

Though it's bound for negative comparison with the sober, Joe Pro, Oscar-friendly AMERICAN BEAUTY, I vastly preferred Alan Rudolph's vision of suburban life gone bonkers. His adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut's best (and most scabrous) novel starts with one genius style choice: Rudolph mates the Pop Art Expressionism of Oliver Stone with the group-hug ensemble of his mentor, Robert Altman. Beneath the blizzard of smily-face pins, digital-display Colonel Sanders, and chain-diner Muzak lies a Tiffany cast. Bruce Willis is the face of desperation under a stick-on grin as the car-salesman hero, Dwayne Hoover, a small-town hero who doesn't know why he's a few cards short of a full deck. As his second banana, Nick Nolte is a dream as a hard-working joe who's so guilty about his sexual kinks they seem to leak out of him like flopsweat. And as the movie's resident seer and soothsayer--a derelict sci-fi genius named Kilgore Trout--Albert Finney is so perfect Rudolph seems to have plucked him from out of an Iowa City dumpster.

Rudolph's attempts at stars-and-stripes Expressionism don't all work; some uncharitable folks will be reminded of late-sixties I-hate-America bashes like END OF THE ROAD. But I have always had a soft spot for those pictures, and I feel protective toward BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS as well. Blessings are showered upon Bruce Willis for scratching this dark-horse project out of thin air, and upon Rudolph too. He must have known that propelling himself out of his usual world of downbeat, canoodling romanticism would pull out of him the best work of his career.

I'm afraid that in the era of pop-no-where-ism, where the reality show sets the rules; films like this one will get worse and worse reviews as time moves on. I didn't read Vonnegut until my early thirties and I grew up with Vonnegut's as a kid-no kidding. When I started reading, I just read and read in one extensive gulp. First, there's no good way to try to adapt a Vonnegut book to film. To the reviewers -if you can call them that-who say I've read the book and this movie is a miserable adaptation-go figure?! This is a very good vetting of the themes Vonnegut loves, and using the rambling urban neuroses approach, mastered by Altman, Rudolph revvs us up for the big psychic upchuck that this is all about. This is not a great movie but given the importance of self reflection to American society and the rarity of it, in contemporary society-this movie is a landmark and a watermark, both.