Film Review: Being There (1979)

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A couple of times in his career, Peter Sellers managed “the role of a lifetime.” His iconic Inspector Clouseau comes to mind, as does his three roles in Dr. Strangelove, but Chance the gardener is his most personal. Sellers suffered an unconventional and overbearing childhood, which caused him to keep an adolescent selfishness and tantrum-throwing temper his entire life. In Being There, Chance is also childlike – caused by his sheltered life and unknown naivety. Sellers had no excuse. He was simply a petulant asshole who lashed out whenever something didn’t go his way. Where Chance is kind, Sellers was brutal – and neither ever learns any better. One was loved but had no talent. The other had immense talent but was empty and confrontational. Watching the two collide in Being There is as fascinating as it is entertaining. Had anyone else been cast, the film would have tanked.

Being There is one of those cynical ‘70s movies like Network (1976) or Bananas (1971). A “cult of personality” quickly grows around Chance when his simple outlook on life is mistaken for deep thought and insight. He’s much too imbecilic to realize this, of course, or to do anything about it, so he moves through life without a thought other than “Is there a T.V.?” Things get out of control, and in so, exposes just how much Americans are addicted to sound bites rather than actual nuanced concepts. This isn’t exactly new territory for director Hal Ashby, but in Chance, he’s found the perfect poster-child for that special brand American gullibility.

Sellers delivers one hell of a performance. His execution is 100% deadpan – it must be if the film is to succeed. If Chance were capable of personal growth, the whole premise would be shot. And what’s interesting is that no character grows in the film. They all see whatever it is they’re thinking (but can’t quite articulate) reflected at them through Chance’s meaningless observations. They fill in the blanks for themselves, reinforcing what they already believe. It’s nearly impossible to grow when your outlook is constantly strengthened by what you believe is sage advice from an honored and trusted thinker. With a different disposition and background, Chance would be a charlatan – a snake oil salesman out for a score. But through Sellers’ performance – and the character’s natural state of mind – instead he’s the luckiest man alive. Chance in no way understands this luck, of course, but that is beside the point.

Let’s not leave out the rest of the cast. Melvyn Douglas won an Oscar and a Golden Globe for his role as Ben Rand – the business baron who takes a shine to Chance. I didn’t expect to find him so likable, but his wealthy industrialist is remarkably sympathetic. In addition to the satirical cynicism, Being There can also be quite touching – with Douglas providing the emotion. The film could be read as being about aging, death, and the confusion that comes with losing a loved one. The relationship between Ben and Chance is the closest one to any real caring and feeling.

Shirley MacLaine is surprising as well. As Eve Rand (the younger wife of ailing Ben), I expected a gold digger – but that’s not what she is. She cares for Ben and is enthralled (like everyone else) with Chance. She may even combine the two very different men in her head, forming a composite of what it is she thinks she wants. MacLaine delivers Eve as practical, with a bit of loneliness or boredom thrown in. It’s not exactly a comedic role (although she is very funny), but one that comes across as sincere and realistic for someone in her position (except for all that rolling around on the bearskin – that seemed tacked on and unnecessary).

It’s interesting to note that, long before the term “white privilege” came into our shared lexicon, Ashby hit the nail on the head through his dim-witted gardener. Chance is a man of very low intelligence, but because he wears nice suits, looks rich, and (long story short) is white, he enjoys great success. He does nothing to earn it but look a certain way and speak vaguely of gardening. Louise (Ruth Attaway), the black maid who lived with Chance his whole life, sums up white privilege perfectly:

“It’s for sure a white man’s world in America. Look here: I raised that boy since he was the size of a piss-ant. And I’ll say right now, he never learned to read and write. No, sir. Had no brains at all. Was stuffed with rice pudding between th’ ears. Shortchanged by the Lord, and dumb as a jackass. Look at him now! Yes, sir, all you’ve gotta be is white in America, to get whatever you want.”

Yep – that’s about the size of it.

The final shot of Being There is one of those movie moments that make me love what I do. It’s meaning has been argued and debated for almost 40 years. I love it when that happens. Internalizing movies is one of the things that make them so wonderful. What the ending really means doesn’t matter. What matters is what it means to you. There are no wrong answers. I have plenty of theories, but no definite conclusions – and I love that. What makes it even better is that the meaning I glean from it may change from viewing to viewing, depending on where I am personally, intellectually, spiritually, or any other criteria. It’s a beautiful movie moment that deserves the discussion it gets.

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