DRUGSTORE COWBOY (1989)

He’s Robin Hood on opiates: he steals from the pharmacies and gives them to his crew. “I was once a shameless, full-time dope fiend,” Bob Hughes (Matt Dillon) informs his audience, with more than a hint of pride. With his wife Dianne Hughes (Kelly Lynch), his friend Rick (James LeGros), and Rick’s girlfriend Nadine (Heather Graham), this band of misfit junkies runs up and down the Pacific Northwest robbing drug stores.

Drugstore Cowboy is a coming-of-age tale on acid. From the outset, it’s clear that this won’t be a story with a fairy tale ending: “I guess, deep down, I knew we could never win.” With nostalgia, he muses on it all. In the opening shot, our protagonist stares almost lifelessly into the camera, eyes vacant and grin large. In the back of an ambulance, he whimsically reflects on his life: the chances he took, the friends he found, and the boisterous fun he had along the way.

But much like his monotonous voiceover, we soon realise that there’s something rather emotionless about this film. Though it purports to reveal the tragic lives of disillusioned drug addicts, offering a parallel to the absurdity of existence itself, it soon becomes apparent that Gus Van Sant’s film has very little to say. Much like the young, hedonistic characters it depicts, the creators behind it seem to think they are more profound than they actually are, and the result is a work isolating itself from the viewer.

I’m a big fan of coming-of-age stories, particularly because they can be found almost anywhere: it’s not a genre, but an arc that can appear within any genre. Additionally, they can occur at any age; these stories require our characters to learn something about themselves and the world they hadn’t previously known, which defines their childlike perception of their environment. Our protagonist must shed the innocence of childhood and awaken, often providing insights into our characters or the society which contains them.

However, Drugstore Cowboy lacks the stunning characterisation and biting social critique of other adolescent delinquent films. In The 400 Blows (1959), for instance, our protagonist falls into a life of delinquency. Yet it’s clear he never becomes evil—he’s simply a child in need of help. How he’s dismissed and disregarded by everyone around him reveals a sobering perspective on how society treats the less fortunate.

Similarly, films such as Badlands (1973) or Bonnie and Clyde (1967) both showcase lonely souls struggling to find meaning in a chaotic world, falling into a life of darker criminality in the process of searching for it. However, Drugstore Cowboy lacks the understated philosophical inquiry that characterises Malick’s mesmerising debut. Furthermore, it doesn’t capture a shift in the national zeitgeist as palpably (or as incisively) as Arthur Penn’s shocking film.

So what we’re left with is a film about junkies revelling in their own fatalism: “We played a game we couldn’t win—to the utmost.” Yes, it’s absurdism dressed up in a drug addict’s dishevelled clothing, but it never stirs the emotions. I certainly don’t feel pity for these nihilistic, immature criminals who get people hurt in their attempts to secure the next score.

It’s not because they’re drug addicts. And it’s not because they aren’t good people; this hasn’t necessarily prevented us from identifying with characters before. I empathise with the struggles our protagonists face in Once Upon a Time in America (1984), despite the fact they’re all terrible, self-serving criminals. However, in Leone’s mesmerising epic, we come to see our main characters as complex, three-dimensional human beings. Here, Bob and his cohorts are never really characterised beyond archetypes.

They’re eternal children, living in Neverland in a narcotic-fuelled haze. As Bob’s mother (Grace Zabriskie) remarks: “I truly feel pity for you both. You are grown up now, and yet you still act as children who want to do nothing but run and play. You cannot run and play all your life…” We watch as false relationships are strained and crumble, and roll our eyes at the chronic self-pity and misplaced grandiosity of a junkie.   

Moreover, it doesn’t help that our characters aren’t very compelling as drug addicts; Drugstore Cowboy isn’t The Wire (2002-08). There’s no sense of realism, no genuine attempt for authenticity. Perhaps this is most evident in the fact that none of them look even remotely like they’re mainlining lethal narcotics. It’s not just that they’re all good-looking actors, but they all look exceptionally healthy and put together. They’re stylishly dressed, fastidiously groomed, and appear well-rested.

None of them behave as though they’re strung out on drugs: they don’t exhibit the cold sweats, the pallid visages, nor the sunken eyes of a drug-addicted street urchin. They speak eloquently and with a broad vocabulary. They aren’t the foul-mouthed Mark Renton (Ewan McGregor), heaving into a toilet. And while Trainspotting (1996) may not have strived for realism all the time, the characters in Danny Boyle’s classic at least portrayed the depths of drug-addled despair convincingly.

As a result, one can’t help but feel as though Gus Van Sant’s film is glamorising this lifestyle as a bohemian affront to bourgeois sensibilities. The harrowing realism achieved in Midnight Cowboy (1969), another coming-of-age triumph that analyses the lives of society’s rejects, is completely absent here. I like to think that the word “cowboy” in both films refers to a shift in American values, showing how times have changed. It reveals the inherent clash between generations as a country evolves, perhaps too quickly for some. However, Gus Van Sant’s second feature doesn’t comment on much.

Occasionally, it feels as though Van Sant and Daniel Yost’s screenplay—and presumably James Fogle’s novel of the same name—is attempting a vague form of social critique: “All these kids, they’re all TV babies. Watching people killing and fucking each other on the boob tube for so long, it’s all they know. Hell! They think it’s legal.” Whatever criticism they may have been trying to make about the corrupting influence of US media had been done before and with much more intelligence and earnestness in the likes of Alice in the Cities (1974). Then, a little less than ten years later, Fight Club (1999) did that better, too.   

What the film ends up being is a simplistic and superficial story: “I’m a junkie, I like drugs, I like the whole lifestyle. But it just didn’t pay off.” That’s about as deep as it gets. There’s no problem with a film being vacuous, but it could at least provide some solid entertainment, which Drugstore Cowboy unfortunately lacks.

There are some vaguely interesting dialogues surrounding hats, dogs, and mirrors, but even these are pretty forgettable. Moments of potential suspense are squandered, which might have provided the film with the tension and situational conflict it so desperately needed to feel enthralling in any way. With one amusing line in the entire film—“A sheriff’s convention, no less!”—you won’t exactly be splitting your sides, either.

A lot of the reason for this is the rather weak performances. As the principal cast is rather young, it might explain why the showings never truly convince. Matt Dillon is toneless, and his performance as our leading man ultimately feels unforgivably dull. Explicating his decision to get on methadone, he divulges his Road to Damascus moment, and his monologue is uninvolving. His supporting cast doesn’t do a great job of helping him.

The cinematography occasionally is quite good, conveying the hallucinogenic dreamscape of the drug-addled mind. Additionally, the music is occasionally effective, imparting the morose and sombre mood fitting for a life-long addict. Regrettably, the dreamy bleakness captured by the score and visuals is offset by the questionable writing and tedious story.

Surprisingly, film critics Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel ranked it high on their year’s best movies list 35 years ago (at number two and three, respectively). To my mind, it’s ridiculous to place it that high. 1989 might not have been the best year in cinema, but there were plenty of better films to have come out that year. Do the Right Thing, Sex, Lies, and Videotape, and My Left Foot easily fill out the top three. Then there are the likes of Born on the Fourth of July and When Harry Met Sally…. Even Parenthood offers a more introspective and insightful look at the human condition.

I appreciated the hopeful turn the film takes: “Something good is going to happen today.” The future is brighter when we seek to better ourselves, meaning that second chances are always possible. But it feels like far too little, far too late. The story is uninspired and uninteresting up until that point. Truth be told, however, I’ll be more careful about leaving any hats on my bed in the future.

USA | 1989 | 101 MINUTES | 1.85:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

director: Gus Van Sant.
writers: Gus Van Sant & Daniel Yost (based on the novel by James Fogle).
starring: Matt Dillon, Kelly Lynch, James Remar, James LeGros, Heather Graham & William Burroughs.