Bottle Rocket

My friend Dana e-mailed me one day in the mid-1990s, raving about this odd, hilarious film she found called Bottle Rocket. Dana and I both studied video production, and like me, she eventually went to film school, so I trusted her judgment.

I went to Blockbuster (I think), rented the tape, took it home, and watched. I laughed a few times, but I didn't quite see what Dana saw. I'm not saying she was wrong. I just didn't feel much.

Keep in mind, this was at a time when Adam Sandler and Chris Farley were setting the standard for what was funny on film. Then along came Wes Anderson, Kevin Smith, and Noah Baumbach, and suddenly film comedy seemed to go back to this more cerebral, personal place. Sandler and Farley made hilarious films, but these indie upstart directors were fearless. So what if the audience gets a little impatient? Screw 'em. Make 'em work a little, think a little, and get a reward when they're patient with the film. These quirky, personal comedies resonated with me a bit more, and helped me to realize that I wanted to write stuff like this. (This also pretty much ensured that I would never make any money doing this.)

Later, Rushmore came out, and was so good, so full of substance, I finally decided Bottle Rocket deserved more effort from me — not some blithe dismissal because I thought the film was "weird" — and the best way to give Bottle Rocket my full attention was to own a copy.

Only one problem — I couldn't find a copy anywhere.

I looked all over town (this is pre-Internet ordering for me). Suncoast, Sam Goody, Walmart, Meijer — nobody in Muncie had a copy. I didn't want to drive to Indy and come back empty handed. So, defeated, I decided to just rent Bottle Rocket again.

I stopped at the local Blockbuster, had the movie in my hand, and had an epiphany. I wondered: if I offered to buy, would Blockbuster sell me their copy?

The Blockbuster manager was cool. He looked up the tape's rental history — only 11 rentals! He sold that used VHS tape to me for $14.99, the equivalent of like $35 or something now. What a bargain.

I played that glorious standard definition, 4:3, stereo videocassette over and over. I showed the film to friends and girls I was attempting to date, and turned a few people on to the film, but usually, the film was met with a resounding "meh." This film is not for everyone — too quirky, too jumpy, and not "Wes Anderson enough." I'm not sure how those three items can co-exist, but whatever.

My in-laws got me this Criterion DVD two Christmases ago. This is a revelation. There's like, other stuff in the frame on the left and the right sides of the screen, and the picture isn't all fuzzy and craptastic. Criterion did a 5.1 mix, and there's a commentary track with Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson, and there's a whole second DVD with supplements. Plus there's Dignan's notebook — the whole 75 year plan. They even included the original short.

I'm thrilled at the wealth of supplements — way more than the original DVD release, which I think listed "Not VHS" as a special feature.

Years on, and after dozens of viewings Bottle Rocket holds up so well. I only have to hear a line or two of dialogue (or the opening bars of The Rolling Stones' "2000 Man") and I just smile this big, stupid smile because I'm happy a film like this got made. A bunch of no-name actors, a no-name director (at the time), and...James Caan? How did this movie happen?

Films like Bottle Rocket give me hope. I know times have changed and independent films like this are not so common anymore, but I can't let that get me down. I have to think like Dignan. Positive thinking taken to a certain extreme allows for a certain naivete, and that's Dignan's charm, and if I can borrow a fraction of that mindset, then I'll keep my chin up and get some things done. I'm not sure what things, but things.

Dana, if you're reading this, thanks.