Welcome to "The Graduate", a new forum for discussing the challenges and opportunities facing young college graduates in today's America. It seems only fitting for this first post to discuss the classic film "The Graduate", which, when I watched it two nights ago, seemed to eerily foretell the uncertainty of our current age. As thousands of young graduates struggle to find steady jobs in a faltering economy there is ample time to contemplate the questions of Dustin Hoffman's Benjamin, who begins the film wondering vaguely about "the future".
What appealed to me so much about this film was its honest portrayal of a sort of existential crisis that seems to subtly permeate the collective psychology of modern America. Ever since the Sixties, it seems, the young people of America, like Benjamin, have felt restless and ill-at-ease in a culture of mass consumerism. It is a cliché issue, to be sure, but it is a cliché for a reason: whether they are willing to admit it or not, young people have always questioned the values of endless consumption, which is increasingly being questioned as its effects become more apparent, not only on our physical environment, but on our very understanding of what it means to lead a meaningful life.
The Graduate came out more than forty years ago, a product of an time that repudiated the
"phony" ethos of crass capitalism in favor of individual expression and concern for the common good. I don't know about you, but to me it seems that many of my generation are just as lost and confused as poor Benjamin. The horrible economy has given us the (sometimes unwanted) free time to think and ponder on the model of "earn, spend, consume" that continues today just as vigorously as it did when The Graduate came out.
The Graduate is concerned with the effects of this oppressive system on the young Benjamin. His restlesness isn't just the ennui of a bored twenty-something, but also an entirely natural reaction to a society that is, for lack of a better word, insane. The society in particular is a small group: Benjamin's family and friends, all white, all affluent, all professionally successful. Quite rightly, Benjamin chafes under the imprisoning expectations of his little society. One can sense his feeling of frustration and despair. But what gives The Graduate its particular pathos and brilliance is the fact that Benjamin never attempts to get outside of his little bubble to ask the big questions of life. The Graduate is a "coming-of-age" narrative, yet the genius of the film is that it simply sidesteps the characteristic "twist" of the narrative--the point at which the protagonist faces his demons head-on and comes to a greater understanding of himself and what it means to be "a man". Rather, Benjamin is either unaware (or is aware, but wilfully ignores) the possibility that an "answer" even exists. We are left wondering whether Benjamin refuses the possibility of redemption, or was completely unaware that redemption was even possible.
This is most aptly illustrated by his behavior on one of his first dates with Elaine. At a drive-through. Ben asks the hippies in the next car to turn down their music. When they turn it up, seemingly inviting him to a confrontation, he refuses to engage with them. Instead he simply puts on the roof of the convertible and rolls up the windows, encapsulating himself and Elaine in a tiny sound-proof bubble. They continue speaking for a few minutes, but the viewer can no longer hear them. They are shut off from the world, encased in the stifling comfort of Ben's flashy red car. No engagement with the outside world equals no more physical conflict (and, conveniently, no more existential angst!)
It's difficult to say how much Ben's imprisonment in this world of privilege and consumption is of his own choosing. At times he shows a strong will, as when he begins following Elaine at Berkeley, regardless of the consequences. Yet most times throughout the film he is subservient to others, evidenced most strongly when he follows his father's absurd wishes and submerges himself in the swimming pool to demonstrate the effects of a full scuba-suit for his parent's friends. At one point the camera looks through Ben's eyes as it pans across the assorted faces of his family and their friends. The sound is cut, and there is nothing but a view of frenzied, nearly demonic faces, urging him into the pool.
Interestingly enough, this camera technique occurs once more, near the end of the film, when Benjamin frantically interrupts Elaine's wedding. Elaine, hearing Ben frantically shout her name, turns and sees him standing, almost Christ-like, on a small balcony at the top of the church. Suddenly the viewer again looks through her eyes as the camera pans across the faces of her mother, her father, and her groom, whose faces are contorted in rage, urging her to remain where she is. Unlike Ben, who, earlier in the film, compliantly submerged himself in the pool, Elaine instead rebels against her family and friends, by screaming out Ben's name and running into his arms. They escape from the church and board a passing bus, and find seats at the back, exhilarated and astounded at their boldness. As "The sound of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel begins to play, however, Ben slowly begins to slip away into a blank state, staring bleakly into the distance. Elaine glances at him, her eyes full of love and hope--and then, just as quickly, she turns her gaze away. The bus barrels onward into an uncertain future.
At the heart of this crisis is the unwillingness (or inability? We will never know) of Ben to engage with his life as it is. Ben's parents chased after social and professional recognition, and material wealth, and ended up passing their days with empty chatter and a fearful refusal to ever allow silence to linger too long during cocktail hour. Ben knows that material wealth and professional recognition hold no allure for him, yet he chases blindly after Elaine, without any sense or concern for her or for the jilted Mrs Robinson. The great genius of this film is that it beautifully illustrates that no matter what one chases, one will always, always, end up wishing for something different. And though Ben is a caricature once one stops to think about his actions, the real beauty of the film is that one identifies so strongly with him, and "roots" for him to succeed--perhaps we are more like poor Ben then we want to think. In the end, one simply wishes that, as Ben and Elaine sit side-by-side on the rickety bus, in their dapper wedding clothes, that he just abandon his vacant gaze and instead look at her, and actually see her, and thus begin to truly live.
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