hold the chicken

Sometimes reading Zizek reminds me of the grim Ayn Rand type near the end of "Five Easy Pieces", ridiculing poor little Karen Black's Pollyanna meta-view of the world. I saw this again recently on tv and was reminded of the thousand reasons I think this film may be one of the great existential meditations of celluloid, along with "Lost in America" and "Groundhog Day". Jack Nicholson was never better than here, and the film touches on so many different plateaus of faux sophisticated modern isolation, replete with a Tammy Wynette soundtrack. Remember, Rafelson and Nicholson were the same guys who thought up "Head" while tripping acid on Venice Beach. What a time to be alive. Too bad I wasn't.