The Big Lebowski, 1998
Donny was a good bowler, and a good man. He was one of us. He was a man who loved the outdoors, and bowling, and as a surfer explored the beaches of southern California from Redondo to Calabassos. And he was an avid bowler. And a good friend. He died - he died as so many of his generation, before his time. In your wisdom you took him, Lord. As you took so many bright flowering young men, at Khe San and Lan Doc and Hill 364. These young men gave their lives. And Donny too. Donny who loved bowling. And so, Theodore Donald Karabotsos, in accordance with what we think your dying wishes might well have been, we commit your mortal remains to the bosom of the Pacific Ocean, which you loved so well.
Goodnight, sweet prince.
Ten years later, “The Brothers Bloom” will be the new Lebowski. Last night after I saw it and was blown away, I was trying to think of what movie it reminded me about, in its essence. Not anything Wes Anderson - writer-director Rian Johnson is far more charming and far less precious - but something kooky, madcap and always surprising yet delightful, and fucking smart as hell. Anyhow. Seeing this post reinforced that for me.
