HIDDEN DEPTHS IN THE GREATEST FRAT MOVIE OF ALL TIME
by Bennett Campbell Ferguson
Above: John Belushi as the indestructable Bluto
What are the rules governing
movies about bad behavior? In theory,
there are none—all you technically have to do is gather a gang of (usually
male) actors and film them having (fake) sex and doing (pretend) drugs. Then, toss in a couple F-bombs, shake well,
and bam! You have a crowd pleasing
fantasy of debauchery that audiences can gleefully behold in the comfort of
multiplexes and living rooms.
Of course, there is one more crucial ingredient—the
unwritten decree that while such films must revel in wretched excess, they must
also conclude with their heroes settling down to live morally responsible
lives. After all, how could “Wedding Crashers”
wrap without Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson committing themselves to
monogamy? And for that matter, what
would “The Hangover” be if its terrible trio didn’t sober up and leave Las
Vegas?
To be frank, I think it’d be a more honest film. Because the truth is that films like “Wedding
Crashers” and “The Hangover” indulge in the ultimate hypocrisy by glorifying
law-breaking idiocy yet assuring us that the meaning of life is to be a
law-abiding citizen. It’s a disgustingly
contradictory sentiment, one that’s radically missing from what is perhaps the
greatest bad behavior movie ever made: John Landis’ “Animal House.”
Released in July of 1978, “Animal House” begins with two
unpromising youngsters, Larry Kroger (Thomas Hulce) and Kent Dorfman (Stephen
Furst), pledging their friendly neighborhood fraternities. At first, they have little success (the
overlords of one snobby frat practically hurl them out the door), but Larry and
Kent find themselves welcomed into what is charitably known as “the worst fraternity
on campus”: the raucous, outrageous castle of crime called Delta House.
To say the least, the Delta House is a hotbed of
degeneracy, a drunken community whose deranged citizens enjoy innumerable
illegal activities (the least of which is serving alcohol to minors). Yet we quickly learn that though the Deltas
are slovenly, they’re not snobby—they accept nerds like Larry and Kent (if
grudgingly) and they show a profound loyalty to one another. An early sequence in which the Delta brothers
help Kent take revenge on a ruthless ROTC student may be grotesque, but it
personifies the spirit of solidarity that separates the Deltas from the rest of
campus.
Such behavior, of course, does not impress the
faculty. The dean of the college, Vernon
Wormer (John Vernon) is particularly incensed by the Deltas’ mad schemes (even
though he’s corrupt himself, having recently bribed a local politician using
students’ money). He’s close to
expelling the Deltas and their president, the dopily sincere Robert Hoover
(James Widdoes) urges caution from his fraternity brothers. But the tighter the noose gets, the more the
Deltas feel compelled to indulge themselves, as evidenced by a raucous toga
party at which Larry makes out with a thirteen-year-old girl and the insatiable
Eric Stratton (Tim Matheson) sleeps with Dean Wormer’s wife.
Alas, it is all for naught, since the Deltas are
ultimately all expelled and left with nothing to do but mope. “What’s this lyin’ around ****?” exclaims the
psychotic Bluto Blutarsky (John Belushi).
He then proceeds to rage, quite convincingly, that the Deltas should
leave school with a destructive bang, something that Stratton agrees with. “This calls for a pointless gesture!” he
announces defiantly.
And so it begins.
In the final scene of the film, the Deltas blend into a school parade,
subtly take control…and unleash havoc upon everyone in their reach. Floats get smashed. A girl gets thrown through a window. A young soldier gets trampled to death. And in the end…no one is punished.
Perhaps I’m making this spectacle sound more ghastly than
it really is. “Animal House” is, after
all, a comedy, and episodes like the aforementioned soldier-trampling look
deliberately cheesy. But I think do it’s
interesting that the antics of the Deltas don’t result in consequences—there is
no moral discovered, no lesson learned.
“Remain calm! All is well!” one
student shouts as the parade descends into anarchy. He’s trying to restore order, but in this
world, it is disorder prevails and chokes out everything else.
There’s one scene at the end that personifies this
particularly well. Stratton, after
sleeping with the cheerleader Mandy Pepperidge (Mary Louise Weller), takes a
savage beating from her sleazy boyfriend Greg Marmallard (James Daughter) and
his thuggish cronies. Then, when Stratton
reenters the Delta House, his face black and blue, his frat brothers want to
know why he was attacked.
He
could tell them the truth; they certainly wouldn’t judge him, considering the
things they’ve done. Yet Stratton,
perhaps because he recognizes that motivations mean nothing in this chaotic
world defined by action, sums up the reasons behind Marmallard’s and company’s
attack with words that personify this ageless, despicably masterful film:
“I
don’t know. They’re just animals, I
guess.”
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