Posted: 06/08/2001

Being There

(1979)

by Michael S. Julianelle

One of the best films you’ve probably never seen.

Chance the gardener knows nothing of the real world. He has, essentially, lived in a vacuum his entire life. As the gardener for a person referred to only as “the old man,” Chance has spent his life living within the sheltered walls of a mansion in Washington D.C. He was raised by the housekeeper and has had virtually no contact with the outside world. All of his time is taken up by gardening and watching television. Chance loves television. He puts it on at all times, and is always searching for the nearest set, even in the car. We see him mimicking the people he sees on TV, from the way they shake hands to the way the exercise and even to the way they kiss. It’s how he learns.

You see, Chance is a blank slate. Because he has little knowledge of the outside world, he has no preconceptions. All he knows are vague generalizations he has picked up from TV. As played by the amazing Peter Sellers, Chance is like a child, an innocent who doesn’t so much absorb what he sees as he does accept and agree with it, like he’s watching a program. He says nothing without being spoken to, and his responses are never anything more than simple acquiescence. The film’s twist, and its crux, is that when Chance accidentally gets enveloped into the inner circle of Washington D.C.’s political power brokers, his straight-faced ignorance is viewed as patient wisdom.

When his employer dies, Chance is exiled from his comfortable little bubble of existence and is forced to fend for himself. When he first hits the street, he bumps into a bunch of toughs and is mistaken for an emissary from their rival gang, through no fault of his own, although he does little to convince them otherwise. In fact, all he really does is attempt to use his remote control to change the channel. Chance’s slack, deadpan expression lends itself rather easily to affirmation, and since he very rarely has any real comprehension of what is going on around him, the people he bumps into are able to project their expectations onto him quite easily. After all, he never disagrees, and usually answers all statements with something like “Yes” or “I understand.” He is not confrontational and has no convictions or real opinions of his own. His identity is the result of other’s perceptions. He offers no information about himself at any point in the film, other than the admission that he likes television.

As he makes his way through the city, looking for television and something to eat (the housekeeper used to prepare his meals), he stumbles, through some accidental circumstances, into the home of a dying political king-maker. Melvyn Douglas plays Benjamin Rand, a powerful but sickly old man who has the ear of the President and who comes to respect and admire Chance, or Chauncey Gardener as he becomes known, as a wise and natural man devoid of pretense. Ben and his wife, played by Shirley Maclaine, become fast friends with the simpleton, again mistaking his reticence for sagacity, and soon the oblivious gardener is being introduced to the President. Speaking on the only subject of which he has any real knowledge, Chauncey astounds both Ben and the President (Jack Warner) with some simple comments about gardening that they take as metaphoric insights into the state of the country. Suddenly, Chauncey is being quoted on national television by the leader of the free world.

What follows is Chauncey’s unlikely infiltration into the power alleys of Washington D.C. His wide-eyed observation of everything he sees is perceived as slow, somber rumination, and without saying anything of import he is elevated to the national stage and ends up being considered for a political future. While this film is obviously not meant to be a documentary, it does offer some keen, satirical insight into the nature of identity and of the human dependence on style over substance. Chance/Chauncey, is not even really a person. He is a sponge, a mirror, into which the expectations and perceptions of others are placed. By the end of the movie he hasn’t changed at all, but everyone who has come into contact with him feels they have encountered a profound, enigmatic thinker. Both the CIA and the FBI can find no trace of his existence, and that lack of background does nothing but increase his allure.

Hal Ashby directs this film at a deliberate pace, meandering through the twists and turns of Chance’s adventure. The pacing may be slow, but the movie is captivating. Sellers turns in a fantastic, Oscar-nominated performance, and Melvyn Douglas took home the Best Supporting Actor Award for his warm, strong portrayal of the powerful yet perishing Benjamin Rand. Shirley MacLaine is Rand’s wife, Eve, who becomes Chance’s companion and guide as well as, in a hilarious twist, his “lover.” Like so many others, she mistakes his terseness as wisdom, in matters political, philosophical and emotional, and is completely taken with him.

Being There, with its gentle and innocent main character, is a deceptive little film. Beneath it’s subtle, almost fairy-tale-ish surface lies a finely honed, funny satire focused on our superficial society. Chance’s vapid/profound statements throughout the film offer plenty in the way of humor, but the sharp aim of the script might hit a bit too close to home in our increasingly shallow social climate. After all, we did elect as President a man who himself can barely speak. Nothing in this film is over the top, and there’s not a single wink to the audience throughout—that is, until the final scene, the meaning of which is still the subject of some debate. After seeing it, you might think that both Chance’s role as a gardener and the name Eve carry some symbolic weight of their own. And you might be right.

Michael S. Julianelle is a Boston-based freelance writer coping with his nearly debilitating zeal for entertainment and pop-culture.

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