ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST (1975) ***1/2 Ken Kesey's novel is one of the two greatest books ever written on American politics (Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72), a status it achieves without so much as uttering relative irrelevancies like "Republican" or "Democrat." The foci are systematic dynamics, personality magnitudes, and the dictatorship of the petty and inadequate. Milos Forman wisely tones down the scope for the film, projecting and attacking the same issues in the microcosm of the psychological institution setting. I don't mean to suggest that Forman toned down metaphors, Kesey's work deals more in symbols than definable grids. Mr. Washington, the overseer, for example, could too easily be turned into something he is not. He is merely something sad that echoes of something proud. Forman knows that enlargement stretches and amplification distorts-he's wise to work from a simplified weave, however loose and elastic. For all the film's many brilliant pieces, it couldn't work much without Jack Nicholson. His is the most brilliant and memorable role of a brilliant career that will never be forgotten. I don't think that Jack got inside Kesey's head so much as they both mastered getting into their own, and discovered a lot of similar places. A more desperately literal interpretation of the character would have foundered on the rocks. And how could they possibly figure out who to give the Supporting Actor Academy Award to out of the loonies: Christopher Lloyd, Danny DeVito, Brad Dourif, Will Sampson, Michael Berryman, Vincent Schiavelli, William Redfield, each absolutely brilliant. Typical Hollywood answer: give it to someone else. They didn't miss Louise Fletcher, though, as the marbleized representation of the sympathetic murderous voice of malevolence (yes something similar can be said of the Romans, Napoleon, the British Empire, al-Qaeda; I don't know if any of that is a defense, but the art is in the emphasis). Her character is every bit as American as the John Wayne prototype, but from the other end of the spectrum. Not the darker side of the same coin, something unique but dependent on polarity. Named "Nurse Wretched," in the Mad magazine satire, how can she possibly communicate her desperation in her inability to have ever been included in anything fun? It is possible to feel sorry for her, and necessary to the experience. Freedom. Individuality. Vision. Control.
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