On Friday nights, IndieWire After Dark takes a feature-length beat to honor fringe cinema in the streaming age.
First, read the BAIT: a weird and wonderful pick from any time in film. Then, try the BITE: a breakdown of the movie’s ending, impact, and any other spoilers you’d want.
The Bait: A Lynchian Language Barrier and a Break from Sadness
To steal from a popular meme this week, January has been the longest year of the month.
With Los Angeles still burning in the background, David Lynch died a few weeks ago — from complications of emphysema at 78 — and Hollywood went into sudden and deep mourning. Even against a steady stream of more bad news (politics, plane crashes, “Emilia Pérez” Oscar nominations), tributes to the late filmmaker are still going strong.
From “Eraserhead” to “Inland Empire,” the beloved director was a quintessential and divisive voice of midnight movie culture, one whose surreal embrace of genre and arthouse became a film category unto itself. We’re returning to our regularly scheduled themed programming next month, but before we fall into what we can only hope will be a better February, After Dark is doubling back for a little Lynch with a niche treasure oddly fitting for this moment. Tonight, we’re watching “The Cowboy and the Frenchman” from 1988.
A prolific artist with intoxicating dreams, Lynch made a slew of short films throughout his career. At first glance, this bite-sized farce is notable for introducing him to the late Harry Dean Stanton, who stars as the deaf cowboy Slim. Commissioned by the French magazine Le Figaro for a series about how foreign artists view the French (Werner Herzog and Jean-Luc Godard also participated), it endures as a pure injection of Lynchian Americana. It satirizes western stereotypes while its auteur experiments with his lightest inclinations as a humorist, playing with slapstick and silly redundant dialogue to confuse as well as charm.
When Pierre (Frederic Golchan) stumbles down a hillside into Slim’s homestead, he’s intercepted by ranch hands Pete (Jack Nance) and Dusty (Tracey Walter). It’ll take several minutes of Abbott and Costello-like exchanges for the cowboys to put together that Pierre only speaks French — and has been running away from an “Indian” named Broken Feather (Michael Horse AKA Hawk from “Twin Peaks”). But once the cowboys are done rifling through Pierre’s luggage, packed to the brim with wine, bread, cheese, and French fries, Slim decides to crack out the Budweiser and let the Parisian stay.
Leaning into your nightmares when facing times of uncertainty or grief works a lot of the time. That’s why horror movies have been doing so well. But after a difficult January — steeped in American exceptionalism among other horse shit — anyone still on a Lynch kick should consider watching this hidden gem as a palette cleanser. Although imperfect, “The Cowboy and the Frenchman” sees its filmmaker taking a break from his own dark fantasies to shaggily explore the idea of cultural exchanges using his favorite motifs and tropes. It’s a welcome reprieve and a warm reminder of Lynch’s wisdom.
“The Cowboy and the Frenchman” is now streaming on MUBI.
The Bite: “It Could Explain Some Things… or Maybe Not”
“The Cowboy and the Frenchman” is surprisingly quotable, with lines like “Flapjacks as big as a saddle-blanc-quette!” and “I told you we can’t eat that cheese!” sticking in your brain after just one viewing. As the night wears on — and Slim, Pierre, Broken Feather, Dusty, and Pete are met by a group of singing girls out in the pitch-black pastures — the visuals fail to transcend, but the paradoxical party still feels like one that could only be put on by Lynch.
There are two common interpretations of this short. You can take the cowboys’ rough handling of the Parisian as an indictment of Americans’ reputation as international boneheads, or you can see the story overall as a snide remark on how the French think they are seen by the vast and varied United States. It takes a certain amount of self-obsession to recruit creatives to confess their feelings for your culture, and Lynch’s decision to turn down Le Figaro’s offer before eventually accepting supports that second theory.
With snails in his pockets and an inexplicable photo of Puerto Rican actor/director José Ferrer in his bag, Pierre spends the first half of the short waxing poetic about the beauty of Manhattan. He’s as fixated on the Statue of Liberty as “The Brutalist” — and recounts late-night affairs with rich conversation and “colorful pills” as upside-down symbols for urban elitism.
“I saw a very tiny zebra in a Ford automobile,” Pierre coos in a moment away from the callous cowboys, delivered straight to the camera. He quakes in the presence of Broken Feather but conveys an almost spiritual sense of curiosity through his descriptions of the East Coast city. Later, as slow-motion scenes of a horse overlay cancan dancers and the men bond through a haze of booze and fresh air, Pierre reminisces on the prairies and the stars.
As cynical or gentle as you choose it to be, “The Cowboy and the Frenchman” culminates in a dark-haired French woman romancing Slim (“It’s a do-si-do, or it’s a do-si-dee…” she purrs) before Pierre starts kissing two American chicks (“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” one asks clumsily — with a twang.) A gun is shot in the air, and a mini-Lady Liberty appears. “Vive le France!” they all say. It’s a joyous moment, assuming free-wheeling sex and patriotism is your thing, and a crucial artifact from a filmmaker who could comment on commenting without ever sacrificing his own recursive perspective.
IndieWire After Dark publishes midnight movie recommendations every Friday night. Read more of our deranged suggestions…
