45/100
Second viewing, last seen at Film Forum in 2002. I've been struggling with this one for the past couple days (on and off, mostly off), as there's very little that I can point to as even quasi- or pseudo-objectively "wrong"—this particular mode of zaniness simply doesn't much amuse me. Altman's sense of humor often deviates wildly from my own, as when he delights in excrement as a running gag; nearly every character in Pret-a-Porter steps in dog shit at some point, which I'd forgotten is an "as above, so below" riff on all the bird shit that rains down in Brewster McCloud. Afraid I sit stonefaced through stuff like that, and repeating the bit over and over (albeit here as a sort of serial killer's calling card) doesn't help at all. In theory, I'm more receptive to absurdism, but René Auberjonois as a lecturer/narrator who's gradually transforming into a bird while reciting avian factoids that mirror human behavior onscreen doesn't tickle me, for whatever reason. Just seems dumb. Then there are jokes that I don't even recognize as such, e.g. Michael Murphy's renegade cop resembling Steve McQueen as Frank Bullitt, down to Murphy wearing blue contact lenses. Feel sheepish about having failed to register that, but then again, I don't, in hindsight, detect any sort of worthwhile satirical angle on Bullitt or its ilk in Murphy's performance or Lt. Shaft's (I assume that name was a coincidence, since Brewster McCloud predates Shaft) actions. More like a Scary Movie-style random riff on recent pop culture. All of this might be dismissible were I remotely invested in Brewster, but the kid's a total cipher, more notable for being dressed like Waldo of Where's fame avant la lettre than for any psychological oddities, comedic or otherwise. It so happens that there's another movie about a damaged young man who's hell-bent on constructing giant wings and taking flight; I don't always love what Birdy asks Matthew Modine to embody (it's more of a Nic Cage vehicle for me), but at least you understand what drives the dude. He's not generic "rebellion."
What saves Brewster McCloud from feeling truly laborious are the two lovable eccentrics Altman discovered. Bud Cort (R.I.P.) had previously appeared in MASH and a few other films, but I think it's safe to assume this Brewster was the role that landed him Harold and Maude. Shelley Duvall had never acted before and was essentially found "in the wild" by members of Altman's crew who were hanging out in Houston during pre-production. Neither of them exactly knocks me out in this film, but that's mostly because I've seen them do similar but stronger work subsequently (Duvall's Suzanne amounts to a dry run for Millie Lammoreaux in 3 Women, with similar blithe chatterbox energy); if I imaginatively project myself into the mindset of a viewer in 1970 who's seeing Cort in his first lead and Duvall for the first time period, it's hard not to smile. Which counts for something, even if it arguably constitutes a kind of rating inflation. (Would likely be in the 30s minus that mental adjustment.) I also partially enjoy Sally Kellerman's knowing playfulness, once it becomes clear that Louise must be some sort of spectral figure—I'm ignoring a note I made early on, during the camera-shop sequence (when Louise helps Brewster steal a Nikon via diversion by ostentatiously stuffing numerous I think they're film canisters into her purse, none of which the manager can then find when he apprehends her), that asked "Is she a magician?" And Brewster McCloud joins Claire Denis' Let the Sunshine In and another movie I'm blanking on right now in receiving the dubious honor of my enjoying the end credits more than anything that preceded them. Would love to see more filmmakers highlight their cast one by one not in clips (à la say Dazed and Confused, though I dig that too) but via some sort of bona fide curtain call, which in this case takes the form of dressing everyone up as circus performers. That's an inspired idea. Dearly wish this sucker had more of 'em. But I'm perfectly happy to shrug it off as Just Not My Thing Sorry.