The Big Lebowski

The Coen brothers’ 1998 stoner-noir is Raymond Chandler filtered through dirty bong water, where almost every line of dialogue is a hazy, hilarious non sequitur. My favorite is when accidental P.I. Jeff Bridges (forever the Dude) is ambushed in his tub by nihilists bearing a ferret. “Hey, nice marmot,” he greets them, with his usual unflustered amiability. Nothing rattles Bridges’ Dude, not a lost rug, not a leering Tara Reid, not a lisping John Turturro, not a raving John Goodman, not a simpering Steve Buscemi, and not even shrieking performance artist Julianne Moore, who joins Bridges in a Busby Berkeley-style bowling fantasy that sums up the movie's sweet, silly spirit. This outdoor screening also features food trucks from Where Ya at Matt and Charlie’s Buns N’ Stuff, and it should attract many viewers dressed in character. (R) BRIAN MILLER

Sat., Aug. 27, 7 p.m., 2011

 
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