I’ve already written a bit about the film version of Being There, but it has stuck with me to the point that I think I need to write more about it. Yesterday, a day after watching the movie, I read the short novel by Jerzy Kosinski.

Being There really struck a chord with me, and I’m not entirely sure why. It feels like there is something more to it, lurking beneath the surface. There are obvious things — the ending, the whole “I understand” thing that I only vaguely caught when I watched it — that show the movie to be something more than just one long joke, but I think there is more to it. I had hoped that the novel would help me understand the movie better, but I was wrong.

Being There is the one movie/book combo that I’ve come across where the film actually completely removes the need for the novel. Maybe that is how Jerzy Kosinski wanted it, and when you read the novel after watching the movie, you do get the clear feeling that the novel was purely an outline of what was to eventually come. There is nothing in the novel that elaborates on the movie. In fact, the movie consistently improves upon the novel in every way. If you land on this post wondering if you should bother reading Being There, then I say to you: no, there is no reason for you to read it. Just watch the movie.

I’ll even write my own summary. Being There follows Chance, a simple-minded — retarded, if you will — gardener who has never known anything outside of the garden he works in. One day the master of his house dies, and with no record of him ever even existing within the household, and not knowing anything of his family or where he came from, he wanders the streets. Eventually he is picked up by the wife of a wealthy financier after her driver accidentally crushes one of his legs between parked cars. She takes him home and somehow through the simple things he says about gardening and himself, everyone from the financier to the President himself get the impression that he is a genius and before long he is famous within all types of circles and even attracts the romantic attention of the financier’s wife.

It’s a simple concept, and one that almost doesn’t seem original at all, but the movie takes this simple concept and elevates it to something so much more than it is. If I was to take a wild guess at why I can’t get Being There out of my head, it’s that: there is so little to this movie, so little meaning to hold onto, that the one thing it is trying to say it says with such potency that I can’t help but dwell on it.

If the things that Chance says were in some way actually stupid, you could say the film is a biting satire of politics and the gullibility of the American people, but they’re not. He doesn’t say anything offensive to an intelligence observer. The only way the film fumbles is in that Peter Sellers portrayal of Chance is almost too simple, and I find myself wondering that if I met him without knowing him, would I really not get the feeling that I was talking to someone mentally handicapped? But overlooking that one gaffe, the idea that the film is actually mocking politics or just people in general is almost entirely removed.

The ending, I think, and I am going to go to great pains to not spoil anything for anyone who watches, gives away the point of it all to me. Chance’s beauty, Chance’s grace, even, comes from the fact that his perception of the world actually crafts the world around him. The ending isn’t some symbol of divine inspiration, though the aforementioned “I understand” might allude to that, it’s a symbol of the words spoken over it when it happens, “Life is a state of mind.” Chance isn’t able to do what he does because of some special power he has, unless you decide to call the inability to know the world as others do a special power. Chance has probably never even seen a body of water like that before! When you consider the ending from that perspective, it becomes somewhat clear. Perhaps Chance’s ability to win people with his words comes from the simple fact that he doesn’t know that other people treat mentally handicapped individuals differently than normal people.

Life is a state of mind, indeed. Perhaps I am just seeing what I want to see in Being There. I already believe that your mental state helps shape your reality around you, and my interpretation of Being There completely supports that. It’s probably safe to say there is someone out there who sees something divine in Chance, or someone who sees Chance as the antithesis to what the common American thinks of himself and interprets his infiltration into the highest of American institutions as scathing satire.

Regardless, I was beginning to feel that my ability to truly appreciate film has all but disappeared, but Being There has shown me that it is still possible for me to absolutely love a film, and if only for that I am thankful I watched it. You should watch it, too.