'The Graduate'

The Graduate, Mike Nichols’s Oscar-winning drama, emerged in 1967, was quickly lauded for its technical measures, and remembered not only for its cinematic value and acting, but also for its Simon and Garfunkel-ized soundtrack. If anything, hearing the title The Graduate is quickly proceeded with S&G’s notoriously catchy “doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo.”

Mike Nichols seemed to curate a masterpiece. Its screenplay? Near perfect. Cinematography? Stand-alone success. Blocking and framing? Don’t make me gush! On initial review, Roger Ebert called it the greatest comedy of its year. However, Ebert revised his praise 30 years later to include The Graduate was, in fact, not a great movie. Great cinema seems to swim with the times. The Graduate, to Ebert seemed to fray and drown into pools of irrelevance, much like how Dustin Hoffman seemed to want his character to end, becoming just another past Oscar-winning film.

Yet, I still find The Graduate to be lauded, given ranks coinciding with Goodfellas (1990) and 9 to 5 (1980). Classics. If anything, mentioned in half-panned college film courses. Late to the party, but as I watched The Graduate on my sister’s Netflix account, I watched with furrowed eyebrows rather than an exciting stare. Yes, I was initially captivated by the retro setting, the camera-work, and the acting. It’s superb. But then I quickly realized what exactly I was watching. Once the credits faded and I was left with a slightly disappointing recommendation by Netflix, I couldn’t help but think: If The Graduate were to debut in 2019, there’s no way it would survive.

Again, Nichols orchestrated a technical masterpiece. Its wide frames and zoom-outs, making traveling distances all too long and all too awkward. Nichols displayed anxiety in a light I still can’t seem to find a movie to compare to, the anxiety that literally had Dustin Hoffman twitching, hiding at the bottom of pools. And then I think: He probably should have stayed there rather than going to Mrs. Robinson’s home.

The flare of the film seems to mask its subject matter. In an era with Time’s Up and #MeToo, comedians, actors, actresses, producers, and directors are all being checked, their projects closely examined. We can no longer afford stories that misrepresent, don’t represent at all, or represent false realities, from the past to the future. Perhaps we don’t need to disparage every work, but awareness is the first step towards change after all.

These two movements have thwarted past successes. Woody Allen’s reputation has deflated because of his lack of control, as did Louis CK’s, Kevin Spacey, and an all too distressingly long list of others. We are holding people and their works accountable, refusing to celebrate ignorant, false, and gross representations. The Graduate can find its place on that list as well.

For romanticizing abusive relationships, emotional, physical, and mental, The Graduate, blinded by the white, misogynistic culture that ruled over its time, manifested relationships that were toxic, giving sexual harassment a sort of sex appeal. What I’m talking about starts at minute 10. TEN. Mrs. Robinson coerces Benjamin to drive her home, then into her house, to drink, to lead her upstairs, to unzip her dress, to holding him captive in her daughter, Elaine Robinson’s bedroom naked, all while Benjamin is fully enveloped in anxiety, twitching, uncomfortable, sweating, and most importantly, clearly dictating his want to leave. I’m only assuming that the definition of no hasn’t changed too drastically since 1966.

It begs the question: Can past laurels and flare make up for subject matter. The Graduate finds itself in cultural limbo with America Beauty. Initially, both movies were regarded as great. But now, in times where social awareness is crucial and knowledge of society is imperative, American Beauty has been tossed into the deepened for its portrayal of an adult man pining over a minor girl. The industry needs to do the same to The Graduate. Romanticizing unhealthy realities has consequences.

The Graduate showcases a demanding Mrs. Robinson. A strong, uninhibited woman, but to others: equal in fault. A hair tug at minute fifty makes me cringe. The demands to never see Elaine again: Questionable. Controlling. The abuse goes further than slaps and hair-pulls, but extends to tumultuous emotional abuse: Long, sharp-tongued lectures that make partners feel lesser and worthless. The kind of abuse we see Nicole Kidman portray in Big Little Lies: Visceral and real. Abuse commonly disguised as love and care.

Time’s Up and #MeToo has transcended to encompass the lack of inclusivity of the film industry. Audiences are craving diverse stories, ones reflective of true life. The Graduate is as white as Wonder Bread, appropriate for its time. However, The Graduate extends further into the troubling nature of whiteness. If Mrs. Robinson was black, I surely doubt she would have been portrayed as a strong-willed, demanding seductress, but rather a villain, gross and discomforting. The only inclusive note in this film, and by inclusive I mean far from it, is a slight comedic jab at dwarfism at minute 64.

We cannot afford to celebrate films and art that refuse to depict what true reality is. The Graduate does nothing but give abuse a sexy name. It showcases the allure of obsession and “go-get-her” attitudes. It’s disturbing. And maybe it’s just a Polaroid of its time. Maybe it was never supposed to depict the aforementioned nightmares and maybe nobody else thinks the same. Maybe The Graduate is a think-piece, mandating audiences to think whether or not it’s actually good. And if this written piece is wrong, well, I can only hope that it becomes a think-piece as well.