University of Virginia Library

'Cowboy' Poignant Absurdity, Reality

By Carl Ericson

When I first saw "Midnight
Cowboy" in New York nearly four
months ago I came out of the
theatre in a state of physical
exhaustion and mental disarray.
The typically boisterous sounds of
Third Avenue were somehow
dreamlike. Fortunately the complexity
of the human brain allows
one to forget the discomforts of
yesterday. However, lightning
sometimes does strike twice. Yesterday,
I emerged from the University
Theatre in the same state of
flux.

"Midnight Cowboy" soothes
you; it exhilarates you; it saddens
you; and then it spits right in your
eye. What Schlessinger has given us
is essentially a love story. Joe Buck
(played by John Voight), a Texas
dime-store cowboy dripping with
naivete comes to New York with
hopes of becoming the biggest and
best hustler in town. "Well ma'am,
I'm not really a cowboy but I sure
am one hell of a stud." Enrico
(Ratso) Rizzo (portrayed by Dustin
Hoffman) is the pathetic little man
from the Bronx who slaps you on
the back with one hand and cops
your wallet with the other.

Their relationship is not sticky
with sentimentality. They are two
men struggling together with an
indifferent city to survive. The
scenes of Ratso's fast-handing in a
pawnshop or lifting some vegetables
from a sidewalk stand are not
followed by egotistic glee. They are
instead matter-of-fact glimpses at a
desperate life.

Buck and Ratso's relationship is
not simply based on economic
needs, however. The spiritual facet
of their two-man world is slowly
and deliberately shown to us
throughout the film. Ratso's
dreams, all of which include Joe,

convey the image of a relationship
closely akin to that of newlyweds.

What solidifies their bond of
friendship (or love) IS Ratso's sense
of the absurd. One becomes totally
aware of their feelings from the
moment Ratso evaluates Joe's
overall physical appearance. Buck,
full of masculine pride, looks at his
image in the mirror and asks how
he looks. "Not bad, not bad,"
Ratso replies, "for a cowboy."
Then he grins. The audience knows
he is actually saying, "What a poor,
dumb slob; but I like you." Ratso is
also aware that his position and
Joe's is ludicrous. He has a sickness
that threatens to kill him and yet
he refuses to go to a doctor. Joe,
retaining some of his innocence,
still believes he is going to be a rich
stud. Ratso sees only one escape,
flight.

Schlessinger's feeling through
Ratso for the comic absurdity of
life is nowhere more evident than in
the final scene of the film. Joe and
the fatally ill Ratso are riding a bus
on their way to Miami. Ratso is so
sick that he wets his pants.
"Christ," he says, "my leg's sore;
my back's sore; my head's sore; and
now I have to pee on myself."
Hilarious humor in the face of
instant death; the comic absurdity/
reality of life.

An ironical ending finishes off
this poignant life-like film. Joe
wipes off Ratso's sweaty forehead
and Ratso says, "Thank you Joe."
These are his last words. Joe
continues to talk, unaware of
Ratso's death. He decides to give up
his role of the stud and find a more
realistic job. This is exactly what
Ratso, through his comprehension
of their precarious position, has
enabled him to do. So, it is Joe who
should say "Thank you." And we
as an audience can also say "Thank
you, Ratso (Schlessinger)," for
showing us the pathos, the humor,
the absurdity intrinsically involved
with being a human being.