Robert Altman’s bicentennial report on America, Nashville, is a marvel of structure. Part of the proof is the way the film keeps tricking us into thinking it structureless. Rewatching it today, aware of the story’s many great tentpole moments and—especially—of the thrilling, perfect final scene, I was able to see that structure more clearly. Somehow, with 24 co-leads living out a dozen stories in a mash of largely improvisational scenes, Altman and his coconspirators are able to construct a sturdy and memorable monument to the chaotic everythingness of America that pulses with vitality and music. (And let me point out that the actors singing throughout these 3 hours wrote their own songs!)
One reason Altman chose the country music capital as the site of his USA MRI was that, in the seventies, the town was a last holdout of the much-discussed American Dream, where a penniless girl with a pocket full of songs and sass could become a massive star pretty quickly. And you can’t talk America without talking stardom. But, also, Nashville speaks equally well about politics (what was clear satire in ‘75 seems pretty familiar in 2024), gender, sex, exploitation, class, race, media, violence, family, and narcissism…all the major ingredients of the United States of America then and now.
That this film came together so perfectly is, I believe, largely providence. A rambling mixture of comedy, tragedy, and a million other things, somehow, it delivers memorable and intensely cinematic scenes at a steady pace. A proof of this strange alchemy is that Lily Tomlin received a still-celebrated Oscar nomination for a small part as a gospel singer despite the fact that she can’t really sing and her main scene has zero dialogue. But you can never get her face out of your mind. Suleen’s humiliation. Haven Hamilton’s Jekyll and Hyde opening. Barbara Jean’s arrival and later onstage confusion. Opal’s cringey reportage of a school bus parking lot. There are a dozen great scenes before we arrive at the grand finale.
Speaking of Opal, I did find her character too much and too constant. I don’t believe for a second that she’s from the BBC (she’s doing a “documentary” with only a tape recorder?), and her unmixed comedy begins to be less welcome as the various stories develop.
But, all said and done, this is a true classic that deserves to be seen, if only for Shelley Duvall and Jeff Goldblum’s outfits.