‘Hello darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again.’ Never a sentence in a film described my current state of mind more accurately. So many times I’ve watched it and yet so long it always feels since the last. The Graduate is one of those very few films that in some fleeting way make me feel at home, where home is not a specific location from my past or present, but rather an imaginary place that is far more palpable—a feeling hard to articulate somewhere nearby the comforts of nostalgia.
On top of portraying an era anyone of any generation at some point in his life has dreamt of, what never fails to make me fall for The Graduate is its attractive combination of rebellious attitude, witty humour, and distinct Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? character.
Mike Nichols brings comedy to the screen in its purest sense. Making fun of a certain social structure, he stands against something—a brazenness inherent of the genre that in the last decades of cinema has regrettably faded away. Furthermore, The Graduate speaks with the very voice of those who just won’t fit—those who don’t feel up to expectations ruled by demanding times, who are eager to be something different, and have no idea what that is or how to achieve it. This is no hippy thinking in a hippy time—this is many of us today, this century.
The one thing I am surprised to find myself seeing as a flaw for the first time is the use of music. Out of the greatly popular Simon & Garfunkel’s songs come some iconic sequences such as the opening at LAX airport on the notes of The Sound of Silence, and of course the Golden Gate one on Mrs Robinson’s—but also some weaker transitional moments where the cinematic creativity seems to loosen the drive relying a little too much on the soundtrack. What a shame, I guess I am thinking, but also such a venial sin after all.
