Bobby Dupea (Jack Nicholson) is an aimless young man without any clear sense of direction in his life. On the surface, he is the archetypal blue-collar working man. He spends his days grafting as an oil-rig worker, and his evenings with his girlfriend, the well-meaning but slightly simple Rayette (Karen Black), who adores Bobby, to an almost obsessive degree. However, what Bobby doesn’t reveal to anyone is that beneath his working-class sensibilities lies a history rooted in the upper-class. The offspring of a family of wealthy musicians from suburban Washington, Bobby is far more cultured than he claims to be, choosing to conceal his past as a way of fitting into a part of society he feels suits his style better, with the role of an oil-rig worker being far more attractive to him than the reality of being a piano prodigy stifled by the overbearing machinations of his family and their various affairs that our protagonist would prefer to be entirely estranged from. The simple life is something Bobby constantly pursues, with his existence being one that is preferably kept without the complications that come with being part of an affluent family. However, when it is revealed that his father is nearing the end of his life after a series of strokes, Bobby reluctantly makes his way back home, with his suicidal girlfriend at his side, in the hopes of imparting his good wishes to his family and then returning to his ordinary life – but he soon discovers that this is far easier in theory than it is in practice, and he is once again thrust into the affairs of a family he abandoned years before.

Five Easy Pieces is such a perfectly imperfect film. The film is so perfectly calibrated to the cultural and artistic zeitgeist at the time it was made, it’s almost impossible to find fault anywhere in Bob Rafelson’s beautifully compelling drama, which occurs at the intersections between the counterculture era and the peaks of New Hollywood. A complex character study of a lost soul navigating a version of America in which he can never quite find a place to fit in, the film takes us on a deeply personal odyssey where we witness our protagonist coming to terms with his own quandaries, finding his way through a social landscape that he struggles to adapt to, feeling caught between different social groups, none of which fully embrace him. Five Easy Pieces represented a seismic shift for many different areas of the film industry – Hollywood was now ready to accept these quaint stories rooted in realism and produced by individuals who came of age during a very difficult time, between the Great Depression and the outset of the Cold War, portraying their very unique vision of a world they don’t quite understand, but are willing to represent their perspective with a blend of apathy towards authority and rage against social injustices. New Hollywood was kickstarted by films like this, which took a firm grasp on the culture, and showed that not everything needed to have a very clear thesis statement – sometimes, life itself was more than enough to make for truly compelling cinema, and with Five Easy Pieces, Rafelson and Jack Nicholson made one of the most enduring manifestos on the subject of twentieth-century existence, and never wavered in their extraordinary commitment to crafting something so simple, yet so profoundly moving at the same time.

Jack Nicholson has been such a part of cinematic history for so long, it’s often difficult to discern the exact moment he became a star. His work in the early 1960s certainly represent the start of a promising career, but the precise stroke of genius that leads him to become arguably the most celebrated actor of his generation is always up for debate. I’d argue that while he may have caught the collective attention of audiences with Easy Rider, it was his performance in Five Easy Pieces that launched Nicholson to worldwide acclaim, and it’s not difficult to see why this was such a distinctive moment in his career. Playing Bobby Dupea, Nicholson is demonstrating all the qualities we admire most about him as an actor, with her wide-eyed charm and iconic smile working in tandem with his ability to get to the root of a character in a way very few actors ever seem to be able to. He’s truly a magnetic screen presence and appears to always be at ease when on screen. He truly is a natural, and this kind of detachment from other actors of his generation works well in the context of this film, as Bobby is the prototypical Nicholson character – an outsider who is not necessarily uncomfortable in whichever social position he finds himself in but still struggles to fit in. He’s a man without much direction, and like with many of the actor’s more complex roles, he goes on a journey of self-discovery, whether physical or mentally, in an effort to find his place. Unfortunately, this fascinating trait was seemingly lost as Nicholson’s career continued to grow, and where his penchant for intensity often overshadowed his more restrained talents. Yet, in Five Easy Pieces they’re fully evident and fascinating to experience, especially for an actor who may go on to become one of the most iconic to ever work in the medium, but at this point was still relatively new to the industry, and looking to make his mark in a meaningful way, which he certainly did.

Five Easy Pieces is also worth watching for the supporting cast, with two performances, in particular, standing out. Karen Black is an actress who I’d argue best encapsulates the 1970s – perhaps she didn’t reach the impossible heights some of her contemporaries did, but the work she did during this decade was beyond astounding. Her flawless ability to play both an endearing love interest, a dastardly femme fatale or just an outright villain made her one of the great character actresses of her generation, which only makes her failure to attain the stardom her talents suggested she deserved all the more unfortunate. Five Easy Pieces gives Black an incredible role, and she delivers one of the most compelling performances of her entire career. None of the characters in this film had as much to lose as Rayette – from the first moment, she’s the victim of nothing but hostility. Portrayed as the overemotional girlfriend of the main character, she could’ve so easily just been positioned as an archetype without any personality. Yet, Black deftly prevents Rayette from being anything other than a fascinating individual all on her own – imbuing her with charm, grace and a certain frank sensitivity that makes every moment she appears on screen so effective, even when the script may not give her much to do. Black makes a concerted effort to not play Rayette as the lovably dumb country hick she is made out to be, and the result is a performance that comes very close to rivalling Nicholson in how unexpectedly nuanced it is. The other great performance in the film comes from Lois Smith, who defines all the best qualities of a true character actor – her career has spanned medium and genre, giving memorable performances on stage, television and film. Her performance in Five Easy Pieces is essentially the prototype of what she’d go on to do in Next Stop, Greenwich Village, playing a fragile woman longing for a sense of belonging. Smith has a profoundly delicate nature to her performances, something that has lingered from the very outset of her career, and her quiet intensity, even in a role as underwritten as Bobby’s socially awkward sister, hints at an actress of profoundly unique charms. The ensemble of Five Easy Pieces is excellent, and it’s peppered with a variety of compelling performances from a set of established actors and newcomers, which makes this not only a great star-making turn for Nicholson but a tremendous ensemble piece as well.

The main theme that this film centres itself on is the social divide – everything about Five Easy Pieces converges into a profoundly meaningful exploration of different cultural spheres, and how they are perceived by different groups. The film is caught between gritty, blue-collar realism and intricate character-driven melodrama, and the film’s most remarkable strengths come in how it inverts these tropes and uses them to make a deeply complex statement on the machinations of the social system. Bobby is not a poor man looking to improve his life and achieve wealth and affluence, but rather someone who was so innundated with privilege in his youth, his only desire is to retreat into a world where someone needs to work hard to make a living, rather than having everything given to you. Bobby was a special child who has turned into a man who just wants to be ordinary, which causes him to retreat from the life many of us would be envious to even come close to having. The way Rafelson engages with this almost absurd theme doesn’t ever bear the traces of parody or satire – it is all kept extremely simple, with the director pulling together a compelling story from a seemingly strange premise that benefits solely from the brilliance of his screenplay and the dedication he has to a concept that would otherwise be seen as entirely far-fetched, and not the basis for one of the most enduring pieces of gritty Americana produced during the 1970s. The brilliance of this film lies in its simplicity, which makes the story all the more cohesive, as slight complexities that the film goes in search of in terms of commenting on social issues and the idea of existence as a whole are conveyed in a way that makes them distinct without overwrought. The film makes use of a very subdued elegance that allows it to tell a story that means more than what we initially believe it to.

New Hollywood was a period in which unique premises like this superseded enormous concepts, and the fact that Rafelson made something so simple, yet so meaningful represents one of the defining moments of this cinematic movement. Working with Jack Nicholson, who is at his most subtle, but not underused, in the role of Bobby Dupea, the audience is presented with an incredible original and deeply resonant story about a young man yearning for a sense of belonging, and through being caught between the life he retreated from the life he built for himself, he has to make a decision that is far more difficult than it would appear: he needs to choose who Bobby Dupea is. Is he a piano prodigy who comes from an affluent family and will no doubt benefit from their wealth and status once his father dies, or is he a man searching for meaning far from his privileged life? For Bobby, true happiness is found in a small roadside diner, or a bowling alley with the kind of simple folk he clearly is envious of – their way of life may be different from what he’s used to, as well as not what anyone would call necessarily glamorous, but for our protagonist, it seems to be enough. Bobby never does satiate his yearnings, and the film’s quiet but impactful ending shows that he is a man deeply in conflict with his own mind – he has no qualms abandoning his life, or those who care for him. Bobby Dupea is an enigma, and Five Easy Pieces is a complex character study that launches us into the mind of one of the most unique cinematic figures of the 1970s, taking us on a metaphysical journey into his life, as we learn about his own quandaries and watch as he tries to resolve them. This isn’t a film that comes with a satisfying ending – Rafelson is vehemently against the idea of giving the characters a clear resolution. It is a vague but poignant conclusion that sees Bobby Dupea making a decision, one that will allow him to once again escape the entrapment of a relatively good life, and only fate knows where it will lead him. Very few films have ever been able to capture the discomfort and anxiety of feeling out of place as Five Easy Pieces, and this is one of the many reasons why it is the steadfast masterpiece that helped launch an entire movement of filmmaking that could tell deeply human stories without relying on anything other than the intimidating but fascinating concept of the human condition.