Yesterday’s Jones: Drugstore Cowboy

“I was once a shameless, full-time dope fiend…”

By C.A. Ramirez

This article originally appeared on Medium.com (8/16/2021).

Based on the book by James Fogle, 1989’s Drugstore Cowboy follows a group of drug addicted pill poppers as they relieve vulnerable Portland, Oregon, drugstores of their pharmaceutical wares. This movie has the power to kidnap the viewer and drop them into the shoes of Bob Hughes, played by Matt Dillon, the leader of a band of dope-shooting misfits who are more adept at stealing their fix than begging for it at a methadone clinic.

Don’t let the smiles fool you. This movie is dark.

Gus Van Sant wrote and directed this drug-fueled drama so masterfully that it could easily tempt some of the more conservative viewers into, at the very least, considering a few bumps or fat lines as a means to their end. For those fortunate enough to have lived among the opioid-addled members of society, Drugstore Cowboy transports them right back to the sweat-stained, trash-filled, dealer dives that once dominated their lives. Van Sant creates a unique time and place for the addict. In his version of 1971, Portland, Oregon. The kind of imagery that brought drug use to the silver screen like, Spun, or NARC, is absent here. Instead, save for the graphic imagery, Matt Dillon’s character is thrown through the ringer, and like the characters in Requiem for a Dream, he is permanently affected by a lifelong dedication to sustaining drug addiction.

There are few movies from the 80’s that I can regard as even watchable. The decade is filled to the brim with movies that are far too fake for my Millennial tastes. Sure, there are a few standout hits that even my cynical mind can’t ignore as invaluable works of cinematic art. I love Fast Times at Ridgemont High because it is a contemporary slice of life, and it stands at the doorstep to the 1980’s decade as a fantastic still-life of 80’s culture, after society had severed ties with the disco-dancing 70’s, before MTV gave birth to a generation of materialistically driven yuppies.

The world Drugstore Cowboy Captures cannot be repeated, and I consider these kinds of movies, regardless of the decade in which they are made, as a kind of cultural stasis, keeping alive that which cannot possibly be recreated. Drugstore Cowboy manages to carve out an identifiable niche in the world of cinematic crime dramas. Compared to grandiose entries like Oliver Stone’s, Scarface, or Brian De Palma’s, Carlito’s Way, Gus Van Sant’s, Drugstore Cowboy, takes us through the lamentable routine of what it takes to stay high when you feel so low. To most addicts, the world is enough, and instead of wanting any part of it, they have chosen the solace that comes from marrying a syringe to a vein.