“You became a box.”

Earlier this month, the members of Dogstar — Robert Mailhouse, Bret Domrose, and Keanu Reeves — appeared on the Inside of You podcast, hosted by actor Michael Rosenbaum. Keanu shared a story about gifting Francis Ford Coppola some magic mushrooms for his birthday when they were filming Dracula. To hear Keanu tell the story, it was a spontaneous gesture; he heard it was Coppola’s birthday and he happened to have a wee bit of hallucinogens on hand.

Coppola took the mushrooms, apparently, and had a good birthday. Well, that’s nice for him, but I’m still not quite over the story Winona Ryder told about how Coppola treated her on Dracula. (Even if he denies it, blah blah blah). Not to mention I just don’t like Dracula as a film. I’m one of the few, I realize, but it did nothing for me; all those stories about Keanu’s accent also had no effect on me, because, since there was nothing in the film for me to enjoy to begin with, Keanu’s accent didn’t ruin it.

But hopefully everyone enjoyed their magic mushrooms.

The more interesting tidbit for me on that episode of Inside of You comes from the host, Michael Rosenbaum, who says in the introduction that he had worked with Keanu on a film years prior. Curious, I scanned his Wikipedia page and noticed Sweet November (2001) in Rosenbaum’s filmography. It came as a surprise, because I didn’t recall Rosenbaum’s presence at all before piecing together his role as the partner of Sara Deever’s best friend, who makes note of Nelson Moss’ handsomeness in a notable dinner party scene.

I have seen Sweet November (2001), the remake of the 1968 film, more times than any other Keanu Reeves movie. It’s not my favourite Keanu Reeves film, but its run time is almost exactly two hours and its plot points hit nicely timed beats at about the half hour, mid point, and three-quarters of the way through. This isn’t unusual for a film necessarily, but I discovered many months back having Sweet November on in the background is a useful focus technique when I have to rattle off a series of online content pieces on a deadline. I am fortunate in that I often have writing assignments with decent price points I have to complete, and I am often pushing a deadline. I also know that my anecdotal experience — having the same movie on helps me focus — is actually backed up by psychological evidence. It’s like a subconscious cue that it’s time to work, and it’s effective.

Even though most of the times I’ve seen Sweet November (2001), I haven’t really been paying attention, I still know this movie very, very well. I have developed a kind of affection for it, so I am no longer particularly bothered by the odd nature of its premise, which I talked about when I first wrote about it for this site. I have enough affection for it that this past summer, when I was in San Francisco, I attempted to visit the coffee shop and neighborhood where Sara Deever and Nelson Moss spend so much time (the bus I was waiting for didn’t show, so I took an alternate route and was thwarted by a massive hill, which is even steeper in real life than it appears on screen).

I’ve always been curious, since Sweet November (2001) is a remake, what the 1968 film contained: was there a 1968 version of the Michael Rosenbaum character, Brandy/Brandon? Was the too-close-for-Nelson’s-comfort neighbour, Chaz/Cherry, also popping in unannounced on Sara and Nelson’s bubble bath? The answer to the first question is no, to the second, pretty much no. But the odd premise is there, even if there are some notable changes in the 2001 version.

First, Sweet November (1968) doesn’t take place in San Francisco, which came as a bit of a shock. The newer Sweet November feels like a San Francisco story: they ride the cable car, attend a shoreline boat race for the Potrero Hill boys’ club, Nelson gifts Sara with 100 Muni tokens “for the many great rides of your life” (tokens that, since this “newer” movie is now more than two decades old, no longer exist). There’s also a quasi-hippie community that play an important role in Sara’s, and by extension, Nelson’s, life. There’s the aging couple with the bookstore who used to be close friends with Jack Kerouac; the young boy being raised by a single mother who sees Nelson as a father figure; and of course Chaz and Brandon, who are also Cherry and Brandy.

All of this is missing from 1968’s Sweet November. The Sara Deever of 1968 (hers is the only character’s name to remain constant between the two films) also meets her soon-to-be November project Charlie Blake during a DMV exam, but she’s the one who cheats and he gets kicked out. She nonetheless convinces him to spend some time sharing a hot dog and feeding the pigeons.

Sara and Charlie are New Yorkers, she a landlord of several apartments she’s subletting around the city, he an executive at a company that makes boxes. That fact is one of several that show up in the 2001 film in various nods to the original script. Sara (2001) says to Nelson, “you live in a box. I can lift the lid.” Other nods: at the Thanksgiving dinner, 1968 Sara mentions “the Indians attacking,” while the 2001 bookstore owner Al toasts the Thanksgiving dinner with, “Happy we stole your land and killed your people day.” 1968 Sara’s friend, Alonso, is a sign-maker and advocate for the vegetarian movement, spoken of as a kind of religion looking for converts; 2001 Sara offers Nelson vegan bacon she makes with vegan butter (but curiously, meets Nelson at the DMV when she asks him to retrieve a salami that’s fallen out of her grocery bag).

Charlie doesn’t seem bothered by 1968 Sara’s pursuit of him, so, unlike 2001 Sara, she doesn’t resort to stalking behaviour. He’s mildly curious, even though 1968 Sara is quite nutty, but he has no qualms about saying yes when she suggests her “therapy program.” She’s apparently harmless and he’s obviously in it at least for the sex, something he and 2001 Nelson have in common.

The sex is casually implied in the 1968 film and strongly implied in the 2001 version; in fact, I’d say the 2001 Sweet November is about as explicit as a mainstream, non-R-rated movie of that era would get. Maybe I’m overstating it; certainly there are many more 2001 films more explicit, but Sweet November (2001) enjoys showing skin, or in Charlize Theron’s case, thin wet clothing against skin. Charlize and Keanu spend a lot of time kissing and simulating sex in Sweet November (2001), the type of intimacy that’s only hinted at in the 1968 film. That could be simply a feature of the era; even if it was the late-1960s, perhaps sensibilities still prohibited something more (excuse the pun) bare.

But that also brings me to at least one drawback of the 1968 film. The relationship is somehow less believable than the 2001 version, although maybe that’s because I’ve seen the 2001 version so many times. Each one is obviously a fantasy, but the 2001 movie has a more definitive arc. Charlie (1968) seems less obsessed with his work than Nelson (2001) so it’s less dramatic when Charlie falls for Sara. The feelings of 1968 Sara, and her motivations, aren’t nearly as clear as those of 2001 Sara. The 1968 film’s ending, significantly different from the 2001 movie, leaves the viewer with a lot less sympathy for her and her “therapy program” (which, the 1968 film reveals in an almost comical way, isn’t in fact all that successful according to the files she keeps of her past “clients”).

Sweet November (2001) is, to me, after uncountable viewings, about family. It’s about the fantasy (and to some, extent, myth) that our chosen family is available to us, when our biological family falls short. Perhaps they fail to fulfill our emotional needs as children, disappoint us, or force us to undergo medical treatment that isn’t working. In the world of Sweet November (2001), we can simply move to a certain corner in Potrero Hill, San Francisco, and find our people there. Those people will also have missing familial pieces and together we can create a whole, even if it’s temporary, even if one of us is going to die.

That, too, is missing from Sweet November (1968), so it’s tough to know what it’s ultimately about. It’s a unique film; an interesting film; but somehow it’s less satisfying, less emotional than its remake. Sandy Dennis is what makes this film, and her face deserves to be remembered. Her character, 1968 Sara, like 2001 Sara, says all we are is how we’re remembered. So let’s remember Sandy Dennis for her place in this film, some 55 years later.

December 2023