As a young man, the Easy Rider movie poster, emblazoned with the words “A man went looking for America….and couldn’t find it anywhere,” held a powerful allure. Even without venturing far beyond my own familiar surroundings, the sentiment resonated deeply – the quest for something more, something distinctly American. Decades later, the film, despite evolving cultural perspectives, retains its grip on me, morphing into a poignant exploration of the 1960s counterculture nestled within the broader tapestry of American agrarian ideals. This enduring fascination led me to an unforgettable encounter with Peter Fonda himself, the star and co-writer of Easy Rider, a man who embodied the on-screen search for America.
It was in the spring of 2012, when Fonda graced the set of Ron Maxwell’s Copperhead for a cameo role, that I found myself sharing lunch with this cinematic icon. Seizing the opportunity, I presented my interpretation of Easy Rider as a tribute to traditional pioneer values. Fonda’s response, perfectly in character, was a simple, “Far out, Bill.” A blessing, indeed, from Captain America himself.
Contrary to the common narrative portraying Fonda as a mere embodiment of 60s counterculture, the actor, as he revealed to me, identified as a “radical capitalist.” This perspective, often overlooked in simplistic obituaries, unveils a more nuanced understanding of the man and his most famous role. Fonda, with roots in Omaha, Nebraska, and his co-star and director Dennis Hopper, hailing from Dodge City, Kansas, were not just rebels on motorcycles. They were, in essence, libertarian nonconformists, deeply American in their individualism, yet their Easy Rider characters, particularly Fonda’s Wyatt, yearned for connection, for belonging in a nation they struggled to recognize.
The emotional core of Easy Rider lies not with the ill-fated journey of Wyatt/Captain America (Peter Fonda) and Billy (Dennis Hopper), the drug-dealing bikers riding towards their doom. Instead, true empathy is found in the scenes with ordinary Americans they encounter. Crucially, the rancher and his wife who offer them food and shelter after a roadside breakdown. This family, with their numerous children – “My wife’s Catholic,” the rancher explains warmly – represent a grounded, traditional America. When a hungry Billy begins to eat with his hat on, the rancher gently corrects him, “Would you mind taking off your hat?” Billy, humbled, complies, and the rancher offers a traditional grace, “We thank thee, O Lord, for these Thy gifts.”
This shared meal becomes a moment of genuine communion. Wyatt, admiringly observes, “You’ve got a nice place. It’s not every man that can live off the land, you know. You do your own thing in your own time. You should be proud.” This scene underscores the film’s underlying respect for agrarian values, a stark contrast to the bikers’ rootless existence.
Image alt text: Peter Fonda, portraying Wyatt, and Dennis Hopper, as Billy, ride their iconic motorcycles side-by-side in a still from Easy Rider, capturing the film’s rebellious spirit and open road journey.
Their journey continues, leading them to a hippie commune where, similarly, they witness another grace before a meal. Wyatt’s hopeful remark, “They’re gonna make it,” often met with cynicism, overlooks the inherent optimism in hoping for alternative communities to thrive.
Next, they encounter George Hanson (Jack Nicholson), an ACLU lawyer jailed for public intoxication. Hanson joins their ride, and around a campfire, delivers a poignant commentary on American freedom: “It’s real hard to be free when you are bought and sold in the marketplace. ’Course, don’t ever tell anybody that they’re not free, ’cause then they’re gonna get real busy killin’ and maimin’ to prove to you that they are. Oh, yeah, they’re gonna talk to you, and talk to you, and talk to you about individual freedom, but they see a free individual, it’s gonna scare ’em.” Hanson’s words encapsulate the film’s critique of societal constraints masked as liberty.
The film culminates in a brutal and seemingly senseless act of violence. Wyatt and Billy are murdered by locals on a rural road. This ending, and indeed the entire film, was frequently misinterpreted, much to Peter Fonda’s frustration. Initial reviews often simplistically condemned America as a “trigger-happy, hate-ridden nation.”
Exasperated by such superficial readings, Fonda, defying conventional wisdom against filmmakers explaining their work, clarified his intent. “My movie is about the lack of freedom, not about freedom. My heroes are not right, they’re wrong. The only thing I can end up doing is killing my character. I end up committing suicide; that’s what I’m saying America is doing. People do go in and they think ‘Look at those terrible rednecks, they killed those two free souls who needed to love, blah blah blah.’ That’s something we have to put up with.” Fonda’s explanation reveals a far more complex and self-critical perspective than simple anti-establishmentarianism.
Image alt text: A close-up shot of Peter Fonda as Captain America in Easy Rider, highlighting his iconic American flag helmet and introspective gaze, symbolizing the character’s search for meaning in a changing America.
Even the title, Easy Rider, carries a layer of cynical commentary. Fonda explained, “’Easy Rider’ is a Southern term for a whore’s old man: not a pimp, but the dude who lives with a chick. Because he’s got the easy ride. Well, that’s what’s happened to America. Liberty’s become a whore, and we’re all taking an easy ride.” This provocative interpretation underscores a sense of lost ideals and a compromised American dream.
While Peter Fonda’s subsequent filmography might not have reached the same heights as Easy Rider and his 1971 acid-western masterpiece The Hired Hand, his contribution to American cinema remains indelible. Through Easy Rider, Fonda arguably came closer to capturing the elusive soul of America than many of his contemporaries, prompting audiences to question, and perhaps redefine, the very notion of freedom and the American dream itself. His legacy extends beyond the counterculture era, resonating with anyone who has ever searched for something more in the vast and complex landscape of America.
Bill Kauffman is the author of 11 books, among them Dispatches from the Muckdog Gazette and Ain’t My America.
