The first time I saw it – years ago – I think I was first struck by the weirdness of the individuals. I know the rural American South very, very well, and to me the film was certainly conflicting – a lot of kinds of people and places I’m very familiar with are the center of that film, and it’s the kind of thing that IMO tends to attract the derision of individuals who aren’t very familiar with the region (a region which is easy to caricature) and it’s many conundrums and eccentricities. Thus, there were many things I could laugh at, or have an “a-ha” moment of unexpected recognition, but there was always also a little discomfort mixed in.

But with repeat viewing some – not really all – of the individuals seen in the film emerge as poets or masters of what we could call living in the moment, and I’d point to the gopher/turtle guy (who is old as dirt, but has a great kid-like sparkle in his eyes when the camera’s on him and his turtles), and the turkey hunter (who starts out sounding like Ted Nugent and ends up sounding more like Walt Whitman with a swamp drawl, and the shimmering final scene just underscores Mr. Turkey’s accidental Zen qualities).

So as a film, I think it’s elusive enough that the temptation would be to stand aloof and laugh, or to over-analyze. But it’s really a film where the appreciation of it is all about letting go and letting the characters/inteview subjects take you where they’re going to take you.

Willaim Faulkner or Zora Neale Hurston would have loved Vernon.