Viewing (or reading) “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” (1998) as a drug movie is like interpreting the “Great Gatsby” as being about alcohol.

As Brett Easton Ellis said, “Every generation gets the The Great Gatsby movie it deserves.” Hunter S. Thompson learned to write by retyping “The Great Gatsby” to understand it’s rhythm and poetry. In doing so he gave “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” to his generation.

It’s unfortunate that the book and movie, along with Doonesbury were responsible for turning a great author into little more than a cartoon in the eyes of some of his “greatest admirers.”

It always amazes me when a work of art is only taken at face value. It’s difficult enough to make a coherent work that clocks in around 90 minutes. It seems like it would be even more challenging to do so and create something with no real meaning. 90 minutes of surface, glossed by the viewer.

It’s unfortunate, because if a text is not truly read, then in the end it says nothing. A work of art is completed by the viewer, which is why so many artists are against explaining the meaning of their work and giving some “definitive” interpretation. They conceived the work, created it, and now you want them to read and interpret it for you too? This desire misses the point of art entirely.

A work that uses drugs as a trope to explore deeper issues, is at a disadvantage of falling prey to the old “what was he on?” question. It’s so easy to ask that question rather than to look into subtext, to read between the lines, to try and find meaning in metaphor. The question says more about the person asking it than the person it’s being asked about.

This type of reader sees descriptions as nothing more than trippy gibberish. To be fair, there are plenty who then try to emulate this style and end up with nothing more than gibberish that they find trippy. It’s clear though when there is meaning, even if that meaning goes over one’s head and doubles back into the subconscious.

In those opening lines we’re told of “bat country,” a powerful invisible force that the drugs are now making all too visible. Why bat country? Why lizards? Why is it that “A drug person can learn to cope with things like seeing their dead grandmother crawling up their leg with a knife in her teeth. But no one should be asked to handle this trip …” ?

Sure drugs are there, but if that’s all there is to it, how is so cohesive? Why is it a timeless work when it could have come out as the equivalent of sharing a Greyhound ride with an acid casualty? If it’s all just free-association and you need the one true interpretation spoon-fed to you, then what is the art that your generation deserves?

Try reading between the lines before you do them.