It’s not particularly hard to see why The Big Lebowski didn’t do all that well at the box office: it is profoundly, completely, a stoner comedy. It’s moderately amusing if you have patience for the punishment the Coens force into every scene (including scatological humor, excessive profanity, and some bizarre gay subtext), but one imagines it’s much, much more funny if one is under the influence of various chemicals. This is appropriate enough, of course, as The Big Lebowski is concerned primarily with a character who is nothing if not a drunk and a stoner, but there aren’t all that many people willing to bother to sneak drugs and alcohol into a multiplex when they can just wait for the video release (which, by the way, explains why Fantasia did so well on VHS).

That being said, The Big Lebowski is the quintessential film for “a certain kind of person.” Is it any surprise that in the decade since its release, it’s become a certifiable cult phenomenon, inspiring the annual “Lebowski Fest” in Louisville, Kentucky—plus numerous spin-offs throughout the U.S. and England? It takes this sort of film a while to find its audience, but once it does, they’re obsessive. The only question you’ll have to answer for yourself is, are you one of their ranks?

Bowling is just one of the many things we do. Nah, just kidding.

The plot of Lebowski—which hardly matters, by the way—concerns a good-for-nothing deadbeat named Jeff Lebowski (Jeff Bridges)—though he prefers to go by the moniker “The Dude”—who spends all his time smoking joints, drinking white Russians, and bowling. He does this until one day when he’s assaulted by some thugs in his hole-in-the-wall apartment, who have apparently mistaken him for a millionaire of the same name (played by David Huddleston). He pays said millionaire a visit, only to find that Millionaire Lebowski’s wife has been kidnapped, and he wants The Dude to courier the ransom money. Then it just gets weirder.

The whole thing basically plays like you might expect it to if Cheech and Chong somehow found themselves in a Raymond Chandler novel. The Dude bounces from businessman to mob boss to cop trying to figure out what’s going on (or accidentally solving the mystery—it’s never really clear which). To add to the ganja-fueled atmosphere, the Coens have thrown in numerous Busby Berkley-inspired dream sequences, which will be either hilarious or annoying, depending (again) on what you like.

Okay, I guess I’ve said enough about whether you’ll like it. I’m sure you’re wondering (or not) if I liked it. The answer is mostly yes. It functions best as sketch comedy—a series of random, humorous vignettes in which various caricatures bounce against each other and chaos ensues. John Goodman puts in a hilarious performance as a crazy Vietnam veteran (is there any other kind?—but thanks for serving, vets), and Julianne Moore is bizarrely amusing as the millionaire’s daughter, an erotic artist (whatever that may mean). It’s a tad smarter than it seems to be at first, but mostly it’s just weird for the sake of weird.

Who knew stoners were so into 30's musicals?

Aside from making movies, the Coens’ main driving force in life appears to be keeping people guessing—so it’s really no wonder that they followed the critically acclaimed Fargo with a movie that appears to be designed for the express purpose of turning critics off (the poster reads, in huge letters, “From the creators of Fargo”—almost like a dare). Some of them took the bait and wrote scathing reviews; others could see what was going on and rolled with the punches. The Big Lebowski is a loud, dumb, vulgar film—and if that appeals to you, you know who you are.