Over the weekend, we screened the 1979 film Being There with Peter Sellers. As a Mortality Movie, it’s one of those deceptively quiet films that starts with gentle comedy and ends up opening big conversations about power, vulnerability, and what happens when someone dies without a plan.
On the surface, the story is simple. Chance is a sheltered, naive gardener who has spent his entire life inside a Washington, DC townhouse, tending plants and watching television. He has no résumé, no experience navigating the outside world, and no apparent understanding of how society works.
Then the wealthy older man who owns the house dies. And just like that, Chance is out on the street.
No instructions.
No guardian.
No legal protection.
No transition plan.
From an estate planning perspective, that’s not a plot twist. That’s a crisis.
The Man Who Died and the Story We Never Hear
During our post-film discussion, one question lingered: Who was the old man?
The film never tells us. Was Chance a relative? An informal ward? Someone taken in out of charity? A companion? Something more complicated?
We don’t know. What we do know is that Chance’s entire world existed within that house. When the man dies, that world disappears overnight. There is no documented role for Chance. No recognized status. No legal structure acknowledging his dependency.
Without paperwork, history dissolves.
Peter Sellers as Chance/Chauncey Gardner in Being There
The lawyers who arrive to inventory the estate represent the machinery of wealth transfer. They are there to secure assets and tie up loose ends. When they encounter Chance, they treat him not as a grieving dependent, but as a potential legal complication.
“Are you going to make a claim on the estate?”
It’s a question about rights. About standing. About legitimacy.
And here’s the fascinating detail that sparked conversation: Chance understands just enough.
He registers the phrase “make a claim.” Later, when the doctor for the wealthy Rands questions him, he assures them he is not going to make one. It’s one of the rare moments where we see him consciously navigating the language of power. He may not grasp the legal framework, but he senses the stakes.
Imagine that. A man who lived in the house his entire life has no clearly defined place in it once the owner dies.
The law only sees what is documented. Everything else is anecdote.
Care Planning Is Not Just About Money
We often think estate planning is about distributing assets. Being There quietly reminds us it is also about protecting people.
Chance was cognitively a dependent. Failing to plan for his future wasn’t a minor oversight. It was a profound vulnerability.
The old man may have cared deeply for him. But caring is not the same as planning.
When there are no clear instructions:
Others interpret.
Authority is projected.
Decisions are made by default.
Chance survives because he is lucky. He wanders into the lives of powerful elites who mistake his garden metaphors for economic brilliance. His simple observations about seasons and growth are interpreted as profound wisdom. He is dressed well. He is calm. He looks like he belongs.
So people assume he does.
The film brilliantly exposes how easily competence and authority are projected based on appearance. But beneath the satire is a sobering truth: when we leave gaps, someone else fills them.
And they may not understand the garden we’ve been tending.
One of the most moving elements in the film is Chance’s effect on Ben Rand, the dying industrialist who befriends him. In Chance’s presence, Ben relaxes. He reflects. He speaks more openly about mortality.
We often underestimate how specific people can positively influence someone at the end of life. Estate planning isn’t just about transferring wealth; it’s also about protecting relationships, preserving dignity, and ensuring the right people are involved when decisions matter most. Chance’s vulnerability highlights an ethical responsibility: planning for care is as important as planning for assets.
Silence Is a Plan (Just Not a Good One)
The absence of planning in Being There drives the entire story. Chance’s fate hinges on luck, projection, and the goodwill of strangers.
In real life, that is not a strategy.
If someone depends on you — an adult child, a sibling, a friend, a partner, a vulnerable loved one — failing to document your wishes doesn’t make things simpler. It makes them uncertain.
And uncertainty is rarely kind.
Don’t Leave Your Garden Untended
Watching Being There invites a simple but powerful question:
Who would be left standing outside the gate if you were suddenly gone?
Is there someone in your life whose security rests more on routine and goodwill than on clear legal protections? Someone whose relationship to you is obvious emotionally, but invisible legally?
Estate planning is not about pessimism. It’s about responsibility. It’s about dignity. It’s about making sure that the people who rely on you remain visible when the paperwork is opened and the lawyers arrive.
Here’s your gentle homework:
Identify who would need care or advocacy if you were gone.
Make sure guardianship or care instructions are clearly documented.
Confirm someone knows where your estate planning documents are.
Start the conversation you’ve been postponing.
Luck makes for wonderful cinema. But in real life, love deserves better than chance. And gardeners know: what you plant today determines what grows tomorrow.
Being There is one of the 142 films and television series explored in Gail Rubin’s forthcoming book, 98.6 Mortality Movies to See Before You Die. Learn more and pre-order your copy here.