John Cassavetes hated Hollywood. He hated the studio system, he hated the dramatic artificiality of movies, and he hated how the phony system only served to perpetuate one garbage movie after another. When John Cassavetes made movies, he wasn’t just telling the stories that interested him. He was attempting to start an entire aesthetic revolution. Cassavetes directed several important films in his career, all independently financed, mostly improvised, fiercely confrontational, and often deliberately ugly. He was a hard-edged cinematic maverick who almost singlehandedly began the notion of “independent film.” If you’re a young filmmaker looking for an idol, I’d like to point you directly toward John Cassavetes.
Not that a crisp and ultra-clear picture are necessary to enjoy a Cassavetes movie. Many of his earlier films were shot on 16mm film, leaving the black-and-white images deliberately grainy. Cassavetes was interested in conversation, casual mockery, songs, and jokes. He believed in an acting style that was more reliant on instinct and emotion, and less reliant on writing and “beats.” Many of his films are almost entirely improvised. They’re almost all about failing relationships. These are raw and ragged films about the tears, casual betrayals, and emotional bombs we drop on the ones we love. They’re also some of the best, and toughest, American movies.
Here are brief reviews of each of the films in the set:
Shadows (1959)
Cassavetes’ first film is a smoky jazz-packed New York story about a white chain smoker who falls in love with a ditzy barfly whom he assumes to be white, but who is actually a light-skinned black woman. The romance and racial tension, however, are hardly the point. Cassavetes was simply trying to prove with Shadows that he could make the kind of film that, he felt, Hollywood ought to be making. Something natural and improvised. Something that is less about story and climaxes, and more about mood and music. With Shadows, Cassavetes was trying to make a movie version of jazz itself. Endlessly riffing, sometimes atonal, often sloppy, but strangely intellectually provocative. In its own way, Shadows is refreshing. It is clearly, however, proto-Cassavetes. It feels like it’s not quite fully-formed. It’s hard to see the ultimate goal of Shadows unless you’re looking at its historical significance.
Faces (1968)
The first “proper” Cassavetes film, Faces begins to deal with the painful semi-autobiographical betrayal and divorce that would haunt the filmmaker throughout his career. Shot in shimmering 16mm film, Faces tells the tale of an unhappy married couple (John Marley and Lynn Carlin) who spend more time drunk and singing stupid dirty songs with buddies than they do with one another. They seem to be forcing politeness into their lives, and only survive by not talking to one another. One afternoon, Marley casually asks for a divorce. They both immediately start seeing much younger partners, he Gena Rowlands, and she Seymour Cassel. The acting on display is excellent, and each frame of film is just dripping with angst and heartbreak. Cassavetes liked to linger on extreme closeups of his actors, and Faces, as the title implies, shows how much can be explored and expressed just through subtle facial acting. A scene near the end, where Carlin breaks into tears following a suicide attempt is a painful and glorious moment.
A Woman Under the Influence (1974)
Perhaps Cassavetes best film, A Woman Under the Influence is his exploration of mental illness. Gena Rowlands plays a woman, clearly flighty and disturbed, who has been permitted to remain the mother of her family unit, babysitting neighbors’ kids, and overseen by the nervous Peter Falk. Eventually Rowlands has to be committed, and Falk is left to look after the kids. Eventually, they come to the conclusion that her madness might have been a necessary element in their relationship, as it conveyed a sense of fun and passion throughout the unending domestic chaos. It is a humane and practical film in all senses. It treats its characters fairly, damning them for their mistakes (which are numerous), while still celebrating the painful foibles of the mundane. Madness, Cassavetes argues, is necessary. For love, for life, and, yes, for movies. Sometimes a little anarchy can save you.
The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (1976)
While tonally similar to A Woman Under the Influence, The Killing of a Chinese Bookie seems to have similar goals to Shadows. Still present are Cassavetes’ natural scenes and improvised dialogue, and it most certainly is a semi-autobiographical examination of the filmmaker’s own vices, but it seems that Bookie is a little less focused than some of the master’s other works. Which is an odd thing to say, as Bookie has the most straightforward story of any of the films in this set. Ben Gazzara plays a gambler who is forced to confront all his bad habits when he is asked to murder a Chinese bookie to get off the hook for his debts. Like Hamlet, he is thrown into a tumult of morally questionable non-action, examining who he is as a person, rather than doing anything to fix his life. It takes place in strip clubs, and other urban dens of filth. It’s a very good film, but I feel it is not fully formed. The set contains two versions of the film, which should indicate something about its production. The shorter version from 1978 is better.
Opening Night (1977)
The most metaphysical of Cassavetes’ films, Opening Night tips close to Luis Buñuel territory with its multi-layered realities and dreamlike pseudo-connections. Gena Rowlands plays a star stage actress who is starring in a play with Cassavetes himself. When she witnesses the death of a weeping fan, Rowlands is thrown into a bizarre existential crisis, wherein her life as an actor begins to blur with the lives of her onstage characters. She tips into madness, outraging all those around her. She has weird breakdowns. Soon she can’t tell what’s a rehearsal, and what’s life. Opening Night is clearly Cassavetes’ most accomplished and most ambitious film in terms of its themes and aesthetics. It doesn’t pack quite the emotional gutpunches of Faces and Woman, but it stimulates in unexpected ways. It almost seems like surrealism after a while. A true dissection of what theater is, what acting is, and the sacrifices of identity an actor makes. If you want an essay as to Cassavetes’ metier, you need look no further.
There are two frustrating things about this box set. One: This is another port-over job on the part of The Criterion Collection, wherein they have added no new special features from the previously-published DVD version (although they did remaster the films specifically for Blu-ray). Two: The films are not available individually. I’m a big fan of A Woman Under the Influence, but I cannot buy just the one film without purchasing the entire box set. True, I’d be getting a few more excellent movies, but I may not want to spend the $124.99 for the single film I want.
The features that are included, however, are still vital and comprehensive. There are several cuts of The Killing of a Chinese Bookie, for one. The essays, interviews, commentary tracks, and actual Cassavetes acting workshops all give a rich and amazing view into the mind of the cinematic maverick. You get a good deep look into his relationship with Gena Rowlands. There is also a wholly overwhelming 3 ½-hour documentary in the set called A Constant Forge, directed by Charles Kiselyak, which details just about everything you ever wanted to know about Cassavetes and indie film.
A warning: Don’t watch three Cassavetes films in a single day like I did. You will hurt a lot. Also, don’t watch them with your spouse. These are all about relationships that fail, and they’ll only sting.
But if you’re interested in independent film, then this box set is something of a must-have.
Witney Seibold is a featured contributor on the CraveOnline Film Channel, co-host of The B-Movies Podcast. You can read his weekly articles Trolling, Free Film School and The Series Project, and follow him on “Twitter” at @WitneySeibold, where he is slowly losing his mind.
