California Split

CALIFORNIA SPLIT                    A

USA  (108 mi)  1974  ‘Scope  d:  Robert Altman

One of the unsung films of the 70’s, coming on the heels of Vietnam, Watergate, and ending with the resignation of President Richard Nixon in August, 1974, just two days after the American release, films such as Altman’s The Long Goodbye (1973), Polanski’s CHINATOWN (1974), Coppola’s The Conversation (1974), and this one all contribute to a pervasive feeling of nihilism running rampant throughout America, where a government of laws and even a Presidency that we once thought was sacrosanct are suddenly fallible.  Slamming the door on 60’s idealism, when the deflated hopes of the Civil Rights era and anti-war protests did not eradicate poverty, racism, or even ignorance, the 70’s was an era of especially edgy and well-made paranoid conspiracy thrillers in movies, including Alan Pakula’s Klute (1971), The Parallax View (1974), ALL THE PRESIDENT’S MEN (1976), and Sydney Pollacks’s THREE DAYS OF THE CONDOR (1975), all of which express an impending doom creeping into the moral fabric of society. But rather than deal with this issue head-on, Altman chooses to make a modest film where not a lot happens, yet the atmosphere is rich with intimate detail, becoming one of his loosest and freest expressions, feeling as if there was plenty of on-the-set improvisation. The film was unseen for decades other than out-of-print VHS tapes due to music clearances and copyright issues and when a DVD was finally released in 2004 there were three minutes missing, with specifics detailed here:  DVDBeaver.com [Gregory Meshman].  Nonetheless, this is easily Altman’s most naturalistic, Cassavetes-like film, especially the way the lead characters spontaneously break out into song at a moment’s notice, unleashing pent-up emotions, where this is largely a dense, character driven portrait of the effects of gambling addiction (the director and screenwriter are both recovering gamblers, where Altman acknowledges “At one time I could stand at a craps table for two days”), starring George Segal and Elliot Gould as Bill and Charlie, two compulsive gamblers, where one is unfortunately down-on-his-luck, while the other is a more free spirited soul that takes a liking to him.  Accentuating the authenticity of the gambling lifestyle, and the theme of addiction, the director chooses to use extras in the opening gambling sequence that are actually recovering drug addicts from Synanon, while also using real life gamblers and bystanders throughout the film from authentic locations

Mostly shot in gambling casinos using an 8-track recording device, which allows 8 overlapping layers of dialogue to be heard simultaneously throughout the room, this method creates a mix of chaos amidst a world on the verge of spiraling out of control, where the two are caught up in random events, where the attempt to gain control seems futile and senseless, yet their will to prevail feels infinitely complex and ultimately absurd.  While this is not an acid tinged, nightmarish vision, it’s more a Dostoyevskian plunge into the lower depths of reality.  The two characters meet, seemingly by chance at a poker table in a room filled mostly with older women, like typical bingo parlors, where one guy at the table is a particularly sore loser.  As Bill and Charlie celebrate their winnings in a nearby bar, they get stinking drunk, delving into the hazards of memory loss where neither one can remember all of the Seven Dwarfs, where their euphoria is short-lived, as the sore loser laying in wait (Edward Walsh, brother of the screenwriter Joseph) beats the crap out of both of them, stealing their money, where the two can be seen licking their wounds over breakfast in Charlie’s apartment the next morning, which he shares with two call girls, Ann Prentiss and Gwen Welles, who provide a kind of ditzy LA alternative mindset.  While Bill is more close to the vest and has a somewhat square job working as a magazine editor, Charlie is a freewheeling, live wire act who continually lures him away from his desk with the promised land of a world out there filled with fast action at the track, where the two quickly become best friends, giving this the unique feel of a buddy road picture, as these guys are always on the run somewhere, going to boxing matches, playing poker, or drinking, where their world consists of drifting from one impulsively driven, adrenaline-packed high to the inevitable lows that follow, where Bill in particular starts accumulating heavy debt, where writer and co-producer Joseph Walsh also makes an appearance as his loan shark, Sparkie, whose patience runs thin.  “Didn’t I tell you that I’ve got busts happening all over the city, that my parents are in town, and you come in here and you don't have dollar one?” 

Down and out and seemingly at his wits end, Bill gets the harebrained idea to sell his car and most of his belongings in a desperate attempt to make a splash in Reno, where he just has a good feeling and he doesn’t need Charlie spoiling it for him.  Never afraid to bet a hunch, Charlie gets behind this crazed energy, where the two agree to split whatever winnings.  Told in episodic segments that are little more than real life vignettes, the two spend a wild weekend in Reno, resplendent in its artificiality, but once we get a feel for the lay of the land, beautifully expressed by the running musical commentary of piano lounge singer Phyllis Shotwell, Altman takes us underneath the surface through the differing perspectives of these two guys.  Bill is driven to succeed with near manic zeal, searching out a private, high-stakes poker game, while Charlie is equally enthralled just taking it all in while sitting at the bar.  Before a seat opens up at the table, Charlie gets into Bill’s ear, sizing up each of the men sitting at the table like a boxer getting last minute instructions before entering the ring, while Bill is maintaining his composure by staying sober.  But after the first few games, Bill asks Charlie to leave the room, as his presence is affecting his concentration.  Both men then go into their own internalized rollercoaster ride of changing emotions, where Altman uses Charlie’s exclusion to feed into the audience’s own expectations, as they likely feel just as cheated missing out on all the action.  Without a dime to his name, as he’s given everything to Bill, Charlie wanders around kibitzing on other poker games going on in the casino, where his overly sarcastic running monologue matches the song selection by Phyllis Shotwell, who keeps churning out the old standards, all of which continually coats the film in a layer of superficiality, while offscreen reverberations continue to swell, as Bill occasionally comes out for air, reporting the latest update, but he keeps going back for more, intermixed with an improbably driven need to switch to blackjack, or roulette, all the while keeping Charlie away, who is dying a slow death not knowing what’s happening.  Finally, Bill allows Charlie to join him at the craps table, where Bill goes on a roll that most can only dream of, where the house players and the watching public are simply in awe, pointing at the guy who’s winning all the money, like he’s a headline story.  When Charlie collects the winnings, he can’t contain his unbridled enthusiasm, like pulling his finger from the hole in the dam, and all the water comes gushing out, breaking into a frenzied moment of delirious, nonstop commentary.  But Bill is exhausted, in a state of hushed quiet, where he literally doesn’t feel anything, no jubilation, no joy, no ecstasy, only the hollowness of the moment, where the American Dream is viewed as an empty landscape filled with pitfalls, suddenly feeling senseless and self-defeating.  There’s a river of delusion under both men’s vantage point, continually covered in cocktails, lounge songs, and the everpresent red carpet that beckons, but by the end, despite the comic tone, both players feel equally lonely and pathetic in what is ultimately a devastating portrait of crumbling dreams.             

The Pledge

THE PLEDGE       B+   
USA  (123 mi)  2001  ‘Scope  d:  Sean Penn

This is a Sean Penn film with a brooding quality and a highly distinctive, snowy opening, where the opening credit sequence lists a cast of characters that looks like one of the greatest casts ever assembled.  While the opening scenes are in Reno, Nevada, the rest of the film was shot in the moody landscapes of British Columbia, one of the most breathtakingly beautiful places on the planet.  Shot by Chris Menges, the look of the film is notable for its terrific use of nature, where man is dwarfed by the larger circumstances surrounding human existence, where often the balance goes askew.  In changing times, when the overwhelming rush of the present can usher out the old with a certain indifferent disdain, one has a tendency to become instantly irrelevant, old before our time if we’re not careful, where the principles we live by can become easily discarded, replaced by a cynicism of so-called modern efficiency where numbers and statistics often take precedence over hard earned instincts and professional wisdom.  Jack Nicholson, in one of his unsung performances back when he was truly a *great* actor, not playing some caricature of himself, is retiring Reno police detective Jerry Black, seen ice-fishing in a terrific wintry opening filled with an atmospheric mystery.  He’s already seen as out of touch with today’s group of police officers when he’s given a surprise retirement party, but sees something in the corner of his eyes that suggests trouble.  Sure enough, a young girl has been found sexually brutalized and murdered, found dead by a child on a snowmobile in the snow of a nearby frozen lake.  While he still has 6 hours left on duty, he is appalled at what he discovers on the scene, not only the brutal horror of the crime, but also the amateurish way the police on the scene are handling the case.  Adapted by Jerzy Kromolowski and Mary Olson-Kromolowski from Swiss playwright Friedrich Düerrenmatt’s book, the film is an existential murder mystery that thrives on the chaos created from the event itself, where waves of disturbing ramifications will offset any rational methods used to solve what is essentially a crime of nature, leaving behind an unspeakable trauma that exists on its own.

Aaron Eckhart is Stan, a cynical detective filling Jerry’s shoes, and we see he likes to cut corners and take the easy route, something of a showboat, exactly the opposite of Jerry’s more internalized, exhaustively thorough style, where Nicholson actually channels his own subdued performance in THE KING OF MARVIN GARDENS (1972).  Much to Jerry’s consternation, Stan goes way over the top in an interrogation interview with a suspect, Benicio del Toro as a mentally disturbed Native Indian sex offender known as Toby.  Stan probably breaks all the rules of fairness and objectivity by leading Toby into a confession, never really giving him any other option, where it’s clear the suspect is so confused, he’d probably admit to anything.  Nonetheless Stan raises his arms in victory to the interrogation room hidden camera, as if he just scored a touchdown.  Two minutes later, however, Toby takes a gun from one of the jailers and blows his brains out.  To all the officers involved, including Dale Dickey and Sam Shepard as two of the commanders, the case is closed.  Only Jerry remains convinced there’s a killer still on the loose, and despite being officially retired, he continues to work the case, discovering a pattern of similar murders in the same geographical region going back ten years, all targeting 7-year old blond girls, sexually violating every one before they are brutally murdered.  What haunts him the most, however, is informing the parents of the most recent victim, where the distraught mother (Patricia Clarkson) makes him promise on his “soul’s salvation” that he will find who did this to their little girl.  With that, his conscience has been unable to rest.  Perhaps the most dramatic moment in the entire film is provided by Vanessa Redgrave as the victim’s piano teacher, where recalling one of the deceased’s  favorite passages from Hans Christian Anderson becomes one of the most chilling scenes of the film.  She also gives Jerry a picture made by the recent victim of a man she was supposed to meet, depicted as a giant in the Porcupine Forest where he is actually giving her something resembling tiny porcupines while arriving in a large, black station wagon.  While the entire police force scoffs at the idea, Jerry is sure the girl was drawing a picture of the potential killer.  Accordingly, he visits Helen Mirren as a child psychologist, whose analysis of the picture is as much about Jerry himself, as he won’t let go of his nagging theory.

One thing that’s clear as the story progresses is the stunning use of these name actors, including appearances by Mickey Rourke and Lois Smith, most onscreen for just a few short minutes, yet their dramatic impact is felt, giving the film a certain gravity it wouldn’t otherwise have.  Penn also uses a poetic realism in advancing his story, where one of the most gorgeous transitions is Jerry moving to the country, into the land of Field and Stream territory, where the drive along a river in a Jeep hauling a boat is accompanied by a simply sublime use of music, including the African song from Mozambique, “Nwalhulwana,” performed by Wazimbo and the Orchestra Marrabenta Star de Moçambique, seen in a brief movie clip here, The Pledge, music - Mozambique - Nwalhulwana ... - YouTube (49 seconds), and in its entirety here, Mozambique - Nwalhulwana - Mazimbo (3:45).  Using a map drawn of the site of the murders, he buys an old gas station and connecting house from Harry Dean Stanton (who actually plays a normal person!), figuring the murderer would have to pass through this area.  With this in mind, he dedicates his life to the best trout lakes in Nevada, while waiting, keeping a continual lookout for anyone who fits the picture description.  The film is further compounded by the introduction of the director’s wife at the time, Robin Wright Penn as Lori, a local bartender who lives with her own 8-year old daughter Chrissy (Pauline Roberts), eventually moving in with Jerry after a violent incident of domestic abuse.  What starts out as friendship leads to more, developing an intimate relationship, where Jerry seems to specialize in reading bedtime stories at night.  While there are a few false leads, in Jerry’s mind, they are indistinguishable from reality, enmeshed with the rhythm and routine of his own life, where protecting Chrissy at all costs from black station wagons and the bogeyman “is” his new occupation.  With bold, unconventional storytelling, we seem to lose track of time, much as Jerry loses his own internalized moral bearings, as the dizzying pace of the world around him seems to pass him by, leaving him to dwell on his illusions and personal obsessions, where the bleak, off-setting finale may leave much of the audience puzzled, as there’s no satisfying symmetry or conclusive rationale for what happens.  Nicholson is simply astonishing throughout, tormented, riveting, yet always completely understated, as is the original music by Klaus Badelt and Hans Zimmer, yet the tranquil, atmospheric look of the film, surrounded by such majestic beauty, provides a mystifying tone of existential ambiguity and human mystery.  

This Is Martin Bonner

THIS IS MARTIN BONNER              C+                  

USA  (83 mi)  2013  d:  Chad Hartigan               Official site

Like David Gordon Green, this director graduated from the North Carolina School of the Arts, but rather than be influenced by the sublime visual poetry of Terrence Malick, Chad Hartigan evolved from the school of mumblecore, reflected in his first feature film LUKE AND BRIE ARE ON A FIRST DATE (2008), which was shot in 5 days and made for just under $4,000 dollars.  While it took 5 years before his next film, costing 10 times as much to make, still an extremely low budget effort, winner of the Audience Choice in the limited budget Best of NEXT category at Sundance, this is a stylistic departure for the director, crafting a quietly unassuming character sketch following the lonely lives of two individuals whose lives intersect.  While we don’t realize it initially, both are lost souls whose lives are defined by a quiet desperation, though each approach their situation in life through differing paths.  Martin Bonner (Paul Eenhoorn) is something of a quietly relaxed Australian lookalike of Ian Holm, a father of two grown children, sporting a wrinkled brow with grayish hair turning nearly white, whose kindly accessible manner reflects the years he spent as a business manager for a Catholic church, a theology student who displayed a devotion to his faith throughout his career until he got fired after his divorce—something about violating the church’s position.  When we catch up to him he’s interviewing an angry black prisoner (Demetrius Grosse) for a faith-based non-for-profit organization in Reno, Nevada about a transition back into the community where they help prisoners adjust to the outside world.  While the interchange is extremely loud and confrontational by the prisoner, who only seems interested in getting his sentence reduced, Martin’s calm and matter-of-fact response makes no promises, but suggests they can be a positive and helpful bridge back to the outside.  While he’s new on the job, he seems to believe it, but the prisoner is cautiously pessimistic and openly defiant, which sets the tone for the film, which is about starting over after a lengthy period of disillusionment and pain, where it’s time to restore some degree of balance and harmony in their lives. 

In another encounter, Martin is seen picking up another prisoner who is just being released, Travis (Richmond Arquette), who is actually assigned to one of the other staff members, but Martin drives him into town and offers him breakfast before dropping him off at a non-descript motel.  The film then splits the screen time between these two men, where Travis literally has no one but the four blank walls of his motel, where his freedom only accentuates a feeling of abandonment, as if society has discarded this individual that it has no use for.  A clever device repeated throughout the film are brief spurts of wordless imagery, one of the few explorations of the interior realm, as Travis steps outside to explore his surroundings, set to hauntingly beautiful music of Keegan DeWitt, where the music feels like an echo effect to the aching loneliness he feels.  Martin routinely calls his two grown children, where his daughter recently had a baby, making him a grandfather, and is happy to hear from him, while his son works as an artist and never returns his calls.  This practice defines his non-existent family life, however, as it is surviving on the skeletal remains.  Travis is seen listening to the church sermon before joining in an overly polite Sunday dinner with his program sponsor Steve (Robert Longstreet) and his wife, both devout believers, where Travis is seen on his best behavior.  The banalities of the film’s dialogue (written by the director) becomes literally suffocating, as many would simply bolt before having to endure such insipid conversation.  This growing tedium actually defines the film, as it feels expressionless and downright boring.  And while it’s meant to stand for the enveloping emptiness that haunts these men’s lives, it does nothing to sustain the audience’s interest, which has to endure this unalluring monotony as well. 

But Travis eventually calls Martin, as he feels more comfortable talking around him, as his life is not so consumed by religion, where he seems more like a regular guy.  While Martin has a job, Travis has literally nothing, as society has quite literally cast out any sense of obligation to prisoners, even after they’re released, where he’s little more than a forgotten statistic, a non-existing entity.  Other than these religious outreach programs, there are few organizations that recognize his existence, exemplified by a trip to the local DMV where he hears the spiel about what he has to do in order to regain his driving privileges, where learning how to be an airplane pilot might be an easier route.  At least Martin befriends the guy over a cup of coffee, where Martin’s own shortcomings come into play.  Throughout the film there are continual attempts to find a way out of this deafening silence imposed by their societal isolation, but all they really hear is the sound of their own voices reminding them of how little progress they’ve made.  When Travis tries to reunite with his grown daughter Diana (Sam Buchanon), who he hasn’t seen in over a dozen years, she agrees to visit from Arizona by Greyhound bus and spend an afternoon, so he turns to Martin for help, as he has no confidence whatsoever in his own social skills which have eroded considerably while wasting away behind bars.  And true to form, when they meet, Travis is ridiculously inept in re-establishing contact, where there remain unresolved issues over what sent him to jail in the first place, as he was convicted of drunken vehicular manslaughter, inadvertently killing someone in an auto accident, an act that continues to plague both Diana and Travis with a great deal of shame.  This is a continuing theme hovering over both men, as neither are proud of themselves, haunted by their past failures, where they’re attempting to not let that define their lives, but guilt is a strong emotion, and despite their best attempts, it continues to latch onto them with an unbreakable grip, where really all they can do is lead lives that resemble the type of people they prefer to be, even if it feels like they’re only pretending.  Ultimately, this is a dramatically low key and nearly inert film about how difficult it is attempting to learn how to relive your life after an extended dormant period where you didn’t trust or believe in yourself, where the banalities of ordinary existence are all that’s left for you to cling to for support.