John Cassavetes: A Woman Under the Influence

Though I saw John Cassavetes' Faces only last year I now remember absolutely nothing except that I slept through most of it. A Woman Under the Influence is much better as compared but even then I think his film making style doesn't really work for me, although this film did make me appreciate it. I also understand why he is so beloved of the young and passionate independent filmmakers. He showed that to make films you don't really need much except passion and dedication to the work. His films are made on ultra-low budget, shot with ordinary cameras with no effects, in ordinary looking interiors with the cast and crew consisting of his family and friends.

His cinema is basically an actor's cinema. He is not interested in taking "a beautiful shot" or manufacturing a performance by manipulating the reaction shots of the actors. In his films director with all his tools and techniques is slave to the actors, their gestures, their body movements and dialogues. It is also far from a static theatre though. His camera is always there inside where the action is, in the bed, on the dining table, wherever the characters are, the viewer is right in with them.

My main problem with his films is that it is so profoundly anti-intellectual. In its quest for freedom and spontaneity, what it ends up with is chaos and emotional hysteria. This particular film tells the story of a middle-aged suburban housewife losing her grip on reality but Cassavetes isn't interested in any intellectual analysis of a woman's experience of alienation and problems with adapting to a role which is emotionally repressive and unfulfilling. Gena Rowlands is marvelous in the role (she deservedly got an Oscar nomination) but still without a context she remains uninteresting and unproductive as a character. She makes the viewer feel her pain but that doesn't help him understand her situation any better.

Still I think the film works because the small and minor domestic scenes are so naturally setup and acted. Even minor humiliations and emotional troubles that the characters have come alive on screen. Apart from Rowlands the other actors are very good too, including Peter Falk as the husband. This film actually reminded me of Fassbinder's The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant, which I actually like much more. It is similarly setup - a woman slowing losing her grip and everything shot inside one apartment.

A nice appreciation in NYT here. Another essay argues for its feminist credentials and along the way accuses Altman, Kubrick and Scorsese of misogyny.