Cassavetes: Cinema’s Bad Jazz Musician

“It’s one of those extremely rare movies that seem found rather than made, in which the internal dynamics of the drama are completely allowed to dictate the shape and structure of the film.” This was what Dave Kehr wrote of John Cassavetes’ “A Woman Under the Influence” some twenty or so years ago, and I’ve yet to encounter a better, more direct assessment of the director’s art. Cassavetes’ films, which the Oak Street Cinema will screen over the next five consecutive Wednesdays and Thursdays, rank among the greatest in American cinema, yet the sheer uniqueness of their approach have made them difficult to describe. They are, first and foremost, highly emotional and experiential works, qualities which have endeared them to filmmakers and cinephiles while causing mainstream film critics and professors to generally ignore them.

Many of the hallmarks of Cassavetes’ filmmaking style could be summarized as a conscious blurring of professional and amateur cinemas: the reliance on hastily-framed images shot on hand-held camera; the use of the director’s real-life friends, family and (in the cases of “Faces and Love Streams”) house in the depiction of domestic life; unexpected close-ups of faces thrown arrhythmically into dramatic sequences; long scenes of character interaction that seem to take their time before reaching a climax or even establishing conflict; and, perhaps most importantly, the direction of actors to perform scripted dialogue as though it was not written.

It’s not an immediately accessible style, and Cassavetes often told interviewers that he did not consider his films “entertainment.” Further, the extent to which his films can be considered “art” remains an area of dispute. One of my professors recently told me that he felt watching “Faces” was like listening to bad jazz. There may be some validity to this. The simple premise of “Faces”—an unhappy middle-aged couple spends a weekend apart with younger lovers—forms the basis for a show of behavioral quirks and rambling dialogue that has less to do with narrative development than with variations on core traits that Cassavetes wishes to explore. Indeed, some of these variations emerge as fairly incomprehensible (like the steady nervous laughter of the husband and his peers, which makes more of an impression than much of their conversation), if not downright embarrassing (such as the horrible song made up by the thirty-ish dancer that the wife picks up at a club).

Just as all good jazz is unique, it is worth mentioning that this is also true of most bad jazz. One can easily recognize, for example, the differences between an album cut from Miles Davis’ synth-driven late period and a rejected take by John Coltrane’s second quartet. The first is a lazy exercise in the nominal service of progressive music; the latter is admittedly flawed, yet remains overwhelmingly passionate, and many would argue that such energy in the face of disjointedness reveals more of the performers’ humanity and imagination than the familiar version of the same song. Such is the case with the Cassavetes, whose style could be classified as “sheets of emotion”—a dramatic variation on the “sheets of sound” which Coltrane’s saxophone solos were famously referred to as.

If living from day to day is more difficult than facing a crisis, as Chekhov asserted, then the most substantial breakthroughs in humanist art would be those that replicate with the greatest detail the frustrations of day-to-day life. The outpourings of Cassavetes’ characters are sometimes frustrating to watch, if primarily because the director, as Kehr noted, allows them to take over the narrative. This approach ends up making the extended drunken episodes of Husbands—indulgences of three middle-aged men mourning the sudden death of a friend—seem especially garish, just as it makes the nervous breakdown and subsequent sedation of Gena Rowlands’ character in “A Woman Under the Influence” practically brutalizing. Yet these are some of the most unforgettable moments in cinema, primarily because Cassavetes has the courage to realize them so unflinchingly.

It can be summarized, in a word, as a cinema of empathy. Forcing audiences to view behavior warts-and-all, Cassavetes’ camera demands that they accept characters who cannot demand it themselves. The implications of this method are staggering, especially in “Woman”—one of the few films that actually creates a sympathetic portrait of a mentally ill individual without forgetting, as many who have lived or worked with the mentally ill would affirm, the difficulty of this task. (In this regard, the greatest successor to Cassavetes’ achievement would be Harmony Korine’s julien donkey-boy, whose very sound and visual designs conveyed the obstacles of relating to a schizophrenic person.)

The filmmaker, however, seems to have been fully aware of the demands. Pictures that show Cassavetes on the sets of his movies in Ray Carney’s book “The Films of John Cassavetes” (some of the most beautiful images of an artist at work that I have ever encountered) show him literally putting himself in the positions of his actors – men, women and children alike—and demonstrating facial expressions and physical gestures he wanted to elicit from them. Far from seeming autocratic, Cassavetes’ methods here resemble a therapeutic game in which each participant puts himself in the shoes of everyone else in his group. The rationale behind such a game is rather simple, but the insights one gains from it—namely the ability to communicate directly through behavior and emotional response—are beyond words.

Attending the Oak Street’s revival of “The Last Laugh” a week ago, I realized that one of F.W. Murnau’s greatest gifts was his hand with actors: The gestures that Murnau drew from his performers seemed like the illustration, rather than the translation, of direct emotion. While the two directors’ styles couldn’t be any more different, both Murnau and Cassavetes can be credited with establishing a unique cinematic language borne, in their respective ways, out of an overwhelming compassion for their protagonists. As the sight of Murnau’s heroes on the big screen enabled me to better recognize that filmmaker’s empathy, I very much anticipate getting the opportunity to see Cassavetes’ characters where their expressions will be suitably larger than life.

The John Cassavettes retrospective runs at Oak Street Cinema, 309 Oak St. S.E., Mpls. 612-331-3134.
“Faces”
Wed., Mar. 3 and Thu., Mar. 4 at 7:00, 9:30
“Husbands”
Wed., Mar. 10 and Thu., Mar. 11 at 7:00, 9:30
“A Woman Under the Influence”
Wed., Mar. 17 and Thu., Mar. 18 at 7:30
“Love Streams”
Archival Print!
Wed., Mar. 24 and Thu., Mar. 25
at 7:00, 9:40