Husbands (1970)

It has been said that you can often judge a person's inner state not by their words, but their actions. If this is indeed true, then it would seem fair to say that John Cassavetes, when making this film, had obviously grown tired of being a marquee studio actor, felt constrained by the Hollywood process and felt the need to express himself in the most unhinged way imaginable. The result is 'Husbands'. 

To say that he bucks traditional convention would be like saying breaking your femur bone stings a little. This film goes so far outside the box in what we, the average audiences of the western world, are used to seeing that you could argue it's barely a film at all. Yes, there are actors. Yes, there are cameras rolling and lights and microphones, but that is about where the comparison to the art form we all know and love ends. 

The plot, if you can call it that, revolves around three middle-aged friends - played by Cassavetes, Peter Falk (of Columbo fame) and Ben Gazzara - going on something of a bender after one of their friends apparently passes away. Is this made overtly clear? Absolutely not. Do I know this for certain only after looking the film up on Wikipedia? Yes. However, during said bender the three friends essentially don't do much other than drink a lot, then one of them gets into a vicious fight with his wife and decides to elope to London and, as such, his two friends decide to join. 

Now all of this, you might argue, sounds quite promising and perhaps allows for some mid-life crisis fuelled misadventure for these three rascals. You might be bold enough to suggest that this premise sounds somewhat interesting, sort of like a pre-cursor to bro-comedies like 'The Hangover' (2009). Rest assured it is not. For the style of the film completely torpedoes any promise of anything resembling an enjoyable viewing experience and instead feels like you've just sat through over two hours of three thoroughly dislikable drunk blokes dicking about for no discernible reason. 

Improvised acting, colloquially known as Improv, is a precarious balance. In some cases it leads to absolute magic - see something like Raging Bull, or Curb Your Enthusiasm, for reference - but when it's done wrong, boy does it feel like a drag and, unfortunately this film is improvised within an inch of it's life - to the point where you can feel everyone in every scene just desperately trying to think of something to say, which doesn't leave us feeling overly confident that we're being guided by a master's hand. Instead it all makes for the cinematic equivalent of being dragged through a rose bush. 

Now, don't get me wrong, the idea of subverting the mainstream and really trying to make something human and, perhaps, unexpected has it's appeal. It's just that usually when improv is relied upon so heavily, the cut is where you find the gold. Cassavetes, however, has no interest in editing even the most inconsequential of scenes and lets every possible moment linger for a good 20 minutes longer than it's supposed to, draining the life out of every possible moment.

Indeed, most sentient beings who have any interest in film-going generally have an innate sense within us, telling us 'this is when the scene should end'. You feel that acutely throughout most of the scenes on display here at around the 3 minute mark. Does the scene stop anywhere near that mark? As you might've by now guessed, no it does not. In fact it doubles, then triples, down on it's long-winded nothingness. It's quite an oddly mind-boggling experience, leaving the feeling that things are just happening sequentially purely because Cassavetes felt like they should happen - and for no reason beyond that. 

You can almost hear the behind-the-scenes now: 

JC: "Okay guys I'm gonna do this scene while lying under the table" 

Crew: "But the camera won't see you under the tab..." 

JC: "Oh you with your convention! I'm doing it under the table, godammit!" 

Crew: (Collective sigh) "Okay"

All of that said, there is still a very strange compulsion that takes hold. Despite the fact that the entire film is essentially just letting cameras roll on three actors doing nothing, being horrendous, and (one strongly suspects) being actually drunk, you feel the urge to keep watching. There's no denying that the three leads are tremendous actors and one thing that John Cassavetes has got going for him is that he is cool. His name is cool. His face is cool. His clothes are cool. The way he smokes is cool. He's just got that thing. Peter Falk is always watchable too, despite again being hamstrung by a complete lack of structure or coherence. Gazzara lets the side down a bit and looks quite uncomfortable improvising. He doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the action a lot of the time, like a jazz band who've brought in a session player for one night and he's just not quite picking up what the others are putting down, which goes to show that even great actors can come undone by a vast landscape of emptiness. 

Yet there you are, still watching to the end. Why? Do you keep watching because you think something interesting might happen? Do you hope that there's a point to it all? Do you secretly hate yourself and are watching as some sort of penance for a life of sin? Who knows. It could be just the vain hope that somehow this mess will all tie together by the end. Whatever the reason, there must be some merit in sticking around to see it through. Or maybe not. In fact, this is a topic that would probably be best discussed with a mental health professional. 

Regardless, it seems quite obvious here that the intention behind this film is to be unconventional, to capture some sort of hyper-reality, some sort of 'truth' that Cassavetes obviously felt you wouldn't get by watching a studio movie and if that's the goal, then it is hard to argue that the film isn't a success. On a 'F**k you, Hollywood' level, it certainly is. However, in it's utter disregard for convention, it is also offering utter disregard to the audience, meaning most audience members will be left with no choice but to feel that disregard and, as a result, tune out quite quickly. In fact, the entire thing reminded me of a quote from Spike Jonze's 'Adaptation' (2002):

"You write a screenplay without conflict or crisis and you'll bore your audience to tears"

Despite this screenplay inexplicably being nominated for a Golden Globe (!), unfortunately, in this case, never a truer word was spoken. 

★★☆☆☆

JB.