Sometimes, when I'm not careful, I have a tendency to cast blanket judgements on people, particularly on the middle-class. I do feel that subjecting yourself and your children to a middle-class lifestyle is akin to willingly giving up your ability to communicate directly. The moment one of the more searing emotions nudges its way through to the surface, you're immediately encouraged to suck it back down again. The cumulative effect of this process, which your average middle-class household may encounter three or four times a day, is a deadening of your nerve endings. You find yourself unable to communicate in any other way than in fluty chattering. I try to avoid these types of characters whenever I can, and like to think I've stepped outside of that world as much as possible, but I do know that it's the people outside of your realm of experience who are the most deserving of your empathy. It's lucky for me that there are individuals like John Cassavetes out there to remind me that these people are vulnerable victims as much worthy of my compassion as anyone else.
Faces took over four years to make, and a large chunk of that time was spent in the editing suite (and by suite, I mean various offices, spare rooms and an array of international hotel rooms). It was whittled down from over fifty hours of footage. Cassavetes isn't really the type to set out to tell acutely defined stories with Aesop-like moral messages. While the notion that his whole oeuvre was improvised was indeed largely a myth (and one started by his early hype-merchant quotes during press tours, as well as glibly referring to Shadows as "an improvisation" at the end of the movie), he always let his actors draw their own conclusions about their characters. That said, I do think Cassavetes told a surprisingly clear story in his final cut- that of adults continually proving themselves to be wayward, neurotic, broken children, who, in spite of wending down dozens of blind alleys throughout their lives, still ultimately just want to be liked and to play. Perhaps it's a bit too pat to refer to adults as broken children;maybe we're actually our own alien species fuelled more on pride than juice cartons.
More than any other of his films, I do think Faces has its own unique atmosphere like nothing else- either of his own works or anyone else's. It's probably a result of having so many man-hours put into the thing. The shooting took a few months, but having to contend with things like re-synching the sound after it botched up (not to mention having to edit out all the examples of Cassavetes unwittingly mimicking all the characters behind the camera, loudly), the stops-and-starts as Cassavetes acted in things like The Dirty Dozen, Italian crime movies and Corman biker b-pics to raise funds, having children (two of his principle cast, his wife Gena Rowlands and Lynn Carlin, were pregnant during shooting), hustling distribution deals, and thousands of other problems- all of these things resulted in a unique synthesis of spontaneity and painstaking fastidiousness. You'd think in a whirlwind period like the mid-to- late '60s, where new cultural revolutions were taking place every week, a four year delay between shooting and release would be noticeable on screen, but the actors' emotions remain undated even now.
John Cassavetes, churlish nightmare as he could be to work with, loved people unashamedly, and it's hard to go back to regular Hollywood flicks, which are awash with editorialised opinions on their own characters, after watching a Cassavetes film. Though I'd probably have precious little opportunity of crossing paths with most of these sorts of characters in real life, the cast and crew's unwillingness to create encomiums or indictments on any of the broken-winged birds peopling Faces really pays off. I can feel for every Face on screen. I can feel it when they try to hurt the person they're talking to rather than admit their fondness, just in case it opens doors they've spent years trying to keep shut. I can feel just wanting to share a desperate kiss with someone to prove that you're as young as you're badly acting. I can feel all the wordless conversations which scream below the surface dialogue.
Some people see Faces as a bit of a hopeless movie- "depressing"- but Cassavetes didn't see it that way, and I definitely don't. It may have taken a near-overdose, but to me it feels like Lynn Carlin's character did something near-impossible at the end of the picture... Getting back to the middle-class thing, I feel with a lot of the middle-class there are always two conversations taking place in any given exchange: the surface politesse, and something rawer and more yearning which very rarely is given voice. When you listen to Carlin's inflection when she replies to Cassel, after he frantically brought her back to life, there's a tone you hear nowhere else in the film. "Try me". Her voice sounds so present, so full of alacrity and humanity... It sounds as if she's finally broken free of a smothering chrysalis and she's THERE at last. Those two voices are one at last.
It could be she'll slip back into her old habits again. Living in the same house with the same husband, the same ablutions and rituals (such as you see her performing in one scene when she goes through the house checking the appliances and lights are turned off), perhaps they'll drag her back into the doldrums again... For some reason, though, I don't think so. She's experienced incredible pain, and it's still infinitely better than being a "mechanical man". Cassavetes said he always loathed finger-pointing pictures which make the world seem like the flop-house of a race of irredeemable robbers and scoundrels. He preferred films which, while remaining honest, left their audience with a feeling of optimism. Every time I watch Faces, I'm optimistic.
Faces took over four years to make, and a large chunk of that time was spent in the editing suite (and by suite, I mean various offices, spare rooms and an array of international hotel rooms). It was whittled down from over fifty hours of footage. Cassavetes isn't really the type to set out to tell acutely defined stories with Aesop-like moral messages. While the notion that his whole oeuvre was improvised was indeed largely a myth (and one started by his early hype-merchant quotes during press tours, as well as glibly referring to Shadows as "an improvisation" at the end of the movie), he always let his actors draw their own conclusions about their characters. That said, I do think Cassavetes told a surprisingly clear story in his final cut- that of adults continually proving themselves to be wayward, neurotic, broken children, who, in spite of wending down dozens of blind alleys throughout their lives, still ultimately just want to be liked and to play. Perhaps it's a bit too pat to refer to adults as broken children;maybe we're actually our own alien species fuelled more on pride than juice cartons.
More than any other of his films, I do think Faces has its own unique atmosphere like nothing else- either of his own works or anyone else's. It's probably a result of having so many man-hours put into the thing. The shooting took a few months, but having to contend with things like re-synching the sound after it botched up (not to mention having to edit out all the examples of Cassavetes unwittingly mimicking all the characters behind the camera, loudly), the stops-and-starts as Cassavetes acted in things like The Dirty Dozen, Italian crime movies and Corman biker b-pics to raise funds, having children (two of his principle cast, his wife Gena Rowlands and Lynn Carlin, were pregnant during shooting), hustling distribution deals, and thousands of other problems- all of these things resulted in a unique synthesis of spontaneity and painstaking fastidiousness. You'd think in a whirlwind period like the mid-to- late '60s, where new cultural revolutions were taking place every week, a four year delay between shooting and release would be noticeable on screen, but the actors' emotions remain undated even now.
John Cassavetes, churlish nightmare as he could be to work with, loved people unashamedly, and it's hard to go back to regular Hollywood flicks, which are awash with editorialised opinions on their own characters, after watching a Cassavetes film. Though I'd probably have precious little opportunity of crossing paths with most of these sorts of characters in real life, the cast and crew's unwillingness to create encomiums or indictments on any of the broken-winged birds peopling Faces really pays off. I can feel for every Face on screen. I can feel it when they try to hurt the person they're talking to rather than admit their fondness, just in case it opens doors they've spent years trying to keep shut. I can feel just wanting to share a desperate kiss with someone to prove that you're as young as you're badly acting. I can feel all the wordless conversations which scream below the surface dialogue.
Some people see Faces as a bit of a hopeless movie- "depressing"- but Cassavetes didn't see it that way, and I definitely don't. It may have taken a near-overdose, but to me it feels like Lynn Carlin's character did something near-impossible at the end of the picture... Getting back to the middle-class thing, I feel with a lot of the middle-class there are always two conversations taking place in any given exchange: the surface politesse, and something rawer and more yearning which very rarely is given voice. When you listen to Carlin's inflection when she replies to Cassel, after he frantically brought her back to life, there's a tone you hear nowhere else in the film. "Try me". Her voice sounds so present, so full of alacrity and humanity... It sounds as if she's finally broken free of a smothering chrysalis and she's THERE at last. Those two voices are one at last.
It could be she'll slip back into her old habits again. Living in the same house with the same husband, the same ablutions and rituals (such as you see her performing in one scene when she goes through the house checking the appliances and lights are turned off), perhaps they'll drag her back into the doldrums again... For some reason, though, I don't think so. She's experienced incredible pain, and it's still infinitely better than being a "mechanical man". Cassavetes said he always loathed finger-pointing pictures which make the world seem like the flop-house of a race of irredeemable robbers and scoundrels. He preferred films which, while remaining honest, left their audience with a feeling of optimism. Every time I watch Faces, I'm optimistic.
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