The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2021: The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (1976), directed by John Cassavetes

 

The Trailer

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The Appropriate Tune - "Tell Me the Truth About Love" by Sarah Walker and Roger Vignoles

       These days the term ‘indie film’ doesn’t mean quite the same as it once did. Used to be that if you were making an indie film then you weren’t looking at a several million dollar budget, A-list actors and a sweet deal with Netflix as the term has come to mean in these modern times, it meant independent. If you wanted a budget then you better start pounding the pavement looking for dentists with some disposable income, if you needed equipment you better hope there’s somewhere to rent it and if you needed actors you’d better hope you’ve got friends with a lot of free time or the cash to pay SAG scale wages. The classic documentary American Movie is perhaps one of the more extreme examples but that was the reality of filmmaking when removed from the Hollywood machine, and while technology has improved there are still aspects of it that are relevant to this day. Highly recommended, by the way.

       When it comes to independent cinema, one name that’s bound to come up is John Cassavetes. From 1959 to 1986 Cassavetes directed 12 films, all produced without the aid of a major studio and financed largely out of Cassavetes’ own pocket (he was an actor by trade, even earning an Academy Award and Golden Globe nomination for his performance in Robert Aldrich’s The Dirty Dozen. This would be impressive enough on its own, but unlike the lovable Mark Borchardt the films of Cassavetes not only had the benefit of wide distribution by United Artists, Paramount and so on but also far greater critical acclaim. Several of his films were nominated or outright won multiple awards from places like the Venice Film Festival, the Academy Awards and the Writers Guild of America. In the winding, gravel-strewn history that is American cinema he’s certainly an intriguing figure, and I’ve been waiting for an excuse to cover some of his work. So why not now, when I’ve got a couple dozen spots to fill?

       Released in 1976, The Killing of a Chinese Bookie was written and directed by John Cassavetes and produced by Al Ruban, who worked with Cassavetes on several of his films. Ben Gazzara stars as Cosmo Vitelli, owner of the night club Crazy Horse West, which seems to specialize in nudity-filled cabaret shows that feel like they were pulled from an Oingo Boingo concert. Cosmo seems to have it all; Money, girls, respect, until the day he decides to take in an evening of poker and racks up a 23,000 dollar debt. This does not sit well with the gangsters who run the casino, who love debt and people with debt as a rule but they act tough about it, and so they offer Cosmo their very own payment plan: there’s a guy in Chinatown that’s been muscling in on other people’s rackets. Kill him, and everything is square. This does not sit well with Cosmo, who has shed blood, sweat and tears to make Crazy Horse West the semi-legitimate business it is today, but it quickly becomes clear that the gangster’s ‘offer’ was more of a ‘threat’. So begins the downward spiral of Cosmo Vitelli, with the killing of a Chinese bookie.

       There have been many films which have attempted to come across as ‘real’, the trend of ‘found footage’ horror perhaps being the most familiar to modern audiences, but few films have felt as ‘real’ to me as The Killing of a Chinese Bookie. That’s not to say that Cassavetes is trying to say these events happened or that it’s not trying to be a film, but that those especially cinematic qualities are stripped down in favor of a more realistic tone. There’s no music aside from one instance for example, leaving the entirety of ambience to the natural sounds of the world, if there is any sound at all. The lighting is natural as well, with several scenes that take place in complete darkness with only a hint of distinguishing features. Combined with the rough cinematography, the way that the camera will shake as it stumbles towards actors, the way it focuses on the actor’s faces, the smash cut editing, it often feels like Cassavetes hasn’t so much made a film as he has a documentary. Cinema verite I think they call it, in a way that feels much more of the various New Waves than the films who claimed such a connection, such as Scorsese’s Taxi Driver.

       This ties into the performance aspect of the film as well, where the dialogue is very casual and conversational with actors frequently talking over each other, to the point where you’re left wondering how much of what they’re saying was actually written and how much of it was improvisational. Honestly though, most of the actual dialogue feels superfluous; Not that there aren’t memorable lines, but there's so much of Killing of a Chinese Bookie that’s built on visual storytelling that what’s being said doesn’t mean as much as how it fits within the context of the scene, if that makes any sense. 

       Cassavetes was also a fan of recasting actors in his films, like Tim Burton and Johnny Depp or Alfred Hitchcock and Jimmy Stewart, and that carries over into Killing of a Chinese Bookie. Timothy Carey and Seymour Cassel both featured in Minnie and Moskowitz in ‘71 (Cassel had also gotten a Best Supporting Actor nom for Faces in ‘68), and Ben Gazzara appeared in Cassavetes film Husbands five years prior, which apparently John was very impressed with since he not only brought him back but built the entire movie around him. For good reason though, as he’s fantastic as Cosmo Vittelli, the man who is smart enough to see the bars but can’t get out of the cage. Gazzara presents us with a facade, a man who crafted for himself this hot shot persona who is always in control, and seeing the persona warp and twist as control is ripped from him and his life crumbles around him is great acting. I also want to give credit to Azizi Johari, who plays Cosmo’s employee/love interest Rachel. Looking into her history it seems that she was originally a model (Playboy playmate of 1975) rather than an actress, only appearing in a handful of things, but for having so little experience I thought she did fine. Honestly I would have liked to see a bit more of her, but this is a story about Cosmo and so it makes sense that he takes precedence.

        If I have any qualms with the movie, then it would be that lack of experience is made obvious, such as with Rachel’s mother Betty (played by Azizi’s actual mother Virginia Carrington). It’s not a problem with the actress in that case, this being her first and only film role, but rather with Cassavetes not properly covering for her inexperience. I was also going to make a comment about how the film forgot how to end, and seemed to meander a bit in the final act, but upon reflection I think that actually works. This is a noir film after all, coming out only two years after the infamous Chinatown, whose final line embodies the world-weariness of the modern era, especially for those mired in the mud of it all. Cosmo tries to erect his own little corner or order in a seemingly chaotic world, and as I mentioned earlier it is ripped away from him, just as it ripped from most of us in life. Even the title of a film gives credence to it: The Killing of a Chinese Bookie Who? Just some guy. Why?  Because I have to. If Cosmo drags his feet it’s because he, like us, is desperately struggling against the things we ‘have’ to do, the things we’re forced to do, even if it appears to be inevitable. Though it lacks the stylization that we associate with film noir, or more so the American interpretations of the French concept, John Cassavetes captures the ambiguity, moral or otherwise that makes those films resonate with audiences.

       The Killing of a Chinese Bookie is a film that I find hard to write about, which explains this shitty review. Sometimes you need 20 or so ingredients to make a satisfying meal and sometimes you just need meat and potatoes, and this is a meat and potatoes kind of movie. The Killing of a Chinese Bookie gets an easy recommendation, and on a personal level it’s really made me interested in continuing on with the rest of his filmography and building my understanding of him as a director much like I’ve done with David Lynch and Terry Gilliam. Who knows if I’ll ever actually get around to that though. In the meantime, try out this movie and see how you like it.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2018: Heart of Glass (1976), directed by Werner Herzog

The Trailer

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The Appropriate Tune: "Der Ruf", by Popul Vuh

       Well now, here’s a director that’s slowly racking up the appearances in the Marathon: Mr. Grizzly Man himself, Werner Herzog. Herzog first appeared way back in 2014, when an interest in German actor Klaus Kinski (brought upon by the documentary My Best Friend) and the connection the infamous silent film classic pushed me to throw his film Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht onto the completely meaningless number one spot that year. It was an okay film from what I can remember, which admittedly isn’t much, but that was that. Life moved on, and there were plenty more movies to see.

Fast forward to 2017, and suddenly Herzog shows up again, with the absurdist comedy Even Dwarfs Started Small. The choice of doing another Herzog film wasn’t a whim, a streaming service I often use had a slew of them, but the choice of which film I believe was likely down to last minute decisions. Given that I had the choice of famous films like Fitzcarraldo and Aguirre and I ultimately went for the one where a bunch of little people get into shenanigans, it’s once again an example that the Monty Hall problem doesn’t work in the case of movies. Not the best movie I had ever seen, but we got through it, and life moved on.

Now it’s 2018, and since we’re revisiting the foreign last 10 movies angle, that means that Herzog is squeaking by with yet another one. You have to admire his tenacity, managing to worm his way to an entry not once but twice, where his other colleagues may falter. He may not be the highlight of any Marathon that he shows up on, but he’s still in there. You don’t have to be the MVP to get a Superbowl ring, you just have to be in the right place at the right time.

       Heart of Glass is not the hardest-hitting movie in the world when it comes to story, but I’ll tell you what I can. A few hundred years ago there was a small German village, we never learn its name, that was known for one thing: Shimmering red glass more popularly known as Ruby glass. However, the secret to making Ruby glass was known to only one man, Mühlbeck, and when he died he took the secret with him. Deprived of their source of livelihood, the village falls into a deep depression, as if they are sleepwalking through life. A depression which will become even worse, as Hias the herdsman has predicted that at nightfall the factory will burn, that the villagers will run into the forest and turn to stone, and that everything in the village will perish. The beginning of the end as the kids say, and Hias’ predictions are never wrong…

     There are two main selling points when it comes to Heart of Glass, the first being the use of hypnotism. Aside from Hias and a couple glassblowers (kinda want your wits about you when working with molten glass), every character in every scene was placed under hypnosis, with only minimal direction by Herzog when it came to dialogue. Occasionally you might even notice it, but then there are moments where you can’t do anything else. People mumbling their lines with blank expressions on their faces, characters suddenly laugh or scream for no reason, scenes that you would assume to be boisterous and noisy taking on the aspect of the grave, and so on. It’s intensely surreal and unsettling, uncontrolled, in a way that similarly strange films can’t quite replicate. If nothing else, the fact that this movie runs as smoothly as it does with all these tranced out zombies stumbling around doing scenes together is definitely worth a feather in Herzog’s directing cap. I don’t think many other filmmakers would want to put up with it.

       The other main selling point is that most of the music is done by a band, German progressive rock band Popol Vuh. It’s not an uncommon practice, Michael Mann contracted Tangerine Dream to do the music for his film Thief, not to mention Dario Argento’s many collaborations with the band Goblin, and props to Herzog using local music. Popol Vuh’s music is exactly the right feel for what Heart of Glass is; majestic when taking in the beautiful vistas of the Bavarian countryside, turning almost menacing when turned towards the villagers. It conveys aurally the emotion the scene is trying to convey visually and it does it well, which is what you need in a film score. Also you should check out Popol Vuh, they’re pretty damn good.

       Those two points aside, I’m struggling to find much to say when it comes to Heart of Glass. It’s one of those movies where things seem to just happen, which is appropriate for a village of ‘sleepwalkers’, with a lot of time dedicated to Hias and his strange prophecies. All of which likely holds great significance when you understand the meaning of the film, something like ‘certain against fate is ultimately pointless’ or ‘pessimists will always prove themselves right’ or even ‘make sure you write things down’, but which is otherwise comes across as inscrutable and perhaps even pretentious to those in a sour mood. Which is okay, I just got done talking about how I enjoy unpacking films in the last entry, but it’s also not really a film that leaves you on the edge of your seat in suspense. It’s a lot of sitting and thinking while watching a bunch of people sit and talk, set to the sounds of German progressive rock. Not quite everyone’s idea of a good time, I suspect.

       In the tradition of Herzog films in the Marathon, Heart of Glass isn’t the most exciting film that I’ve covered this year. However, it certainly wasn’t the worst either, and it was a unique gimmick for a film at the very least. If Even Dwarfs Started Small didn’t interest you then it’s probable that you won’t be interested in Heart of Glass either, but if you’re building a list of trippy, weird movies to watch this Halloween, then you might like throwing this one on the queue. You don’t even need to be hypnotized to do it! Although it might help.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2018: Futureworld (1976), directed by Richard T. Heffron

The Trailer
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Appropriate Tune: "Robot Stop", by King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard

     Those of you who are long-time fans of the Marathon, or more likely are one of the millions who have HBO, might recall a little gem known as Westworld. Written and directed by novelist Michael Crichton, it covers a subject that Crichton knew all too well: Weird amusement parks where something goes wrong and the attractions end up killing people, only instead of dinosaurs made with frog DNA it’s Yul Brynner in a cowboy hat. Although incredibly slow to get interesting like a lot of early 70s genre movies are, Westworld was a fun concept and they managed to pull it off fairly well. Not great, but definitely worth a watch at some point. Which apparently was enough for American International to sign on for a sequel three years later, because as we all know, you have to wait for the iron to get nice and lukewarm before you strike. Obviously.

     Released in 1976, not directed or written by Michael Crichton, Futureworld appropriately enough takes place some time after the events of the previous film. Peter Fonda plays Chuck Browning, the newspaper reporter (androids exist but print still isn’t dead) who first broke the Westworld story and whose latest story just so happens to involve the company behind Westworld. Yes, you’d think a little thing like ‘androids murdering a hundred people’ would be enough to drive a company like Delos (Telos? Talos?) out of business, but they’re still plugging away. In fact they’ve even got a couple new attractions up, like the titular Futureworld, and they’re inviting the cream of the crop to try and drum up some good PR, including Chuck and this evening’s female lead/romantic interest Tracy. Chuck has been suspicious ever since he met a whistleblower who died with Delos’ name on his lips, so he’s less interested in public relations and more into investigative journalism. Of course Delos has some plans of their own, and who knows what a massive corporation with access to the power players of the world and androids who can perfectly mimic humans in every way has planned?

     I’m not going to say that Westworld shouldn’t have had a sequel, because there was still a story you could get out of that universe, even if that story was predictable. Rather than expand upon what we saw in the original however, Futureworld feels like a dull retread of what we’ve had before. Not even in the best ways either. Both films take way too damn long to get to the action, both love their cts to the control and they both build their climax on the back of an overly long chase scene, but at least in the original they time they spent was in the park, playing up the hedonism of the visitors and building up the suspense when things went wrong. Futureworld by contrast apparently consists of a vault with a fake rocket in it and a bar that looks like a bargain bin Epcot, or at least that’s all we get to see of it because the protagonists spend more time in fucking Westworld than they do in the park the movie the named after. Well Westworld and what looks like the basement of a water treatment plant, so I hope you like looking at rooms filled with pipes because you’re gonna be doing it a lot. Now I know it makes sense in story, they’re digging into the inner workings of the facility, but as I’ve implied the story isn’t exactly a mind-bender. By the 15 minute mark you’ve likely got an idea of exactly where the story is headed, twists included, and that leaves about a hour of Peter Fonda walking around the same locations discovering stuff you already figured out a while back, and it ends up feeling a chore. Ultimately you end up pining for the days when Yul Brynner was the proto-Terminator gunning down yuppies, and then Yul Brynner has his cameo and you just end up pissed off.

     Of all the sequels I’ve done for the Marathon (and there’s more to come in this one), Futureworld is the one that has felt the least necessary. As I said there was still a story that could be told in that universe, but actually seeing it be told has left me apathetic, and that’s the most damning judgement. Not bad enough to hate, not good enough to love, just...there. Less of a movie and more of a trivia tidbit that one weird person you know trots out whenever you bring up science fiction movies from the 70s. Silver lining though, the time you might have spent watching this movie could be used to catch up on the Westworld series instead. All the murderous cowboy androids you can eat.

     I promise we’ll get to a movie I actually liked one of these days.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2016: The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976), directed by Nicolas Roeg

I decided to spice things up a bit for the final 10, so from here to number 1 all the movies listed will be foreign films. By that I mean films not made in the United States, and of course preferably of the sci-fi/fantasy/thriller/horror genre.

The Trailer
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The Appropriate Tune: "Starman", by David Bowie

     You know, I’m a huge fan of David Bowie. I love his genre experimentation, I think his fusion of theatre and avant-garde fashion into his music and performances helped push rock and pop to a level of artistry it had never reached before and rarely seen since, and from what I’ve read of him, he seemed like a charming and intelligent person. He wrote Mott the Hoople’s biggest hit, single handedly revived Iggy Pop’s career, performed with Queen, toured with Nine Inch Nails, and put out more amazing albums than most bands put out during their entire careers. So it makes sense that I would be interested to check out The Man Who Fell to Earth, the first feature-length film to star Bowie, and probably his most well-known role outside of his performance as the Goblin King in Labyrinth (and maybe Nikola Tesla in The Prestige, if anyone else has seen The Prestige). I mean, if the Criterion Collection felt it was worth adding it to their ranks, then it must be good, right?

     I wonder.

     Man, it has been a while since I’ve seen a movie that was so utterly, unavoidably and excruciatingly dull as The Man Who Fell to Earth. A movie that waits until an hour and a half in before it deigns to have anything slightly interesting happen, and then goes right back to doing nothing. A movie that seems primarily marketed to people who want to watch David Bowie drink things and watch television, since that’s the majority of what he does in this fucking thing. A movie that throws more boobs and bush (not to mention a couple dicks and asses) at you than an exploitation flick, in what I assume is a desperate ploy to keep people from wandering away from the screen. Which might work for a couple seconds, until it moves on to a scene where our protagonist does fuck all and it flies out the window. You know, there is such a thing as getting too close to real life.

     Yeah, I’m not really digging into critical analysis here (as if I was any good at that to begin with), not doing a plot summary and all that but it was such a tedious experience that I’m actually a bit pissed off. I mean you’ve got a movie where David Bowie plays a goddamn space alien, which is terms of casting is pretty spot on, and you have him do fucking NOTHING for 2+ hours. Sorry that’s not completely accurate, he drinks a metric fuckton of booze, screws a girl a couple times, watches TV and mumbles 99% of his lines. If this is supposed to be ripping Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot”, how good people are dragged down by the shit of the world or people are assholes or whatever statement it is that’s trying to be made, why make it so your protagonist has so little agency. Why should we give a shit about his goals or whether he achieves them when the protagonist doesn’t seem to give a shit? I’d almost say it’s nihilistic, but that’s giving this movie too much credit. Soylent Green was nihilistic, John Carpenter’s The Thing was nihilistic, The Man Who Fell to Earth is a test of the audience’s patience, and mine started to give way about 15 minutes in.

     It’s similar to the way I felt about Coffee & Cigarettes, back when I watched it so long ago. The acting is decent (Bowie has about one speed, but at least you’ve got Rip Torn in there), cinematography is fine, music’s fine, but I can’t help but wonder why I’m bothering to watch, because it doesn’t seem to be doing anything to engage me as a viewer. Coffee & Cigarettes seemed content to play around in it’s own little world, dropping it’s own little in jokes, and fuck you if you weren’t cool enough to get it, and that’s the same kind of impression I get from The Man Who Fell to Earth. So fuck me I guess, because if these are the types of movies I have to watch to gain cinema street cred, I’d rather stay out of the loop.

     Not recommended, which I think has become obvious. David Bowie’s discography is always recommended though. I’ve got a soft spot for Young Americans and Station to Station, personally.