12.05.2004
bob rafelson's the king of marvin gardens
finding bob rafelson's 1972 film the king of marvin gardens on netflix was certainly a pleasant surprise. it's nice to know that things like it manage to emerge on dvd.
gardens is one of those weird, smart examples of 70's american cinema. the kind that sits on the footnotes of the hyped, canonical 70's (godfather I & II and so on), next to other offbeat treasures like robert altman's mc cabe and mrs. miller or monte hellman's cockfighter. it's slow, poetic and totally unsensational. in addition, it is further proof that jack nicholson-- here as a gloomy, clinically depressed radio commentator-- was a very nuanced actor prior to becoming "jack nicholson," the wise-ass we've seen duplicated for the past 25 years.
the film follows bookish, ho-hum nicholson (looking kinda vaguely like myself, heh heh) from his home in philadelphia to atlantic city, where his brother (a brilliant bruce dern) is attempting to sell him on a get-rich-quick scheme involving real estate in hawaii. reality sets in pretty quick for nicholson, as he is greeted by dern's aging, emotionally volatile girlfriend (an under-used ellen burstyn) and led into a rather sad web of small-time corruption. nicholson spends most of the film bearing witness to the various catastrophes that emerge (dern running errands for shady characters, dern slowly abandoning burstyn for her step-daughter), and the content remains largely psychological. the film feels stuck in the foggy mindset of nicholson's character, and generates a profoundly interior atmosphere-- detached, in a sense, but by means of prudish inactivity rather than objective analysis.
its most brilliant aspect, in my opinion, is its photography, care of easy rider veteran lazlo kovacs. the look of the film is as understated as its narrative and performances. kovacs and rafelson masterfully transform a wintery atlantic city boardwalk into a kind of on-going aftermath, and they do it with such subtlety that at times you hardly notice. shots that feel ordinary double as carefully composed, as is the case when a marching band abandons a song mid-performance and scatters into the background of dern and nicholson's conversing. nicholson is often shot through doorways and mirrors, behind visual barriers as well as conceptual ones. 70's hotel decor mirrors the unfortunate enthusiasm of delusional dern. the beach appears more like a desert.
the small scale of the film, however charming in its cloudiness, is not without its flaws. gardens, like rafelson's more famous five easy pieces does briefly fall prey to the cliche allure of the woman-as-saviour (via a wide-eyed, heather-graham-esque julia anne robinson), but the saviour here has enough of nicholson's pathos (not to mention a decent line or two) to avoid the chauvinistic wishful-thinking that scars the films of woody allen. and the largely black crime unit for which dern is working provides a missed opportunity to further layer the film's meditative handling of people and predicaments. i wouldn't say there is racism or ignorance at work neccessarily, and the always likeable scatman crothers adds considerable dimension, but an interesting element could be fleshed out had rafelson taken the issue of race more seriously.
still, this is a film made with delicate hands, and the results are rather admirable. without buying in to too much of the woeful 70's cinema nostalgia that is popular these days, there is something minor about gardens that stands out strikingly next to contemporary american film. you get the sense that were one to attempt such a film today, no one would provide it with the proper attention to make it to the screen. i suggest rescuing it from its solitude on the video shelf. you won't be disappointed.
gardens is one of those weird, smart examples of 70's american cinema. the kind that sits on the footnotes of the hyped, canonical 70's (godfather I & II and so on), next to other offbeat treasures like robert altman's mc cabe and mrs. miller or monte hellman's cockfighter. it's slow, poetic and totally unsensational. in addition, it is further proof that jack nicholson-- here as a gloomy, clinically depressed radio commentator-- was a very nuanced actor prior to becoming "jack nicholson," the wise-ass we've seen duplicated for the past 25 years.
the film follows bookish, ho-hum nicholson (looking kinda vaguely like myself, heh heh) from his home in philadelphia to atlantic city, where his brother (a brilliant bruce dern) is attempting to sell him on a get-rich-quick scheme involving real estate in hawaii. reality sets in pretty quick for nicholson, as he is greeted by dern's aging, emotionally volatile girlfriend (an under-used ellen burstyn) and led into a rather sad web of small-time corruption. nicholson spends most of the film bearing witness to the various catastrophes that emerge (dern running errands for shady characters, dern slowly abandoning burstyn for her step-daughter), and the content remains largely psychological. the film feels stuck in the foggy mindset of nicholson's character, and generates a profoundly interior atmosphere-- detached, in a sense, but by means of prudish inactivity rather than objective analysis.
its most brilliant aspect, in my opinion, is its photography, care of easy rider veteran lazlo kovacs. the look of the film is as understated as its narrative and performances. kovacs and rafelson masterfully transform a wintery atlantic city boardwalk into a kind of on-going aftermath, and they do it with such subtlety that at times you hardly notice. shots that feel ordinary double as carefully composed, as is the case when a marching band abandons a song mid-performance and scatters into the background of dern and nicholson's conversing. nicholson is often shot through doorways and mirrors, behind visual barriers as well as conceptual ones. 70's hotel decor mirrors the unfortunate enthusiasm of delusional dern. the beach appears more like a desert.
the small scale of the film, however charming in its cloudiness, is not without its flaws. gardens, like rafelson's more famous five easy pieces does briefly fall prey to the cliche allure of the woman-as-saviour (via a wide-eyed, heather-graham-esque julia anne robinson), but the saviour here has enough of nicholson's pathos (not to mention a decent line or two) to avoid the chauvinistic wishful-thinking that scars the films of woody allen. and the largely black crime unit for which dern is working provides a missed opportunity to further layer the film's meditative handling of people and predicaments. i wouldn't say there is racism or ignorance at work neccessarily, and the always likeable scatman crothers adds considerable dimension, but an interesting element could be fleshed out had rafelson taken the issue of race more seriously.
still, this is a film made with delicate hands, and the results are rather admirable. without buying in to too much of the woeful 70's cinema nostalgia that is popular these days, there is something minor about gardens that stands out strikingly next to contemporary american film. you get the sense that were one to attempt such a film today, no one would provide it with the proper attention to make it to the screen. i suggest rescuing it from its solitude on the video shelf. you won't be disappointed.
