Rent Little Murders (1971)

A masterclass on the absurdity of humanity - Little Murders review by SN

SPOILERS

There are many films set in a dystopian future and although Little Murders is not supposed to be science fiction what the film has to say about society is pretty compelling. This is my understanding:

• Alfred Chamberlain was happy went he felt nothing. The minute he decided to open up society (literally) shot him down and he was forced to become numb.

• Being celebrated in the media for taking photos of shit is pretty self-explanatory.

• Donald Sutherland's Rev Dupas understands that the institution of marriage is a facade and is an institution done out of habit than necessity, but also knows he is powerless to do anything about it, so resigns himself to saying "everything is fine" in the process of getting beaten up.

• The unawareness of Alfred's upbringing and his emotional state by his parents while being wholly aware of philosophy and books (which brings them greater happiness) is a criticism of the bourgois failure to connect and to try to explain away problems with thinking.

• The fact that the Alfred, Carol and Kenny became delightfully happy when they gave in to the craziness instead of trying to make sense of it says a lot about finding identity and being part of a tribe even though they know it is amoral.

• The heavy breather who turned out to be a quite a nice guy is just a great example of the duplicity in all of us.

• The train ride when everyone ignores victims or pretend its not happening is a testament to looking the other way because its not worth getting involved. The genuis bit when Alfred himself ignored another victim on the stairs and did not help him spoke volumes.

All of this from a first viewing. The first half was a bit of a slog as the world building needed time. It needed 20 minutes chopped off - maybe the scene with Judge Stern could be axed.

It is actually quite a clever film and has a lot to say.

Time Future in Time Present - Little Murders review by CH

It began with Kennedy’s assassination: the emblem of an absurd world in which nothing is certain, destruction everywhere. Prolific artist Jules Feiffer first wrote Little Murders (1971) as what one might call a dystopian novel set in the present; he got stuck, thought it a failure, set it aside, then looked through its original outline and realised that in fact it should be a play.

A few weeks at the Yaddo retreat yielded a first draft, and re-workings had it ready for Broadway - where it lasted seven performances in 1967 but did rather better at the Aldwych in London with the Royal Shakespeare Company in a season which included As You Like It and Ghosts. Time brought a long-running off-Broadway revival a couple of years later. This was enough - when Feiffer’s Carnal Knowledge was also being made - to enable an opened-out film version whose producer and star Elliott Gould brought in first-time director Alan Arkin (who also has an effective, hyperactive rôle in it).

Here is a great core of those immersed in the new, late-Sixties risk-taking style of Hollywood film.

It opens with the assertive Marcia Rodd - mostly seen in television parts - waking in New York and disturbed by the sound outside: a gang of youths are attacking the shy-natured Gould, an artist-turned-photographer specialising in shots of excrement; she goes out to separate them and remonstrate with him for allowing them to do so. In contrast with his demeanour, she is effusive, and she all but dragoons him into a relationship - on his part it is step by diffident step. In quite a turn on a classic trope, this leads to her introducing him to her parents - part of a distinctly Jewish theme (along with a brother who has been sent more than strange by his brother’s).

This is hardly naturalistic, everybody talks and behaves in a style beyond surreal (including a heavy breather on the telephone). Difficult to capture the dialogue’s effect in quotation: monologues are to the fore, sometimes too much so, but fully justified by a long-haired Donald Sutherland’s bravura turn as a minister hired to pace the church while delivering a wedding homily in which he is been forbidden to mention the deity. (but has many ways of doing so)

All around, splendidly filmed by cinematographer Gordon Willis, New York becomes wilder as some try to ignore such violence as a bloodied Gould stumbling through a subway compartment (for stretches at a time he does not say much but is a continual presence).

To extrapolate a philosophy from all this is to under-rate its value as entertainment, the hoots which it provokes. It did not do much business outside large cities but its reputation endured, a cult item which has at last reached DVD - and brings with it a couple of hours’ extras. Particularly good is Gould’s recollection of the play and film, and of more than interest are the those of the work-in-progress by Arkin and Feiffer himself.

Few mention this film but to see it is to urge that others do so.