woman under the influence (w&d john cassavetes)

Cassavetes' film is a gruelling, grimly compelling watch. Now regarded as a modern classic, it seems superfluous to offer anything other than a few observations.

Violence. The most disconcerting aspect of this film might be the very final sequence, after the kids have gone to bed, after Peter Falk’s Nick has slapped Mabel for the second or third time, after she has cut herself. It’s disturbing not because of the violence, but because of the way that the director seems to want to present this moment, as Mabel and Nick tidy up together, return to domestic normality, as an upbeat ending. The music is cheerful, Rowlands smiles, there appears to be complicity between the parties. I haven’t read commentaries on this and prefer to come at it cold: it feels almost crass. Just as much as this is a film about female psychosis, it’s also a film about domestic violence. Nick is a bully. A charming bully but also a violent one. HIs normalisation of violence (both physical and psychological) is surely the key driver in Mabel’s need to become insane to cope with it. Is Cassavetes being wilfully provocative with this conclusion? Or is it a testament to an era and a culture where this kind of patriarchal violence was the norm? However you look it, it’s a coup de grace, after all that has preceded this moment, that it should feel so chilling precisely because nothing shocking is happening. 

Acting. Without doubt, Rowlands and Falk offer masterclasses of a kind. What the film perhaps shows is how limited is the day-to-day palette of psychological representation. Cinema demands a shorthand approach to characterisation. Scenes are generally kept short and sharp; the emotional status of a character is conveyed through metaphor and elipsis. In Woman Under the Influence, the handbrake is off. Rowlands and Falk are permitted to explore in great detail all the ticks, mannerisms, weaknesses, strangenesses of their characters and their relationship. The long scenes permit a descent into the moment, captured by the camera, which is harrowing, bordering on the absurd (which is what any domestic dispute inevitably and tragically becomes). Hence a degree of reality infiltrates the camera which more conventional scriptwriting/ storytelling doesn’t permit. The nearest point of contemporary comparison is Reygadas’ Our Time. Acting in film is so often about minimalism, (think of Caine talking about how everything can be communicated by the face), but here Rowlands’ whole body seems immersed in the character, a body which seems to hum with inner tension and a secret inner life which is repressed by the restrictions of her day-to-day existence.