John Cassavetes’ films elevate you, they flip your expectations upside down and bring you to the deep psyche of its characters, exploring mental disorientation, philosophical questionings through the meaning of what it means to feel alive, what it means to be loved, what it means to even be a whole a person or a little bit of yourself.
Written by Kenza Bouhnass Parra
John Cassavetes is considered one of the most influential artists of the past 50 years, a pioneer of independent American cinema, which he revolutionised, a great actor, but even more acclaimed director. His cinematic revolution happens in front just as much as behind the screen, allowing him to insert himself into the essence of contemporary cinema while profoundly influencing it, even long after he died in 1989.
A born New Yorker, the Greek-American spent the first years of his life in Greece before coming back to New York around 7 years old. After a classic education, he joined the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, thanks to his friends convincing him that he would meet a lot of women there. He graduated in 1950 and indeed met a woman in 1953, the woman who would become his wife and greatest collaborator, Gena Rowlands, auditioning to enter the Academy. Cassavetes then creates a workshop where he teaches his own acting method, with a particular interest in creation through positive emotions and the building of a character anchored in the present rather than a narrative built on a backstory. A method completely opposing Lee Strasberg, an American coach who founded the Group Theatre in 1931, considered the first proper theatre collective. From his beginnings, Cassavetes shows an opposition to tradition; his way of approaching narratives and characters happens through a completely different point of entry.
Shadows (1958), John Cassavetes' first film and maybe the most influential one in contemporary cinema, emerges from an idea formed during an improvisation exercise in his workshop. A film about the working class, an interracial relationship, New York by night and jazz music. A direct fracture with Hollywood productions from the 50s, which were mostly focused on the upper classes. In front of the camera, Cassavetes brings an almost raw film, filled with non-focused shots and non-synchronised sounds, a mismatched editing and abrupt cuts. A sort of art from the heart for the director, who isn’t stopped by inexperience or studios refusing to finance the film. Indeed, Cassavetes has to find financing on his own, thanks to salaries from acting roles in Hollywood productions like The Night Holds Terror (1955) from Robert Batsford, or Edge of the City (1957), in which he shares the screen with Sydney Poitier. Moreover, he assembles his cast and crew from acquaintances made through his workshop. An obligation at the time which has the most profound impact on American cinema. It is a singular project, massively improvised due to the actors being non-professional, which leads to troubling editing. He wears both the screenwriter and director hats, until then two very separate roles in Hollywood, favours the handheld camera over the tripod and doesn’t wait for the approbation of the industry. He films, no matter what the cost is. Here are all his trademarks, revolutionary at the time, and thus a never-ending source of inspiration for future directors. One of them is Martin Scorsese, who declared to IndieWire that Shadows is one of the two films that influenced his career the most.
John Cassavetes’ opposition to studios will become more and more prominent as his career advances. He signed a seven-year contract with Paramount in 1961, under which he would act in numerous series. After two films directed with the studio, however, he returns to independent filmmaking. Especially after the Child Is Waiting disaster, for which his improvisation methods and wish for experimental editing directly clashed with producer Stanley Kramer. In consequence, Kramer made the decision during post-production to fire Cassavetes and make his own version of the film, a film that Cassavetes would disown for the rest of his career. His coming back to independent filmmaking happened with Faces in 1968, filmed and edited in his own house, with friends and family serving as actors and switching to camera operators when needed. The film detonates in the landscape of American cinema. Nominated for 3 Oscars, best original screenplay, best supporting actor and best supporting actress. Like Shadows, the film feels raw, filmed on a 16mm camera with sometimes inaudible dialogue and claustrophobic and voyeuristic close-ups. Cassavetes declared in the Making Faces documentary that no technicians were on set, and no one knew how to even operate the cameras. Because what defines Cassavetes' cinema is the collaborators with whom all his films are made. They are films made between friends, who create before anything else something that feels like them, rather than something mandated by a studio, and they learn on the spot and experiment that way. In the documentary Editing Faces, it is revealed that very little equipment was available, dollies and rails weren’t used, and camera movements had to be performed by whoever was on set, sometimes with a person moving another by the hips. This spontaneity and friendship lead, therefore, to privileged access to intimacy and performances that appear extremely natural and effortless.
But it is three other films from Cassavetes' filmography that left the biggest impact on me, as they did on most of his fans. A Woman Under The Influence (1974), Opening Night (1977) and Gloria (1980). Three revelatory viewing experiences that revealed themselves even richer through a rewatch on the big screen. At the centre of them is Cassavetes’ muse, Gena Rowlands. And the sort of cinema that they create is akin to a dance, from behind the camera in A Woman Under the Influence and Gloria, and even in front of it for Opening Night (1977). Women, all unabashedly themselves, whose shortcomings living within themselves are confronted by their surroundings. Cassavetes doesn’t shy away from the complexity or the ugliness of his characters. He doesn’t search to make them heroines but solely intricate human beings. They are lived in, inhabited through the central performance, perfectly delivered through meticulous direction. His character breathes, takes their time to evolve, set back and get back up again. There is a ferocity in those three films. When Mabel Longhetti comes back home to her family and instead of exploding, appears scarily calm, there is a ferocity. When Myrtle Gordon stumbles backstage just to get back into the light and go toe to toe, offering one of the most riveting scenes in cinema and the most extraordinary display of chemistry between Rowlands and Cassavetes, there is a ferocity. When Gloria walks into the lion’s den, all docile and mannered, after running from them for 1h30, there is ferocity.
John Cassavetes’ films elevate you, they flip your expectations upside down and bring you to the deep psyche of its characters, exploring mental disorientation, philosophical questionings through the meaning of what it means to feel alive, what it means to be loved, what it means to even be a whole a person or a little bit of yourself. He paints a different society from what is idealised in films before him, imperfect and raw individuals, just like his films are. Human connection deprived of all social niceties in order to arrive at the root of the insanity that is life. And even though he hasn’t been with us for a while, he keeps on cementing a profound influence on generations after him, somehow even making its way to me.
So happy heavenly birthday, John, thank you for your art.
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