Killer of Sheep (1977)

Written & Directed by: Charles Burnett
Starring: Henry Gayle Sanders, Kaycee Moore

Black & White, 83 minutes

Grade: A






Here is a movie in which nothing really happens. There are no action scenes, no nudity, no significant violence to speak of, and certainly no explosions or special effects. What, you still need another reason to watch it? How about this one: Killer of Sheep is everything that Hollywood has never had the balls to attempt. It is a quiet, contemplative experience that slowly seeps into your bones, filling you with warmth and heartache. Shot over the course of a year and costing roughly $10,000, Charles Burnett's debut film was actually his graduate thesis for UCLA, never receiving a proper theatrical release until this year for its thirtieth anniversary. It's about time.

Henry Gayle Sanders plays Stan, a bored, tired, and worn down individual who wants nothing more than a decent job and a chance to get ahead in life. He has a wife (Kaycee Moore) who is a bit sexually repressed, and a couple kids who run around and raise hell. Residing in the Watts district of Los Angeles, Stan doesn't have a lot of opportunities. He runs himself ragged working at a slaughterhouse (hence the film's title), he suffers from insomnia, and he can't reciprocate his wife's caressing touch when the two of them slow dance. Stan would obviously be treated as a pathetic figure in a Hollywood production, but Burnett keeps it real. Stan isn't pathetic at all; he's just one of us: a victim of all that society doesn't have to offer.

The beauty of Burnett's direction is that he doesn't feel the need to hammer all this down our throats. He takes a step back, and just observes. Images of poetic simplicity flow in a strange sort of rhythm (helped a lot by a wonderful soundtrack), tha verges on being hypnotic. Children play in the alleys, throwing rocks and bottles at each other. Stan cashes his check and goes with a buddy to barter for an engine to complete an old car they've been working on. Stan's son sits down at the kitchen table and covers his cereal in sugar. Men herd sheep to their death. There is no real narrative thrust to Burnett's film, and there doesn't need to be one, because watching it is kind of like looking in the mirror. Burnett's gift -beside the fact that he portrays African-Americans in a way that no other filmmaker ever has- is that he has an eye for the mundane. He avoids the spectacular and focuses on the banal, everyday routines that people go through, which means that Sheep is that rare work of art that is entirely devoid of clichés.

This is a film that is so ambitiously different than everything else I've seen, that it had to be made by a young individual, albeit one who must have been mature beyond his years. The film opens with a father scolding his son:

"You are not a child anymore. You, soon, will be a goddamn man."

The film ends with Dinah Washington's rich, soulful voice:

"Today you're young, too soon you're old."

Burnett is now in his sixties, but his film remains fresh and youthful. For any film lover, young or old, it's a rite of passage.

A Woman Under the Influence (1974)

Written & Directed by: John Cassavetes
Starring: Gena Rowlands, Peter Falk

Color, 155 minutes


Grade: A+


John Cassavetes. Anyone who loves cinema, whether they've seen his films or not, knows the name. His reputation has established him, quite rightly, as the father of independent cinema in America. As an actor he was notorious for hating directors and taking roles simply for the money. As a writer/director, he is famous for the way that he pushed actors, audiences, and himself to new heights. While watching one of his films you become immediately aware that you have never seen anything quite like it, and that you are in the hands of a man who lived and breathed cinema. Personally, I've always considered myself a modest fan of his work; I liked Shadows, I saw the talent and unique spirit in Faces even though I felt the film was more than a bit dated, and I was won over by the low key, character driven narrative in The Killing of a Chinese Bookie. Now I've just seen 1974's A Woman Under the Influence, and it's finally become apparent to me just how much of a genius this man was, for it is this film that encapsulates everything that Cassavetes stood for as a filmmaker. One of the greatest films of the 1970's, A Woman Under the Influence is a masterpiece of personal filmmaking.

The story focuses on Nick and Mabel Longhetti, played by Peter Falk and Gena Rowlands (Cassavetes' wife and most frequent collaborator), a married couple living in Los Angeles. Nick is a construction supervisor; Mabel stays at home to care for their three children. As the film opens, we see Nick and his coworkers leaving work. They stop to get a quick beer before heading home, but while sitting there, a phone call comes through telling them they have to work a double shift. Nick gets on the telephone and begins shouting. "I have an unbreakable date," he says forcefully, "with my wife." Nick continues to shout over the receiver for a few more minutes before hanging up. His coworkers applaud his performance and thank him for telling off the boss. They all finish their drinks, and get back on the road to start another long shift. At home, Mabel is unaware that Nick will be late coming home. She's getting the children ready for a stay with their grandmother (Lady Rowlands, Gena's mother). The children rush out the door, piling, one by one, into grandma's car. Mabel, frantically hopping around on one foot, packs the kids' things into the trunk, yelling at everyone to hurry up and be careful. Once everything is ready to go, Mabel lectures and scolds her mother for a good three minutes about keeping the kids safe. "I don't want you to be chickenshit and not calling me," Mabel shouts at her mother. That's normally not a very effective way to get a message across to someone who carried you in her womb for nine months, but grandma quietly nods in agreement. Mabel kisses the kids and waves them off, then rushes back into the house to prepare for an evening with her husband. Nick, however, is nervous about calling Mabel, afraid of what she'll do when she hears the bad news. A coworker comforts Nick, but then makes the mistake of calling Mabel crazy. "Mabel's not crazy," Nick says unconvincingly, "she's unusual." Taking a few moments to muster up the courage, Nick proceeds with the phone call. To his surprise, Mabel isn't upset, she doesn't scream, she doesn't argue, she just tells Nick that everything is alright. The phone conversation ends, Nick goes to work, and Mabel heads out for a night on the town.

In a bar, Mabel meets a man named Garson Cross (affectionately played by O.G. Dunn). He buys her a drink, and the two go back to her place. She's visibly drunk and she begins to fight him off, but Cassavetes effectively cuts quickly to the next morning, with Mabel lying in bed, and Cross wandering around the house. "Nick," she screams while rushing into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Cross, bewildered, follows her and yells at her through the door. She rushes out of the bathroom and speaks to Cross as if nothing unusual has taken place, in fact, she refers to him as Nick. The real Nick, however, is on his way home, and he's brought along his coworkers for a late dinner/early breakfast. The workers pile through the door of the Longhetti house, and the audience notices that there is no sign of Garson Cross. Did he leave on his own? Did Mabel kick him out? Does this sort of thing happen quite often? Is Mabel even aware of it? Cassavetes keeps us in the dark, he doesn't spoon feed us. He keeps the attention on Mabel's interaction with Nick's coworkers. She introduces herself to them, slowly shaking each hand. She knows some of these men, she remembers them. Others tell her that they've met in the past, one even says he had dinner there only two weeks ago. "I remember your wife," Mabel says, "but I don't remember you." Nick's coworkers know that Mabel is a little kooky and they try to be respectful, but it becomes increasingly difficult for them not to laugh. Nick does his best to take it in stride, but at times he blows his top. During the meal, Mabel begins to ask some of the men if they want to dance. Each man refuses while throwing a glance at Nick. Mabel does her best to persuade them, to no avail. She gets in their faces, even complimenting one of the men on his handsome face. Nick, finally having enough, shouts at her. "Get your ass down," he screams at her, and the table begins to clear out. The men say thank you to both Mabel and Nick, and then leave.

This spaghetti scene takes place very early, but it is essential to the film's success. The scene is a microcosm of this couple's entire relationship. Mabel is a friendly person who tries to be nice and welcoming of everyone, but she becomes too much to handle. Calling her crazy wouldn't be accurate, she's just too frenetic, she gets lost in her own head. She says weird things, but she doesn't mean any harm. She mumbles to herself, but it's almost as if too many thoughts are running through her mind at one time and when she reaches out to latch onto to one of them, she finds it impossible to process. Nick obviously loves her, and understands her. Cassavetes proves this to us by cutting back and forth from her exasperated expressions to his reassuring nods and winks. Unfortunately, Nick, like anyone, has his breaking point, and when breached, he explodes. He tolerates as much as he can, but he's always beat out by his own temper. In this one, seemingly simple scene, Cassavetes manages to give us the entire history of this relationship.

After the spaghetti breakfast, the film pushes on rather quickly. Nick takes his mother (Katherine Cassavetes, John's mom) to the doctor, Mabel waits for her children at the bus stop, shouting at people to tell her the time of day. She brings the children home, and has a party for them, inviting a few local kids to come and play. Mr. Jensen (Mario Gallo) brings the kids over, and after witnessing Mabel's unusual personality, decides to take his children home. Unfortunately for him, Mabel has sent the children to find some costumes and play dress up. Jensen is in the process of getting his children dressed when Nick returns, his mother in tow. Nick, seeing his daughter running around naked, becomes angry and rushes upstairs to find Mabel. She's there, of course, but so is Mr. Jensesn, struggling with his children. Nick blows his lid, slaps Mabel, and gets into a fight with Jensen. With Jensen and his children gone, Nick nurses his bloody lip, and calls the doctor to come over and try to figure out what's going on with Mabel. She's uncannily calm, though, acting normal, and then the doctor shows up, sending her into a fit. Nick tries to keep her calm, but his mother throws fuel onto the fire. Yelling at the doctor to give Mabel a shot, Nick's mother is certainly not helping matters. Nick does his best, but he gives in to his mother, and after Mabel finally has her meltdown, disintegrating into tears, the doctor gives her an injection and informs her that she will be committed to an institution.

This first half is so incredibly wrenching that we wonder if there is any hope in this story at all. Cassavetes will never give us an easy way out, but he's not a pessimist. We see Nick struggle to be a good father, but he seems to forget that his children are still children. At the beach, he shouts at them, almost forcing them to play and have a good time. In the bed of a truck, he opens a six-pack and lets the children pass a can around. The audience gets the feeling that maybe it's Nick that should have been committed, not Mabel. She may have had a few screws loose, but she never put anyone in danger, she never hurt a soul. Eventually, six months later, Mabel does return home, noticeably changed by her treatment. She tells stories of shock therapy, but her family refuses to listen. She's home, that's all that matters. Nick, however, is not content. He wants the old Mabel. He wants the way she used to sputter at people, the way she would flick her thumb. He wants to listen to her broken, unintelligible sentences; he wants to see her hop around energetically, yelling at everyone to "have fun." He misses these things, and he realizes he was wrong to send her away. He loved her the way she was, warts and all, and after a heartbreaking climax, Cassavetes finds a way to leave his audience on a high note. In a film full of shouting, Cassavetes leads his characters, and audience, to a quiet, reflective place that puts everything into perspective.

Cassavetes' films always featured a high caliber of acting, and this one is no exception. Rowland's, even today, is unable to give a bad performance, but her work here is a landmark. Cassavetes gives her the role of a lifetime, and she nails it. She's a force of nature, and Mabel's breakdown is one of the most compelling scenes that I've ever witnessed. But with all the heaps of praise that have been thrown at Rowlands for her performance, Falk often gets the short end of the stick. Always a consummate professional, Falk has a special way of keeping audiences glued to their seats. Whether he was playing Columbo, doing great character work like he does here, or even playing an angelic version of himself in Wim Wenders' masterful Wings of Desire, Falk is always at the top of his game. In many ways, he has the harder role here. It's easy for audiences to hate his character, and he knows this, so he makes sure we see the understanding in his face, the love in his eyes. Nick is an asshole, sure, but he's not a horrible person. Because of his anger, the film is often seen as a kind of feminist parable, but it is inaccurate to try to peg it as such. Pretend that the title of the film is A Man Under Pressure, and the film takes on an entirely different meaning.

The fact is that Nick and Mabel are right for each other. As individuals, they are impossible, but together, they complete each other. Each one makes up for the others flaws, and they are able to function. They love their children, and they love each other. It may not be a perfect situation, but somehow it works. In Nick's care, the children get drunk, but when Mabel is around, the parents work as a unit, and they are able to keep each other in check. It doesn't take a genius to raise a child, nor does it necessarily take what we consider to be "sane" individuals, it takes love and understanding. Once you have that, the rest, no matter how unlikely, seems to fall into place. Cassavetes knew this and one wonders how much of this material comes from his own life. It's not out of convenience that he cast his mother and mother-in-law, it's not an accident that Nick and Mabel have three children (Cassavetes and Rowland did also). Cassavetes, contrary to popular belief, was not that improvisational, his words, his characters, and his actions were all very deliberate. Maybe he was a man under the influence of the powers of cinema, and maybe it took Rowlands to understand him. They had a love that was as unbreakable as Nick and Mabel's, and it boiled over into their work. This is their crowning achievement.

The Last Wave (1977)

Directed by: Peter Weir

Written by: Tony Morphett, Petru Popescu, Peter Weir

Starring: Richard Chamberlain, David Gulpilil

Color, 106 Minutes

Grade: A-

In the mid 1970's through the early '80's, a small group of filmmakers would emerge from Down Under to create a sort of Australian New Wave. This group consisted of directors like George Miller (Mad Max)and Gillian Armstrong (My Brilliant Career), and actors such as Judy Davis, Mel Gibson, and Nicole Kidman. All would go on to careers in Hollywood, but it was Peter Weir who paved the way. After stunning audiences with 1975's Picnic at Hanging Rock, Weir went on to create one of the most unique and consistent pedigrees of any active filmmaker. His films include Gallipoli, Witness, The Mosquito Coast, The Truman Show, and Master and Commander, but it was in his early work that he proved his worth. The Last Wave was released in 1977, and it is further confirmation of not only Weir's genius, but of how undervalued and overlooked his work has become.

David Burton (Richard Chamberlain) is a young lawyer in Sydney who specializes in corporate taxation. He is fairly successful, living an upper middle class existence with his wife and two young daughters. Lately he has been having trouble sleeping due to wicked dreams about a man standing outside his window. Late one Sunday afternoon, Burton gets a call asking him to defend a group of Aborigines accused of murdering one of their own. He meets with the defendants, only to find them silent and uncooperative. He is intrigued nonetheless, and invites one of the Aborigines named Chris (David Gulpilil) over for dinner. Realizing that Chris is the man from his dreams, Burton begins to suspect something supernatural at work. On top of all this, the city of Sydney is experiencing strange weather patterns with large hail, mud, and black rain falling from the sky at seemingly random times. Both Burton's dreams and Sydney's weather intensify as the weeks go on, driving the film to a haunting, apocalyptic conclusion.


As with all of Weir's films, there is more here than meets the eye. The film works well as a thriller, but it's the clash between two completely different cultures that is the heart of the film. Very few films have accurately portrayed Aboriginal life, Nicolas Roeg's brilliant Walkabout (also starring Gulpilil) is the exception, and Weir manages to show us a deeply fascinating world which we can probably never fully understand. The interaction between Chamberlain and Gulpilil adds to this by showing us a determined man who is struggling to get to the bottom of things, only to find that some mysteries are better left unsolved.


In Picnic at Hanging Rock, Weir and his gifted cinematographer Russel Boyd played tricks with our minds, making us see images in the faces of the rocks and cliffs where four girls mysteriously disappeared. Here, they give us frightening, almost surreal images of water that build enormous tension. A bathtub overflows, forcing water to drip down a staircase, water flows from a car radio, water even rushes down the walls of a house. With all of this craziness going on, Chamberlain gives a surprisingly effective performance since his character is as confused and scared as the audience. The eclectic score by Charles Wain heightens the hypnotic effect with some very strange sounds, most of which come from a didgeridoo.

This is a very odd movie that combines genres of thriller, disaster movie, detective story, horror film, and even adds a hint of a fish out of water tale. The film can be somewhat confusing at times, not to mention dated, but it stands tall as a completely unique vision of the Apocalypse. It fits well into Weir's oeuvre, since most of his films have to do with an individual's conflict with outside cultures and the forces of nature. This is a haunting, almost lyrical film that provides more evidence to support Weir's talent and singular vision. It is available on a great DVD released by the Criterion Collection (who also put out Hanging Rock), and it is definitely worth a look, maybe even two.