They Don't Make Movies Like "They Shoot Horses, Don't They?" Anymore

One reason "They don't make movies like they used to" is because They Shoot Horses, Don't They? Rather, they don't make mainstream movies like the offbeat 1969 drama. Although powerful and gripping, with outstanding performances by the cast, They Shoot Horses, Don't They? would be far too nihilistic for a wide modern audience. Sure, someone could make a film this melodramatically dark, but don't expect audiences to turn the feature into a big hit like ticket buyers did more than five decades ago.

 

Dance Away the Inhumanity

They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? isn’t a film about horses. Instead, the feature focuses on humans being treated worse than animals. In the film’s opening, someone shoots a horse that suffers a broken leg, a sad incident, but the shooter intends to end the life of a suffering creature humanly.

The title may imply a tragic western along the lines of John Wayne’s The Shootist (1976). This Sidney Pollack film isn’t an “oater,” as Post-World War I Santa Monica’s seaside location has nothing to do with dusty Arizona or Texas towns. No one rides horses, but the many characters dance. 

The film involves a marathon dance contest where desperate partners dance for hours on end, with few breaks and great suffering, to win a $1,500 prize. The Great Depression rages, and some participants have no other options in life. So, these sad strangers come together for a shot at the winner-takes-all prize. They also subject themselves to horrible debasement.

The dance contest promoters have little or no care for the troubled souls putting their health at risk. The dancers are like horses, maltreated horses. Those in charge of the rodeo ride them into the ground, caring not about their lives. 

As depressing as They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? is the film provides telling insights into human nature. Amoral people take advantage of the downtrodden, and those with few options in life must go along with the scheme. A longshot, no matter how degrading, brings some chance at financial - and potentially spiritual - renewal.

Critics adored the engrossing film, which rose to “classic new wave cinema” status. The question remains - what compelled audiences to purchase $12 million in tickets to see this dark, downbeat experiment?

They Watch Dramatic Shockers, Didn't They?

A film’s “shock factor” may involve more than excessive violence or adult content. Controversial plots might stun audiences not expecting to see what they encounter, and even a realistic melodrama could leave audiences uneasy. Since the film’s controversy comes from human drama and not exploitation, a larger audience might be willing to explore the film. The chances for such a ticket-selling outcome were likely much greater in 1969 than today. Movies were mostly G and PG-rated affairs, at least since the end of the pre-code days.

Younger persons forget that the average home had only four to six television channels, and network and local standards and practices kept things mostly at or below PG levels. Content could be controversial, but nihilism wasn’t typical network broadcast material - unless the networks chose to broadcast an edited version of a successful and controversial motion picture. Viewing an uncut version required visiting the theater. The controversy created curiosity, and audiences would pay to see downbeat films. At least they were more inclined to do so in the 1960s and 1970s.

Brutal cinematic examinations of the human condition were new in 1969. These dark novelties drew curiosity seekers looking for something far different from what they typically saw at the movies.

Talented filmmakers knew how to tap into that audience back then. Times change, and so do audience motivations and tastes. That's why you don't see films like this one anymore. Audiences moved on to escapism, having shot the horse of new wave experimental cinema long ago.

Please check out my collection of essays on Amazon Kindle - Universal Monsters and Neurotics: Children of the Night and Their Hang-Ups.

Dissecting Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed (1969)

In the continuing tradition of celebrating Halloween, I wrote a new Hub on a classic 1960's British horror film - Hammer's Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed.

Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed is -- arguably -- the second best Hammer Frankenstein film after the original Curse of Frankenstein. FMBD was a TV staple in the 1970's and 1980's on UHF and was notorious for its incredibly grim and downbeat subject matter. Hammer Frankenstein films were only marginally profitable in comparison to the Dracula films and would even be outperformed by the Karnstein vampire trilogy. The offbeat Doctor Jekyll and Sister Hyde would be a big (surprise) hit for Hammer, but the Frankenstein films just didn't ignite the box office. The next two films in the series The Horror of Frankenstein and Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell were a major step down in quality from FMBD...what a shame.

Please click the above link to read the full Hub - its a good one!

The Tortured Memories of The Pawnbroker (1965)

The opening scenes of director Sidney Lumet's The Pawnbroker (1965) display sweeping cinematography not often seen in contemporary films. The wide shots of the German landscape of the 1930s capture the beauty of the countryside. The cinematography hint there is a great deal to the world. So much to look forward to. Sol Nazerman has a wonderful wife and two children. His life is idyllic. And then the storybook world ends.

The same cinematography returns in the next scene to reveal the Long Island of the 1960s. The growing suburban landscape is vast and lonely. Sol Nazerman is much older. He sits in a chair by himself. Although he lives with family members, he keeps his misanthropic distance. Nazerman was close with his wife and children. He is not interested in being close with anyone again.

The symbolism of the suburban landscape is impossible to miss. In a mostly subtle film, the symbolism is jarring and obvious. The layout of the houses looks like a military-style prison camp. Although he left the camp, he never really left.

The Existential Prison

The symbolism is sadly appropriate for the one-time university professor. He spent years in a Nazi concentration camp and lost the wife and children he loved. Physically, Nazerman - brilliantly played by Rod Steiger in a legendary performance - was able to survive the camp, but he was stripped of his humanity and freedom. He survived but is no longer alive. Nazerman is mentally trapped in his own prison and by his new lot in life. As the proprietor of a pawn shop, Nazerman deals with the lost and those who skirt the law. His new career is a prison of sorts.

Nazerman may have chosen such a loathsome career path because doing so would have made it impossible for him to have any meaningful or serious interactions with others. He doesn't want them. This is not to say he doesn't need them. Sol Nazerman doesn't want social interactions.

Distance. Distance has a relationship with isolation. In the opening scenes at the pawn shop, Sol Nazerman keeps a massive distance from the customers who walk into his store. A sad sack, a cheery woman, and a rambling man looking for conversation are all ignored by Sol Nazerman. He doesn't want to interact with others. He prefers self-isolation. Sol doesn't like isolation. No one could. He has made a pact with his loneliness.

"I'm not particularly concerned with the future." These are the words he gives to a social worker collecting money for charity.

Memories of the Walking Dead

Sol maintains a relationship with Tessie, the widow of his friend Reuben Reuben was another person viciously killed in the concentration camp. The relationship is a ghost of the past. Sol cannot bring his wife back or recreate what once existed. Neither can the lonely Tessie. Sol Nazerman's attempts to end his loneliness through brief respites with the widow do nothing more than creating a burning, searing reminder of his isolation and loss. Nazerman continues to repeat the vicious cycle time and time. Perhaps he has the feeling things may sometimes change with the next visit. Things never change. The future does not change for Nazerman because the past cannot be changed.

Tessie's ill father Mendel has utter contempt for Sol Nazerman's approach to life.

“Share the dignity of death with those who really died….can you feel pain?”


“No.”


“You breathe. You eat. You walk. You make money. You take a dream and give a dollar.”


“I survived.”


“A coward’s survival and at a price. No passion. No pity….The walking dead.”


Mendel realizes the story Sol has to tell could be an inspiring one. Sol Nazerman has the potential to be a professor once again and educate the world. He won’t though. So, Mendel has his contempt.

Holding onto (and Forgetting) the Past

Mendel does not see the process Sol Nazerman has crafted. He has shut down all his emotions in order to blunt the pain, suffering, and trauma he feels. Nazerman has created a wall around himself to crush and suppress his emotions. This way, he is able to survive through life, albeit in a misanthropic, isolated way.

In fairness to Nazerman, his brutal flashbacks force his isolation. He does create a further psychological barrier by looking down on the lost souls who enter his pawn shop. Others do not realize that Nazerman suffers from a brutal post-traumatic stress disorder and is plagued by flashbacks. He has to keep a distance to keep the flashbacks brought on by visual associations at bay.

The strange obsession with money furthers Nazerman's goal of isolating himself. By concentrating all his efforts and time on making money, Nazerman can ignore other aspects of his life. He really doesn't care about the money. Earning money takes up all his time, which leaves him with no time to deal with other aspects of reality. Making money is a drug to numb pain and feelings.

When a drug addict appears in the shop to pawn a radio, Nazerman shows nonchalant disgust towards the young man. Doing so is little more than a reflection of his own self-loathing upon looking over the pawn counter to a mirror of himself.

*****

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*****

Anger at the world fuels Sol Nazerman's self-loathing, but another emotional state is at the core of his feelings. The pawnbroker is swallowed by guilt. Nazerman feels horrific guilt over being the person who survived the concentration camp. He wonders why he wasn't the person taken away instead of his wife and children. The guilt turns into inner anger and hate. Nazerman is punishing himself for what happened in the camp.

And So Comes Renewal

Sol Nazerman, the pawnbroker, becomes someone who can be forgiven for all his misanthropic tendencies when we discover the core root of his pain. His wife was sexually abused in the concentration camp, and Nazerman carries the guilt of not being able to help her with him. We learn he has been laundering money for the mob, his morals cast aside due to his hatred for society. Upon discovering he has been laundering money derived from prostitution, Nazerman wants nothing - nothing at all - to do with the scheme. The pawnbroker is shocked back into humanity, and, while not too late, his return is still late.

Sol Nazerman realizes he lost many years of his life. He knows Mendel was right in his assessment of the pawnbroker's self-imposed miserable lot in life. Can he change? Truly change? There will always be a level of ambiguity to any answers.

 

Post-Script on The Pawnbroker

The 1960's and 1970's were both daring times for the motion picture industry. While television would slowly descend into sitcom and other formulas out of budget necessities, the motion picture industry was exploring into very experimental territory. Themes barely - or never - touched previously were being brought to the forefront. The controversies associated with The Pawnbroker were massive and, although the film was a mild box office success, its impact was profound. The Pawnbroker contributed mightily to the end of the Production Code and the Legion of Decency and helped spawn the MPAA rating system. 

Ironically, while television has become more daring and experimental these days, the motion picture industry is more formula-driven than ever before. Truly thought-provoking films such as The Pawnbroker are exceedingly rare.

Morricone's Masterful Emotions in The Ecstasy of Gold

Ennio Morricone's body of work as a composer is among the most impressive in all of cinematic history. He made a ballyhooed return in The Hateful Eight, but his title score for The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly will always be his most well-known work. The main theme to the film is, arguably, the second-best musical piece in the spaghetti western epic.

The Ecstasy of Gold is a strangely emotional musical work. Hints at "the anxiety of hope" (for lack of a better description) are found in the opening of the music. The tempo picks up to a faster pace that highlights the adventurous aspects of the film, and then the tempo slows. Confusion sets in and the sounds reflect finding gold, its fortunes, and its treasures is far harder than anticipated.

The Ecstasy of Gold is a fantastic, sweeping piece. Metallica was suitably impressed as they covered it. Here is the original version.

Arkansas Is A New Home to Theatrical Releases Of Classic Films

The good people in Arkansas don't know how lucky they are. Movie theaters across the state are being treated to a host of classic films on the big screen. Not too long ago, only New York and California were home to consistent classic movie revivals. Today, more and more states across the U.S.A. are running classic films on the silver screen. Better still, the films are being run on a regular basis and not just in conjunction with a holiday or film festival.

Jaws (1975), The Maltese Falcon (1941), and Spartacus (1960) are getting the theatrical release treatment in Arkansas this month. Check out the full story at ArkansasOnline.com.

Any and all classic films are awesome to view on the big screen, but Spartacus is the one I would wish to see the most. The Stanley Kubrick classic is a wonder of art direction and cinematography Widescreen Blu-ray does not do it justice.