Serious Movie Lover

 A WOMAN UNDER THE INFLUENCE (1974/DVD) At one time or another, we’ve all wondered if that slow descent into madness has finally arrived. Was that cleaning frenzy at 2am just a little too frenzied? Do I talk to the dog too much? Are spontaneous kitchen dance parties inappropriate at my age? The answer to all of these questions is yes, but let’s not lose perspective here. There’s quirkiness, and there’s Gena Rowlands in A Woman Under the Influence, rolling around on the floor and singing to herself in front of a roomful of family and friends. Who are welcoming her back from the sanitarium.

I’ve been watching quite a few John Cassavetes films lately, including Husbands and Opening Night, trying to develop a take on his work, as instructed by Kathleen Hanna (Misogynist! Genius!). I’ve read many interviews with actresses like Maggie Gyllenhaal who mooned over Rowlands’ performances in his films, and though she was riveting in Opening Night, actresses playing actresses on the verge of a nervous breakdown have become so cliche—it’s tough to be moved by it anymore.

But Rowlands as a young housewife named Mabel–who at first seems like a frenzied mom-on-the-go, then slowly reveals herself as bipolar, probably schizophrenic—is startling. She captures the tics without going cartoonish–her skirts are always a little too short (in a childlike, asexual way), her hair slightly askew, and her enthusiasm can easily be written off as eccentricity. The way she talks to herself, making over-the-top hand gestures and using stage whispers like she’s being watched at all times—I have known a woman like this and Rowlands fucking nails it. Because she’s gorgeous and sweetly charming, she probably gets away with her behavior a little longer than most, but when her insanity manifests as promiscuity one lonely evening, it starts a chain reaction that ends with her being carted off and committed for six months.

Gena Rowlands in A Woman Under the Influence

Peter Falk, as her sometimes supportive, often exasperated husband, is alternately sympathetic and terrifying. He and Mabel are terrible to each other and abhorrent parents—a long scene in which he takes their three children to the beach to cheer them up, literally dragging them through the motions of a carefree afternoon, chasing after them as they try to escape, is nauseating. Yet after you’re introduced to his screechy mother and her do-nothing parents, you realize this couple (and their kids) is probably incapable of anything better.

Toward the end of the film Mabel, head hanging low, repeatedly asks her father to “please stand up” for her and he misunderstands, literally standing up at the dinner table, and when he finally does understand makes only a halfhearted effort to communicate with her before walking out. As you watch him grab his coat and flee, you have a sinking feeling that Mabel is going to repeat the last several months of her life over and over. She’s a woman under the influence of an irrational, emotionally inept husband, overwhelmed parents, and a medical establishment that can only try to occupy her with craft projects in between ECT treatments before sending her home.

Yep, he gives them the beer.

If you can make it through the 2.5 hours (I admit that I took breaks—her devoted/terrified children are particularly devastating), Rowlands’ character will preoccupy you for days. And you will be heartbroken by the horrible roles she accepts today. Hope Floats? The fucking Notebook? Aging truly blows.

Grade: A

Bonus: Check out The Juliana Hatfield Three’s maudlin (and admittedly, kind of obvious) tribute to “Mabel,” which I listened to innumerable times on cassette in high school with no idea what she was referring to. This was pre-Internets, people!