Salesmen Caught In Mamet's Maw: Glengarry Glen Ross

Author's Rating:

Pros: Find me a better cast. Go on, I dare you.

Cons: Foley's direction sometimes gets in the way. But not enough to ruin the film.

The Bottom Line: 
Dave Mamet's Pulitzer Prize-winning play crackles and pops on the big screen, propelled by a cast made in heaven, all at the top of their games.

Author's Review
I had a dream once: Felix Unger, Michael Corleone, Jackson Pollock (or was it John Glenn?), and John Yossarian were having dinner, hip deep in a conversation about the best way to bilk honest and hard-working people out of their money. They talked in clipped, staccato tones, using very stylish, and swearing constantly while oozing testosterone. Jack Ryan (I) was the maitre d', and Verbal Kint was the waiter. Sam Lowry dropped by for a drink once the meal was over. It was fascinating and thought-provoking, the very best of men being men, in a John Wayne not an Iron John sense. And when I woke up, I wanted to watch some more.

'Twas a desire easily remedied. I took an hour and forty minutes of David Mamet's wonderful dissection of the hustle and bustle needed to be a real estate salesman, "Glengarry Glen Ross".

And what does one find there? A symphony of things we don't see, but that have terrible power over the characters: "downtown", Mitch & Murray, Shelly's daughter, Jerry Graf, and of course, the prized Glengarry leads. I can't remember a film with a more impressive array of memorable MacGuffins (Mamet is a fan of this particular Hitchcockian technique; see his "The Spanish Prisoner" for more). None of these items are essential to the plot, except that they exist for the sole purpose of tormenting the salesmen. And who do we have playing said salesmen? Arguably the greatest collection of male actors in the last quarter century. All, without exception, are at the top of their respective games, delivering Mamet's trademark rat-a-tat dialogue with verve and style to spare.

Jack Lemmon is, to me, the best of the best here. I don't usually warm to Lemmon's schlubby shtick, but here he is imminently watchable while being terribly sad. His voice is the key to the performance, as it works back and forth between dulcet salesman tones and a deeply pathetic timbre. Lemmon was 68 when this movie was made, almost ten year older than anyone else in the cast. But I'd put his energy and bravado up against any of them. Even against Al Pacino, who scenery chews here like only Pacino can. Except it's not the over-the-top mugging that I found so distasteful in "Any Given Sunday" or "Scent of a Woman". On the other hand, it's not the awe-inspiring quiet work of "The Godfather" or "Donnie Brasco". Instead, Pacino gives the audience a controlled charismatic animal found somewhere in between. Ed Harris, who usually portrays strong and in-control leaders, here plays a man trying to appear strong and in-control. But his David Moss is just a whiny little boy at heart, and Harris shows Moss' quick temper and immaturity well, while also showing his wicked mind. Alan Arkin's character is, of the four main salesmen, the biggest loser. And Arkin brings the pathos forward with such an easy, subtle style, you'd be hard-pressed to catch him working. Alec Baldwin, whom I've never really appreciated, gets to play a very small but broad role. He digs his teeth into it and never lets go. He's only on screen for a couple of minutes near the beginning, playing the representative from the downtown office sent to inform the salesman of a sales contest that will cost one of them their jobs (the plot device that sets the intrigue of the film rolling), but he casts a heavy pall over the rest of the film. And Kevin Spacey, who's done increasingly banal work as he's become more famous, was an unknown at the time. Thrown in to the pit with these heavyweights, and given the most thankless role in the film, he scores on all counts. You'll find yourself hating his character, a by-the-book office manager, but you'll sure appreciate Spacey's work in the role. And lastly, Jonathan Pryce is heartbreaking as a prospective client of Pacino's character. He doesn't talk throughout the movie's first half, but when he comes back and opens his mouth, he's heartbreakingly pitiable

Like Pryce's character, whenever anyone else who doesn't work in the office speaks (Mr. Spannel, the cop) Mamet abandons his trademark rhythms for a more realistic sound. This produces a startling effect, in that it widens the gap between the artificial world of the salesmen and the real world. Director James Foley furthers this rhetorical device with his visual choices. See the faux-reality of the first shot, in the Chinese restaurant's phone booth, which is marked by a harsh red backdrop, fierce lighting and deep shadows. This tone is maintained, if not visually then at least in a myriad of other ways, when the boys get back to the office. Seemingly a very cold and dry place, the office is brought alive by the action (action, that is, in conversation) that takes place there. It becomes a purgatory on earth for some of these men; for others, it is pure hell.

Armed with only that knowledge that he's helmed two Mark Wahlberg films, I wondered, "how did James Foley get this job?" But further perusal of his filmmography reveals that he's worked well with Sean Penn, Chris Walken, Gene Hackman, Aidan Quinn, and, well, Madonna (the exception that proves the rule). He sometimes intrudes on the scene by whipping about with some overly stylish camera moves. But more often than not he is restrained and effective with his camera, capturing, at just the right moment, the tension on the actor's faces. Jack Lemmon has a particularly wonderful moment of anguish, shot in extreme and heartbreaking close-up. Every line on his face speaks volumes to the camera.

"Glengarry Glen Ross" is a film of no-action. Between the night before and the morning after occurs a robbery that spins the story towards a gripping climax. But we never see the robbery. And come to think of it, we never see the resolution of the climax. What we do see, or rather hear, is a stunning collection of speeches, dialogues, conversations, and sermons, about what it means to be a salesman in a man's world. The conclusion: if yours aren't brass, don't bother getting up in the morning.