“I don’t care if you’re a lunatic,” Peter Falk tells his wife as she winds down raving t the other end of a dirty dinner table. Despite the plethora of slapping and shouting to follow, that statement is the truth of the relationship, the center of this film.
The DVD envelope summary said something about Cassavetes’ destruction of “aboutness”. I’m still not quite sure what that means, let alone whether I’ve been robbed of it. What I did get was the disaster of daily love, and the reluctant triumph possible come evening. The influence that Mabel (Gena Rowlands) is under is madness, that’s evident from the start but it’s hardly the point of the action. The treatment of her condition is where the real focus should be placed. There are times when she loses touch completely, has no concept of the likely results of her actions, and though she means no harm, heaps it on to those around her who are victim to their own suspicions and societal restraints. At the center of this with her is Nick (Falk) who, understandably, can’t decide where to put his loyalties and in what way. With every action he has to consider himself, his wife, his mother, his children, along with the random heads that pop their way through the door. Though the violence wouldn’t necessarily be called justified, it certainly is understandable — especially during Mabel’s biggest breakdown when his mother is shouting at him and her, spinning her finger around her ear. It’s a scary thing to see a man slug his mother, but in this case I could allow a little cheer.
So many decisions that Nick makes are of questionable quality. Should he lock his wife up or let her roam? Should she leave the kids with her or shuffle them away? Then there’s the hitting, the shouting, breaking household goods, inviting strangers in, kicking family out. Every scene with him is abuzz with frustration that makes the viewer’s skin crawl with the wonder of what they would do in his place. And wondering that is dangerous because it doesn’t take long to realize the violence isn’t far off in a situation like that, no matter who you are and what you presume you’re incapable of. What makes all this anxiety and doubt worthwhile is that the love never really goes away. Nick loves Mabel, she loves him, and each finds a safety in the other that they can’t get elsewhere. The most disturbing scene, in my mind, is at the dinner table when Mabel repeatedly asks her father to stand up but is unable to express that she wants him to do more than follow a simple action. The scene further pushes the notion that we all have a limit on those who will understand and care for us. A parent, a god, or a frightened man slumped over a chair, juggling a dangerous job and growing children. He seems to be the only one willing to take care of her and to take her as she is, even if this is often done in a very sloppy way. Everything is a struggle, but it is made worthwhile for the moments of clarity, for the times when they can simply tidy up the kitchen and talk about people who’ve come and gone.
