Milestone Films, the award-winning independent/classic film
distributor that releases much of its splendid product to home video, unearthed
a real treasure at the end of February this year:
The Connection (1962),
director Shirley Clarke’s groundbreaking slice of cinéma vérité that was at the
center of much controversy at the time of its original release.
It’s a movie that’s been on my “must-see”
list for many years, and thanks to the generosity of Milestone’s Dennis
Doros—who was most gracious in sending me a screener—I was able to watch and in
turn be fascinated by a film that is unquestionably one of the hallmarks of
independent cinema.
The Connection
tells the free-form story of eight heroin junkies who are biding their time in
a Greenwich Village loft waiting for a fix that’s due to arrive from a pusher
(Carl Lee) identified as “Cowboy.”
Four
of the addicts comprise a musical quartet (led by renowned jazz pianist Freddie
Redd); the others philosophize about their lives and experiences directly to a
camera as part as a project overseen by aspiring documentarian Jim Dunn
(William Redfield), who wants to make a social and political statement about
the “scene.”
The characters’ wait for
their “connection” resembles something out of Samuel Beckett; eventually Cowboy
arrives to satisfy everyone’s jones, with a strait-laced evangelical woman
dubbed “Sister Salvation” (Barbara Winchester) in tow.
Dunn is goaded into “shooting up” by the
others so that he’ll be able to identify more with the subjects of his
movie…but the experience leaves him disillusioned, particularly when one
individual in the group, Leach (Warren Finnerty), nearly overdoses from a
second sample of “junk.”
The origins of
The
Connection emanate from a 1959 play written by Jack Gelber, which
galvanized New York audiences with its frank depiction of drug addiction; the
press kit for the Milestone release humorously calls this “play within a play
within a jazz concert” a “drug-addled crossing of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream and
Waiting
for Godot.”
Praised for its
spellbinding improvisation (though some critics took issue with its highly
controversial subject matter),
Connection
was later executed in various venues across the country, with the “Jim Dunn”
character’s name changed to the name of the director in whatever theatre the
play was being performed.
The Connection
attracted the attention of independent filmmaker Shirley Clarke, who had
received much critical acclaim for numerous experimental film shorts; Clarke,
along with a group of directors that included D.A. Pennebaker and Albert
Maysles, had been one of the founders of Filmmakers, Inc., a cooperative that
pooled resources such as film equipment and post-production facilities.
Filmmakers also became the vital core of what
would be known as the New American Cinema, later joined by such talents as Frederick
Wiseman, Charlotte Zwerin and John Cassavetes (Shirley lent John her camera
equipment so he could shoot his debut feature,
Shadows).
Clarke was
convinced that Gelber’s play (Jack was also brought in to adapt the screenplay)
would be the ideal vehicle for her cinéma vérité style, and took special pains
to preserve
Connection’s “piercing
of the proscenium” (the original production allowed audience members to quiz
and interrogate the players) by making the neophyte director (Dunn) and his
cinematographer (J.J. Burden, played by character fave Roscoe Lee Browne) major
participants in the drama.
(The director
also utilized a moving camera—much in the tradition of the French New Wave—to
recapture much of the play’s intensity and documentary-like realism.)
The Connection
was tightly budgeted at $167,000; the film’s producer was Lewis Allen (he later
went on to produce the likes of
Swimming
to Cambodia and
The Queen, among
many others) and Allen raised the scratch by offering potential backers a
profit-sharing limited partnership.
(An
idea that originated in the theater world, but has since caught fire in the age
of the Internet with sites like Kickstarter and Indiegogo.)
Making certain that the production of the
film was overseen by an experienced Union staff is what elevated the production
costs considerably, but it also freed Clarke (who was a novice to fiction
films) to concentrate on her direction, secure in knowing
The Connection was in the hands of a professional crew.
(The small contingency budget was watched
over like a mother with her young.)
Much
of the film’s success can be attributed to the striking cinematography of
Arthur J. Ornitz (son of Hollywood Ten writer Samuel Ornitz), who later went on
to such triumphs as
Minnie and Moskowitz
(1971) and
Serpico (1973).
The Connection
was a critical hit, and while it was praised when it made the out-of-competition
rounds at the Cannes International Film Festival, it received a much colder
reception once it returned to the good ol’ U.S.A.
Part of this was due to the frankness of its
subject matter; though there had been previous films that dealt with the topic
of drug addiction, many of those comfortably adopted a cautionary, preachy tone
and several resulted in tragic endings.
The Connection refused to adopt this
“drugs are evil” attitude, but what sealed its fate was a brief shot of
the cover of a porno magazine plus its fearless use of the slang term “shit” to
describe heroin—government censor boards deemed all that indecent (Heaven
forfend!), and a two-year battle ensued before
The Connection was allowed to be shown to American audiences.
While Clarke and Company eventually prevailed
in the courts, the momentum of the movie had been slowed by all the legal
wrangling and it did poorly at the box office.
The drug addiction movies that have followed in the wake of
Connection have made Clarke’s
groundbreaking film noticeably dated…so those individuals who’ve not seen it
and are curious to do so need to keep in mind that it needs to be watched
through the prism of its era.
As for me,
I marveled at how a modest little movie still maintains its relevancy, and
thought it interesting that while
Connection
certainly doesn’t lecture its audience, it also doesn’t shy away from subtly conveying
the impression that doing drugs isn’t all that and a bag of Doritos.
(Dunn, the documentarian, is frustrated that
his subjects have little of substance to offer before the arrival of Cowboy…and
once everyone’s had their fix, he continues to be stymied by the junkies’
inability to contribute anything worth capturing on film.)
The movie is graced with a mostly unknown
cast; Roscoe Lee Browne (J.J.) is easily the most recognizable thespian, though
Warren Finnerty (as Leach, Finnerty could be the love child of Frank Gorshin
and Steve Buscemi—in fact, I was kind of amused when I realized he’s also in
The Panic in Needle Park, which I
watched not too long ago), William Redfield (
Death Wish) and Garry Goodrow (1978’s
Invasion of the Body Snatchers) all became members in good standing
in the “Hey! It’s that guy!” acting fraternity.
Carl Lee, who plays Cowboy, was the son of
TDOY fave Canada Lee (
Lifeboat,
Body and Soul) and while continuing
to work in such films as
The Landlord
(1970) and
Super Fly (1972), he
engaged in a tumultuous romantic relationship with Shirley that lasted until
his death from a drug overdose in 1986.
Restored by the UCLA Film and Television Archive (with
funding from The Film Foundation),
The
Connection is the first in a series of planned releases dubbed “Project
Shirley,” which will recognize the contributions to film by this pioneering
feminist filmmaker.
The second and third
Project Shirley releases, Clarke’s
Portrait of Jason (1967—considered
by many to be her masterpiece) and
Ornette: Made in America (1985),
are already available on DVD/Blu-ray, and like
Connection are stuffed with extras and bonus features culled from
home movies, letters and film files.
(I
was hoping that Clarke’s 1963 feature
The
Cool World would be in the pipeline for a home video release…but it
apparently exists only in worn 16mm print versions.)
I cannot stress the historical importance of
seeing
The Connection, a film that’s
been out of the public eye since the 1980s…and I’m delighted that Milestone
Films has afforded folks the opportunity to do so.
No comments:
Post a Comment