Showing posts with label Alan Arkin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alan Arkin. Show all posts

Monday, October 02, 2017

Salesmen Under Pressure -- Or Is That Redundant?



"I subscribe to the law of contrary public opinion. If everyone thinks one thing, then I say, bet the other way."

Ricky (Al Pacino)

The Chicago-based real estate office in "Glengarry Glen Ross," which premiered on this day in 1992, probably could be any office in any business anywhere.

It certainly resembled offices in which I have worked (even though I have never worked in real estate) — a fairly small staff liberally laced with profanity (because the script did have so much profanity, I understand the cast jokingly referred to it as "Death of a Fuckin' Salesman").

The layout reminded me of the newsroom at a daily newspaper where I once worked. The editor had a little glassed–in office from which he could observe everything that went on in the newsroom — but nothing that went on in his office could be heard from outside when the door was closed (at least it couldn't be heard clearly). It was pretty much the same in this real estate office, where, in telephone conversations with prospective customers, the salesmen would pose as wealthy investors who were in town briefly but could juggle their commitments to allow for an in–house visit with a lead who had already proven to be hesitant or financially unable to invest in land.

It was a familiar ploy, but everything was familiar to the salesmen in "Glengarry Glen Ross." The salesmen had seen all these leads before and knew they were dead ends. It was frustrating. You could hear the frustration in their voices. You could see it in their eyes. I guess they continued to play the game in the hope that the outcome would change.

What did Einstein say? The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. The only reason that wouldn't apply in this case is the salesmen in "Glengarry Glen Ross" didn't think anything would change.

Why did they continue to play the game? Maybe they harbored an ill–defined hope that maybe a miracle would occur. Or maybe it was all they knew.

Profanity was about all the salesmen in "Glengarry Glen Ross" had left — the leads on which their livelihoods depended were worthless.

They were men under pressure, intense pressure, and it has been my experience that people who are under pressure are more apt to do things they might not do otherwise, like resort to profanity (if not worse). Such a situation is not improved when the people in charge look for ways to ratchet up the pressure.

And the boys downtown found a way to do precisely that — in the person of Alec Baldwin, who was sent to announce to the salesmen the latest sales contest. The salesman with the top sales for the week would win a car. Second place would be a set of steak knives. Third place was a pink slip. Thus, the top two would be retained. The other two would be terminated.

The announcement caused considerable angst among the salesmen in the office. Jack Lemmon played a salesman who had once been the best but had fallen on hard times. He may have been under more pressure than anyone else with an ailing, hospitalized daughter. His character certainly elicited the audience's sympathy, but there were others — Alan Arkin, Ed Harris, Al Pacino — who were fighting their own battles.

This was a period when Lemmon, who had already enjoyed a long and distinguished career, had some of his finest moments on the silver screen. His work in "Short Cuts," is often overlooked — and, to my great regret, I overlooked it when I wrote about that movie a few years ago (which was a mistake because his character's monologue on his infidelity must certainly rank among the best moments he ever had) — but "Glengarry Glen Ross" preceded it and contained some equally impressive performances.

In one scene Lemmon spent an evening at the home of a reluctant client who clearly did not want to invest. Lemmon knew it was a dead end, but he persisted until the man physically ejected Lemmon from his home. Desperation had driven both men to the inevitable.

In another scene, Lemmon tried to buy the new premium leads from office manager Kevin Spacey but ultimately could not because Spacey demanded payment up front.

The new leads were on everyone's minds. They were the leads that promised deals that could be closed — and Lemmon, under pressure, stole the leads and sold them to a rival. That led to another great scene between Lemmon and Spacey — in which Lemmon's role in the mysterious disappearance of the leads was revealed.

Lemmon deserved more recognition for his work. He did win Best Actor in the National Board of Review's D.W. Griffith Awards, but Pacino received the movie's only Oscar nomination, losing Best Supporting Actor to Gene Hackman in "Unforgiven" — but winning Best Actor for "Scent of a Woman."

Perhaps Lemmon got the last laugh. His character was the inspiration for Ol' Gil Gunderson, the real estate agent on The Simpsons.

And that may be the more lasting legacy.

Friday, October 26, 2012

'Wait Until Dark' Was Classic Suspense



Few of their mid–20th century contemporaries could match the appeal of Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly.

A large part of their appeal, I think, was the fact that they could be credible damsels in distress — but, when it became clear that no one was going to come to their rescue, they were able to rescue themselves ... plausibly.

There was steel beneath the facade.

Not an easy task, considering that both actresses, especially Hepburn, seemed rather frail. You wouldn't think from looking at them that either could stand up to a sudden gust of wind.

But, somehow, they did. It was largely because the characters they played were resourceful and independent — truly deserving of admiration.

My admiration for Kelly knows no bounds, but, frankly, Hepburn takes the prize for her performance in "Wait Until Dark," a movie that made its debut 45 years ago today.

Hepburn played a young blind woman who was believed to be in possession of a doll that had been used to smuggle heroin into the country.

The doll had actually been given to Hepburn's husband by a woman he met on a flight. The doll's presence in the apartment was unknown to Hepburn.

But that was something that a trio of criminals — played by Alan Arkin, Richard Crenna and Jack Weston — who wanted the doll (or, rather, what was inside it) did not know. They assumed she knew things she did not.

And they tried to take advantage of her blindness, playing the roles of police officers who were investigating a suspicious death in the neighborhood. Through this ploy, they won her confidence, gained access to the apartment and searched unsuccessfully (and right under Hepburn's nose) for the doll.

With the help of a young girl named Gloria, Hepburn's character discovered what was really going on around her and fought back.

Modern audiences might not appreciate the way most of the action in the film takes place in a small apartment. But "Wait Until Dark" was a psychological thriller, and there are few scenes in movie history that are as gripping as the climactic struggle between Hepburn and her ruthless nemesis, played by Arkin.

Each time I have watched "Wait Until Dark" — and I have watched it many times — I have been struck by how effortlessly the movie leads the viewer to empathize with Hepburn's predicament.

That, it seems to me, is the essence of a truly suspenseful movie. The viewer can see the threats to Hepburn, but she cannot. It reminds me of what the master of suspense, Alfred Hitchcock, used to say.

Hitchcock rejected the idea that suspense could be achieved merely by watching an explosion. True suspense, he said, came from letting the audience in on the presence of a threat — a ticking bomb, perhaps — of which none of the affected characters in the scene was aware.

Hepburn proved that he was right.