667 Seconds

[Drucker]

However, I don’t think this is really what the film is about, and I don’t think it really has a moral. Hamilton isn’t trying to get rid of his past; he’s trying to fulfil something in himself that has never been able to find expression, because of the social pressures that have pushed him to pursue certain prescribed goals. After he first says ‘I don’t know’ during the phone conversation, Charlie presses him again to get in touch with the company, and Hamilton repeats, ‘I don’t know’. The urge to go through with this change is never his own, and ultimately he’s blackmailed into it – it’s only a Faustian pact in the most superficial sense, because Hamilton’s will plays virtually no part in the process. Okay, Charlie must have ‘sold’ the idea to him in their first phone conversation, but it’s significant that the film doesn’t show us this. And yes, on some level Hamilton must be doing this because he feels he will get something out of it, but again that’s not really the impression the film gives: not only does he drift into the company’s building, he shows no real desire or enthusiasm for what they offer him, before, during or after the alteration process. It isn’t just that the company dictates what he should want and do after they’ve changed him – even the decision to be changed is one that is made for him.

The company, and the service it offers, are a manifestation of the problem Hamilton has in the first place. It’s not ‘careful what you wish for’, it’s ‘you don’t have any wishes’. What makes this film so terrifying is the remorseless way in which it spells out the nature of the problem.

I think my reading of the film falls somewhere between Sloper's perhaps "pessimistic" view of the film, and Swo's self-professed "optimistic". To me the film is surely, in part, about "be careful what you wish for" but more than that, I found it to be that if you don't realize the power you have within yourself to make change, you'll never be happy. Ultimately, Arthur's problem is that he never realizes he always had it within himself to improve the parts of his life he doesn't change. The reason he doesn't change them is because he's too busy living the life he thinks he is supposed to live, and by not being true to himself, there's always going to be other people to attempt to please. This happens both as his original self and as his Rock Hudson self.

Early on, we are given a taste of how dull his life is. I think in part, the film is indicting suburbanization. I mean this, in that, in the suburbs, everything is sort of done for you. The stereotypical suburban lifestyle, at least as it may have been thought of then by some, was a product of the: "live your life this way, and everything will turn out fine", which as our protagonist learns, isn't the case. A friend he hasn't seen in years knows exactly what his household looks like. He hasn't changed anything about it since, at the very least, Charlie last visited it. Presumably, those trophies and portraits have been up even longer than that though. At one point he put them up because he was supposed to, and he never re-examined it. The fireplace doesn't change until after he's dead, and his wife changes it for him. There is no reason that Charlie couldn't have changed these things when he was still "himself". But he didn't. And his disappearance, in a way, frees up his wife and family. It's safe to assume he's been living his life one and only one way since having children, and while the needs of himself and those around him changed, he did nothing to acclimate it. Now, things aren't what they could be, and he doesn't realize he could have made the changes necessary to be happy.

Lest we think that he's somehow making a big decision for himself by transforming, he is doing just the opposite. Everything in his new life is also going to be pre-determined for him. In both situations, in new life and old, Arthur is in a place where there is pressure to conform. There is pressure to conform to the suburban lifestyle in his former life, and pressure to conform with his new friends and associates in his new lifestyle. Notice how John continues to ask Arthur if he wants to meet the other members of the house. At first, Wilson resists, saying he'll "do everything on his own time." In another instance, when he first gets to the house, Arthur informs John about the man at the airport who recognizes him. In both cases, John is steering Arthur towards the new, isolated world that Arthur has unwittingly signed up for. Even towards the end of the movie, Arthur thinks he'll have the power, after just one more transformation, to really start from scratch next time. But it's clear Arthur isn't strong enough for that. He gives into the suburbs to create the life he wants. He gives himself to the "company" to create the next life he wants. He doesn't realize how often he is giving himself up to others to make his life decisions for him, until it's too late. In the room at the end, he says to Charlie, "The years I've spent trying to get all the things I was told I was supposed to want." He goes on a moment later about how in California "decisions were made for me." The tragedy is that at this point he is still blaming other people for his failures and shortcomings. He didn't have to live the way he did in the suburbs. In this respect, I suppose the "be happy with what you got" reading of the film makes the most sense, but it's not that to me. It's that you have the power within yourself to control your life. Once you are reaching out to external beings to be happy, you've given up yourself, and through that, the control of your own life.

One more point I want to make is just how perfect the camera work is. It's so perfectly disorienting, and we often can feel like we are in Arthur's shoes. When he gets to the house, and we take a tour with John, and at one point he goes "Here is the bathroom." I had no idea where I was in the house, and I imagine Arthur felt the same way. It's really remarkably disorienting, and the last shot of him on the gurney is especially powerful and terrifying. This film is absolutely superb.

[DarkImbecile]

In line with Sloper's and Drucker's readings, I saw the protagonist's ultimately fatal misconception as his expectation that his emptiness and lack of agency will be transformed into vitality, actualization, and the oft-repeated goal of 'freedom' not by his own initiative, courage, or effort but by running away from who he was and having new lives presented to him on a platter until one stuck. The film felt deeply critical of Hamilton/Wilson's upper-middle class entitlement and narcissism, showcasing his whining that all his choices were made for him in both iterations of his life when his education, wealth, and relative freedom from responsibility provided him with more ability to determine his path in life than most people can dream to achieve. His complaints about life being chosen for him struck me as false; if anything, his privileged lifestyle seems to have ingrained in him the expectation that the things he wants will be done and decided for him, and if they aren't to his liking, he'll just demand something else until he's satisfied with the results.

The film struck me as similarly critical of the modernist impulse not to work to improve what we have but to casually throw away even the most significant elements of our lives with the blind certainty that they can and will be replaced with something better. The old man in charge and his utter and seemingly honest conviction that he's doing good for humanity by allowing people to trash the identities they've grown bored with like an outfit they've worn out a few times seems to personify this myopically well-intentioned but tragically technology-driven, consumerist approach to identity, a commodity particular unsuited to conform successfully to those impulses. The fact that even the wine-fueled bacchanal, the most real, vital, and edgy experience our protagonist has (aside from, of course, his last gurney trip), was as planned and manufactured for Arthur/Tony's consumption as a theme park ride - simulated uncertainty and excitement without real risk or consequences - underlines the hollowness of this attempt to fabricate the experience of a meaningful life.

A moment that felt very meaningful and one about which I can't quite make up my mind regarding its significance: the scene late in the film where Charlie and Arthur are reunited, and as Murray Hamilton's Charlie talks with a still naive Arthur/Tony, his smile grows more and more pained, until finally, as his name his called, some combination of tears and sweat glisten on his cheeks, and he leaves the day room for good. I could see a few interpretations of this scene, each compelling in a different way and with different implications about the nature of the company, and I'm curious which of these - or alternatives - others came away with:

• 1a and 1b. Charlie believes he's leaving to be given a new identity, having given the company a new customer/cadaver in Arthur/Tony, and he knows his old friend has now replaced him in potentially lethal situation (and if this is what was happening, was Charlie being unwittingly led to the same fate Arthur/Tony ultimately meets, or did he get what he wanted?).
  2. Charlie knows he's being led to his death because Arthur/Tony "failed" in his process of assimilating to his new life, though I wonder why his fate would be tied not just to bringing in a new customer, but whether that customer was, for lack of a better word, satisfied.

Aesthetically, I was especially impressed by the menacing score, jarring sound effects (the suddenly ringing phone in the study or the unsettling sound of bones being sawed as we move through the meat processing plant - a setting which further emphasizes that we're no longer special and unique snowflakes when we're being carved up for use by others) and especially the editing. In addition to the flashier moments of disjointed cutting (the drug-induced "rape", "stomp those grapes", and the final gurney trip), I loved several of the simpler joining of movements, like the perfect cut from Hamilton pressing the pen to the contract to the first slicing of the scalpel through his face. Overall, very impressed after my first viewing last night, and impressively ambiguous and downbeat for a mid-1960's film by a fairly major director; I look forward to digging into the supplements this week.

[Mr Sausage]

showcasing his whining that all his choices were made for him in both iterations of his life when his education, wealth, and relative freedom from responsibility provided him with more ability to determine his path in life than most people can dream to achieve. His complaints about life being chosen for him struck me as false; if anything, his privileged lifestyle seems to have ingrained in him the expectation that the things he wants will be done and decided for him, and if they aren't to his liking, he'll just demand something else until he's satisfied with the results.

Is that actually part of the text of the film, tho'? One's class, culture, and social standing can be a trap no matter what side one falls on. And if nothing else, this film makes clear how empty and unsatisfying ease and "relative freedom from responsibility" can be.

I don't see this film as merely the taking apart of upper-class narcissism. The central character's story seemed more like a sinister version of the tragedy of the unlived life, where in this case being given a caricature of the high-life reveals how lost the original opportunity truly is--a tightening of the screw, salt in the wound, ect. The story is pathetic to a certain degree, but it is not only that. There is a genuine sorrow to the idea of a man who's spent his whole life doing only what other people thought he ought to do.

I felt the film really dug into self-absorption through the men in the room, especially the lead's friend. Far from offering their chums a gift, these men are slowly seducing or tricking their friends and altering people's entire lives just for another chance at their own bliss, one they've failed to sustain again and again. There's a critique there, but I don't think our lead figures heavily in it. He is never truly engaged in what the men in the room are, and does have an epiphany that raises him above their mentality.

[Drucker]

There's an important contradiction between Arthur's agency and the life he is given. He demands control, but he never seems to exercise it. He makes decisions about his standing in life, but then seems to allow others to control his day-to-day life. He chooses a wife/suburban lifestyle, and then follows the rules of conformity. He chooses to change to Tony, and they tell him he'll live in California, as a painter, and have certain friends. As Arthur, he elects to change his entire life. He wants control as Tony Wilson. When Tony doesn't work out, he wants the ability to change again. But we don't ever seem to see Arthur exercise control.

He may not say it out loud that the world owes him something. But he does blame the world for "controlling" him. There are lots of other people in life going through the same thing he is. Other commuters. Other people in Grand Central Terminal. The laundry workers. Somehow they survive and get by. What makes Arthur so special? I think the best evidence we have that he may not deserve sympathy is his wife's...contentedness after his death. There is no mourning of this person. If all he does is worry about the life he doesn't have, that's going to seriously compromise his ability to enjoy the life he does have.

[zedz]

Last night I watched this, going in I knew that "Seconds" was getting praised left and right ever since it was released on DVD, and I felt disappointing after watching it. I'm not going to go into a huge analysis because I'm not nearly as smart to do that. This film was boring and I didn't think it was original either. Well I don't really know if it's not original but after films like "Total Recall" and "Face/Off" it doesn't seem original. I don't know if there was something like those films that came out before "Seconds". But to be frank I thought this film was boring.

I know exactly what you mean. LAST ACTION HERO is, like, my favourite film, and because of that I decided to watch “Ingrid Bergman’s Famous Film About Death” The Seventh Seal. I was so stoked when I found out that was a real film. And it was directed by a chick! How cool is that!? Apart from Point Break, can you name ANY other film directed by a chick?

Anyways, what a boring film. Death doesn’t do anything. Nothing happens. People die anyway. WTF? You’ve got Death in your film, he should be the one doing the killing. That’s just common sense.

I also checked out that Hamlet film that was in LAST ACTION HERO, and that was even worse. I guess a lot of people died, but it was like an hour between kills and they were just, like, stabbings and stuff, with no blood. No blood! ROTFL! Totally lame fight scenes in that one too.

If Ingrid Bergman and William Shakespeare could have made a movie as entertaining as LAST ACTION HERO, maybe people would still remember them today.

[DarkImbecile]

Is that actually part of the text of the film, tho'? One's class, culture, and social standing can be a trap no matter what side one falls on. And if nothing else, this film makes clear how empty and unsatisfying ease and "relative freedom from responsibility" can be.

I don't see this film as merely the taking apart of upper-class narcissism. The central character's story seemed more like a sinister version of the tragedy of the unlived life, where in this case being given a caricature of the high-life reveals how lost the original opportunity truly is--a tightening of the screw, salt in the wound, ect. The story is pathetic to a certain degree, but it is not only that. There is a genuine sorrow to the idea of a man who's spent his whole life doing only what other people thought he ought to do.

I spent 45 minutes this morning writing out the most beautiful and eloquent 1,500 word response clearly articulating my view of the film and guaranteed to bring Mr. Sausage around to my way of seeing it, and then the site freaked out and crashed for a couple of hours when I hit submit, so I'll just have to go with: eh, you might be right. I may be conflating the film's perspective on its protagonist with my own distaste for/detection of Arthur/Tony's entitlement and inability to see that his life's lack of meaning and fulfillment isn't forced upon him by outside forces but inherent in his own (lack of) character. It's probably just my Pavlovian class-hatred response to any scene in which a banker refuses to approve a loan for someone.

There's an important contradiction between Arthur's agency and the life he is given. He demands control, but he never seems to exercise it. He makes decisions about his standing in life, but then seems to allow others to control his day-to-day life. He chooses a wife/suburban lifestyle, and then follows the rules of conformity. He chooses to change to Tony, and they tell him he'll live in California, as a painter, and have certain friends. As Arthur, he elects to change his entire life. He wants control as Tony Wilson. When Tony doesn't work out, he wants the ability to change again. But we don't ever seem to see Arthur exercise control.

He may not say it out loud that the world owes him something. But he does blame the world for "controlling" him. There are lots of other people in life going through the same thing he is. Other commuters. Other people in Grand Central Terminal. The laundry workers. Somehow they survive and get by. What makes Arthur so special? I think the best evidence we have that he may not deserve sympathy is his wife's...contentedness after his death. There is no mourning of this person. If all he does is worry about the life he doesn't have, that's going to seriously compromise his ability to enjoy the life he does have.

I think this point about his wife's posthumous evaluation of her husband (especially when paired with her aborted attempt at intimacy early in the film) highlight that Arthur was the source of his own unhappiness, but also oblivious or self-deluding enough to believe that the problem isn't who he is, it's what everyone else made him become.

[Yakushima]

Has anyone noticed how strikingly the beginning of the film resembles Jack Finney's short story "Of Missing Persons" (1955)? So much so, that I was convinced at a certain point that the film is based on this story. Of course, the things take a very different turn as film is progressing. Still, I can't shake off the feeling that the story and the film have strong connection at some level. The Finney's story is a little gem, I highly recommend it too.

[Mr Sausage]

I think the best evidence we have that he may not deserve sympathy is his wife's...contentedness after his death. There is no mourning of this person.

Well that's just confirmation bias. If you assume he is already not sympathetic, this is the evidence for it. But if you assume, say, that these are two people who've long become strangers to each other, who've more or less lived separate lives in the same house for ten or more years, then her reaction is evidence of that. It's what you'd expect from someone in that situation six months or a year (or however long) after their partner has died, and it doesn't require that either person has treated the other poorly. IN fact they've probably been nothing but cordial. Indeed, I'd be rather surprised if the protagonist had done anything in his life but be nice, pleasant, and boring.

There's an important contradiction between Arthur's agency and the life he is given. He demands control, but he never seems to exercise it. He makes decisions about his standing in life, but then seems to allow others to control his day-to-day life. He chooses a wife/suburban lifestyle, and then follows the rules of conformity. He chooses to change to Tony, and they tell him he'll live in California, as a painter, and have certain friends. As Arthur, he elects to change his entire life. He wants control as Tony Wilson. When Tony doesn't work out, he wants the ability to change again. But we don't ever seem to see Arthur exercise control.

Well, yes. Isn't this always how it works? Outside of literal imprisonment, our cages are either our creations or other people's creations that we continue to sustain. It is pathetic, yes, but as I said it's not only that. I don't think a life-time of mental conditioning can be dismissed; I think everyone at some point or another has dealt with something similar. One of the ironies of the movie is that the character had the freedom to be happy and fulfilled the whole time, but only realizes this once all choice in the matter has truly been taken away from him and replaced with illusions. The movie is a self-fulfilling prophecy: the thing the man always feared was true is made true by the actions his fear had prompted.

He may not say it out loud that the world owes him something. But he does blame the world for "controlling" him.

Well, yes. Is this not what happens? If he'd realized he was in control of his choices all along and was simply ceding control to others, the plot would never have gone where it did, he'd have lived a very different life. To my mind this is merely accurate psychology; this is a portrait of a trapped, unhappy suburban man. I guess it's easy to look down on him, in which case all of the above is just grist for the disapproval mill, but I don't see the point.

There are lots of other people in life going through the same thing he is. Other commuters. Other people in Grand Central Terminal. The laundry workers. Somehow they survive and get by. What makes Arthur so special? [...] If all he does is worry about the life he doesn't have, that's going to seriously compromise his ability to enjoy the life he does have.

I fail to see your point. All this tells me is that Arthur is a general case, not a specific one. We knew that: the existence of the company implies a demand. And as far as I can tell Arthur has got on, lived quietly a sad, unfulfilled life, and probably would've died and been forgotten. Except he gets caught up in a science-fiction plot where these kinds of common themes (taken from the rise of suburban America in the 50's--this movie is somewhat behind the times) can be explored.

[Sloper]

A moment that felt very meaningful and one about which I can't quite make up my mind regarding its significance: the scene late in the film where Charlie and Arthur are reunited, and as Murray Hamilton's Charlie talks with a still naive Arthur/Tony, his smile grows more and more pained, until finally, as his name his called, some combination of tears and sweat glisten on his cheeks, and he leaves the day room for good. I could see a few interpretations of this scene, each compelling in a different way and with different implications about the nature of the company, and I'm curious which of these - or alternatives - others came away with: 1a and 1b. Charlie believes he's leaving to be given a new identity, having given the company a new customer/cadaver in Arthur/Tony, and he knows his old friend has now replaced him in potentially lethal situation (and if this is what was happening, was Charlie being unwittingly led to the same fate Arthur/Tony ultimately meets, or did he get what he wanted?). 2. Charlie knows he's being led to his death because Arthur/Tony "failed" in his process of assimilating to his new life, though I wonder why his fate would be tied not just to bringing in a new customer, but whether that customer was, for lack of a better word, satisfied.

I'm not sure Charlie could be in on the fact that Arthur would be killed. That would be an amazingly risky tactic on the part of the company, as it would reveal how truly sinister they were, and thus prevent Charlie from trusting them. True, they use very dodgy methods to blackmail Arthur into using their services, but I think it would be a step too far to say to Charlie: 'Arthur's second life hasn't worked out, so we're going to kill him and use his body; your life hasn't worked out either, but we're going to give you yet another chance because you're different.' The company needs a lot of clients and a lot of bodies, and probably can't really afford to keep giving extra make-overs to (and using up extra corpses on) clients who've proven incapable of enjoying their second lives. That desk-filled room is essentially a larder full of corpses-in-waiting. So those men need not to know why they're really there, and by the same token they need not to know that the company might kill them, or any other client. It would be a very easy secret for the company to keep, so why not keep it?

But I agree there’s something especially sinister about the way the company makes you ‘target’ one of your friends in the hope of getting another shot at a new life for yourself. It reminds me of the advertising strategy that offers you vouchers and discounts if you can get your friends to sign up to something. On the one hand, it makes you betray your friends by foisting a product on them that you know isn't that great; on the other hand, it convinces you that the product must be a good thing by offering to give you more of it. It sounds like everybody wins, but really everybody loses - except the company of course.

It’s so interesting to see how different people can read this film in such a variety of ways. I guess the trouble I have with some of these interpretations is that they depend on the idea that there was some hypothetical alternative open to the protagonist, some course of action that would have enabled him to take more control over his life, and therefore to be happy. The film could easily have suggested this, but I'm not sure it does: when, in this film, do we see an example of a person who is 'in control' and 'happy'?

Arthur's wife, after his death, perhaps comes closest, but personally I think she comes across as a rather sad, resigned person, rather than a contented one. When she tries to make love to Arthur, do we see him as morally culpable for not being more responsive? If he had reciprocated her affection at this moment, would that have turned out to be the true path to happiness? I don't think this scene makes him out to be spoilt and entitled. His dissatisfaction seems to run very deep, and he himself is clearly disturbed by it.

The ageing process certainly has something to do with it: he feels old, he finds her old; later, he will be very taken with the more youthful, 'beautiful' Nora. But I think Nora appeals to him, not only because of her youth and beauty, but also because she seems to hold out a possibility for some deeper connection - she will enable some profound impulse inside him to find expression. That, I think, is the real problem with his suburban existence. His bedroom looks like a cavernous prison. His wife isn't responsible for this problem, and the film doesn't take the easy route of making her vacuous and nagging: if anything she seems like a fellow prisoner, and of course we find out that she was painfully aware of Arthur’s problem all along, but incapable of doing anything to help. The impression we get is that she was once a very good 'catch' for Arthur, a beautiful, well brought up young woman from a respectable family. But there is nothing in her that can connect with Arthur on any really meaningful level. It’s telling that she not only re-decorates his study, but also gets rid of his paintings, after his death. He seems to chase after them in the hope of discovering some evidence of agency and independence from his former life. The film might have shown him collecting the paintings but discovering that they were cold and lifeless – instead it shows that they have been discreetly disposed of.

In short, I don’t think Arthur’s dissatisfaction connotes shallowness, or a failure to appreciate something truly valuable: his wife is a nice person, and so is he, but they are not really compatible. And beyond that, I don’t see how the film can be read as suggesting that there was some other, more truly satisfying, path for Arthur to take. The second life seems to avoid all the pitfalls of suburban monotony that plagued the first one, but it turns out that it’s still controlled, still superficial, still someone else’s idea of contentment. More importantly, there’s a real ‘body snatchers’ vibe to this part of the film. The forces that are preventing Arthur/Tony from making his own decisions are pervasive and seemingly omnipotent. What could he have done to avoid them? Appreciated his wife more? I think that would amount to living in denial of the deeper problems affecting that first life. Or leave his wife and do something else? His make-over at the hands of the company seems to me an allegorical way of saying that, even if we could overcome the material obstacles that prevent us from making a fresh start, there would never be a space, or a society, within which we could be ‘true to ourselves’.

The one moment when we see a negation of this controlled, superficial existence is, I think, in the final shot of the father and child on the beach, and this seems to suggest that the problem is not to do with ‘this lifestyle’ vs. ‘that lifestyle’, ‘letting others make your decisions’ vs. ‘taking control over your own life’, but rather ‘innocence’ vs. ‘experience’. Happiness is something you feel as a young child, or as the parent of a young child, but then you grow up, or they grow up, and you realise the world you live in doesn’t care about your innermost desires, or your interior life: it just sees you as a piece of meat, and you either accept that and find your place in the system or get recycled.

To judge Arthur/Tony for failing to settle for what he has, or to carve out a new life for himself, is to align yourself with the other ‘reborns’ who round on him at the party. As Nora screams, ‘Just who the hell do you think you are?’ The company makes you confront the idea that ‘there is nothing anymore’ in your life, only to insist that you revert to liking it and lumping it when you’re provided with your new life. Again, it’s the logic of advertising – you need this product to give your life meaning, and guess what you’ll never stop needing it. You can't escape from this by not buying the product, because the worst part is that your life really doesn't have any meaning, and the advertisers are just exploiting that fact. Things will never get any better, but at least you can keep telling yourself that they will get better.

I'm off now to have a huge piece of cake.

[jindianajonz]

It’s so interesting to see how different people can read this film in such a variety of ways. I guess the trouble I have with some of these interpretations is that they depend on the idea that there was some hypothetical alternative open to the protagonist, some course of action that would have enabled him to take more control over his life, and therefore to be happy. The film could easily have suggested this, but I'm not sure it does: when, in this film, do we see an example of a person who is 'in control' and 'happy'?

I fully agree with this statement, and it's this idea that seems to be at the center of the film to me. I'm surprised nobody has brought up the political nature of this film, since Frankenheimer is known for being a very political filmmaker. I think Seconds is both an indictment of the American dream and the illusion of choice that it offers. Arthur starts the film as the quintessential conservative suburbanite, with his well paying job, large house, and stable-to-the-point-of-stasis marriage. This leaves him unfulfilled, and although he is too milquetoast to ever do anything overtly daring to change his life, his friend and the company push him into shedding his conservative past to adopt a more liberal identity. He becomes a successful artist entertaining well-to-do bohemians and attending orgone infused bacchanals, but this life doesn't seem to fit him either. Unfortunately for Arthur, America in this film is like a bad RPG that only offers two character types, and if you don't choose one of them, you can't play the game. Not only is Frankenheimer tearing down the curtain that hides the illusion of the American dream, but he also shows how limited choice really is in the American two-party political system. The only choice of any real substance that Arthur has is between an unsatisfying life of conformity to a political ideology, or getting kicked out of the system all together.

[swo17]

I guess the trouble I have with some of these interpretations is that they depend on the idea that there was some hypothetical alternative open to the protagonist, some course of action that would have enabled him to take more control over his life, and therefore to be happy.

I mean, this is pretty hokey, but he could have ignored the company's invitation, recognized that his wife is likely going through a lot of the same feelings of disillusionment as he is, forgotten about his own needs, and rededicated himself to addressing hers, which might just have stood a chance at rekindling some of the spark that the two had initially felt for each other. That would have made for a terrible movie though.

[Mr Sausage]

I guess the trouble I have with some of these interpretations is that they depend on the idea that there was some hypothetical alternative open to the protagonist, some course of action that would have enabled him to take more control over his life, and therefore to be happy.

I'm assuming that he has or had the same basic freedoms someone in his position in real life would have, and that he could have dropped out and become some bohemian painter if he really wanted to. But there isn't a lot of evidence for it beyond the general mimesis of 60's suburban America that the film presents and the fact that it makes for some symmetric ironies.

I do think he loses just about all control the moment he enters that building and the process begins. He could've chosen to rebuke the blackmailers and brave the scandal, I guess, tho' who's to say they wouldn't have just killed him if he'd tried. Very little of what happens to him after entering the building is his own fault.

I'm surprised nobody has brought up the political nature of this film, since Frankenheimer is known for being a very political filmmaker.

I gave a nod to them at the end of my last post, but the politics of the movie aren't very deep. The movie borrows its politics mostly from moralistic 50's shows like The Twilight Zone and The Outer Limits (more the former, tho'). I do think it comes across as a feature length Twilight Zone episode. The film doesn't tell you much about 50's or 60's suburban life or the emptiness of the middle-class dream--it takes most of that for granted, making a cursory pass over scenarios that are already familiar and relying on types to communicate some general ideas. It's not a movie I'd turn to if I wanted a deeper understanding of suburban entrapment, tho' I do turn to it when I want something dark and unsettling. Its sci-fi vision of enforced happiness is more vivid than its brief depiction of bourgeois emptiness.

[whaleallright]

n/a