Little Murders (Alan Arkin, 1971) (Patreon)

BY REQUEST: Michelle Berman

After watching Little Murders, I read a bit about it and learned that Elliott Gould, who starred and produced, actually had Godard attached to direct for awhile. When pre-production his some snags, Godard moved on, and Alan Arkin became the director mostly out of necessity. But just thinking of this film in conjunction with Godard is extremely enlightening about what Little Murders is and what it aims to do. In a lot of ways, this is an American version of Weekend, although it's not as confident in its surrealism or its brutality. It could be the most 1971 film that ever 1971ed, in the sense that it reflects, in stark and often droll ways, the political and spiritual vacuum of the end of the 60s, when radical change had morphed decisively into nihilism and anomie.

But it takes a while for Little Murders to show its hand. Adapted from a play by Jules Feiffer (responsible for writing Resnais's second-worst film, I Want to Go Home), it seems like it's going to function as a perverse kind of rom-com. The dynamic but deeply damaged Patsy Newquist (Marcia Rodd) has a violent meet-cute with Alfred Chamberlain (Gould), as she sees him getting beaten up outside her apartment and goes to help. When the mob turns on her, Alfred just walks away, offending Patsy's sense of chivalry and human decency. But Alfred shrugs, replying "if you let them beat you up, they get tired and stop."

This assertion is the key to Alfred's character. He is a photographer, and loves hiding from the world behind his camera. He started out as a commercial and fashion photographer, but grew disillusioned and now only photographs literal piles of shit. He exemplifies the post-60s malaise that resulted from the failed older institutions not being replaced by newer, progressive ones, or much of anything else. Like a lobotomized Zen master, Alfred has eliminated all desires or motivations. Patsy, who has a history of trying and failing to convert her boyfriends' homosexuality, sees Alfred as the ultimate challenge. "Let me mold you," she implores.

Little Murders is often too aggressively madcap for its own good, betraying its theatrical origins. This is especially the case in scenes with Patsy's family. Her father (Vincent Gardenia) is a blustery conservative, her mother (Elizabeth Wilson) wistfully recalls the good old days, and her little brother Kenny (Jon Korkes) is a petulant manchild who called everyone "f*g" in a bit to suppress his own gay identity. (The sexual politics of Little Murders are not exactly advanced, but I do think this is what passed for enlightened progressivism in the early 70s.) With their stilted speech, exaggerated gestures, and overbearing screen presence, the Newquists hijack the film, and it eventually bends to their claustrophobic pitch.

Much like Weekend, Little Murders has a fairly narrow through-line, and it's mostly just a way to organize semi-detachable set-pieces. Patsy and Alfred's wedding, conducted my an Existentialist post-hippie priest (Donald Sutherland) is a standout, since his "sermon" explicates the film's point of view without being redundant or too on-the-nose. Essentially Rev. Dupas preaches a gospel not unlike the classic Dril post. There is no difference whatsoever between good things and bad things, since it's all just another part of the journey, you dig? 

While it's not nearly as entertaining or well-written, the scene in which Alfred, at Patsy's behest, goes to Chicago to visit his parents for the first time since he left home at 17 is an important component of the film's overall project. Apparently they are both retired Freudian psychoanalysts, and they respond to Alfred's most basic questions -- "was I happy or sad as a child," "was I breast-fed or bottle-fed," etc. -- with random digressions about the anal-sadistic phase and Alfred's supposed desire to overcome castration anxiety by laying claim to his mother's feces. (Callback to Alfred's photo project.) This stifling atmosphere suggests that this generation of would-be radical intellectuals were self-obsessed and useless.

Near the conclusion of Little Murders, we learn a bit about Alfred's past. He once cared very deeply about things, and it got him into trouble. Recalling this allows him to finally open up to Patsy, only for her to be shot dead by a random sniper. Apparently New York is plagued by hundreds of unsolved, seemingly unconnected murders, and after Patsy's death, Alfred purchases a rifle. He goes back to the Newquists' house, which has been fortified, and they make their stand in the face of utter social collapse. Alfred's libido was reawakened, only for its object to be destroyed, and so, like so many, he channels that desire into right-wing aggression and paranoia. There is a vast conspiracy afoot, and it promises to explain events that are in fact completely chaotic.

I thought a lot about Beau is Afraid while watching Little Murders. Arkin's film is much more successful than Aster's, in large part because it is situated in a very particular historical juncture. One might've said the same thing about Beau, if Aster had been bothered to infuse his film with any sort of social analysis. But like so much contemporary art, Beau is Afraid doesn't ask where our fears and anxieties come from. It just takes them for granted and tries to highlight them through exaggeration. Also Beau's backstory, such as it is, is entirely Freudian, whereas Alfred was molded, not by Patsy but by his cultural moment. Nihilism and anhedonia without an origin, a moment of actual trauma, is just hipster apathy, another way to avoid the worst contemporary public fate: being "cringe."