They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (1969, Sydney Pollack) (Patreon)

76/100

Movies I had not expected to think of while watching this one: The Lobster, The Running Man, Battle Royale. In part, that's because I'd always assumed it to be a western (based on "horses" and my knowledge that Pollack subsequently made Jeremiah Johnson), and was pleasantly surprised to discover that it's actually about a Depression-era dance marathon. But it took me roughly an hour to realize that this ostensible period piece has more in common with dystopian sci-fi, fashioning a surreally grueling allegory barely tethered to the real world. Yes, such marathons really took place, and maybe some of them even featured the insane repeated "derbies," in which already exhausted contestants change into track suits and run—or stagger, more accurately—at what for them constitutes top speed. While Horace McCoy's source novel is apparently quite Hollywood-specific, however, with both Gloria and Robert hoping that victory will launch them into show biz (I assume this impulse simply got transferred to Susannah York's Alice), the film quite explicitly positions its marathon as a microcosm of human existence in general, encompassing symbolic birth, death, marriage, divorce, infidelity, etc. Some might find that pretentious, I suppose, but it's the sort of grandiose ambition that reliably thrills me, especially in a quasi-studio picture like this one (financed by ABC's short-lived motion-picture division). There's really not a vast difference between Romero's consumerist zombies and these shuffling husks of meat, sacrificing their health and sanity for some free meals and the unlikely chance of a windfall*, while the less unfortunate gather to gawk at their misery. 

I'm also a sucker for unsympathetic protagonists, and Fonda makes Gloria every bit the astringent nihilist that McCoy apparently envisioned (albeit with her suicidal streak toned down, or at least withheld until the end—a wise decision). "Anyone ever tell you that you're—" someone begins in exasperation at one point, only to be cut off with a curt "Yeah, they told me." Hard to believe that this pitiless performance immediately followed Barbarella; easy to see how it led straight to Klute. Pollack and the screenwriters deserve credit for not softening Gloria at all, despite taking a more universal approach—I'd have expected Hollywood to make her an innocent who gets gradually ground down. (Though that could theoretically work in the right hands—Von Trier's ultra-sadistic version of the story would place Bonnie Bedelia's fresh-faced, heavily pregnant innocent front and center, perhaps transforming her into Gloria—or Grace—over the course of 1,400+ nightmare hours**.) Sarrazin's mostly just a set of puppy-dog eyes, but he provides a necessary counterweight, especially given how dark things get w/r/t Gig Young's unscrupulous emcee. Pollack skillfully orchestrates what's basically just an endless slow-motion slow dance, finding new angles on upright catatonia. The film's one significant failing—based on the novel's structure—are its flash-forwards to Robert in police custody, which, when combined with the title (which I'd fervently hoped would not be spoken in dialogue; no luck), too clearly indicates where things are headed. All the same, getting me to empathize with "The world is a shithole and nothing can be done about it so I'm outta here, see ya never" is far from easy, as I recently noted, so hats off to Horses for finding just the right maximally absurdist vehicle for that sentiment. Again, I've cited Lanthimos (who came to mind during the stretch when Gloria has 24 hours to find a new partner) and Von Trier and Romero and Fukasaku and that's damn heady company for a film directed by the guy who won his Oscar for freakin' Out of Africa. 

* Adjusted for inflation, the $1500 prize is about $29K, which isn't exactly gonna have you set for life. Especially in a Depression. Would merely buy you some time.

** Having confirmed that '30s dance marathons genuinely did sometimes last for months, I'm retroactively disappointed with everyone in Hands on a Hardbody. All they had to do was stand there, yet the contest is over in about three days. Admittedly there's also the accidental factor—some folks are eliminated when they briefly forget to keep one hand on the vehicle—but still, if people can somehow continuously "dance" for weeks upon weeks, getting more or less the same regular short breaks that hardbody contestants do, I'm surprised that it doesn't take a year or more to win the damn truck. Maybe it's actually harder if you can't keep moving all the time? Not sure whether I'd rather walk for 24 hours straight or stand in one spot for that length of time. (They can move around the truck, though, so long as they always keep one hand on it.)