MasterChugs Theater: 'Glengarry Glen Ross'
"Coffee is for closers."
Glengarry Glen Ross is one of the best films about salesmen ever made. As a story and a work of art, it ranks right up with Death of a Salesman and the Maysles Brothers’ 1969 documentary Salesman. Coincidentally enough, that's essentially the only movies about salesmen. And it's not even an original screenplay, it's an adaptation of David Mamet's theatrical play. Who would've guessed?
John Williamson (Kevin Spacey) manages a shady real estate sales office. He gives each salesman two leads, two names of prospective buyers, each day. Lately the leads have been cold. The salesmen blame management for giving them lousy leads, but management places the blame on the salesmen themselves. An inspirational speaker (Alec Baldwin) is brought in from HQ to whip the slagging salesmen into shape. He introduces a new sales contest for the office. First prize is a new car. Second prize is a chintzy set of knives. Third prize is “you’re fired” (plot hole: there are four salesmen in said contest). The two surviving salesmen will be allowed to work the “Glengarry” leads, the new leads, the names of people who are ready to buy. The next day everyone arrives at the office to find that there has been a burglary. The Glengarry leads were stolen, and each of the salesmen is a suspect.
Really, it's a tour-de-force of outstanding method acting, with Mamet's highly charged verbosity providing the fuel to the fire between them. Al Pacino delivers his customary greatness, showing that he can play things with a quiet touch just as effectively as when he is in a rage. Perhaps the biggest surprise is Jack Lemmon's outstanding performance as the salesman under the most pressure to sell, also the inspiration for The Simpsons' character "Old Gill." Some viewers may find the amount of profanity to be somewhat hard to on the ears, but it's done with integrity, not gratuity.
Moreover, the film--not as an endorsement but rather as an explanation--connects one's manhood to one's profession, which is the most obvious way we assess each other in the people's marketplace. As Shelley (Lemmon's character) says with utter conviction, "A man is his job," but follows it up with "… and you are f---ed at yours." The barb not only implies incompetence, but it questions that man's ability to function as a human being. Why else do we cling with such childish tenacity to titles? We'd sooner accept castration than a reduction from CEO to a mere "manager," because one implies a level of authority that may or may not translate into anything tangible. In such a world, we can only relate to others through these labels, and once they have been removed, we must actually scrub away the layer of crap and explore nuance and personality. And as we know, we'd rather not have to spend any more time with people than we have to--only enough time to, as it is said, "get them to sign on the line which is dotted."
Glengarry Glen Ross is a thinking man's drama, perhaps too dry and stagy for some mainstream audiences, but it's not in the message, but the delivery where the film scores the most points. No gunfire, no explosions, just acid-laced contempt and hatred bubbling under the surface. Guts and glory film making of the highest order.
Glengarry Glen Ross is one of the best films about salesmen ever made. As a story and a work of art, it ranks right up with Death of a Salesman and the Maysles Brothers’ 1969 documentary Salesman. Coincidentally enough, that's essentially the only movies about salesmen. And it's not even an original screenplay, it's an adaptation of David Mamet's theatrical play. Who would've guessed?
John Williamson (Kevin Spacey) manages a shady real estate sales office. He gives each salesman two leads, two names of prospective buyers, each day. Lately the leads have been cold. The salesmen blame management for giving them lousy leads, but management places the blame on the salesmen themselves. An inspirational speaker (Alec Baldwin) is brought in from HQ to whip the slagging salesmen into shape. He introduces a new sales contest for the office. First prize is a new car. Second prize is a chintzy set of knives. Third prize is “you’re fired” (plot hole: there are four salesmen in said contest). The two surviving salesmen will be allowed to work the “Glengarry” leads, the new leads, the names of people who are ready to buy. The next day everyone arrives at the office to find that there has been a burglary. The Glengarry leads were stolen, and each of the salesmen is a suspect.
Really, it's a tour-de-force of outstanding method acting, with Mamet's highly charged verbosity providing the fuel to the fire between them. Al Pacino delivers his customary greatness, showing that he can play things with a quiet touch just as effectively as when he is in a rage. Perhaps the biggest surprise is Jack Lemmon's outstanding performance as the salesman under the most pressure to sell, also the inspiration for The Simpsons' character "Old Gill." Some viewers may find the amount of profanity to be somewhat hard to on the ears, but it's done with integrity, not gratuity.
Moreover, the film--not as an endorsement but rather as an explanation--connects one's manhood to one's profession, which is the most obvious way we assess each other in the people's marketplace. As Shelley (Lemmon's character) says with utter conviction, "A man is his job," but follows it up with "… and you are f---ed at yours." The barb not only implies incompetence, but it questions that man's ability to function as a human being. Why else do we cling with such childish tenacity to titles? We'd sooner accept castration than a reduction from CEO to a mere "manager," because one implies a level of authority that may or may not translate into anything tangible. In such a world, we can only relate to others through these labels, and once they have been removed, we must actually scrub away the layer of crap and explore nuance and personality. And as we know, we'd rather not have to spend any more time with people than we have to--only enough time to, as it is said, "get them to sign on the line which is dotted."
Glengarry Glen Ross is a thinking man's drama, perhaps too dry and stagy for some mainstream audiences, but it's not in the message, but the delivery where the film scores the most points. No gunfire, no explosions, just acid-laced contempt and hatred bubbling under the surface. Guts and glory film making of the highest order.
Labels: MasterChugs Theater
posted by Chris 'Chugs' Taylor at
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