The
Iceman Cometh (1973)
Directed by: John
Frankenheimer.
The first act of The Iceman Cometh has everyone in that basement dive bar awaiting the arrival of Hickey (Lee Marvin). He comes every year on Henry’s (Frederic March) birthday – and is always full of stories, pockets full of money to buy rounds – and it’s the highlight of the year, perhaps because it’s the only time things change. But when Hickey arrives this time, things are different. He enters the bar and gives off the impression of what he is – a travelling salesman – with a pitch for everyone in the bar. He isn’t drinking anymore – and doesn’t want the others to drink either. He says he has rid himself of all his self-delusions – and wants the rest of them to do the same. That way they will be free – and happy. After all, just look at Hickey. Isn’t he happy?
The 1973 film version of Eugene O’Neill’s famous play was the first film produced by what was known as The American Film Theatre – a group started by Ely Landau, who for two “seasons” brought filmed versions of great plays to theatres. It was a subscription series – offered to theatres to draw in a more “highbrow” crowd – playing their shows only on Mondays and Tuesdays when movie theatres were less busy anyway. That’s probably the only way we would ever get a four-hour version of The Iceman Cometh into movie theatres anyway. It isn’t an unabridged version of O’Neill’s play – it even cuts out an entire character – but it’s probably as close as we will ever get.
The film was directed by the great John Frankenheimer, who makes no effort to try and “open up” the play. The whole movie takes place in Henry’s bar – the bar itself, and the backroom. But it isn’t just a filmed version of the play either – it’s not on a stage, with an audience, and Frankenheimer’s camera moves freely around the bar – and makes the most of its close-up’s on the actors faces. And what faces they are! This was the last film of both the great Frederic March – winning of two Oscars (Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in 1932 and The Best Years of Our Lives in 1946) and Robert Ryan – one of the best character actors of all time. Tough guy Lee Marvin may seem like an odd choice to play Hickey (and I hope to watch Sidney Lumet’s TV version with veteran O’Neill thespian Jason Robards in the role soon) – but it’s a reminder that when given the right material, Marvin was a towering presence – and a great actor.
It would be easy with Hickey to go BIG for example – to make him larger than life. Marvin is capable of doing that when he needs to here, but he’s also capable of going smaller, subtler when the movie calls on him to do so. The obvious centerpiece of the performance is his massive monologue in the closing act – one of the best monologue’s in theatre history, and Marvin makes the most of it. It’s a monologue that in other hands may make Hickey out to be insane – it’s certainly how the drunks in the bar read it – but in Marvin’s hands, it’s crystal clear that Hickey is perfectly sane – he knew exactly what he was doing.
The great March is also wonderful here. His Henry is more than little bit pathetic – sure owning a dive bar like this is slightly less pathetic than hanging out in one all day – but not if all you really do is sit in the corner drinking, moaning about his beloved wife, dead now 20 years, which is also the last time he left the bar. It’s a fitting goodbye for an actor as great as March.
And yet, it is Robert Ryan whose performance in the film is the best. It turns out, he is different than the rest of the people in the bar – but being different doesn’t make him any better. The play proceeds with Hickey convincing everyone else except Larry to let go of their delusions – to head out into the world, and make that tomorrow they all talk about actually happen. They head out alright, but are all back within the day. The world outside the bar isn’t as safe as the one in the bar – and if you’re going to make that tomorrow happen, you actually have to do something about it. The key to the play may just be that Hickey is completely right – that all these men are living with their own self-delusions, but they are all happier for it. They are miserable when forced to confront themselves, their real selves. Hickey’s confessional monologue gives them all the excuse they need to retreat back into Henry Hope’s bar, and dismiss everything that he said.
All, of course, except for Larry. By the end of the play only two people have really taken any concrete action – Hickey himself, whose actions came before the start of the play, and the kid – Don – who finds he cannot live with himself. The rest of them have retreated back into their roles that they had before Hickey even arrived. But for Larry, his delusions are gone – the way he thought of himself before is no longer how he can ever think of himself again. He is the one who resisted Hickey the longest – and yet he’s the only one who has permanently changed because of him. And he’s absolutely miserable because of it. Self-delusions prevent us from seeing ourselves clearly – but they also protect us from the same. When they’re gone, you’re stuck with yourself.
Note: I have now seen the Sidney Lumet made for TV movie from 1960 – with Jason Robards as Hickey. It’s an interesting film – quicker than the Frankenheimer version (it runs “only” three hours, twenty minutes rather than 4 hours) and it doesn’t quite have the freedom of movement that Frankenheimer’s version has – it has also aged a little bit, so the picture isn’t quite as good. Still, it’s fascinating to watch it just a few days after seeing the Frankenheimer version. Myron McCormick – who was mainly a stage actor – is excellent as Larry Slade, maybe not as great as Ryan – but close enough, and their interpretations are similar. It’s also interesting to see a very young Robert Redford as Parritt (it’s his 8th screen credit – but all previous 7 are also from 1960). The biggest difference is clearly Jason Robards performance as Hickey. He’s younger than Marvin (not yet even 40) – which by itself is a major difference. He also goes BIGGER than Marvin throughout. By this time, Robards had already played Hickey on stage – in the revival that basically made the play’s reputation as its original run got mixed reviews – and this is clearly more of a stage performance than a screen one. Yet it still works great – Robards is “on” for the entire film – a carnival barker, salesman charming and annoying everyone in the bar. He delivers Hickey’s great final monologue wonderfully well – and by the end, you do question Hickey’s sanity – not when he does what he did, but after the fact when in a moment of anger, he says what he actually thinks, and it may completely destroy his vision of himself. In short, I think Robards is great – I don’t see much point in proclaiming him either better or worse than Marvin – but they are different. Personally, I would have loved to see Robards when he took on the role again on Broadway in 1985 – because I think age may have made him bring something different to the role (I would also would have loved to see the stage versions with James Earl Jones or Denzel Washington or Nathan Lane as Hickey – the acclaimed version with Kevin Spacey in the role less so, since I can pretty much envision exactly how Spacey would do the role). In short, both the Lumet and Frankenheimer versions are worth seeing, especially to see the different Hickeys – but the Frankenheimer version is superior overall.
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