#253 A WOMAN UNDER THE INFLUENCE. John Cassavetes 1974

Possession(s)

The Exorcist (1973) may be a horrific allegory of internal demons, subsumed existential doubts, and the resultant contemporary religious angsts of faith, but this story of a woman possessed by her own psychological and pharmacological demons, who is in turn a possession herself (of her husband, her children, and of the predominant medical and social systems), is no less disturbing in its depiction of the tribulations faced when a woman tries to navigate this alien landscape on her own terms, beginning with her own family. Alienation is a key motif here; at no point do we feel that Mabel (Gina Rowlands) is in control of any aspect of her life; even her shoes don’t stay on properly. She is indeed under the influence, of booze, pills, her husband’s questionable sanity, and the role that society has foisted upon her–albeit with her complicity, since socialization demands that we fulfill traditional roles as faithfully and fatefully as a prophet must fulfill his, even unto his death; the sacrifice of the prophet may be the point of the entire exercise. The phrase under the influence implies that we are not acting as our true selves, but in a manner that is alien to our true natures. In effect, our reality has been altered and so therefore has our behaviour. The play on words is rich here as well: the “influence” that Mabel feels, that inside pressure to conform to righteous standards of wife-, mother- and womanhood, is inexorable, merciless and exhausting. The end of the film offers no relief whatsoever, only an illusion of respite. I suppose more optimistic readings are possible, but they would belie the relentless psychological battering that Mabel has gone through during the film. Of course she has some kind of mental condition, most likely supposed to be schizophrenia, although us armchair psychiatrists may want to say she is bipolar. 

The fascinating thing is that Cassavetes seems to be implying that that condition itself is not necessarily a cause of her behaviour, but that these undue influences and pressures society crushes her with have driven her to this state. At the very least we might sense this is a negative feedback loop. Mabel is not helped by the fact that everyone around her seems determined to enact their own roles to whatever bitter conclusion may come: no one can break free. I couldn’t help think about Dreyer’s Joan of Arc, surrounded by her accusers and executioners. Rowlands’ performance is comparable to that of Renée Falconetti’s. Mabel’s facial expressions twist and contort, as if trying to fit themselves into the correct and permissible arrangement for each situation–and failing. As haunting as Falconetti’s eyes are, Rowlands’ grimaces are just as tragic, and our disgust towards her tormentors just as powerful. Mabel is desperately committed, not only literally to the pscyh ward, but to her husband and family and to her role, eager to please in her pathetic and awkward scenes with her family, husband, and husband’s friends. As much as we inwardly cringe at her inappropriate or just weird behaviours, when her husband lashes out at her we want to destroy him, so protective do we feel, as if she were a helpless animal, or has been reduced to one. Falk uses his unconventional appearance to good effect in the film; he seems just a little unbalanced as he walks, even his hat is an asymmetrical flop on his head, counterlevering his bowlegged stance (Cassavetes threw the hat on him literally seconds before they filmed the first take of the first scene; Falk says it completely transformed how he imagined the character carrying himself. Brilliant.).

So we do not necessarily need the sight of a priest hovering over the demon-possessed body of a woman in restraints to feel a primal horror: we have here a woman, restrained in every mental, emotional, and physical way, a mere possession of her family and society, tended to kindly but for all that all the more creepily by the high-priest of modernity, the psychiatrist. Shuffled off to be cured of her non-conformist tendencies, returned cured and ready to resume her duties. Except her absence has proven that all those around her are as broken as she is. The vacancy she leaves behind can not be filled because it is not who she is. It is 1974, 20 years since the days of the wife waiting at the door whiskey in hand for her husband as he comes home from work, and Cassavetes is calling “time” on the generation’s assumptions and their stagnation. To put it plainly, the revolution begins with the premise that a woman is not a thing. Flower power has come and gone, Vietnam is raging, yet all those around Mabel continue to plough on with the inertia of a dead culture, smothering her with their blind, selfish love and concern.