Arthur is a product of his time. Pushing thirty, he has relaxed his prowess as a photographer so that he only depicts faeces (and not just figuratively). He is discovered under a scrum of streetkids by Patsy whose grasp on life is firm and unquestioned. Arthur's non-zen compliance with the violence of the world troubles her so much that she pursues him until he complies with that, as well. Meeting the family is more of the same with Patsy's parents on the brink of their own breakdowns and her imploding brother a constant worry. The wedding collapses into a mass fist fight and Arthur goes missing. Though there is a kind of reconcilation following this, the increasingly bloody and darkening city around them becomes more like a reinforced concrete jungle by the hour. The finale's deflation ends on a note that seals the sense of hopeless order for the decade to come.
Elliot Gould (Arthur in the film) optioned this tale from the glow of its off-broadway success (don't knock it, it really did well away from the big strip) and wanted to carry his role to the big screen. At first he was in talks with Jean Luc Godard but that fell through. As a fan of JLG I'm glad this didn't happen. It's wasn't the Godard of Vivre sa Vie but of Vent D'est who would let none of the nuance among the explosions of anxiety through. It needed a native to get there and actor Alan Arkin (who also took the role of the detective) proved to be a good choice. While he can let the shrillness and play of the crazier scenes stretch their own bounds he generally lets the pugilistic dialogue make its own impacts and steps back just enough for the best of it to work.
I first saw this on Brisbane tv almost ten years after its initial release with family members and found it a blackly comic delight. At the other end of the '70s, after the end of Vietnam and the fall of Nixon (and the suggestion of U.S. involvement of the dismissal of Whitlam) our cynicism was ready for it. At the end of the next decade, on video, I still found it powerful but appreciated more of the craft of it. Finally, showing it to a decent turnout at Shadows I finally saw it with a receptive audience and delighted in the screaming laughter of the wedding scene with Donald Sutherland's dizzying turn as a hippie priest and descended in soft silence after the final line of dialogue. This, more than most of my favourite films, really does work best in the dark with strangers.
I still think this is one of the best films of its time but I understand that if watched without complete support of where it's going and its violent-minded comedy it will be a chore. Some of the stretches of physical humour will grind. If you are bothered by the smiles on an extras face or a too mechanical escalation of crowd violence then those things are going to feel like fingers in your eyes. If, on the other hand, you counter-intuitively go in with a relaxed mind and let the shrill and uncomfortable ruptured pacing of the first act past you will find riches. You might even understand why variants of its approach in later decades like Search and Destroy or Buffalo 66 (or anything that confuses freefloating quirk for black humour) fall so flat and feel so contrived.
Little Murders is difficult but it's also naturally funny and if that strange combination turns you away you should stay away or try and watch this with someone you don't know well. Also, recall, this is not an indy piece that just made it out of the margins, it was a 20th Century Fox title and though it might not have taken as well as M.A.S.H. or Catch 22 it endures as a whispered recommendation and probably lives happiest there.
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