Little Murders

After a short vacation to the fabulous isle of apathy, I've returned. The five or so readers I get can now exhale. Well, you can hand me the pipe anyway.

My trip afforded me some time for quiet reflection, followed by lunatic glee and jabbering and stuff. I may have even shaved off an eyebrow... may have been Naired off. It's really all a bit of a blur. I've been working to piece the events of the last two weeks together... thankfully, I appear to have left myself notes hidden around the house written in what I can only assume to be ketchup on the backs of empty Netflix envelopes. Included on these notes ( along with recipes for something called "critter jerky" and the lyrics to a song entitled "Carled Weather/Gnarled Homes") were ideas for this very blog. The best one... sadly... a site dedicated to under-appreciated films.

Yes. I know. There are hundreds of sites like that.

Well, now there's one more.

And judging by that intro, one sorely in need of self-discipline and an editor...

The first of my under-loved gems is the 1971 movie "Little Murders".

Alan Arkin, coming off of "Catch-22"
and, according to IMDB, a two-year stint on "Sesame Street", directs off of a script based on the play of the same name. "Little Murders" can best be described as an existential black comedy/satire/straight up farce. Alright, fine. There is no "best be described" in this case. Let's just call it gleefully fucked-up.

Elliott Gould (the dashing guy covered in blood at the top of the page) stars as Alfred Chamberlain, a nihilist photographer who makes a living taking pictures of shit. Yup. Literally taking pictures of shit. While on assignment, he meets Patsy (not pictured, because, well, the internet seems to be void of any other pics from this film) and falls in love. Sorta. I mean, he's a nihilist, so he's constantly reminding her he has no idea what love is.

From there, the movie moves into wacky overdrive, as Alfred meets Patsy's fam. Think something more along the lines of "Flirting with Disaster" than "Meet the Parents", cept directed by a guy who just finished making "Catch-22" and Sesame Street episodes. The film continues along as a Bizarro-world satire of romantic comedies for the first hour, culminating in one of the best wedding sequences you could hope for. Donald Sutherland (again, not pictured in character, so I'll use this photo of him from a gay celeb porn site... or is that celeb gay porn site?) guest-stars as an existential minister, who preaches the virtues of realizing the sham that is the institution of marriage. This is the first line of his ceremony:

"First, let me state to you, Alfred, and to you, Patricia, that of the 200 marriages I have performed, all but seven have failed. So the odds are not good."

It gets better from there, launching into a sermon on masturbation, bribery, and LSD.

The movie then takes an unexpected turn in both tone and subject matter. I won't ruin it for you here. Otherwise, what's the incentive for you to track it down via Netflix, or Ebay, or... and this would be the ideal way to catch it... as a high school produced play. I've always felt "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown" could use some more religious humor and random violence.