HOME THEATER & SOUND -- DVD Review



Glengarry
Glen Ross

February 2003

Reviewed by:
Wes Phillips

Format: DVD

(all ratings out of 5):
Overall Enjoyment

*****


Picture Quality

****1/2

Packaged Extras
****

Sound Quality
****
. .
Starring: Jack Lemmon, Al Pacino, Ed Harris, Alan Arkin, Kevin Spacey, Alec Baldwin, Jonathan Pryce

Directed by: James Foley

Theatrical Release: 1992
DVD Release: 2003
Released by:
Artisan Entertainment

Dolby Digital 5.1
Widescreen (anamorphic), full screen

Glengarry Glen Ross, one of the most searing indictments of the go-go '90s, seems to have fallen into a kind of movie limbo. It's not often mentioned when people list their Best Films and that's a real shame, since it’s a fabulous piece of work -- beautifully constructed, gloriously written, and ferociously acted. Fortunately, this two-disc 10th Anniversary Edition DVD has arrived as an incredibly potent argument for the film's claim to greatness.

Set in a seedy office under Chicago's El on a day so hot, "grown men were walking up to cops on street corners begging them to shoot," the film centers on the struggles of four real-estate salesmen trying to sell prepackaged "estate homes" out of a boiler-room operation. Times are hard -- their "leads" are stale and sales are few and far between. Into this desperate stew, management has sent a crude motivational speaker (Alec Baldwin) to inspire them with a twist on their long-standing sales contest. "As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac El Dorado. Anybody want to see second prize? (Holds up prize.) Second prize is a set of steak knives. Third prize is you're fired."

The salesmen react according to their natures. Down on his luck, Shelley "the Machine" Levene (Jack Lemmon) -- once a hotshot, now clinging to any hope he can muster -- shoots for the moon. Dave Moss (Ed Harris) resents the threat and the bitterness of working for a third-rate outfit. George Aaronow (Alan Arkin) lusts after the fabled "good leads" kept locked in the office manager's (Kevin Spacey) cubicle. As for Ricky Roma (Al Pacino), he never even deigned to attend the meeting. He was hanging out in a bar, seemingly oblivious, but in reality patiently reeling in a prospect, playing on every weakness his street psychology can reveal, even what he has perceived as the mark's latent homosexuality.

When the four arrive at the office the next day, they learn there has been a break-in; someone has heisted the "good leads."

Glengarry Glen Ross is a masterful piece of writing. Writer David Mamet uses the casual crudity of desperation and a staccato, recursive, fragmented, conversational style to create dialogue that resembles music -- and not just any music, but Baroque music at that. Like the great Bach, Mamet doesn't offer us extended development, but rather a series of duets -- each of them composed of short repetitive fragments -- which hammer on a theme and then move on. It's not really like conversation, but neither is most theatrical dialogue when you come down to it. And Mamet's dialogue, like the real thing, circles around and around what is really being said, seldom landing heavily upon the crux of the matter, yet always revealing it to us indirectly.

Like all great music, the true essence of Glengarry Glen Ross can only be revealed to us by a great ensemble -- and the film has one of the best ever assembled. Lemmon was the greatest he had ever been in this film, both singly and in conjunction with the others (particularly in a virtuosic duet with Pacino). But everyone, from Baldwin to Jonathan Pryce, was operating on the same level here -- film acting simply doesn't get any better than in Glengarry Glenn Ross.

Digitally remastered, the two-disc set has a lot to offer, not least superb sound and video. However, I suspect the Dolby Digital 5.1 designation is fudging, based on Dolby's inclusion of stereo in its spec -- I hear nothing from the surrounds. The set includes full-frame and widescreen versions of the film, as well as "A.B.C. (Always Be Closing)," a documentary tracing the psychological intersection of fictional and real-life salesmen; a tribute to Jack Lemmon; "J. Roy: New and Used Furniture," a short feature; audio commentary by director James Foley, Baldwin, cinematographer Juan Ruiz Anchia, Arkin, and production designer Jane Musky; and (most interesting of the lot) archival footage from The Charlie Rose Show and Inside the Actor's Studio. Wow, features that actually enhance one’s enjoyment of the film -- what a concept!

In the end, we're left with Ricky Roma's world view -- scant consolation, but as Glengarry Glen Ross potently argues, we take our comforts where we can find them: "When you die you're going to regret the things you don't do. You think you're queer? I'm going to tell you something: We're all queer. You think you're a thief? So what? You get befuddled by a middle-class morality? Get shut of it. Shut it out. You cheated on your wife? You did it, live with it. You fuck little girls, so be it. There's an absolute morality? Maybe. And then what? If you think there is, then be that thing. Bad people go to hell? I don't think so. If you think that, act that way. A hell exists on earth? Yes. I won't live in it. That's me."

 


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