NOTE: This film was recommended to me by John Henry Westhead for "Steve Pulaski Sees It," and the following review is a review of the 108 minute cut of the film instead of the 135 minute cut.
The opening shot of John Cassavetes' The Killing of a Chinese Bookie lingers on Cosmo Vittelli (Ben Gazzara) as he leans against a wall that has a painted mural of a scantily clad woman, a fitting metaphor for the film that follows. Through subtle yet clear, distinct photography, Cassavetes shows that nudity and sexuality are the backbone for Vittelli and his business, a local nightclub. Without the reliance on being provocative and the presence of arousal, Vittelli's dime-a-dozen nightclub is nothing. This would all seem so obvious and self-explanatory if Vitelli wasn't so opposed to thinking that the half-naked dancers are the reason the house is jammed on a Friday or Saturday night.
The film revolves around Cosmo's descent into dirty business with a sleazy loanshark (played by the film's producer Al Ruban) to pay off longstanding gambling debts, a recurring habit of Cosmo's in conjunction with running his club. Vitelli, who is always one to make deals that benefit both parties, decides to allow his loanshark and his friends to have one great night at the club, all expenses paid, even going as far as to allow them to gamble for free. With this, Vitelli has ostensibly paid off all of his debts, so to celebrate, he begins gambling again, eventually ending the night $23,000 in the hole and right back to the same place he freed himself from moments ago.
The Killing of a Chinese Bookie shows the cyclical drudgery of gambling addiction; what begins as a casual, and even carefree, bout of seeing high highs and low lows turns into a vicious, compromising addiction that too often results in the gambler discovering his worst victim/enemy is himself. Vitelli loves his nightclub, but he loves the simultaneous thrill and laidback qualities of gambling even more to repeatedly put himself and his business in jeopardy.
Vitelli is also delusional about his nightclub, not in the sense that his finances are in the best possible standing, but that people come to see the talent of the exotic dancers and not just their bodies. Vitelli and his team have the ladies put on elaborate shows with decorative set designs and costumes, and despite his team telling him otherwise, Vitelli believe it's the stories and the costumes that bring people in above anything else. Deep down, one wonders if he can regretfully admit that's not the case, but even so, that doesn't stop him from stringing together elaborate sets in the meantime.
Ben Gazzara gives a strong, subtle performance as Vitelli. His character is often quiet, reserved, and even occasionally passive as he allows his actions to rightfully damn himself instead of fighting them, and Gazzara communicates the traits largely through facial expressions and his ability to convey power through his stature and presence. Vitelli is your typical club owner rather than your average bar owner in that he's quiet and he listens; he studies things around him, as we can tell when he's intently observing the activities at his poker table. These are all very low-key, conservative traits that Gazzara needs to embody to prevent his character from becoming too bombastic or too impressionistic and he nails the challenge beautifully.
Encompassing Gazzara's performance is Cassavetes' and cinematographers Ruban and Mitchell Breit, who help detail the environment of this local nightclub. Cassavetes directs the shows with a lovely emphasis on essence and environment, showcasing the anomaly of such a medium-budget production being put on centerstage for a rather seedy nightclub. Actresses Alice Friedland and Azizi Johari, playing dancers decorated from top to bottom in fancy decor, are the stars of these lengthy scenes that do nothing but linger, like smoke expelling off of a cigarette. The result has the ability to put the most seasoned moviegoer (or Cassavetes fan, for that matter) into a deep-seated trance of admiration.
The Killing of a Chinese Bookie is a nicely told story of disillusionment and delusion, two of the heaviest and most mentally taxing emotions a human being can bear alongside depression and stress. Embodying such lofty emotions is Gazzara at the center of a film that moves gracefully and liberally at just under a hundred and ten minutes, and encapsulating the film are lovely set designs that compliment the film's motions and interworkings. If only the film wasn't so disproportionately focused on Vitelli, even when nothing truly significant is occurring with his character, and we got more insight into the lives of his dancers could this be an all-encompassing long at a nightclub and not just the central part of it.
Starring: Ben Gazzara, Al Ruban, Timothy Agoglia Carey, Seymour Cassel, Alice Friedland, and Azizi Johari. Directed by: John Cassavetes.
The opening shot of John Cassavetes' The Killing of a Chinese Bookie lingers on Cosmo Vittelli (Ben Gazzara) as he leans against a wall that has a painted mural of a scantily clad woman, a fitting metaphor for the film that follows. Through subtle yet clear, distinct photography, Cassavetes shows that nudity and sexuality are the backbone for Vittelli and his business, a local nightclub. Without the reliance on being provocative and the presence of arousal, Vittelli's dime-a-dozen nightclub is nothing. This would all seem so obvious and self-explanatory if Vitelli wasn't so opposed to thinking that the half-naked dancers are the reason the house is jammed on a Friday or Saturday night.
The film revolves around Cosmo's descent into dirty business with a sleazy loanshark (played by the film's producer Al Ruban) to pay off longstanding gambling debts, a recurring habit of Cosmo's in conjunction with running his club. Vitelli, who is always one to make deals that benefit both parties, decides to allow his loanshark and his friends to have one great night at the club, all expenses paid, even going as far as to allow them to gamble for free. With this, Vitelli has ostensibly paid off all of his debts, so to celebrate, he begins gambling again, eventually ending the night $23,000 in the hole and right back to the same place he freed himself from moments ago.
The Killing of a Chinese Bookie shows the cyclical drudgery of gambling addiction; what begins as a casual, and even carefree, bout of seeing high highs and low lows turns into a vicious, compromising addiction that too often results in the gambler discovering his worst victim/enemy is himself. Vitelli loves his nightclub, but he loves the simultaneous thrill and laidback qualities of gambling even more to repeatedly put himself and his business in jeopardy.
Vitelli is also delusional about his nightclub, not in the sense that his finances are in the best possible standing, but that people come to see the talent of the exotic dancers and not just their bodies. Vitelli and his team have the ladies put on elaborate shows with decorative set designs and costumes, and despite his team telling him otherwise, Vitelli believe it's the stories and the costumes that bring people in above anything else. Deep down, one wonders if he can regretfully admit that's not the case, but even so, that doesn't stop him from stringing together elaborate sets in the meantime.
Ben Gazzara gives a strong, subtle performance as Vitelli. His character is often quiet, reserved, and even occasionally passive as he allows his actions to rightfully damn himself instead of fighting them, and Gazzara communicates the traits largely through facial expressions and his ability to convey power through his stature and presence. Vitelli is your typical club owner rather than your average bar owner in that he's quiet and he listens; he studies things around him, as we can tell when he's intently observing the activities at his poker table. These are all very low-key, conservative traits that Gazzara needs to embody to prevent his character from becoming too bombastic or too impressionistic and he nails the challenge beautifully.
Encompassing Gazzara's performance is Cassavetes' and cinematographers Ruban and Mitchell Breit, who help detail the environment of this local nightclub. Cassavetes directs the shows with a lovely emphasis on essence and environment, showcasing the anomaly of such a medium-budget production being put on centerstage for a rather seedy nightclub. Actresses Alice Friedland and Azizi Johari, playing dancers decorated from top to bottom in fancy decor, are the stars of these lengthy scenes that do nothing but linger, like smoke expelling off of a cigarette. The result has the ability to put the most seasoned moviegoer (or Cassavetes fan, for that matter) into a deep-seated trance of admiration.
The Killing of a Chinese Bookie is a nicely told story of disillusionment and delusion, two of the heaviest and most mentally taxing emotions a human being can bear alongside depression and stress. Embodying such lofty emotions is Gazzara at the center of a film that moves gracefully and liberally at just under a hundred and ten minutes, and encapsulating the film are lovely set designs that compliment the film's motions and interworkings. If only the film wasn't so disproportionately focused on Vitelli, even when nothing truly significant is occurring with his character, and we got more insight into the lives of his dancers could this be an all-encompassing long at a nightclub and not just the central part of it.
Starring: Ben Gazzara, Al Ruban, Timothy Agoglia Carey, Seymour Cassel, Alice Friedland, and Azizi Johari. Directed by: John Cassavetes.