GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS: Blu-ray (New Line Cinema, 1992) Shout! Select

Addressing the rank and ‘folly’ of a stupefied bunch of company whores, pitching real estate to a motley and incompetent group of investors, director, James Foley’s Glengarry Glen Ross (1992) remains a thoroughly rancid exposé on the art of deception and deviousness involved in ‘cold call’ selling. The picture is based on David Mamet’s 1984 Pulitzer Prize–winning play, invested in two ugly days in the lives of four utterly ruthless real estate salesmen whose motivations range from greed and blind rage to desperation and fear. Although set in Chicago, the movie was actually shot in New York City. Mamet jokingly referred to the picture as ‘Death of a Fuckin’ Salesman’ – its actual title, a reference to the two fictional development projects – Glengarry Highlands, and, Glen Ross Farms. A word here, before proceeding. I have never much cared for Mamet in general or this play in particular. I actually caught as a revival of Glengarry Glen Ross on Long Island, long after the movie’s release, somehow anticipating it would play better as stagecraft. And it isn’t Mamet’s high-octane level of profanity that offends so much as it anesthetizes the audience with its litany of rapid-fire insults. I suspect Mamet meant these to be diabolically clever.  But after the first few moments, they increasingly become nothing more evolved than the play and movie’s modus operandi – a reason to insert bits of dialogue between each four-letter word, each more misshapen in its heavy-handed indictment on life as Mamet knows it, or, would wish the rest of us to ascribe with a similar strain and mantra – if not, in fact, merely to adopt as his own verbatim. I don’t know about you, but I have sincerely tired of such weak-premised/blunt and barb-laden diatribes pitched as pop culture – or worse, intellectual high art. Frankly, I don’t need Mamet to tell me the life of a salesman has increasingly devolved into a wickedly crude pantomime of faux incredulity, just a sick joke where the name of the game is to blind-side every potential client with a dazzling display of the traditional shuck and jive. I get it. Sales is a tap-dance, a smoke-screen, a bullshitter’s paradise where only the heaviest pounds can obfuscate the manure. Get on with it then - and tell me something I don’t know.

In the intervening decades, Glengarry Glen Ross’ reputation has acquired cult status. Jack Lemmon was actually awarded Italy’s Volpi Cup for Best Actor, while Al Pacino was Oscar and Golden Globe-nominated for Best Supporting Actor at the time of its release. Curiously, however, and critical accolades aside, the movie was not a bell-ringer at the box office, accruing only $10.7 million on its paltry $12.5 million budget. And while box office is not always indicative of a movie’s ever-lasting worth as pure entertainment, in Glengarry Glen Ross’ case, I find its fiscal failure fitting.  The strength of Mamet's authorship is also, on this occasion, its biggest vice; front-loaded with incendiary dialogue that desperately aspires to its own spirited logic and cadence. But Mamet has sincerely forgotten that the kinetic energy built into the most effective usage of dialogue is structured on sustaining the audience through points of interest, rather than a cacophony of sacrilege. The characters who populate Glengarry Glen Ross have that atrocious little glint of sycophantic joy caught in their eyes as they spew venom all over the proscenium. No kidding – it is every actor’s wet dream to just cut loose and cut everyone else a new hole in the process. But smack talk only gets you so far.  And there is decidedly a difference between ‘flat’ dialogue, only to connect the dots between points ‘A’ and ‘B’ and cleverly written odes that ignite the screen, encouraging the audience to ‘fasten their seat belts, because it is, decidedly, going to be a very bumpy night!’

I think my opinion of Glengarry Glen Ross is even more negatively colored today than it was in 1992, by the utterly angry performance given by Alec Baldwin who, in the interim, has proven himself much closer to his alter-ego in this movie, the Rolex-wearing, self-anointed popinjay/salesman from ‘downtown’ – Blake, who, in Mamet’s first epic diatribe, sadistically bludgeons the will and desire of his sales team with profane-laden threats to their sustainable way of life (such as it is) and masculinity. Blake doesn’t ‘shake up’ his team so much as he throws a grenade into their powder keg of open wounds and deep frustrations, offering no better than the precipitous clamor and scatological ferocity of his own pomposity gone berserk. Blake is not there to build them up; only, to tear them down. I suppose in this Bizzaro-land of Jedi-mind-sales-trickery one could still consider Blake’s brutality as motivational. Hellish, sad and foulmouthed – turned upside down, considered ‘inspirational’ in an ‘I’ll show him!’ sort of way. But the noose Blake effectively slips about the necks of these panicky and discouraged fatalists offers nothing to motivate their greed-driven ambitions, even for basic survival. Sell enough, live to sell another day. Under-perform and you are history. Given the alternative, Blake makes quitting look far more attractive. And while Foley’s picture is packed with peerless performers who lend even Mamet’s exonerated crudeness its potency, what, on stage, was a vigorous dark comedy about bottom feeders emerging from their holes at dusk, instead reaches the screen as a sluggish, if stylized, mortuary of wax-works leaches and bloodsuckers, out to extract every last pint before acceding to the embalmers of their chosen profession.

Mamet's play was first performed in 1983 at the National Theater, London. A year later, it had its Pulitzer and a lucrative run in Chicago, then Broadway; caught by producer, Jerry Tokofsky who encouraged director, Irvin Kershner to make a picture from it. Meanwhile, B-producer, Stanley R. Zupnik saw the play and found it confusing, neither impressed by it or Tokofsky’s desire to make the movie. Sensing blood in the water, Mamet held out for a whopping million-dollar payoff: $500,000 for the film rights, $500,000 to adapt the screenplay. In the face of Tokofsky’s passion for the picture, Zupnik reluctantly agreed, hoping he could find a cable company to bankroll it. Alas, no major studio wanted any part of Glengarry Glen Ross, citing its ‘abrasive language’ as the real stumbling block, even with high-profile stars attached to it. Eventually, financing was cobbled together from a German television station, an Australian cinema chain, several banks and New Line Cinema, delaying the picture’s release by roughly four years. Alas, in the interim, Kershner departed. While big names were being juggled, Foley acquired a copy of the screenplay and signed on with the understanding some heavy-hitters were already attached to the roles; actors who could lend cache and credence, along with a certain rough-hewn charisma. Mamet had, in fact, hand-crafted the role of Blake for Alec Baldwin, who initially turned the part down. Owing to the movie’s modest budget, Baldwin and his costars, to include Jack Lemmon, Al Pacino, Alan Arkin, Kevin Spacey, and, Ed Harris, all took pay cuts to partake.

After 3-weeks rehearsal, cast and crew assembled to begin shooting Glengarry Glen Ross at Kaufman Astoria Studios in Queens, with a few location pick-ups in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. Director of photography, Juan Ruiz Anchía chose to preserve the play’s moodily lit interiors almost verbatim from what they had been on the stage – indulging in murky reds, violent blues, and bilious greens for the first half of the movie taking place at night, steadily to evolve into a more monochromatic blue-grey palette as the dawn breaks. While Foley’s approach to basically ‘work-shopping’ the performances on film bode well for the actors, who worked well together and quickly found their own momentum in Mamet’s barb-laden dialogue, behind the scenes a different kind of storm was brewing as Tokofsky and Zupnik fell out over money and screen credit; Tokofsky, suing Zupnik to have both his producer's credit and fee shorn from the picture. In reply, Zupnik counter-sued, claiming not only to have put up $2 million of the budget, but also accusing Tokofsky of embezzlement.

Foley’s approach to the picture very much preserves the two-act structure of the play, the first act introducing us to real estate salesmen, Ricky Roma (Al Pacino), Shelley Levene (Jack Lemmon), Dave Moss (Ed Harris), and George Aaronow (Alan Arkin). Of the lowest class of salesmen, each is involved in a con to sell land in Florida and Arizona to clientele of the disinterested and/or penniless ilk, fed on leads provided to them by office manager, John Williamson (Kevin Spacey) shilling for unseen bosses, Mitch and Murray. Under the guise of a sales meeting, uptown shark, Blake (Alec Baldwin) accuses his team of laziness and assures everyone that at the end of their month's sale contest the bottom two sellers will be unceremoniously canned. Blake also reveals a new valuable set of leads has arrived, but will only be shared with salesmen who can close their current deals. Afterward, Shelley, suffering from dry rot in his career, begs Williamson to let him have first crack at the new leads.  He tries everything – charm, insults, bribery, but to no avail. Momentarily tempted, Williamson agrees to 20% percent of the commission plus $50 per lead, then reneges when Shelley cannot pay upfront. Desperate, Shelley first taps a cold call – Larry Spannel (Bruce Altman), who rejects him outright, before concentrating all his efforts on a dimwitted couple, Bruce and Harriett Nyborg.

Meanwhile, Moss and Aaronow team up – Moss, spending the bulk of their road trip ranting to the passive Aaronow and eventually proposing vengeance of a kind – to steal the Glengarry leads to sell to rival Jerry Graf, who has done well with his own indie business. Realizing Moss has already entered into such an arrangement with Graf, Aaronow is very reluctant to partake, especially when he realizes Moss expects him to break into their office and steal the leads. We turn to Richard ‘Ricky’ Roma who, by virtue of his exemplary sales record, is given a pass on the meeting and instead spends his time at the China Bowl restaurant, conversing with James Lingk (Jonathan Pryce), whom he dazzles with philosophical monologues before pitching him the literature on a Florida land opportunity. By dawn’s early light, Williamson discovers the office has been broken into and telephones the police. The detective (Jude Ciccolella) begins interviewing the salesmen. Roma pesters Williamson about the status of James Lingk's contact, to which Williamson informs his payment has already been filed with the bank. Elated, Roma declares himself the winner of the sales contest, refuses to take on any more ‘old leads’ and eases a decidedly giddy Aaronow, who fears talking to the detective. Enter Shelley, with good news of his own - an $82,000 sale with the Nyborgs. Before the particulars can be revealed, a belligerent Moss exits the interrogation room, insulted, and storming out of the office, presumably to have quit on the spot. Shelley finishes his story to Roma, who congratulates him on his sale.

Now, Shelley demands new leads from Williamson. Seeing Lingk arrive at the office, Roma has Shelley pose as his client. Only Lingk now reveals his wife wants him to renege on the deal or she will call in the state's attorney. A hysterical Aaronow emerges from his interview with the detective. Now, Roma convinces Lingk to get a drink. He also suggests his check has not yet gone through. Misinterpreting the conversation, Williamson assures Lingk the check is good and has already been cashed. Distraught, Lingk departs the office, causing Roma to lay into Williamson before attending the detective. Now, Shelley verbally attacks Williamson, calling him out on his lie, as Lingk’s deal is still on his desk awaiting approval. Williamson realizes only the person who broke into the office could know for certain that contract has not yet been filed with the bank. Under pressure, Shelley admits, he broke in and sold the leads to Jerry Graf, who is working with Moss. Threatened with exposure for his crime, Shelley begs Williamson to look the other way as his latest score with the Nyborgs clearly proves his is the most lucrative sales pitch of all, to which Williamson informs Shelley the Nyborgs are mentally ill, poor, and basically wasted his time.  Unaware of the situation, Roma emerges from his interrogation and praises Shelley for his discretion on the Lingk situation. Roma proposes they go into business for themselves. Unable to dissuade Roma from this venture, Shelley attends the detective, knowing he will have to confess and go to jail. Having observed everything, Aaronow resigns himself to starting a new round of cold calling – hopelessly trapped in a ‘dead end’ future.

Glengarry Glen Ross is the sort of spoilt exposé on shit-kickers and sales pitchers one would expect to find mildly amusing to downright gripping, given Mamet’s pedigree for rocking the boat. However, having assembled an exemplary cast, Foley’s picture suffers almost immediately from an inbred ennui, anchored by Mamet’s fidelity to his own play.  It isn’t just that Mamet’s style, under the rubric of ‘keeping it real’, is both pessimistic and gloomy. It’s that the entire cast appear to have been restrained from going all the way in their performances. The standouts here are Al Pacino, who eschews his latter-day bent for self-parody and caricature, unearthed ad nauseum in other film roles from the mid-1980’s onward, often requiring him to be obscenely overwrought with shrieking frustration, and, arguably, Jack Lemmon, who turns ‘magic time’ on end with his slippery and manipulative turn as the ill-fated Shelley. Both are at the top of their game. Mamet’s message, that everyone is wholly responsible for the decisions they make in life, is pointedly clear. But the candy-floss finale, in which destiny is presumably linked to one’s own motivation or lack thereof, skewed always toward failure rather than success, is weak and untrue. The big problem here is Foley’s direction, trapped in the claustrophobic atmosphere of Mamet’s stagecraft. Worse, the theatricality of certain set pieces works against the reality of the situations as presented. As example: has anyone ever balled out their boss while they just stand there – arms folded – and take it, absorbing every last word? I don’t think so. Finally, there is the mind-numbing use of the word ‘fuck’ – exhibited some 138 times in a little under 2-hrs. and wearing out its welcome after the first half dozen or so references.  

Arguably, it has never occurred to Mamet most of society passes through life trying to avoid such loaded exchanges. Again, if you have to front-load your dialogue with profanity to make a point, there is not much of a point to be made – nor, for that matter, much of a story to tell. And thus, we come to the end of Glengarry Glen Ross feeling nothing - as though we have just exited a world where nothing matters. Personal integrity? What’s that? Moral high ground? Does it even exist? According to Mamet and this movie – no. And Mamet has also forgotten that in the movies, if not in theater or life, one needs at least one character to which an audience can relate. There are no such ‘heroes’ present here – not even of the lesser evolved ‘wafer thin’ archetype, on which a modicum of empathy can grow. I get it. Mamet’s play is not meant to appeal to our altruism. He functions from a world view elevating the ugliness of humanity at large as the cultural norm, and, where the lesser of two evils is still pretty despicable. Even so, every den of thieves has at least one adventurer on whom all is not lost as yet, and very often, something finer from within is momentarily stirred – even with tragic results. Shakespeare understood this. Mamet does not. Hence, even if we could consider Glengarry Glen Ross as a tragedy, as Shelley’s final curtain call is a rather bittersweet pill to swallow, at some level Jack Lemmon has already proven his character cannot be trusted, is as unscrupulous as the rest, though ultimately, not nearly as clever to escape retribution like the others. So, no hero here. Not even an anti-hero. Only a sacrificial lamb. So, what does it take to succeed in business? According to Glengarry Glen Ross, a set of brass balls. What does it take to be a hit film? Evidently, a lot more!

Glengarry Glen Ross arrives on Blu-ray via Shout! Select in a marvelous new 4K 1080p transfer culled from an original camera negative that will surely please. The 2:35.1 image is gorgeous, with a bold and fully saturated color palette, exquisite contrast, superb rendering of fine details and exceptional reproduction of film-like grain. Truly, there is nothing to quibble about here. The image is rock solid, exhibits no black crush, and, looks about as authentic to film as any digital transfer can aspire to, minus the usual flair ups of age-related debris and untoward digital tinkering that oft deprives us of a truly outstanding home video presentation. The 5.1 DTS audio is aggressive and shows off James Newton Howard’s jazzy score to its very best advantage. Shout! has put its best foot forward on the goodies too: a new ‘conversation’ with James Foley, and, a retrospective with Broadway’s Ricky Roma - Joe Mantegna, who waxes affectionately about working with Mamet. Holdovers from before include 3 audio commentaries; one with Foley, another with Jack Lemmon, and a third – scene specific – with reflections from Alec Baldwin, Alan Arkin, Juan Ruiz Anchía and Production Designer, Jane Musky. Finally, we get the ‘Always Be Closing’ documentary - a junket to promote the movie back in 1992. Bottom line: Glengarry Glen Ross is still not my cup of tea. But Shout! has afforded it all the bells and whistles every movie deserves, but too few actually receive.  This Blu-ray is a winner, even if the movie is not. Judge and buy accordingly.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

1.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

5+

EXTRAS

5+