'The Iceman Cometh (1960)' – a live TV adaptation of Eugene O'Neill's play – runs an epic four-hours and was originally broadcast on television over two nights. It was directed by one of my favourite filmmakers, Sidney Lumet, who had already proved his skill at directing actors in dialogue-heavy roles with his Oscar-nominated '12 Angry Men (1957).' Typical of the live television medium, the film's technical attributes are rudimentary at best, eschewing all "cinematic" flourishes beyond the occasional revealing close-up. However, it's in the quality of acting that such a production swims or sinks, and Lumet draws excellent performances from most of the cast. Only a boyish, inexperienced Robert Redford seems out of his depth, strumming a jittery one-note that quickly becomes grating.
'The Iceman Cometh' unfolds in a dingy urban bar, where the detritus of human society lounges lazily in their whisky glasses, eagerly awaiting the arrival of drinking buddy Hickey (Jason Robards). However, Hickey arrives as a changed man, the death of his wife having shocked him out of alcoholism and into a new chapter of life. He sets about persuading the other topers to quit living an alcoholic pipe-dream, but they are resistant to his efforts. PART I of the film starts off a bit slowly, as the bar patrons boredly await Hickey's arrival, and the film could have been amazing had it been compacted into a movie-sized running-time. PART II, fortunately, flows more quickly than its predecessor, and revolves around an awesome 45-minute soliloquy from Robards, in which he explains the singular circumstances of his marriage, and the death of his wife.
Lumet's film, and O'Neill's play, is about the crippling shackles of self-denial. Each of the woozy bar patrons refuses to acknowledge that their lives have hit rock-bottom: proprietor Harry Hope (Farrell Pelly) hasn't left the bar since his wife's death, but always promises to do so on his next birthday; bartender Rocky (Tom Pedi) staunchly denies being a pimp, despite having several prostitutes in his employ; former Anarchist Larry Slade (Myron McCormic) feigns an indifference to life and political convictions. It goes on and on, each patron languishing grotesquely in the misery of self-denial. But Hickey Hickey seems different! From the moment Jason Robards strides noisily on-stage, his nagging vitality lights up the room. But, alas, this vivacity is also an act of self-deception. The "born-again" Hickey soon reveals that he is still plagued by the pipe-dreams from which he seeks to liberate his drinking companions.
'The Iceman Cometh' ends on an inexorable downer. Everyone is a victim of pipe-dreams – even the audience, who had placed its faith in Hickey's efforts. The character himself is a salesman, a vocation built upon selling pipe-dreams to unsuspecting consumers. At times during his passionate orations, Hickey's dialogue more closely resembles an evangelical sermon – not coincidentally, his father was a preacher by profession. Of course, an evangelist builds his career on selling the greatest pipe-dream of them all: the existence of God. That we've placed our trust in an unreliable narrator feels like a betrayal, and, by the time the film ends, we're uncertain of what we've learnt. Indeed, in an ending that recalls Forman's 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975),' following Hickey's departure the characters' lives return to the same pathetic state as before. Only Larry Slade, staring blankly ahead in horror, realises what he has become.
'The Iceman Cometh' unfolds in a dingy urban bar, where the detritus of human society lounges lazily in their whisky glasses, eagerly awaiting the arrival of drinking buddy Hickey (Jason Robards). However, Hickey arrives as a changed man, the death of his wife having shocked him out of alcoholism and into a new chapter of life. He sets about persuading the other topers to quit living an alcoholic pipe-dream, but they are resistant to his efforts. PART I of the film starts off a bit slowly, as the bar patrons boredly await Hickey's arrival, and the film could have been amazing had it been compacted into a movie-sized running-time. PART II, fortunately, flows more quickly than its predecessor, and revolves around an awesome 45-minute soliloquy from Robards, in which he explains the singular circumstances of his marriage, and the death of his wife.
Lumet's film, and O'Neill's play, is about the crippling shackles of self-denial. Each of the woozy bar patrons refuses to acknowledge that their lives have hit rock-bottom: proprietor Harry Hope (Farrell Pelly) hasn't left the bar since his wife's death, but always promises to do so on his next birthday; bartender Rocky (Tom Pedi) staunchly denies being a pimp, despite having several prostitutes in his employ; former Anarchist Larry Slade (Myron McCormic) feigns an indifference to life and political convictions. It goes on and on, each patron languishing grotesquely in the misery of self-denial. But Hickey Hickey seems different! From the moment Jason Robards strides noisily on-stage, his nagging vitality lights up the room. But, alas, this vivacity is also an act of self-deception. The "born-again" Hickey soon reveals that he is still plagued by the pipe-dreams from which he seeks to liberate his drinking companions.
'The Iceman Cometh' ends on an inexorable downer. Everyone is a victim of pipe-dreams – even the audience, who had placed its faith in Hickey's efforts. The character himself is a salesman, a vocation built upon selling pipe-dreams to unsuspecting consumers. At times during his passionate orations, Hickey's dialogue more closely resembles an evangelical sermon – not coincidentally, his father was a preacher by profession. Of course, an evangelist builds his career on selling the greatest pipe-dream of them all: the existence of God. That we've placed our trust in an unreliable narrator feels like a betrayal, and, by the time the film ends, we're uncertain of what we've learnt. Indeed, in an ending that recalls Forman's 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975),' following Hickey's departure the characters' lives return to the same pathetic state as before. Only Larry Slade, staring blankly ahead in horror, realises what he has become.