transactions with faith
by Douglas Messerli
Albert
Maysles, David Maysles, and Charlotte Zwerin Salesman / 1969
If, at moments, the Maysles’ documentary
Salesman reads a bit like a Eugene O’Neill
drama, it is no accident. David Mayles described their filming of the four
bible salesman from The Mid-American Bible Company, as potentially just such a
character study: “We were looking for salesmen who would be interesting, who
would be on the road, who would be sort of O’Neill type of characters.”
How much of the dramatic quality of their
work depended upon editor Charlotte Zwerin is unknowable. But it’s clear, if
nothing else, that in the worn-out, slightly cynical, Irish-brogue-imitating
Paul Brennan they had found their hero.
Meanwhile, Zwerin, as Daniel Eagan has argued in his essay in America’s Film Legacy, surely helped
determine their underlying theme, as she edited the travels of the Bible
salesmen through the Boston streets and into the maze of ridiculously titled
Middle Eastern streets of Opa-Locka, Florida, as a kind of intimidating contest
between the sellers, threatened on the national level with possible firing for
not coming in with enough new sales.
The longer sales pitches are utterly
fascinating in how they reveal the gullibility of the poor, Catholic parishioners
they visit and the cut-throat tactics of the salesmen, who use—like almost all
American pitchmen—faith, family, and cultural edification to seal the deal.
Many of their poor Irish and, in Florida, Spanish-speaking “customers,” don’t
even have the extra $10 a month to pay for the “lavishly displayed” Bibles they’re
hawking. But clearly we recognize that the complete objectification the
directors claim—what the brothers described as “cinema direct” (“There’s
nothing between us and the subject”)—is impossible. Although they manage to
keep the camera “out of the picture,” so to speak, it is clearly an intimidating
and influencing tool, as some of the customers give into the subtle (and sometimes
not so subtle) intimidations, forking over money they don’t have, while others preen and perform as amateur actors on
the screen. Obviously, several of the sales would have been made whether or not
the camera were there to record it; and, what is even more revelatory, is that,
despite the camera’s presence, most of Brennan’s customers just can’t be
convinced, even if it might mean staying in the picture or not.
Brennan is a natural charmer who, over the years, has grown into a kind long-suffering,
thick-skinned David Mamet-like figure: a man who may once have loved his profession,
but now hates the job and himself, while intentionally mocking the very people
on whose innocence—or sometimes even stupidity—he depends. In short, he has
lost his touch, at times using argumentation and intimidation to turn the deal.
“The Bull” and “the Rabbitt”—although far less likable as cohorts—still have
what it takes, white “the Badger” has apparently lost it. Even Brennan’s call
home to his wife is a listless affair, wherein the two chat more about how fast
he should drive than sharing any relevant information. At other moments, such
as his humming “If I Were a Rich Man” on his way to fleece poor Catholic
believers, Brennan appears almost as a bigot. But then, he too, is being
watched by the unforgiving camera, playing up to it, giving the directors most
of what they want—all problems that would become apparent in their later
efforts, particularly in their notable Grey
Gardens, where Edith Bouvier Beale and her daughter “Little Edie” perform
with even more vigor and to better effect.
And it’s clear in hind-site that the
brothers loved “characters” far better that situations, which their work on
Marlin Brando, Truman Capote, and the Beatles (and Albert, working with Martin Scorsese,
on the Rolling Stones). Yet, to say that doesn’t take away from the genuine
truths the Maysles’ films reveal, and, in Salesman
particularly, the combination of the “pure faith” expected from and
sometimes even displayed by both sellers and customers, and the chicanery,
prodding, bullying tactics of these false prophets point to the absurdist
realities of the world presented in Flannery O’Connor’s stories (see My Year 2009). The ridiculous give and
take of belief—both spiritual and commercial—is at the core of what these
charlatans are all about; and, if it takes away the hard-earned cash of their
customers, it ultimately steals the hearts and minds of these hard-working
salesmen as well.
Los
Angeles, May 27, 2015
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