Being There. (12A.)
Directed by Hal Ashby. 1980.
Starring Peter Sellers, Shirley Maclaine, Jack Warden, Melvyn Douglas, David Clennon and Richard Dysart. 124 mins. Released on Blu-ray by The Criterion Collection.
Being There is a precious historical artefact, dating back to a time when having an ex-Hollywood actor as president was the most egregious prank the American political system could pull on us. Conceptually, it would appear to be a political satire. A simple-minded man, Chancey Gardiner (Sellers), who can not read and write and is addicted to TV, is taken to be a great sage and pillar of wisdom when he accidentally enters the circles of power in Washington. That is the foundation of a send-up, a piece of scorn and derision, but the emotions that Being There offers up are quiet serenity and peaceful acceptance. In the way that it sets up an outrageous and ridiculous satirical situation, and then doesn't see the funny side of it, doesn't get its own joke, it can be seen to be very much in line with the politics of today.
Middle-aged Chancey works as the gardener in a house where he has lived all his life and has never once stepped outside of. All he knows about the world is from watching television. But when his employer/ benefactor the Old Man dies, Chancey is forced to leave and is cast out into the ghetto streets of Washington. Within a few hours though he has blundered into the house of one of America's richest men, Benjamin Rand (Douglas), who is dying. Asked about the economy Chancey talks about horticulture, the process of death and rebirth in the garden. Rand takes it as a profound comment on the market, thanks him for his optimism, and has him say something similar to the president (Warden) when he visits the next day, who then quotes Chancey in a speech that evening.
The first thing to say about the film, which is based on an acclaimed novel by Jerzy Kosinski, is that the premise is absolutely bunkum; and is so even if you say it is a fable. A few gardening metaphors aren't going to cause you to be taken for a great thinker; not even in America, not even now. The point may be how voters can be taken in by simplistic platitudes, but it isn't primarily voters we see being taken in by him, it's the people in power. The film's events take place over a few days but even after a few minutes of conversation, it would be impossible to miss the vacancy in Chancey's eyes.
Also, what is the point of the TV stuff? For maybe fifty years television was his only contact with the world outside his home. The film views TV as a multichannel deluge of banality, a degrading medium. Chancey goggleboxes obssessively, copies what he sees and repeats what he hears on it, yet none of it has any impact of him. It washes clean over him; the decades of viewing have left totally uncorrupted, as pure and as unsullied as when he was born.
So, I have to say I really don't get this film: I really like it, but I don't understand it. Yet there is something in its restraint, both in terms of the filmmaking and Sellers' performance, that makes it timeless, endlessly appealing and perhaps magical.
The film is crafted so that it seems to take place in a series of mausoleums. It starts in a place of death and moves quickly to another. Gloom and shadow prevail. Cinematographer Caleb Deschanel is reluctant to ever throw any light on a situation. With one exception the only music that is heard are light, tinkly pieces by Schubert and Satie, or pieces from Johnny Mandel's original score which sounds like light, tinkly pieces by Schubert and Satie. In the sequence between the two dark and sombre houses, as Chance wanders through an urban wasteland, the soundtrack is a funky version of Thus Spake Zarathustra. In this part of the film Chance is totally vulnerable, assailed by gangs and porn cinemas. It is the only point in the film where there is any threat or peril. His childlike innocence is alone and unprotected, at the mercy of basest humanity. But he is soon rescued, taken to a place of sanctuary and the rest of the film plays out in peace and quiet.
Being There is a loved film and a lot of that is down to the unfortunate serendipity of it being Sellers' last film. It wasn't, The Fiendish Plot of Fu Manchu was to follow, posthumously but we remember it as such because it pleases us to think his last film was about learning to accept and come to terms with death. It may well be his best performance. It seems almost perverse to praise someone who could do almost anything for doing almost nothing, but there is enormous care in his simplicity. He's meticulous, busy doing nothing but there is also a great feeling of release. That Sellers was an extremely troubled man is now well established (he appears in Colin Wilson's A Criminal History of Mankind) but here there is a palpable sense of a man for whom a weight has been lifted.
The measure of Sellers performance is that it was so convincing it prompted Ashby to come up with the enigmatic final scene – Spoiler – where he walks on water. By that time Sellers and the film have embued audiences with such a feeling of balance and peace that Ashby knew he could get away with it. It's kind of a nonsense, but it plays out beautifully and is enormously satisfying. Being There is a film that communicates harmony to viewers; its pleasures are the pleasures that Sellers found in the role of Chancey.
Note.
Sellers was nominated but didn't win the Oscar, which was scooped by Dustin Hoffman being exceedingly Dustin Hoffmany in Kramer Vs Kramer. At the time Ashby was blamed for including scenes of Sellers corpsing and repeatedly fluffing his lines in the closing credits. It was common in the 70s – when It'll Be Alright On The Night was still an exciting new entertainment concept – for Sellers films to end with a gag reel over the closing credits but here it was felt that it "broke the spell" and may have cost him the votes that would've have swung it. Belatedly Ashby recut the ending so that the closing credits were just TV static. Surprising then that Criterion have gone with the original version.
Directed by Hal Ashby. 1980.
Starring Peter Sellers, Shirley Maclaine, Jack Warden, Melvyn Douglas, David Clennon and Richard Dysart. 124 mins. Released on Blu-ray by The Criterion Collection.
Being There is a precious historical artefact, dating back to a time when having an ex-Hollywood actor as president was the most egregious prank the American political system could pull on us. Conceptually, it would appear to be a political satire. A simple-minded man, Chancey Gardiner (Sellers), who can not read and write and is addicted to TV, is taken to be a great sage and pillar of wisdom when he accidentally enters the circles of power in Washington. That is the foundation of a send-up, a piece of scorn and derision, but the emotions that Being There offers up are quiet serenity and peaceful acceptance. In the way that it sets up an outrageous and ridiculous satirical situation, and then doesn't see the funny side of it, doesn't get its own joke, it can be seen to be very much in line with the politics of today.
Middle-aged Chancey works as the gardener in a house where he has lived all his life and has never once stepped outside of. All he knows about the world is from watching television. But when his employer/ benefactor the Old Man dies, Chancey is forced to leave and is cast out into the ghetto streets of Washington. Within a few hours though he has blundered into the house of one of America's richest men, Benjamin Rand (Douglas), who is dying. Asked about the economy Chancey talks about horticulture, the process of death and rebirth in the garden. Rand takes it as a profound comment on the market, thanks him for his optimism, and has him say something similar to the president (Warden) when he visits the next day, who then quotes Chancey in a speech that evening.
The first thing to say about the film, which is based on an acclaimed novel by Jerzy Kosinski, is that the premise is absolutely bunkum; and is so even if you say it is a fable. A few gardening metaphors aren't going to cause you to be taken for a great thinker; not even in America, not even now. The point may be how voters can be taken in by simplistic platitudes, but it isn't primarily voters we see being taken in by him, it's the people in power. The film's events take place over a few days but even after a few minutes of conversation, it would be impossible to miss the vacancy in Chancey's eyes.
Also, what is the point of the TV stuff? For maybe fifty years television was his only contact with the world outside his home. The film views TV as a multichannel deluge of banality, a degrading medium. Chancey goggleboxes obssessively, copies what he sees and repeats what he hears on it, yet none of it has any impact of him. It washes clean over him; the decades of viewing have left totally uncorrupted, as pure and as unsullied as when he was born.
So, I have to say I really don't get this film: I really like it, but I don't understand it. Yet there is something in its restraint, both in terms of the filmmaking and Sellers' performance, that makes it timeless, endlessly appealing and perhaps magical.
The film is crafted so that it seems to take place in a series of mausoleums. It starts in a place of death and moves quickly to another. Gloom and shadow prevail. Cinematographer Caleb Deschanel is reluctant to ever throw any light on a situation. With one exception the only music that is heard are light, tinkly pieces by Schubert and Satie, or pieces from Johnny Mandel's original score which sounds like light, tinkly pieces by Schubert and Satie. In the sequence between the two dark and sombre houses, as Chance wanders through an urban wasteland, the soundtrack is a funky version of Thus Spake Zarathustra. In this part of the film Chance is totally vulnerable, assailed by gangs and porn cinemas. It is the only point in the film where there is any threat or peril. His childlike innocence is alone and unprotected, at the mercy of basest humanity. But he is soon rescued, taken to a place of sanctuary and the rest of the film plays out in peace and quiet.
Being There is a loved film and a lot of that is down to the unfortunate serendipity of it being Sellers' last film. It wasn't, The Fiendish Plot of Fu Manchu was to follow, posthumously but we remember it as such because it pleases us to think his last film was about learning to accept and come to terms with death. It may well be his best performance. It seems almost perverse to praise someone who could do almost anything for doing almost nothing, but there is enormous care in his simplicity. He's meticulous, busy doing nothing but there is also a great feeling of release. That Sellers was an extremely troubled man is now well established (he appears in Colin Wilson's A Criminal History of Mankind) but here there is a palpable sense of a man for whom a weight has been lifted.
The measure of Sellers performance is that it was so convincing it prompted Ashby to come up with the enigmatic final scene – Spoiler – where he walks on water. By that time Sellers and the film have embued audiences with such a feeling of balance and peace that Ashby knew he could get away with it. It's kind of a nonsense, but it plays out beautifully and is enormously satisfying. Being There is a film that communicates harmony to viewers; its pleasures are the pleasures that Sellers found in the role of Chancey.
Note.
Sellers was nominated but didn't win the Oscar, which was scooped by Dustin Hoffman being exceedingly Dustin Hoffmany in Kramer Vs Kramer. At the time Ashby was blamed for including scenes of Sellers corpsing and repeatedly fluffing his lines in the closing credits. It was common in the 70s – when It'll Be Alright On The Night was still an exciting new entertainment concept – for Sellers films to end with a gag reel over the closing credits but here it was felt that it "broke the spell" and may have cost him the votes that would've have swung it. Belatedly Ashby recut the ending so that the closing credits were just TV static. Surprising then that Criterion have gone with the original version.
