Don’t Look Back – Marathon Man (1976)
Marathon Man is, from what I can tell, every bit the film it's reputation makes it out to be. It's not a narrative that's going to turn your psychology upside down, but the craft in the presentation leads to a very satisfying viewing experience.
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Keeping pace with the film By M.Schinke

On your marks! Get set! Run, OpinionNerds!

I’ve developed a certain sense of distaste for many of the big movies being produced in Hollywood as of late. It’s a natural part of the cycle of film fans, I think, to go through periods where we feel as if the gears of the big machine are grinding us into a savory spread with a punishing release schedule full of awards bait and empty spectacle pablum. Sure there’s the occasional taught drama or genuinely inventive comedy, but mostly a its bland ratatouille of re-warmed ideas and sanitized, market tested content. I find myself truly grateful for the emergence of boutique streaming services like The Criterion Channel that allow access to a portion of the treasure trove of film history that many of us have, unfortunately, allowed to languish as we reach for the newest and shiniest piece of smooth plastic on the cinematic shelf. But I often find myself not only overwhelmed by the seeming endless number of films we have at our virtual fingertips, but at the very idea of diving into what are considered important or classic pieces of cinematic history.

I have, like many people, a boatload of insecurities that I strap to my back and manage to pound into every situation. One of my greatest insecurities is the feeling that I am not as intelligent, even in the leanest of times, as I believe myself to be. It fuels my use of language as well as my approach to this work. Being little more than a glorified blog, I have the privilege and opportunity to work out not only the issues I have with movies, but issues I have within myself. Where the two intersect is in my fear that, when it comes to movies, as much as I love them (and I dearly, dearly do) that the shitty, dismissive comments I’ve had chucked at me are in fact true: that I just like flashy, edgy garbage and I lack the ability to recognize the merits of truly good work, not to mention the capacity to grasp more subtle elements like theme and subtext. Basically; I’m afraid I’m dumb. And that fear makes delving into older films, many considered classics, that much more insidious. If movies made now aren’t being made as well as those made 40, 50 or 60 years ago, and I’m not smart enough to understand this new wave of hot garbage; how can I possibly be up to the task of understanding all that past gold?

In a way, it seems almost appropriate to address this issue of intellectual insecurity by looking at the movie most famous for asking, “Is it safe?”

When I noticed that Marathon Man, the 1976 neo-noir thriller from English director John Schlesinger, was available to stream at the Criterion Channel, I was immediately as intrigued as I was intimidated. ’76 was the year I was pushed out onto this rapidly undulating cosmic orb, which means I’ve never lived in a world where this critically acclaimed film did not exist. If nothing else, given the amount of material I consume that references or mocks pop culture, it would have been impossible to avoid hearing the phrase, “Is it safe?”, the infamous line spoken by Sir Laurence Olivier’s Nazi dentist Christian Szell, at least two or three times in my life. Though not something that currently sparkles with geek credibility, the film was very successful in its time. Not only did it nab Olivier a Best Supporting Oscar nod, it revitalized his career amidst a terrible cancer diagnosis and remarkable recovery. It was also a great showcase for the punishing method acting of Dustin Hoffman, who famously stayed awake for three straight days to fully embody the exhausted, crazed mindset of his character after a night of excruciating torture. Performances from Roy Scheider, as Hoffman’s brother Doc, and William Devane as a coldly detached government agent are more than fine but the real star of this film is director Schlesinger’s control over the project. That’s a director’s job, by the by: to, “direct” all of the films various elements towards it’s final presentation.

Thomas ‘Babe’ Levy is a runner haunted by his fathers suicide years ago. But when his brothers secret life comes crashing down on him, he’ll find himself on the run from a secret government group and the merciless Nazi doctor they’ve been hiding. Directed by John Schlesinger from a screenplay by William Goldman, based on his novel, the movie stars Dustin Hoffman, Laurence Olievier, Roy Scheider, Marthe Keller and William Devane.

The movie came out in 1976. I want you to see it but, please; don’t ask me to maintain a spoiler free artifice for a 40 year old movie.

Running Scared

Goldman’s screenplay unravels plot and character slowly with reveal after reveal, reversal and betrayal one after another. Director Schlesinger doesn’t betray any of the films twists, so its very difficult to get ahead of the plot, leaving the audience largely unprepared for what transpires. The film builds elements layer upon layer, in many cases allowing an element to sit long before it’s put into use. Having only seen the movie once all the way through (though I have referred to it multiple times for the purpose of this article) there are some elements of the screenplay that don’t seem all that important on the surface as the role they play is subtle. As far as an arc for our main character, Babe, the movie isn’t possessed of a single external issue for him to overcome in order to grow, i.e. he doesn’t have to go on a quest, gain a skill or learn a specific lesson to either advance or overcome the plot. What the character needs to deal with internally isn’t specifically plot, which always throws me at first, but his internal growth will come as a result of his experience. As I’ve mentioned in the past, themes can be a weakness for me, so I had to take a look into some articles and then refer back to the film to understand how a few things are put together. The theme of running represents the main characters approach to life, or at least to conflict, so the story is about what it takes for him to finally stop running and face whatever needs facing. Another important element in Babe’s arc is the gun his father used to kill himself. At first it struck me only as a conveniently placed prop set in a desk drawer like a literal Chekov’s gun. However after some contemplation I came to what I think is a better understanding of the guns role in Babe’s narrative, and how it’s placement within it stretches back further than finding it tucked away in that drawer. Like a starter pistol, the gun shot was the beginning of Babe’s decades long emotional marathon.

Ultimately the film isn’t about a deep exploration of character. You could remove the arcing characteristics of Babe’s story and he could still easily participate in the plot with virtually no changes. The death of his father and his desire to run marathon’s are not inherently vital to the plots function. Likewise his romance with Marthe Keller’s Elsa is only important insofar as her involvement in the plot; the relationship itself wasn’t something Babe was missing in his life. But these elements are not included, “just because” and are never distracting as they support the character emotionally. Elsa may not be the catalyst for change in his life but she gives Babe someone to relate to as the only other person in his life is his brother, allowing us an organic way to look into his character. This is good example of the difference between story and plot; what the character does versus what the character experiences internally. Without Elsa’s involvement we would have a much more difficult time getting into the emotional side of Babe. And while doing so isn’t necessary to make the movie function, I believe the experience would be lesser without it.

Running Dark

The film angles for a kind of protracted realism it its representation of a tactile, textural world with which the audience can relate, exaggerated just a bit for emphasis. Director of Photography Conrad Hall shoots the movie in a very flat, objective style. Though the film is not without periods of visual intimacy, in general the wide depth of field keeps the world in focus, preventing it from feeling too insular or fantastic. The presentation is very matter of fact because the intent is to place the movie squarely in the, “real world”; a place that breathes and spits and bleeds like the one we know. Hoffman’s Babe is caught up in something he has no knowledge of or influence over, the implication being that this is real and it could, potentially, happen to any of us. In addition to the natural grain of the film stock the art direction and set dressing lend the image a gritty feel. Many people tend to automatically equate gritty, which just means textured, with being inherently dark or foreboding. While this is isn’t strictly true often times a gritty visual texture will accompany darker toned material because it create a greater sense of discomfort. Lighting is used to create deeply shadowed areas that increase the feeling of paranoia, especially as the plot ramps up and the twists start to turn.

The film stock used contributes a naturally lower saturation that was emphasized by art direction to keep colors muted. We regard color as a baseline of image reproduction in cinema, probably more now than ever. But this wasn’t always the case. Early color film stocks were expensive and took an enormous amount of light to properly expose, so the goal was to use color in front of the camera as much as possible to get the value from it, especially since it offered something a majority of people couldn’t get from TV at the time. Cinematographer Vittorio Stararo, in material compiled for the Criterion release of Frederico Felini’s 8 1/2, noted that for years after its introduction into the market, filmmakers in Europe considered color film unsuitable for capturing dramatic works.

What I believe we tend to forget is that when it comes to narrative film making color, like lighting or camera lens choices, is an effect. How much you do or don’t use, where you use it, how strong or muted it is – these considerations are not made lightly and should, in the best of cases, function to support and enhance the narrative presentation. Like the texture of an image, people have very specific psychological and emotional reactions to more deeply saturated or brighter colors. A movie like director Joss Whedons The Avengers, shot by Seamus McGarvey, features a very bright, clean and heavily saturated image to enhance the stimulating effect of the films comic book action while fostering a feeling of safety for the audience. Marathon Man’s muted palate allows a greater focus on the values of light and shadow which director Schlesinger and Hall use extensively throughout the film to support a constant state of unknowing and fear. It’s not all doom and gloom, but the film never takes on a broadly colorful look so the audience doesn’t ever get too comfortable. All of this is important in terms of how we relate to the world of the film and how the imagery impacts us emotionally. It’s one of the key ingredients to how the film achieves its tense and oppressive sense of paranoia, supporting the screenplays noir-like attributes.

Director Schlesinger often employs long takes to help build tension, as opposed to multiple quick cuts that create a more dizzying, energetic effect. Of course the screenplay provides the backbone of the film, but it’s the rendering of scenes at the behest of director Schlesinger that creates the dim atmosphere. Even after 40 years the discomfort it creates is palpable.

Bring It Back To Me

Marathon Man is, from what I can tell, every bit the film it’s reputation makes it out to be. It’s not a narrative that’s going to turn your psychology upside down, but the craft in the presentation leads to a very satisfying viewing experience. I will admit that I am into big, bombastic films almost by default. I grew up in the era of the blockbuster. Movies like Terminator 2, Ghostbusters, Independance Day and, yes, the Star Wars and Star Trek films are where I first learned to speak movie. There were three kids in my family and we were just enough years separated in age that we had very different tastes at very different times. Finding movies to please the majority of us at once was never an easy task. Plus, my parents were never really movie people, so I honestly have no goddamn idea how the hell I got here. Not that many years ago I don’t think I would even have been interested in a movie like Marathon Man or many of the other films that are really flame broiling my Whopper. Not because I didn’t think it would be entertaining, but because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to understand it. Most blockbusters are considered big, dumb movies and I felt that’s all I was capable of handling. I avoided material like this because I thought I was too dumb to get it and no one to help me see otherwise.

I’m at a point in my life, and in my journey as a film fan, where I now understand that it was never a matter of not being smart enough to understand this film or any other: I simply wasn’t ready. I didn’t have the knowledge of film making or the level of maturity to properly process material like this. And it doesn’t matter that I got to this place at 43 and not 23, good reasons for it or not. Getting to a place of understanding is not a contest, and as much as I wish I had been as evolved as some of my younger readers at their age, life is what it is. I now feel confidant enough that I can tackle any film that piques my curiosity. If modern Hollywood doesn’t seem interested in creating new material that captures my attention and tests my faculties, then looking to these past masters will likely yield a better personal outcome, because learning to understand cinema isn’t a sprint. I just have to learn how to breathe and keep a steady pace.

There is still a lot of track left to run.

Clever endings aren’t my bag.

Laterz