The Iceman Cometh

This is a kinescope of a live TV production that originally aired on New York television in 1960. It contains one of the most important dramatic performances of the 20th century: Jason Robards' portrayal of Hickey, the traveling salesman who comes to visit his old friends (the down-and-outers who populate Harry Hope's saloon, ca. 1912 in NYC) and tries to sell them "peace" by way of stripping them of their illusions (or "pipe dreams").

Compared to the 1973 feature film version, this TV production lacks polish (remember this was local, live television: small budget and the occasional fluffed line). The supporting performances are, on the whole, not quite as strong as they are in the film (the roles, *other* than Hickey, are definitive in the 1973 movie). However, as Larry Slade and Don Parrit, both Myron McKormick (the original Luther Billis in Broadway's SOUTH PACIFIC) and Robert Redford gain momentum throughout the production, so that their final confrontation at the end of the play is both powerful and poignant.

The principal reason for purchasing this video -- or at least arranging to see it at the Museum of Television and Radio in New York or Los Angeles -- is to see Jason Robards' gut-wrenching performance as Hickey. It's easy to see why this role made Robards a star in 1956 when he first took it on for the Circle-in-the-Square's off-Broadway revival (the play was written in 1939, published in 1940 and first performed in 1946). He brings to Hickey a restless, glad-handing, self-hatred that can change rhythms on a dime. Compared to Lee Marvin's flat, two-dimensional performance in the 1973 film and Kevin Spacey's hysteria-prone interpretation in the recent stage revival, Robards' Hickey seems entirely fleshed out. It's that rare performance that is both entirely theatrical and yet manages to be completely natural at the same time. By the time Robards gets to his justly famous 20 minute monologue near the end of the play, you realize that this has been all about him and, his protestations to the contrary, he doesn't give a damn about his old friends -- or anything else. It's a devastating moment, and one that is unfortunately missing from the otherwise very fine 1973 movie.

There are other pleasures to be had from this production aside from Robards' Hickey. There's a chance to see Tom Pedi as Rocky, the "bartender" in the role he created (and would play still again in the 1973 movie) as well as Sorrell Booke's Hugo, the immigrant Anarchist, in the role that he too would go on to play again in the feature film version. Also of special note is Farrell Pelly's performance as Harry Hope, the proprietor of the saloon. His performance is quite different from Fredric March's in the 1973 movie, but in its blustery way, just as effective. The late, great Julie Bovasso (John Travolta's mother in SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER, among other superb character roles) gives the finest performance yet as one of O'Neill's "tarts." O'Neill wasn't at his best when he created these roles (the only women to appear in the play), but Bovasso manages to create an indelible impression as Pearl, despite the cartoonish nature of her lines.

The video transfer done by Broadway Archives is impeccable. Unfortunately the elements they had to work with were not. Still a kinescope with a couple of glitches shouldn't be enough to turn anyone away from one of the finest performances ever given in one of the finest dramas ever written by an American.

In May of 1999, I commented on the 1973 version because this great version was not yet posted in the IMDb. I have recently returned to the IMDb and am pleased to see this here - (I congratulate the IMDb staff).

I stated before that I found this version better even though the 1973 version is also excellent. Robards deservedly owns the role of Hickey. I also have seen the play on Broadway and find this TV production awfully close or equal to the Broadway production experience. In addition, while reading this play after seeing the TV production, I found myself feeling the same vividness and excitement as watching it. Nothing was lost and in some ways, the experience was even better. If you want to see what I believe is the greatest American play, try to get your hands on this version. I would appreciate if you also let me know how - a fan helped me out and I now have a copy - the IMDb serves us well.

I just saw the Kennedy Center honoring of Jason Robards Jr. and seeing just a short cut of this Hickey performance confirmed my wish to have the chance to see this TV "Play of the Week" version again and again.

Parritt to Larry: "I'm scared of him, honest. There's something not human behind his damned grinning and kidding". He's talking about Hickey, and the audience feels the truth in the remark. I don't feel at ease at any moment of the play when Hickey is holding forth, supposedly forcing the others to face their self-deluding. He REALLY protests too much. I think the play is really about Larry--the emotional center of it seems to be him--and the time spent with Hickey's raillery is just wasted for me.

The second criticism: there are just too many characters demanding our attention. Joe, Jimmy Tomorrow, the Captain and the General, Chuck and Cora: why must we be interested in them? O'Neill had a bad habit of writing tracts for our times, fleshed out with superfluous characters.

With all this said, I did enjoy the acting very much. Myron McCormick is splendid as Larry, just cynical enough to make his distance from Parritt believable. Robards uses his voice better than I remember from his other film roles. Tom Pedi as Rocky is roly-poly fun and menace. James Broderick wails and mumbles through his part as Willie, the sickest of the booze hounds. Only Redford seems ill at ease; he knows Parritt is a creep, but he can't do anything with creeps.

I think the 1960 made for TV version of the play, The Iceman Cometh, may be ruffled and low budget in comparison to other adaptations but this choice may add something to O'Neill's down and out characters. For example, the fact that the camera angles and editing lack polish or technical refinement just improve the sight of the unkempt bar and its inhabitants. However, it is obvious that this was a major television event. The introduction (or perhaps a disclaimer) from Brooks Atkinson proves this as he explains to at-home audiences that it takes a "sensitive spirit and a mature mind" to watch this play. He also prefaces the tragedy that it must be thought of as a play that has "respect for the stark truth." The performance that follows such an admired introduction is effective and quite strong.

The acting in this production is superb. Jason Robards delivers a performance of a life-time as Hickey, a role he obviously appreciated and worked hard on. The production sets up Hickey's pending arrival as a celebration, with the drunkards recollecting his previous visits as foolish and lively debaucheries. This heightens the tension for when Hickey does arrive and instead of spending freely and getting drunk, he says he's given up the hard stuff and would rather talk frankly about these pipe dreams that have made them all depressed. The costuming of Hickey is appropriate for such an arrival. Robards enters and is the only one who isn't dressed slovenly. He stands out in a sophisticated suit and tie and he is one of the only characters who wears a hat, perhaps a device that helps conceal the true guilt he feels.

As the guilt develops and consumes Hickey, Robards performance becomes more gut-wrenching. By the end of the piece we see Robards giving a very natural take on the devastation that has become him. This is interesting because the whole production covers two mediums: television and stage and yet Robards performance shines above both methods and nothing seems lost in translation.

The supporting performances were very well done also. Myron McCormick and Robert Redford in particular stood out to me. Robert Redford stood out immediately, not only because he is so attractive, but because in his first appearances he looks like a puppy: wide-eyed and eager to learn. This is another contrast in performance; as the play goes on we learn more and more about Parrit's own guilt. With McCormick as Larry we see the teacher, the wise man who's stage presence is only more effective by his calm demeanor and slow movements. Both actors give performances that gain momentum (especially Redford, I think) so that by the end we see a very powerful final conflict.

The whole production does a very good job at stationing: setting the scene for the audience. From the introduction to the top of Act One we see a very dismal group of people who look as if they are already dead and gone. Larry gets a close up when he describes that whether drunk or sober they are a misbegotten lot. Even the women who frequent the bar are indecent. The piece does a good showing this because as soon as they enter you wouldn't assume they were "bad women" by their outfits, which is a tease, for when they open their mouths they sound gruff and dirty. But then again, they are at Harry's with the rest of the misbegotten so they must be low down.

One thing I wondered was if they aired this televised production in one full stint with commercial breaks or if the broke it up so that it was like a series and you returned weekly to another act or another scene? I tried to find out the answer online but it proved difficult. My question was raised because there were breaks in the action with titles like "Act One Scene Two" to reaffirm the audience where we were. I think if the drama had been weekly and audiences had to keep tuning in to see what happens to the barfly's, it would have been a powerful device that increased the already high stakes.

Overall, this was a version of the play that really used O'Neill's text to its fullest. It pursued the tragic journey's of these men and showed the dark side of their pipe dreams. The translation from stage to film only highlighted some of the character elements (movements or expressions) that could be lost from stage. The film also narrows our view of the setting as the audience and therefore adds to the claustrophobic and dark nature of Harry's saloon.

It has apparently been recorded both on kinescope and videotape. Strangely, when Jason Robards was honored at the Kennedy Center back in 1999, an excerpt of his performance was shown from the kinescope, but the marvelous DVD is taken from the pure, 2-inch, videotape. Thank God this has remastered for future generations. You can tell this was a major TV event, as it is surprisingly mature (an introduction and disclaimer, probably referring to some of the language, was in order for the 1960 viewers). But it is pure, silky-smooth theater, with special kudos going not only to Robards but to Myron McCormick, James Broderick, and a disgustingly young Robert Redford (who debuted a year earlier in a production of "Playhouse 90 "). This is something special, best watched on a snowy Sunday afternoon with lots of popcorn- and maybe a bit of champagne.