California poker

I was fortunate enough to see California Split this past weekend on the big screen. The American Film Institute (AFI) Theater in the Kennedy Center is currently (February '02) having a retrospective of Altman's 70s films, and, while I had never heard of the film, I was mysteriously drawn to it. I'm glad I went. The chemistry between Gould and Segal is amazing. It's is if they've been friends their whole lives. They seemed very relaxed and care-free. The story is sad yet exciting, the dialog witty and almost innocent, and the direction is, of course, great. Plus, there is a brief scene with a very young Jeff Goldblum, who plays Segal's boss.

If you happen upon this film on TV one late night, or it's shown in a theater near you for some reason, please see it. It's a lost treasure.

As usual, the greatness in Altman comes in the unexpected nuances: the perfect Las Vegas lounge act, with Elliott Gould putting in his repartee like joining a musical theatre number onstage. George Segal "getting down to the oldies" may date the film, along with his sweaters, but this is an enjoyable and surprising movie that exposes the hollowness and joylessness of compulsion without getting all holy about it. The younger working girl's search for feeling with her endless succession of tricks is a more easily noticeable parallel to what emerges as the film's core: George Segal's character finding his capacity for change. The shenanigan with Gould, Segal and the cross dresser strays dangerously close to outtakes from MASH. The film's greatest moment, aside from the surprisingly shattering denouement coming two minutes later, is when Segal has run from $2000 to $82,000. He's rolling everything right at the craps table when this little pea brained moron comes up and puts $1 on the seven. Elliott Gould offers to throw a hundred dollar chip at her to make her go away (if you don't know, the seven ends the streak and betting on it in the middle of a streak should be punishable by water torture). Sure enough, Segal rolls a seven and the streak ends. Everyone looks at the little moron and she says, "I don't care, it's my birthday and I won!" and picks up her $2. That is classic. Looking at Segal's performance you can see shades of what Ben Gazzarra would do decades later in Todd Solondz's "Happiness" as another man who doesn't feel anything.

It's surprising how little known California Split is but even in a career filled with great movies such as Robert Altman's it deserves more recognition. It is Altman the auteur in top form, his quirks and distinctive traits that separate him from all directors of his time emblazoned over every minute of this delightful mixture of comedy and drama.

It's the handling of the subject matter that makes the difference. Sure this is not the first movie to be made about the compulsiveness of gambling and people trying to find meaning and pleasure in empty addictions but it is such a fresh and enjoyable movie one has to sit down and take notice. What makes it work so well? I'll say the success rests on a combination of three things: the infectious chemistry between the two leads Elliot Gould (in a hilarious role) and George Seagal; the fully realized world Altman creates for his characters; and that overall the movie is capable of both belly-laughs and profound sadness but it is always subtle, never says anything more than it has to, leaving just enough for the viewer to participate. Even the bitter aftertaste of the ending is never expanded more than two or three lines and a look on Seagal and Gould's faces and it's then counterpointed with a spin of the wheel and a sweet jazz song as the end credits begin to roll.

This combination of those three things ultimately achieves the most important and difficult thing for any director to master: to make the camera disappear. This is not the first time Altman succeeds in doing so but California Split is still a very good indication of the craftsman at the top of his talent.

The gambling world here is not the glitzy and glossy Las Vegas of Ocean's 11 or Four of a Kind - not it is for gambling movies what The Long Goodbye was for neo-noir. A look inside a crummy, cheap world without prospects and the rent's running. It makes perfect sense then that the last act takes place in Reno and not Vegas and that the bleachy look of Paul Lohmann's cinematography (no Vilmos Zsigmond this time) reflects that there's no glamour to be had here.

Of their work together, the three films reach the tops of acting, directing and just overall fine filmwork of the latest golden age of American film - MASH, The Long Goodbye and this entirely out of print gem, California Split. I have long wanted to see California Split and my local video store just got in a nice new bootleg that looks good, though it's pan /scan. The opening titles shots (which are in widescreen) and show Gould softly babbling to himself and watching a gambling instructional video are incredible - and it would be amazing to see the whole movie in proper aspect ratio. The interplay between Gould and Segal is - I think - deeper and more compelling than the taken-for-granted war-forced friendship between Gould and Sutherland in MASH. Still, I think almost nothing is better than Gould just by himself, friendless, and constantly disappointed in humanity the way he is in The Long Goodbye. All three are fantastic, and they would make a fine widescreen DVD package, but as usual Altman's best work gets only a fraction of the credit it deserves.

Altman at the absolute top of his form--which is to say among the freest, loosest and sensorily densest great movies ever made in America. Visually and sonically thick as a brick, it also represents some of the highest-flying improvisatory acting you've ever seen. Put the Godard of the early sixties in a polyester shirt, lay him down among the rummies and compulsive cases of the American gambling subculture, and fill him with equal parts beer and caffeine, and you have some idea of this thoroughly amazing, free-and-easy comedy, which has a scary undertow: the scene where George Segal tries to persuade co-addict Elliott Gould of the hollowness of the big win might be the most scarily desolate in any Altman picture.