All That Jazz (1979)

The world of creation is an endeavor of connection ironically propagated by those who seek solitude. The character, Joe Gideon, is a man who seeks to forgo any intimate connection in the pursuit of perfection - a perfection that masquerades as an impenetrable shield against  any semblance of vulnerability. A scathing self critique from the director, Bob Fosse,  who was an influential figure in the community of theater and jazz dance, openly tapping his ingenuity and inner turmoil as the formula for this film. A rather poignant decision that I truly believe lent itself to crafting what I would describe as a “bulletproof” masterpiece. A film that ruptures the notion of art being inherently disconnected from the brain that manifests a piece like this into existence. Watching our character, portrayed with enigmatic fervor by Roy Schneider, had me sitting in the screening’s seat awestruck. This is a man who realizes his time is limited and yet never wavers in his uncompromising drive to create. It’s a maddening process that leaves everyone in his life distraught. His ex-wife, friends, daughter, and co-workers all grapple with his every whim. His crass–and simultaneously intuitive–drive is handled with charm and unflinching realism. A film that constantly keeps you in tune with the reality of a persona of this quality whilst never failing to remain truthful about such behavior. 

The film covers a period where our creator, Roy Gideon, is balancing a feature length film with the responsibility of crafting a new stage experience. The entire experience is weighing upon his shoulders. The film, with darkly ironic impulse, constantly shares a montage sequence every morning where we watch our titular character complete his routine whilst exclaiming, “it’s showtime,” in a spectacular mirror shot. What firmly impressed me was how the tone of the film constantly shifts each version of this sequence. As the film and stage production enter periods of turmoil the energy constantly matches that speed. I felt myself almost becoming entranced by the ordeal. The cost of being creative has always been referred to as a situation that always takes a piece of one’s soul. Here, it’s almost a transaction ofFaustian quality. The sequence that comes to mind when I think of this catastrophic tug and pull appears in the fashion of a fantastic dance number halfway through the film. I could completely relate to the frustration of being dispirited about progress. I don’t think most people fully realize how much mental tenacity is required to push yourself to craft something from nothing. Especially, as our character is perceived, from a person assumed to be “perfect” in his ability to craft any artform. Our character is displeased with the direction his dance number is appearing. In a fit of anxiety he proceeds to find his ex wife in a separate studio and engage in a tumultuous back and forth. The scene is a tango of many layers. The subtle frustration from his past partner operating as a sort of cattle prod forcing him to confront his weaknesses.For once, we see such a charismatic character fumble around unsure of himself. After some phenomenal dialogue, showcasing the deeper passion still residing within them, we finally witness the light bulb begin to brighten in his mind. The scene transitions into a showcase. This is a moment where the investors are bound to endure whatever the final result of his craftsmanship might yield. The spellbinding number, expertly edited and photographed, bounces between the almost angelic movements of its dancers and the boastful jazz band accommodating the movement. The sharp editing accentuates the rhythm and even moved me to start jamming along. It’s enthralling, daring, and inventive whilst carrying the audience every step of the way flawlessly. I was mesmerized by this transformative display of discontent morphing into stellar artwork. Rarely has a film captured that uneasy tension with any realism in a way that I could perceive as sincere. This is also mirrored in the final musical sequence of the film. Our character has passed away and we are metaphorically watching as he begins to ascend beyond. As a final display of creative prowess, we are subjected to a stage performance that can only be described as intoxicating. A man who has kept his heart closed while his mind shines brighter than any diamond could. The gold set piece, the fashion and energy of the audience, the wacky set dressing, and the actual song lyrics accumulate to a final goodbye that had me shedding tears. These endeavors of astonishing feat are the grand work of Roy Gideon. A name that the film ensures you will remember. 

The burgeoning creativity on display is counterbalanced by his deteriorating health. Every time he gives himself over to this “otherworldly” drive from his core propels his mental and physical state into further decay. It isn’t a Faustian trade in the literal sense. It’s the metaphorical exertion of all your senses in pursuit of an achievement that drains the very fabric of your soul. So many artists historically have permitted their mental, physical, and spiritual health decline since they’re ultimately absorbed with themselves and don’t slow down. As Roy Gideon perfects his craft and tackles every issue he seemingly allows his biological countdown simmer until it proves fatal. The “devil” in question being complacency to one’s peace due to a drive that can almost be deemed fanatical. Every semblance of a chance at reflection doesn’t shift this question towards easier answers. The magic of his work is reached with stunning composure even if internally he is crumbling. The madness of pure willpower prevails over the subdued nature of balance. Even in the context of all of these achievements in his work we are constantly reminded of his frailty. The edge of his disastrous behavior culminating in heart failure. This portion of his struggle is what melds the vibrant aspects with the somber arena of reality. 

The somber tone of the film, outside of these grand displays of creativity, operate in the world of reality. Roy Schneider, the actor behind our main genius, oscillates between a cunning womanizer and intensely observant creative director. Through his dialogue with his angel of death, played by Jessica Lange, we get to hear his honest observations about his various romantic relations. He openly boasts about his self involved nature and doesn't shy away from his lackluster ability to operate with integrity. I actually found myself aghast at some of these narcissistic tendencies. I’m very much aware that the institution of creativity held different standards in the world of the late seventies. The “auteur” era where certain individuals were not stifled due to the person in question being considered above others. Here, it’s shockingly flourishing. The scene that really startles me with its insinuation is when he tells his lover, who he reluctantly is honest with, that he loves her. He is on his deathbed still lying through his teeth. Even when confronting death does his unwavering deception sprout forth on his loved ones. We are granted occasional glimpses to his childhood where trama, and even sexual humiliation, might serve as an understanding of what caused this trajectory. I personally found myself impressed that Bob Fosse still doesn’t allow these excuses to distract from the emotionally intelligent realization that these are not ends justifying the means. He is a broken human being who cannot allow himself to feel bound to any standard or loyalty. His ex-wife and his dancers are also not unscathed by his behavior. He indulges in infidelity, egotism, absentee fatherhood, manipulation, and self loathing. He also harbors a surprising amount of jealousy. His girlfriend, who he keeps at a distance, uses the perception of another man to rouse his interest in her. It’s the only scene in the film where he actually feigns interest. The perceived attack on his masculinity is the only catalyst to strongarm any care out of him. This dynamic nature to his personality presented a conflicting nature to enjoying his output. I would find myself riveted with his work and simultaneously appalled by his callous disregard for others.  There is an inherent conundrum with expectations of how others act. How can someone who is so talented also flounder spectacularly with his intimate relations? I think the film doesn’t give a concrete answer in any sense. Where it does illustrate a sliver of hope is his relationship with his daughter. Yes, he isn’t always present in herlife. The few scenes we do get to witness of his shared time with her have an undeniable tenderness to them. The harsh bravado breaks down into a tender playfulness not shared with any of the adult characters in this film. It opens the floodgate to humanizing such a disconnected figure. The dance his daughter performs in his living room grants us the one instance where all of his reservations drop and we see the joyful human that resides in his heart. This was the moment, contemplating in my seat, where I was able to grapple with his humanity. We are all broken people who struggle to operate in a demanding world of financial interest, complex relationships, and parenting. Even if we aren’t similar in what we believe is moral we have a shared interest in making sure that our responsibilities are handled. The one that truly matters, his daughter, is where he finds that avenue of living up to any standard. 

What brings these conflicting pieces of Roy Gideon’s personality effortlessly together is the stand out work from all involved. The acting, cinematography, music, direction, set dressing, and the editing amalgamate in flawless fashion. The two specific factions I want to focus on are from Italian cinematographer, Giuseppe Rotunno, and editor, Alan Haim. These two people, specifically, inject a pulsating energy into this film that was potent from the first to last frame. The dual nature of the harsh New York setting against the otherworldly stage performances is so iconic that I can’t even fully fathom the amount of time necessary. It resides casually in the world of “today” and yet never feels properly planted in a firm reality. The editing compliments this by having us smoothly, and abruptly, shift between these conflicting realms. The clearest example is when we witness the montage of Roy recovering from his angina attacks in the hospital. A months-long rebellion at the wishes of doctors is played with adventurous flair as we watch him party, work, and flirt during his period of recovery. The editing between each callback is boisterous, playful, hilarious, and maddening as we also see how this indifference will ultimately be the downfall of our character. It never stops moving forward and we match the tempo of these events. I appreciate when an artist attempts to force us to assimilate with a project's energy. The way each scene is shot captures the tone with precision. You can always understand cohesively what the mood is supposed to elicit before any words are shared. I think I’ve rarely encountered a film that feels utterly confident in its messaging and vision. It’s so uncompromising and I couldn’t help but admire the effort. The ending, perhaps, carries the best version of my statements above. When we are presented with the final musical sequence we are allowed to indulge our main madman one last time. The grandiosity of his taste, his behavior, and his talent all come crashing together to build this peak of showmanship. Instead of ending here, the film decides to grant us one final shot that obliterates any freedom from consequences. We are shown Roy Gideon’s body on a slab. He has ceased to live and he is now a number in a body bag. I felt my mouth hanging as I internalized what the filmmaker was illustrating. A man whose work is reality shattering. A terrain of unspeakable vision grounded by the fact that this man is ultimately alone. No matter how powerful one’s artistic impulses may be, they are lost to the sands of time when nobody will remember who you were intimately. His unwillingness to open up leaves him alone to traverse the desolate afterlife. His only window into his soul was left behind in his work. 

This was a delightful experience to watch for the first time at The Frida Cinema. I’m grateful I have been granted the privilege to discover a temple for the enjoyment of movies. This was the atmosphere that allowed me to enjoy my first time viewing “All That Jazz.” A film that profoundly induced contemplation within myself on the meaning of my desire to create, the way I've handled my relationships, the power of legacy, and the awe-inspiring ability for people to come together to craft such a timeless statement. I think we aren’t granted such experimental work in the vein that it used to be allowed. When I sat in my seat, chowing down my hot dog, I was reminded of how powerful a work of art can be. The drudgery of most modern filmmaking leaves me feeling vacant and uninspired. To find myself in the position to turn the tables of time and enjoy an older work felt poignant. As history is being erased by the studios, distribution is becoming monopolized, and these independent labels desperately try to salvage these older pieces of work, I find myself inspired to recommend this and personally hope to see people continue to ignite the flames of craftsmanship. Masterpiece.