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ALICE DOESN'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE clip 2
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| 1974 - directed by Martin Scorsese, written by Robert Getchell Starring: Ellen Burstyn (Alice Hyatt) won Best Actress Kris Kristofferson (David) Diane Ladd (Flo) nominated Best Supporting Actress Harvey Keitel (Ben Eberhart) Vic Tayback (Mel) Jodie Foster (Audrey) |
| Housewife Alice Hyatt (Ellen Burstyn) suddenly finds herself on her own with little job experience and the responsibility of raising her son Tommy (Alfred Lutter). They take off in her old station wagon and she does her best to find singing engagements in bars. After a frightening experience with a married man (Harvey Keitel), Alice and Tommy run out of options and she takes a waitressing position at Mel's diner. Mel (Vic Tayback) and Flo (Diane Ladd) are hard people to understand, and Alice is put in the awkward position of having yet another man court her from the other side of Mel's counter - David (Kris Kristofferson), a local farmer. This isn't the glorious future Alice wanted. |
The main thing to communicate about Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore is simply how satisfying it is. The basic idea sounds like a feminist tract but the film rejects any notion of carrying out a thesis mission. Alice Hyatt and the people she meets symbolize nothing and remain individuals wrapped up in individual lives with different goals. Unlike the dark Paul Schrader world that would soon monopolize Scorsese's professional imagination, Alice moves in a neutral landscape where personalities rule and happiness is possible. She begins as a suffering wife trying to make sense of a nightmare marriage. She's strong enough to hold up her end of the relationship, but then (as Scorsese says) God comes down and deals her a new hand. Out of disaster she's given a chance to start anew. Character is again the determining factor.
Robert Getchell and Martin Scorsese have the sense to know that characters become more real when set loose from confining genre regulations and predetermined concepts. Alice has the positive energy needed to hit the highway with her demanding son. She's willing to make a go of her singing career even when it means using very un-feminist means, mainly, crying in front of a sympathetic bar owner to get him to hire her against his best interest. That's the film's strongest aspect, that it refuses to define its characters within the scheme of some "-ism" or another. Complainers get upset because Alice eventually "abandons her dreams" at the end to become yet another man's wife. They don't seem bothered when Alice very handily resorts to tears and a helpless act to get what she needs.
Scorsese's casting is inspired. Billy Green Bush is perfect as the hopeless husband and John Cassavetes graduate Lelia Goldoni (Shadows) makes an emotional impression as Alice's neighbor. Harvey Keitel exudes trouble the moment we first see him, and in just a couple of scenes becomes a psychotic demon. Diane Ladd creates a crude waitresses who surprises us with her depth of feeling, quashing the idea that Alice is one of those New York movies where rural hicks are just there for easy laughs.
Robert Getchell and Martin Scorsese have the sense to know that characters become more real when set loose from confining genre regulations and predetermined concepts. Alice has the positive energy needed to hit the highway with her demanding son. She's willing to make a go of her singing career even when it means using very un-feminist means, mainly, crying in front of a sympathetic bar owner to get him to hire her against his best interest. That's the film's strongest aspect, that it refuses to define its characters within the scheme of some "-ism" or another. Complainers get upset because Alice eventually "abandons her dreams" at the end to become yet another man's wife. They don't seem bothered when Alice very handily resorts to tears and a helpless act to get what she needs.
Scorsese's casting is inspired. Billy Green Bush is perfect as the hopeless husband and John Cassavetes graduate Lelia Goldoni (Shadows) makes an emotional impression as Alice's neighbor. Harvey Keitel exudes trouble the moment we first see him, and in just a couple of scenes becomes a psychotic demon. Diane Ladd creates a crude waitresses who surprises us with her depth of feeling, quashing the idea that Alice is one of those New York movies where rural hicks are just there for easy laughs.