‘Their ships will come in, loaded with cancelled regrets and promises fulfilled’
Theatre is one area of popular culture that I am woefully uneducated in. It is a world that feels a little elitist and inaccessible in a way that precludes taking a mild interest. The Iceman Cometh began life on the stage under the stewardship of legendary American playwright Eugene O’Neill. There are various screen adaptations, but the general consensus is that the 1973 version from director John Frankenheimer is the definitive cinematic tribute to O’Neill’s lengthy play. And on the subject of length (stop laughing in the back), even the film version is nearly four hours long. What would make a man with an aversion to theatre, a man who has gone on record to state that his biggest cinematic annoyance is films being too long, a man who has never even seen Hamilton for chrissakes, what would make this man sit through a four hour adaptation of a play from 1939? Well… the entire thing takes place in a bar…
The Last Chance Saloon is a desperate, end-of-the-road dive bar populated by drunks and prostitutes who have long given up on everything except the booze. Crucially, their pipe dreams remain, and it is these dreams, these whispers of a better life, that keep their guilt ever present and their glasses always full.
Twice a year on specific dates, Theodore ‘Hickey’ Hickman (Lee Marvin) arrives to lift the patrons of the Last Chance Saloon out of their self imposed stupor and into a world of parties and good times – the champagne flows and the old bar is full of life again. On this particular occasion however, when Hickey does finally show (a full hour into the movie, I might add) he has a startling revelation for his fellow barflys and drinking buddies… he’s gone sober.
It’s important to begin by saying that if you don’t have a passion for drinking culture then this will not be for you. However, if you have enjoyed the music of Tom Waits, the writing of Charles Bukowski and Hunter S. Thompson, films like Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets and Smashed, or anything else dedicated to the murky world of alcohol, then you will find a lot to enjoy throughout The Iceman Cometh. This is drinking culture distilled and served up straight for four hours of intense, low key friction. As the night moves into the morning and then back into the gloaming before sunrise, Frankenheimer presents every drunk imaginable. The philosopher, those that drink to forget, the wounded soldier, the pimp, the prostitute, and everyone else besides. The Last Chance Saloon is probably what Horace & Pete’s look liked in the 20s.
Of course, it is verbose, and it is difficult to sit through in one go, but The Iceman Cometh also brings with it that glorious feeling that it has the ability to change a person, that elusive catalyst that can cause someone to stumble from their axis a little bit. There were times when I struggled through this adaptation, although never when Larry Slade (Robert Ryan) and Don Parritt (a fresh faced Jeff Bridges) were on screen, the former of whom is astonishing throughout, but I also came away from The Iceman Cometh with a better understanding of many of the artists and masterworks that I hold dear.
Ultimately, the 12 drinkers at the centre of the story realise that they don’t drink because their dreams have died, but rather, their dreams have died because they drink. A heartbreaking and sobering revelation.
The Iceman Cometh is a juggernaut of American theatre brought to life here with an exemplary cast and a director who understands the material. Now, someone pour me a goddamn drink.