Pocket Money

This film features perhaps the worst musical score in movie history. Not that the music is so bad, it's just that it so blatantly belongs somewhere else. It is the score of panicky producers, faced with prospect of releasing a film with absolutely zero chance of showing a profit, despite featuring two major stars: Paul Newman and Lee Marvin.

Malick's script won't allow for concessions. Like "Days of Heaven" the plot feels like an excuse, like "Thin Red Line" the actors are completely commited. Malick doesn't write characters that give answers, he writes characters that ARE questions. "Pocket Money" is not now and never was intended to be a comedy, but this ridiculous, preposterous music keeps popping up at all the wrong times, trying to make us feel things the movie doesn't want us to feel.

Rosenberg directs with great style. The film feels like it fits in perfectly with the early-seventies director's revolution-and this is due almost entirely to the stunning photography of Laszlo Kovacs. That distinct look found in "Shampoo," "The King of Marvin Gardens" and "Five Easy Pieces" you will also find here. Kovacs takes great risks with exposure, never afraid to blow-out windows or hide faces in shadows.

Newman and Marvin act the hell out of this script. I can think of few other examples of two star performers so dedicated to such unlikable roles. Newman gets to play dumb, but it's not sweet, or friendly dumb. He is frustrating. His lack of intelligence constantly leads to failure--he is the anti-Forrest Gump. He is incapable of irony. He is the kind of dumb that punches animals in the head.

Marvin's role is perhaps even more challenging. He has to be dumb enough to genuinely get along with Newman, but also smart enough to take advantage of him whenever possible. It is a masterful physical performance, making hand gestures and natural movements as expressive as any word Malick might have written. I think that is why so many actors want to work with Malick--he doesn't add any unnecessary words, allowing the actors to find their own meaning in their craft.

Ultimately, there is not enough narrative drive to make this a great film. The conclusions drawn are unsatisfactory and the viewer is left with either an unsuccessful experimental film, or an often boring Hollywood film. But there are incredible images of beauty to be found within, courtesy of both the camera and the actors. If the music was completely eliminated, save for the fine Carole King song over the credits, I believe "Pocket Money" might be regarded as a close cousin to the spectacular, daring American cinema of the seventies. As it exists today, it is a beautiful failure.

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