California SplitThere's the rush of adrenaline. You get ramped up at that heart-pounding, chemical thrill of victory, of survival...of doing something that you shouldn't. Addiction comes in many forms, and gambling is no exception. Many say, "oh, just stop doing it" and "don't you see that your destroying your life"? But they can't relate to the addict, even though they're dead right about the consequences. California Split is a drama about a magazine writer named Bill Denny (George Segal) who is befriended by a compulsive gambler named Charlie Waters (Elliott Gould), who in turn drags Bill into an obsession with gambling that threatens to destroy everything of value in his life.
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Gambling movies hold a special kind of appeal to me. (It's ironic since I don't like gambling at all.) They tend to really be a character study disguised as a sports movie--I say "sports" because there is usually a nigh-obsessive focus on analyzing the minutiae of the games depicted therein. California Split even begins in a way that suggests that this is how the movie will play out through its narration, describing how poker has emerged from "saloons" and into organized clubs--a practice presumably designed to eliminate bias. Nevertheless, the scene ends with someone (Bill) taking a punch over an argument at the card table. Compare this with so many Westerns where cowboys in saloons end their games in a similar fashion. What California Split is saying here is that no matter the time and place, tempers flare and emotions run hot when gamblers are in the zone. Furthermore, this crucial first scene establishes a connection between Bill and an adrenaline rush that follows his gambling experience--one that he struggles to understand until Charlie approaches him and offers to buy him a drink. (Bill took a punch from an outraged gambler, yet Charlie was the one antagonizing the assailant.) One drink becomes many and the men bond over such silly things like betting on who can name all of the seven dwarves. (They don't even get halfway.) But trouble lurks in the dark alley outside the bar where the vengeful gambler from earlier--named Lew (Edward Walsh)--mugs them both. After being bailed out by a woman named Barbara (Ann Prentiss)--the first of many Barbaras to come--Charlie and Bill lick their wounds (with the aid of some shaving cream as an impromptu pain reliever) and plan their next big gamble. And Bill is hooked. He stumbles into work in sunglasses and makes up an excuse to meet Charlie later at the track. By this point, Charlie's already dissuaded a woman on the bus from betting on a horse to increase his own odds at winning, and when Bill and Charlie reunite, they watch the race with wide eyes, shouting with the other fans for their pick to cross the finish line in first place. It's a scene that feels like a roller coaster ride, capturing the excitement and suspense of the game, but more importantly putting us in Bill's headspace, showing just how such an experience can transformed someone. But behind all of this wild and frenetic joy, we know that between Bill's truancy from work and his quickness at placing high-risk bets only spells trouble for Bill. This is not his world, and yet he's sinking ever deeper into it like quicksand.
What's really fascinating about California Split is its pervasive sense of chaos, carrying over from scene to scene, exemplifying Bill's descent. Consider how after coming back to Barbara's house (where Charlie sometimes crashes), she offers them cereal, spilling milk all over Bill, and without a spoon, all while she and Charlie carry on. Charlie lounges in a pink bathrobe, and after he and Barbara go to sleep (it's morning, by the way), a pretty young woman named Susan (Gwen Welles) comes in with her mascara streaming, crying into her cereal as Bill tries to sleep on the couch, but not before Barbara sneaks in to try to wrest the TV Guide from under him. This is just a taste of the constant stream of restlessness at play in Charlie's world, which Bill is now a part of. Scenes often transition without much preamble, leaving the audience to piece together just how far along Bill's addiction has progressed and how quickly. Before long, Bill is deep into debt with a bookie named Sparkie (played by the writer of California Split, Joseph Walsh), and is making excuses about his money troubles from his office phone instead of working. Bill has fallen a long way, and if only for a brief mention by Susan about Bill possibly being married, there is little to nothing that remains of Bill's former life. (We never see a wife, by the way.) Charlie is a more complex character, both an enabler to Bill's addiction and probably a lonely person who masks this loneliness through glibness and gregariousness. His past is a mystery, and when he suddenly vanishes for an extended period of time, there is the real possibility given how he antagonizes dangerous people that he might have gotten himself killed. Bill and Charlie become buddies, yet they are buddies who feed into each other's more dangerous needs. For Bill, Charlie represents a devil-may-care attitude about life that he's missing in his humdrum office job writing copy. For Charlie, Bill's someone who appreciates his companionship--a straight arrow who likes to have a good time, which is evidently rare in Charlie's line of work. Yet California Split is ultimately a morality tale, and Bill's welfare is constantly in danger because of this self-destructive friendship. Neither men are bad people; in fact, aside from Lew, no one really is--and that's important. California Split--like many of the films directed by Robert Altman in the Seventies--creates very authentic spaces for equally authentic characters to occupy. As in his McCabe & Mrs. Miller, there is a moment where what we probably suspected about Barbara and Susan's line of work becomes clear, that they are prostitutes. But the film doesn't treat them like they're deviants or criminals--just women trying to get by in a world in which they lack other choices. Bill's world is fundamentally different, and he comes to see just how close he came to rock bottom. Would that everyone in such a position had the benefit of that moment of clarity before it was too late.
Recommended for: Fans of a compelling and naturalistic film about addiction and mutually toxic relationships. It's pretty well known that filmmaker Paul Thomas Anderson has taken inspiration from Altman's movies, and many compare his Hard Eight with California Split. Understandable, since they're both about gambling; but I see more of this movie in Boogie Nights instead, especially in how it depicts just how easily one can find themselves to be a part of a new community, and yet also feel so removed from themselves while circling the drain at the same time.
What's really fascinating about California Split is its pervasive sense of chaos, carrying over from scene to scene, exemplifying Bill's descent. Consider how after coming back to Barbara's house (where Charlie sometimes crashes), she offers them cereal, spilling milk all over Bill, and without a spoon, all while she and Charlie carry on. Charlie lounges in a pink bathrobe, and after he and Barbara go to sleep (it's morning, by the way), a pretty young woman named Susan (Gwen Welles) comes in with her mascara streaming, crying into her cereal as Bill tries to sleep on the couch, but not before Barbara sneaks in to try to wrest the TV Guide from under him. This is just a taste of the constant stream of restlessness at play in Charlie's world, which Bill is now a part of. Scenes often transition without much preamble, leaving the audience to piece together just how far along Bill's addiction has progressed and how quickly. Before long, Bill is deep into debt with a bookie named Sparkie (played by the writer of California Split, Joseph Walsh), and is making excuses about his money troubles from his office phone instead of working. Bill has fallen a long way, and if only for a brief mention by Susan about Bill possibly being married, there is little to nothing that remains of Bill's former life. (We never see a wife, by the way.) Charlie is a more complex character, both an enabler to Bill's addiction and probably a lonely person who masks this loneliness through glibness and gregariousness. His past is a mystery, and when he suddenly vanishes for an extended period of time, there is the real possibility given how he antagonizes dangerous people that he might have gotten himself killed. Bill and Charlie become buddies, yet they are buddies who feed into each other's more dangerous needs. For Bill, Charlie represents a devil-may-care attitude about life that he's missing in his humdrum office job writing copy. For Charlie, Bill's someone who appreciates his companionship--a straight arrow who likes to have a good time, which is evidently rare in Charlie's line of work. Yet California Split is ultimately a morality tale, and Bill's welfare is constantly in danger because of this self-destructive friendship. Neither men are bad people; in fact, aside from Lew, no one really is--and that's important. California Split--like many of the films directed by Robert Altman in the Seventies--creates very authentic spaces for equally authentic characters to occupy. As in his McCabe & Mrs. Miller, there is a moment where what we probably suspected about Barbara and Susan's line of work becomes clear, that they are prostitutes. But the film doesn't treat them like they're deviants or criminals--just women trying to get by in a world in which they lack other choices. Bill's world is fundamentally different, and he comes to see just how close he came to rock bottom. Would that everyone in such a position had the benefit of that moment of clarity before it was too late.
Recommended for: Fans of a compelling and naturalistic film about addiction and mutually toxic relationships. It's pretty well known that filmmaker Paul Thomas Anderson has taken inspiration from Altman's movies, and many compare his Hard Eight with California Split. Understandable, since they're both about gambling; but I see more of this movie in Boogie Nights instead, especially in how it depicts just how easily one can find themselves to be a part of a new community, and yet also feel so removed from themselves while circling the drain at the same time.