They Shoot Horses, Don't They?From the Roman Colosseum to reality TV, history has shown that misery loves company. Directed by Sydney Pollack, They Shoot Horses, Don't They? is about a marathon dance contest held during the Great Depression, with the ostensible prize of fifteen hundred silver dollars to the last couple still dancing. Officiated by the unscrupulous master of ceremonies, Rocky (Gig Young), the "contest" is in reality a scheme to attract crowds for extended periods, while the dancers perform almost nonstop like race horses--they are even numbered the same way. As the weeks roll on, the dancers' sanity and health crumbles, and disaster is always a hair's breadth away.
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They Shoot Horses, Don't They? opens with a radiant scene of a young boy in a field chasing a horse in clearly happier times. The horse stumbles, falls, and is put out of its misery by a man with a rifle. This memory of a quiet young man named Robert Syverton (Michael Sarrazin) is one of precious few moments that takes place outside of the prison-like performance hall, and relates to how he has come to define "mercy". Robert wanders into the signup process for the dance marathon, and is virtually press-ganged into teaming up with Gloria Beatty (Jane Fonda), after her would-be partner is ruled unfit to participate. In a series of cutaways--that become evident as "flashforwards" after they are sponsored by a fan in the audience--Robert is arrested and found guilty of a crime; he doesn't dispute the sentence when it is passed. Between the dramatic, the mournful opening montage, and the constant escalation of tension and suffering during the marathon, They Shoot Horses, Don't They? feels constantly on edge, as though an explosive breakdown could happen at any moment. The participants suffer swollen feet, sleep deprivation, and other indignities in pursuit of the silver carrot dangled in front of them. For a film that is sardonic at the best of times, the bitter Gloria becomes the scion of the film's insurmountable despair, though audiences will likely identify more with Robert's level-headed decency and compassion. There is never a moment where Gloria is presented in a flattering light; she looks haggard and starved from the start, and only becomes more pale and sickly like the rest of the survivors. Gloria and Robert are joined by a collection of characters embodying the spirit of the age--not glory-seekers, but everyday people desperately trying for something in these hard times to give them a better chance at survival. This includes the elder sailor, Harry Kline (Red Buttons)--who Rocky unceremoniously dubs the "ancient mariner". There is also a veteran of the dance marathon circuit named James (Bruce Dern) and his pregnant wife, Ruby (Bonnie Bedelia)--who participates despite her condition--and a pair of performers dressed for Hollywood, hoping to be "discovered" during the contest: Alice LeBlanc (Susannah York) and Joel Girard (Robert Fields).
The tagline for They Shoot Horses, Don't They? was as derisive as the tone of the film: "People are the ultimate spectacle." The film is akin to a disaster movie--human dignity is destroyed instead of a building or a ship. The marathon is an endurance match where only the most determined and capable will "survive" with little respite and escalating stakes; and there are assured losses when the crowd-pleasing "derby" is introduced. The dance marathon is treated like a blood sport, perverting a pastime designed for pleasure into an absurd, grim spectacle. They Shoot Horses, Don't They? is not mean-spirited toward the anguished, foxtrotting athletes, but it is unquestionably critical of a society that encourages this event, for reasons Rocky shares in confidence with Robert, in all its unvarnished truth. He says that the marathon is not really a "contest" as advertised, but a "show", and the theme is misery. He continues that it is imperative that the participants suffer--like some medieval metaphor for the Passion of Jesus Christ--so the citizens of a country at its lowest can feel less worthless. Escapism and delusion is what Rocky really sells; no wonder he puts on his show not far from Hollywood. Rocky presides over the contest like a ringmaster; his referees resemble prison guards on roller skates, counting to ten whenever any poor soul runs out of stamina and collapses, reduced to a quivering heap of flesh. He is a showman and has no reservations about embellishing the truth--and even outright lying--to keep the show interesting and moving forward. When Harry tap dances to encourage loose change from the crowd and show off that he is as vigorous as ever, Rocky is threatened by having the spotlight pulled from him for even a moment, and adds colorful exaggerations, claiming that Harry still "fights on" with shrapnel in his body from World War I, despite there being no evidence to support this. Rocky constantly barks out "yowza, yowza, yowza"; combined with the blaring horns signaling the end of a break period, these become dreadful triggers for the dancers, keeping their trepidation of having to face the dance floor once more always at the forefront--pure torture.
There is no sentimentality between Gloria and Robert at the start, but their constant proximity and physical connection by necessity creates an bond, in spite of Gloria's hard-edged brusqueness. They become soldiers--partners in the trenches who rely on one another, in competition with the world. The days become weeks, and literally a thousand hours pass as the unyielding shuffling becomes a metaphorical (and literal) danse macabre--the strain and trauma of the unnatural and exhausting experience pushes everyone to the breaking point. Alice becomes increasingly unhinged after her beloved dress and makeup kit are stolen, and she searches for solace by trying to make love with Robert. After Gloria and Joel discover this, they abandon their former partners for one another on the dance floor, and Gloria sleeps with Rocky out of revenge and to punish herself. Gloria consistently alienates almost everyone around her; when Joel escapes for greener pastures, Gloria is left on the dance floor by herself. The rules say that she has twenty-four hours to find a replacement and extricate her place as a "half couple" from the ominous scoreboard that hovers above the stage. This humiliation is emblematic of the high cost of her sarcasm and cynicism; and like the United States, she is suffering from an all-consuming depression that frays her soul as it does to her beloved stockings. Gloria discloses to Robert that she grew up in the Midwest and came to California with dreams of being a movie star, feeling alienated herself when she was unable to get her foot in the door--as she puts it, the game was "sewed up tight". This disappointment was the first step in an existential plummet to rock bottom; for Gloria, the world became a cold and unfeeling domain where the powerful remain powerful by concocting schemes like "dance marathons" to quash the hopes of dreamers like she used to be. Her participation in the contest is a form of masochism, where she forces an ultimatum on herself: win or die trying--an all or nothing attitude that isn't just unsustainable, it's suicidal.
Recommended for: Fans of a cynical portrait of a dark period in American history, where its citizens were reduced to poverty, struggling to find meaning and hope in the economic collapse, while the powerful exploited them for entertainment and profit. They Shoot Horses, Don't They? explores poignant human drama with sympathy on a compelling stage.
The tagline for They Shoot Horses, Don't They? was as derisive as the tone of the film: "People are the ultimate spectacle." The film is akin to a disaster movie--human dignity is destroyed instead of a building or a ship. The marathon is an endurance match where only the most determined and capable will "survive" with little respite and escalating stakes; and there are assured losses when the crowd-pleasing "derby" is introduced. The dance marathon is treated like a blood sport, perverting a pastime designed for pleasure into an absurd, grim spectacle. They Shoot Horses, Don't They? is not mean-spirited toward the anguished, foxtrotting athletes, but it is unquestionably critical of a society that encourages this event, for reasons Rocky shares in confidence with Robert, in all its unvarnished truth. He says that the marathon is not really a "contest" as advertised, but a "show", and the theme is misery. He continues that it is imperative that the participants suffer--like some medieval metaphor for the Passion of Jesus Christ--so the citizens of a country at its lowest can feel less worthless. Escapism and delusion is what Rocky really sells; no wonder he puts on his show not far from Hollywood. Rocky presides over the contest like a ringmaster; his referees resemble prison guards on roller skates, counting to ten whenever any poor soul runs out of stamina and collapses, reduced to a quivering heap of flesh. He is a showman and has no reservations about embellishing the truth--and even outright lying--to keep the show interesting and moving forward. When Harry tap dances to encourage loose change from the crowd and show off that he is as vigorous as ever, Rocky is threatened by having the spotlight pulled from him for even a moment, and adds colorful exaggerations, claiming that Harry still "fights on" with shrapnel in his body from World War I, despite there being no evidence to support this. Rocky constantly barks out "yowza, yowza, yowza"; combined with the blaring horns signaling the end of a break period, these become dreadful triggers for the dancers, keeping their trepidation of having to face the dance floor once more always at the forefront--pure torture.
There is no sentimentality between Gloria and Robert at the start, but their constant proximity and physical connection by necessity creates an bond, in spite of Gloria's hard-edged brusqueness. They become soldiers--partners in the trenches who rely on one another, in competition with the world. The days become weeks, and literally a thousand hours pass as the unyielding shuffling becomes a metaphorical (and literal) danse macabre--the strain and trauma of the unnatural and exhausting experience pushes everyone to the breaking point. Alice becomes increasingly unhinged after her beloved dress and makeup kit are stolen, and she searches for solace by trying to make love with Robert. After Gloria and Joel discover this, they abandon their former partners for one another on the dance floor, and Gloria sleeps with Rocky out of revenge and to punish herself. Gloria consistently alienates almost everyone around her; when Joel escapes for greener pastures, Gloria is left on the dance floor by herself. The rules say that she has twenty-four hours to find a replacement and extricate her place as a "half couple" from the ominous scoreboard that hovers above the stage. This humiliation is emblematic of the high cost of her sarcasm and cynicism; and like the United States, she is suffering from an all-consuming depression that frays her soul as it does to her beloved stockings. Gloria discloses to Robert that she grew up in the Midwest and came to California with dreams of being a movie star, feeling alienated herself when she was unable to get her foot in the door--as she puts it, the game was "sewed up tight". This disappointment was the first step in an existential plummet to rock bottom; for Gloria, the world became a cold and unfeeling domain where the powerful remain powerful by concocting schemes like "dance marathons" to quash the hopes of dreamers like she used to be. Her participation in the contest is a form of masochism, where she forces an ultimatum on herself: win or die trying--an all or nothing attitude that isn't just unsustainable, it's suicidal.
Recommended for: Fans of a cynical portrait of a dark period in American history, where its citizens were reduced to poverty, struggling to find meaning and hope in the economic collapse, while the powerful exploited them for entertainment and profit. They Shoot Horses, Don't They? explores poignant human drama with sympathy on a compelling stage.