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Dis­cov­er the pro­gres­sive atti­tude of this taboo-bust­ing psychodrama

20 Jun 2016

Words by Anton Bitel

A woman with long dark hair covering a young person's eyes in a dark room with blinds.
A woman with long dark hair covering a young person's eyes in a dark room with blinds.
Robert Altman’s sec­ond fea­ture, That Cold Day in the Park, is now avail­able on Blu-ray and DVD.

On that cold day in the park in Van­cou­ver, well-dressed Frances Austen (Sandy Den­nis) pass­es a bench where an unnamed Boy (Michael Burns) sits and shiv­ers. Frances is on her way to her park­side apart­ment, where she’s prepar­ing to host a for­mal din­ner par­ty – but as the soirée starts, and the rains starts to fall out­side, Frances is drawn to the win­dow to look out at the Boy, hud­dled and drenched in the downpour.

Yet no mat­ter how freez­ing it is out­side, there is also a frigid­i­ty with­in – whether it’s the old-world fur­nish­ings (includ­ing a por­trait of Queen Eliz­a­beth on the wall), or the sheer num­ber of inter­nal screens and doors (a sure sig­ni­fi­er of repres­sion), or the advanced years of the guests. Thir­tysome­thing Frances lost her youth to car­ing for her ail­ing, senile moth­er. Since her death she has remained in her child­hood home, alone, arrest­ed, and trapped in a closed cir­cuit of din­ner evenings, bridge par­ties and lawn bowls com­pe­ti­tions with her most­ly geri­atric com­pan­ions. Her only suit­or, the much old­er Dr Charles Steven­son (Edward Green­hal­gh), repuls­es her.

So the boy – root­less, unpro­tect­ed but also unclois­tered – embod­ies what Frances has been miss­ing all this time. When, after the par­ty is over, she heads down­stairs and invites him in out of the cold, Frances becomes notice­ably agi­tat­ed and gid­dy, like a lit­tle girl who has acquired a new toy for her doll’s house. The boy remains mute and gives lit­tle away. You must think,” she tells him, that I’m a com­pul­sive talk­er, but it just seems so odd to sit here in silence not say­ing any­thing with you.” And so Frances not only fills in the silences, but is also able to project onto this blank, angel­ic-look­ing can­vas what­ev­er fan­tasies she likes. Her bab­bling, one-sided con­ver­sa­tions with him are like a ses­sion in the psychiatrist’s chair, grad­u­al­ly reveal­ing the strange work­ings of her mind. As the boy stays on, at first hap­pi­ly but then increas­ing­ly trapped against his will in the same cage as his over-accom­mo­dat­ing host, the psy­chodra­ma that emerges shows a woman lost in the cracks between the staid bour­geois respectabil­i­ty of her mother’s gen­er­a­tion, and the new free­doms of the 60s.

Adapt­ed by Gillian Free­man from Richard Miles’ Paris-set 1965 nov­el, That Cold Day in the Park is the sec­ond fea­ture by Robert Alt­man – although he had been direct­ing TV shows for decades, and his expe­ri­ence shows through. Some of the key ele­ments of Altman’s work are already in evi­dence here. The sen­si­tive inter­est in female psy­chol­o­gy, which the direc­tor lat­er explored in 1972’s Images and 1977’s 3 Women, is present and cor­rect, while a scene in the wait­ing room of a fam­i­ly plan­ning clin­ic exhibits the over­lap­ping snatch­es of back­ground dia­logue that would become a trade­mark of his sub­se­quent films’ soundscapes.

Over­heard in this room, the frank and unflinch­ing dis­cus­sion of pre-mar­i­tal sex, and of the effi­ca­cy of the var­i­ous avail­able con­tra­cep­tive meth­ods, would, in its time, have been no less auda­cious than Whoopi Gold­berg twirling an unpack­aged tam­pon by its string in 1992’s The Play­er, or the casu­al­ly lengthy shots of Huey Lewis and Julianne Moore’s gen­i­talia in 1993’s Short Cuts. Flir­ta­tions with incest between the boy and his free-liv­ing, free-lov­ing sis­ter Nina (Susanne Ben­ton) are even more overt­ly taboo-busting.

She’s got a very strange atti­tude towards sex,” the boy tells Nina. She makes a big deal out of it.” Frances’ belat­ed intro­duc­tion to the sex, drugs and rock n’ roll that char­ac­terised her era ulti­mate­ly brings tragedy to her­self and oth­ers – for while the Sum­mer of Love lib­er­at­ed some, it had a chill­ing effect on those whose very ways it was out­mod­ing. The film failed to impress crit­ics on release, but is now ripe for reassess­ment for the way it explores the shift­ing bound­aries between age, class and gen­der in a peri­od of great social upheaval. Frances’ attempts to nar­row these gaps only widens them, as Den­nis, in an extra­or­di­nar­i­ly restrained per­for­mance of mad­ness, car­ries us along with her as cap­tives, trapped inside and long­ing to escape to the more brac­ing real­i­ty outside.

That Cold Day in the Park is released in a new Dual-For­mat edi­tion (Blu-ray and DVD) as part of Eureka!’s Mas­ters of Cin­e­ma Series on 20 June.

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