Viking Night: Glengarry Glen Ross
By Bruce Hall
April 18, 2012
BoxOfficeProphets.com

There is much rage within the Baldwin clan.
Ever had to sell for a living? It’s not easy. And it’s not fun, unless you’re the kind of person who loves to listen to yourself talk, or you like to lie, cheat and/or steal. That would be why, when you’re actively looking for a job, the first people you always hear from are insurance companies, car dealerships and real estate firms. Everyone hates lawyers, but you don’t become one by accident. It’s a choice. Sales is often another animal altogether. Most people aren’t cut out for the hard sell but it isn’t always an option. Sometimes you’re desperate. Sometimes it’s an accident.

And then the difference between eating and not eating is convincing someone you don’t know to part with money they don’t have for something they don’t want.

Times like that call for the ability to disengage completely from your conscience. And while most people are content to lie on their W-4 and bring home office supplies from work, the majority of us can’t take our capacity for self preservation to the next level. Unless we can. Unless the creditors are calling and the mailbox is full of red envelopes. Unless we’re a week’s pay from eating out of a dumpster.

I’m not saying that all salesmen are lying scumbags. I’m saying that all the ones in the movies are.

So, welcome to the wonderful world of Premier Properties - a Chicago real estate outfit that will gladly sell you 400 acres of beachfront property in Arizona - as long as you’re prepared to part with your kids’ college fund tonight. Yes, it has to be tonight. No time to think about it; no time to consult your spouse. The deals are hot and time is short. If I don’t sell you this hunk of land with the Indian cemetery on it by midnight, I don’t eat tomorrow.

Basically, Premier Properties is a sweatshop where the kids are going gray and what they’re selling is a lot less useful than a pair of sneakers.

It’s hard to flourish in this kind of environment and with the economy in recession, everyone’s feeling the pinch. Shelly “The Machine” Levine (Jack Lemmon) was once Premier’s top seller, but lately his canned, Nixon era cold call pitch is netting him next to nothing. George (Alan Arkin) is a sweet man who’d be better off as a social worker. Moss (Ed Harris) is a know-it-all braggart whose real talent is following up every glorious failure with an even more glorious excuse.

Williamson (Kevin Spacey) is their office manager - that not so rare mid-level corporate animal who differs from his employees only in the sense that he’s less talented, but still possesses the ability to kiss unlimited ass. And the pair of cheeks wearing down his Chapstick is Mr. Blake (Alec Baldwin), direct liaison from the home office, sent to the Premier offices to light a fire under his miserable contingent. That he does, but not quite in the way he intended.

Alec Baldwin channels his inner d-bag better than most actors of his generation - whether screaming at little girls until they cry or getting himself thrown off airliners, few actors are able to channel their demons into both comedy and drama with equal aplomb. When Alec Baldwin walks on screen and says “Put. That. Coffee. DOWN...”

You put your damn coffee down.

Blake calls a meeting, which he holds with Williamson standing over his shoulder like the obedient sycophant he is. All of the salesmen are informed that they have 24 hours to close on their deals, and then everyone but the top two earners will be fired. The goal, clearly, is to set his obedient flock against each other in a Lord of the Flies style beatdown. Four men enter, two men leave. Only the strong will survive and those men will form the core of a leaner, meaner, even more morally ambiguous sales force.

The only one missing is Ricky Roma (Al Pacino), who is essentially a very sedate Tony Montana after a few years of grad school. Roma is the hottest salesman in the joint, and decides to sit out the tirade. Roma exists on another level; he operates on a separate plane. He goes after middle income sad-sacks and gets in their heads with booze, rich food and lots of talk about fast cars, hot chicks and mega-bling. The sale is an afterthought - which is why he's the best. He's inhuman. He cares about nothing and nobody - only the sale.

Ricky Roma is going to die, many years from now, a sad and lonesome man after a girl 30 years his junior spends all his money and runs off with their tennis instructor. But for now, he's Top Dog at Premier Properties, and his bravado doesn’t sit well with his colleagues. It is said that adversity doesn’t build character - it reveals it. So, while Roma is out Bro-mancing Jonathan Pryce into buying a timeshare in Death Valley, the rest of the members of the sales force begin to...reveal themselves.

Shelly tries to bribe Williamson into giving him some of the premium "leads" - the personal information that companies buy and sell about customers so they can buy and sell those same people again and again. Shelly launches into his super slick, 20 years stale Don Draper charm offensive while Williamson squirms in his own skin, the way a Company Man should - torn between his desire to be one of the guys, and the illusion that he can ever really be THE guy.

George and Moss have a few drinks, talk about oppression, the Proletariat, getting back at The Man…and the next day, something big happens. Everything changes, and that's where it gets truly thick and good, like a plate of 20-minute-old pancakes. The great thing about Glengarry Glen Ross is just what I said a moment ago - it's about what adversity brings out in people. Some people reapply themselves. Some start stabbing everyone else in the back. Others wait for the dust to clear and pick up the scraps. It's Death of a Salesman on steroids - and yeah, the play won a Tony. David Mamet. Boom. Enough Said.

But even more, this is about a great script and a great concept, and what those things out in great actors. Al Pacino keeps a low profile until the third act, but when he shows up again - well, let's just say that's a pinch point. The endgame of Glengarry Glen Ross is a tour de force of actors being actors. It's nitty gritty stage level stuff between veterans young and old, full of close ups with cigarettes and well placed shadows, just like an old Perry Mason episode.

The last half is shot mostly with natural light rather than the cramped, oddly lit sets of the first half. It’s as though someone removed a tarp from the film, enabling the light of day to reveal the truth about Premier Properties and its den of opportunists. Glengarry Glen Ross is just Good Stuff, and from a cinematic standpoint it's not unlike certain exotic foods you might enjoy just a handful of times in your life. Whether to you that means caviar, lobster, or something that's actually good - it should mean that this is a must own film for anybody who enjoys film. It's a deep dish. It seals the deal.

Always be closing. Yeah.