There is something so distinct about a John Cassavetes films, a quality that is so difficult to pin down but is there throughout his work. Whether one of his most universally-adored masterpieces or one of his more experimental works that were met with the expected jeers and cheers, his films always seemed to follow the guidelines set out by a firm set of conventions – the plight of working-class folk, told in bare, realistic style where the story is firmly focused on the characters, their interactions with each other and their inner quandaries. One of his more divisive films is Husbands, and it certainly is a bewildering piece, but one that is very much worth serious consideration as a pivotal entry into the early days of American independent film. It is a film that could have quite easily been a meandering disaster about deplorable people (not too different from the film Cassavetes would go on to make with The Killing of a Chinese Bookie, a good film struggling to find a coherent direction), but it manages to effectively take on a challenging subject, delivering a compelling, if not deeply unsettling, portrait of everyday existence, and the lives of three men who find themselves grappling with many different emotions in the wake of personal tragedy and professional uncertainty, all of which are potent elements in the beautifully deranged but incredibly meaningful vision of a director intent on representing life in all its complexity.

The film begins with the off-screen death of a middle-aged man, but it’s not too concerned with his passing, but rather the aftermath, particularly how this tragic event impacted his three closest friends. Gus (John Cassavetes), Harry (Ben Gazzara) and Archie (Peter Falk) are the definitions of middle-class America. They’re all happily married, with multiple children each, and lead relatively successful lives as professionals in their specific fields. However, the death of their friend leads them all on a downward spiral – first, it’s a two-day bender where they consume copious amounts of alcohol and terrorize anyone unfortunate enough to cross paths with these grieving men, followed by a lengthy stay in London, where they gamble their worries away and engage in sordid activities with a number of women, completely disregarding their families at home in favour of their immediate desires. Each man uses the mourning period to come to terms with his own personal quandaries – the state of their relationship, their enthusiasm about their field of work, and their entire existence overall. Through their grief, they manage to find some clarity, but not without the usual obstacles – how do they reconcile their behaviour, obviously borne from their mixed emotions, with their morals, which seem to be rapidly deteriorating as a result of their existential uncertainty. Their friend dying didn’t only mean they would grief – each man undergoes a process of reevaluating every virtue and belief he had, calling into question absolutely everything they thought to be sacrosanct and true – but what happens when this emotional honeymoon is over, and they need to return back to reality?

Constructed as “a comedy about life, death and freedom”, which is boldly stated at the very outset. Perhaps not a comedy in the traditional sense of the word (you’ll rarely find a film more uncomfortable and disconcerting than this one), the film does ruminate on many themes that would have otherwise been the subject of some broad hilarity in the hands of anyone else, but becomes an unsettling piece of realistic fiction when made from Cassavetes’ alternative perspective. Through the majority of his career, the director consistently made films that looked at one particular faction of society, defined by how they were all about ordinary individuals, whether a suburban wife or a famed Broadway actress. Husbands looks at like the title suggests, a trio of working-class men that are normally the archetypal husbands, with Cassavetes twisting the narrative to look at individuals normally constructed as supportive, and repurposing them as compelling protagonists in their own right. Husbands is essentially Cassavetes making a film about a mid-life crisis, likely the result of his own artistic and personal ponderings (although we’d hope this film is not autobiographical in any way), with the director channelling those challenging thoughts into a piece that explores the lives of three different men realizing that life is finite, and their youth has left them. They’re in the ambigious space between stages of life – they’re too vivacious and energetic to recede fully into middle-age, but they’re also no longer the young men they once were. The opening of the film, where images of the three men, and what we can only assume is their recently-deceased friend, which is immediately contrasted with footage at a funeral, is a harrowing juxtaposition that reminds us that Cassavetes is not making a film just to comment on ordinary life – he’s making a bold, and perhaps even somewhat controversial, statement on the volatility on life, an overarching theme that persists throughout the film.

Cassavetes as a director frequently receives extreme praise, and rightly so – not only did he make exceptional films, he helped define an entire cinematic movement, being a pivotal figure in the rise of independent cinema. However, an area he is rarely given the same amount of adulation is as an actor, despite being consistently excellent when working with other directors in films such as The Dirty Dozen and Rosemary’s Baby. In his own films, Cassavetes rarely ever cast himself in the main role – there are only two instances of him taking on the lead, one being Love Streams (which was mainly a vehicle for Gena Rowlands), and this film, where his performance as Gus is one of his best. Caught between the geniality of Archie, and the callous brutality of Harry, Cassavetes’ character is a complex man struggling to find his way through a world that seems unrecognizable to him. Falk has the most subtle character, playing the rational, level-headed member of the group that may engage in the same sordid activities, but also refuses to sacrifice all of his morals – he is the only one who realizes that this is only a temporary diversion from their lives, brought on as a product of grief intermingling with their shared mid-life crises. Gazzara has the most extravagant character, with Harry being the most volatile and irresponsible, and the impetus for the slow decline into debauchery that these men experience. The three actors have fantastic chemistry (no doubt due to the real-life friendship that later brought them together in other projects again, Cassavetes and Falk in particular giving career-best work in Elaine May’s Mikey and Nicky a few years later), and the way Cassavetes divides these different personalities between the three of them is fascinating, and while it’s most subtle work from the actors, with the exception of some compelling individual moments scattered throughout the film, they’re all tremendously effective at conveying the despair that underlies the moral turpitude.

Husbands could have very easily been a film that focused on one individual – how many films about mid-life crises focus on three people instead of one? However, had this film taken this approach, it would’ve lost its most significant theme, that of friendship. The three protagonists are longtime friends, and constantly recall the good times they shared together. This film, however, looks at them going through a difficult time, which brings out new sides of their relationship with each other. Cassavetes uses this view of a long-term friendship as a way of exploring and deconstructing masculinity, which is ultimately the main message the film conveys. Gus, Harry and Archie are the epitomai of middle-class American men, insofar as they’re ordinary working men who support their families and portray the image of being wholesome and decent individuals. Yet, beneath this, there are a set of desires and insecurities that are very different from what society expects from men. Cassavetes was revolutionary in his approach to contrasting the expectations of a patriarchal society with the sordid activities of a group of individuals that defy it, but without constructing them as being engaged in temporary activities that come to an end with some sudden realization that what they’re doing is wrong. The adage of “boys will be boys” is non-existent in Husbands, as Cassavetes rather attempts a more intricate and emotionally-driven portrayal of the decline of a group of men, and how this works alongside socially-conditioned views of masculinity. The film was quite unique in how it evoked a conversation that wouldn’t be had in earnest for decades. It’s simple but sincere and harbours a lot of underlying meaning rarely ever produced with such harrowing honesty.

Life, death and freedom are the primary themes that Cassavetes looks at in Husbands, and he does exceptionally well in constructing something that feels honest without being overwrought. His films are carefully-curated morality tales with broad overtures of realism, a product of both the bare-boned production resources, and the tendency for the film not to tell grandiose, triumphant stories, but to remain very close to the pulse of the human condition. Cassavetes was a tremendous director, and even in this film, which is understandably controversial due to the portrayal of different degrees toxic masculinity in all three of its main characters, he manages to create a thoughtful but uncomfortable cultural snapshot. His work here is utterly extraordinary, and he produces one of the most compelling representations of friendship captured on film. The difference is that Husbands is neither motivational nor uplifting, and the message it conveys is far bleaker than most films that look at similar themes in some way tend to. It’s a wonderfully complex film, one that may take a more episodic approach to structure (it doesn’t have a direct storyline, but takes place as a number of scenes, connected by the overarching chronology of three men mourning their deceased friend). It’s a powerful, if not sometimes quite disturbing, exploration of existence and the quandaries that challenge us, and while he may not have made as daring a statement here as he had previously, Cassavetes managed to show that very few directors, if any, understand the intricacies of life quite like him.