Faces tells the tales of a deteriorating marriage and portrays the intersecting stories of two people coming to terms with their newly-found independence. Richard (John Marley) is a successful businessman who requests a divorce from his wife, with the final blow to their already-fragile marriage being his encounter with Jeannie (Gena Rowlands), who may or may not be a prostitute, but who captures the heart of a man who had previously resigned to just fade into middle-age. Maria (Lynn Carlin) is a disgruntled housewife taken aback by this new change, and as a result decides to go out for a night on the town with her friends, in the hopes of distracting herself. In a crowded nightclub, she meets Chet (Seymour Cassel), a vulgar casanova who seduces any woman who comes into his path, with this evening’s target being Maria and her motley crew of unhappily married women, who are instantly charmed by Chet and his promise of excitement and youthful exuberance, the complete antithesis of their droll husbands. Over the course of an evening and the subsequent morning, Richard and Maria navigate uncharted territory, coming into contact with the kinds of romance that were missing for years in their marriage, and can only be evoked through the presence of this mysterious individuals that weave their way into their lives, reminding them of what true passion feels like when coupled with the uncertainty of youth, but being extremely aware of their age and how, no matter how enormous their efforts, they can’t quite fit into this world in the way they used to.

John Cassavetes knew the human condition better than anybody. Each of his films (with the exception of the abominable Big Trouble) were intricate, beautifully-composed stories of individuals encountering various challenges and attempting to overcome them through whatever means they could. Simple but profoundly human in their approach, the director’s films stand as some of the most poignant explorations of what it means to be alive, even when they’re at their most bleak. Faces is one of his true masterpieces, and perhaps the first film (with the exception of his explosive debut) to divert attention away from the more mainstream directors and start the conversation that Cassavetes was a director whose work was going to redefine cinema, which he certainly did, with this film in particular being one of the most influential works of independent cinema, and a piece that launched the careers of innumerable young filmmakers who were inspired by the director’s intense, but poetic, approach to telling a story and exploring the visual medium, where spectacle wasn’t pivotal to a film’s success, but where a strong story, excellent performances and a soulful execution could be more than enough to grab the attention of audiences and remind us of why exactly some of the most profound moments in cinema have been those that don’t offer anything other than complete, unrestrained authenticity.

As with most of his films, Cassavetes doesn’t propose anything in Faces that he knows he can’t deliver – his artistry always reflected a remarkable work ethic that saw the director taking on full responsibility for the stories he told. Independent in every sense of the word, his incredible skills pervade every frame of this film, only sharing the screen with the beautiful work done by his actors, who take on the daunting, but no less thrilling, task of interpreting his fascinating social drama, and bringing life to these brilliant characters. Gena Rowlands is truly one of her generation’s finest performers, with her enduring authenticity and ability to derive some of the most poignant emotions from the most subtle and abstruse contexts. She commands the screen, bringing with her a sense of endearing charm, but also incredible despair, which goes into the construction of Jeannie, a character that would be nothing but inconsequential had it not been played by Rowlands and directed by Cassavetes, whose camera obviously always caught Rowlands and her most fine-drawn talents like absolutely no one else ever could. Lynn Carlin is the other great performance in Faces, conveying the heartbreak of a housewife who discovers that it only takes a divorce for her to realize how truly unhappy she was in her marriage. The scorned wife trope is one that Cassavetes avoids, and in casting Carlin, who was an actress whose performances ran the gamut in terms of who she portrayed, but all had the same heartfelt tendencies, allowed the role to be effective in her demonstrations of heartbreak, but never bitter or unlikeable.

Contrast their performances with those given by John Marley and Seymour Cassel, both of which are wonderful, especially in playing opposite representations of heteronormative ideals – Marley plays Richard, a middle-aged man who can afford to abandon his life and start new with a younger woman, while Cassel is Chet, the flirtatious playboy who can have some fun, and then abscond, mainly through preying on women who are unlikely going to be seeking long-term commitments. Faces then places these ideal archetypes in situations in which they begin to question their own intentions – whether it be the life-and-death crisis that Chet has to face, or the more metaphysical despair experienced by Richard when he realizes the gravity of his situation, and begins to regret uprooting his life and moving on with it before actually weighing up the potential hazards of searching for a new life. Marley is terrific as the hedonistic executive who just decides to change his life without actually considering the ramifications, which is why he is perhaps the character who ends up in the worst position, crawling back to his wife to try and make amends, only to find her on the brink of madness, having narrowly survived a suicide attempt brought on by her own disillusionment with the world around her, and her realization that she will never be the object of desire of anyone, whether it be the man she dedicated her life to, or the despicable young stud who is in search of momentary carnal satiation, rather than living up to his promises. By the end of the film, none of the characters are necessarily happy, worsened by the fact that the previous evening was intended to distract them from the very despair they’re currently being enveloped by.

Faces operates as a film that develops the characters long before it intends to progress the story, which gives it the stagnant, paced atmosphere that some detractors have pointed out as being a flaw when in actuality it’s one of the film’s merits. Cassavetes rarely ever tried to represent anything other than reality in its most distilled form – this is particularly common with Faces, a film that builds itself up as an exploration of the human condition through character-driven drama. The themes of alienation begin to encroach on what starts as a relatively upbeat film, with the seeds of unease that were present at the start beginning to take over, dismantling the carefully-curated drama and creating a more psychologically-taut atmosphere. A master of both form and content, Cassavetes intentions with Faces were not as narrow as they would appear to be, at least not from the perspective of those who perceive this as a misguided portrayal of reality. Imitators of this style seem to forget that, while the characters at the centre of this film are inarguably despicable, they’re also very real, and in constructing a story around people who are in search of visceral satiation, the director is able to comment on themes not all that present in more popular films at the time. Looking beyond the story itself, and just focusing on how Cassavetes evokes the necessary ill-ease to create this disconcerting atmosphere, we can see how he has built a film from equal amounts of hope and cynicism. Nothing much happens in Faces until the final climactic crisis, in which the story teeters quite literally on life and death, with the previous two hours building up this almost cathartic release, where the tension Cassavetes thrived finally reaches a point of no return, just like these characters, whose lives have now been changed, due to a few words and an evening that was supposed to help them move forward, rather than regress to a stage of complete nihilistic despair.

Faces is the kind of film where the beginning and end are almost entirely inconsequential to the story – it doesn’t present us with a complete, coherent narrative, but rather a snapshot into the lives of the various characters at the centre of the plot. Demonstrating an ability to make use of the in media res style, without descending too far into the realm of self-indulgence. Cassavetes was suitably praised for his work here – the writing is as sharp as ever, the performances were extraordinary (with Rowlands and Carlin being particular standouts), and the story itself being a well-conceived series of vignettes that work towards a haunting portrayal of alienation and the darker recesses of the human condition. Constructed as a poignant descent into the roots of human behaviour, delivered by a director whose work always reflects a keen understanding of deeper existential issues, manifested through his use of a kind of controlled chaos that always puts his films on the precipice of some kind of social and cultural eruption, where the tension and despair underlying these bleak tales. Faces is a remarkable film – its a work of incredible restraint and elegance, made by a filmmaker whose attention to detail, and ability to derive the most heartwrenching commentary from some exceptionally simple circumstances. The film leaves the viewer utterly exhilarated and captivated from beginning to end – and it proves that when put under the hypnotic control of John Cassavetes, nothing can quite compare to the intense, beautiful experience of being in direct contact with such a compassionate view of humanity that has grown increasingly rare in filmmaking, and seems most potent when coming from as masterful an auteur as Cassavetes, who never wavered in his undying commitment to telling profoundly moving stories that tend to linger in the mind of the viewer.