One Paragraph Movie Review: Faces

One hundred and thirty-sixth film: Faces, a 1968 gritty slice-of-reality film that I was so ready to hate in the first twenty minutes until I understood it. It’s supposed to crack open the image of the married American dream and show its grimy underpants — adultery, the panic of the rut, boredom, being served bad eggs — and it bloody does. Even a scene near the end, where the barely still husband and wife both have moderate coughing fits when they share an uncomfortable, morning-stale cigarette, is there to remind you that movies don’t usually show things that actually happen, even though they happen constantly. Don’t get me wrong — this film is deeply depressing and has an emotional vapour trail that feels like a hangover after a tequila blackout — but with incredible performances and substantially jarring camera work, it’s a stunning watch. Not fun at ALL, go see it. Three mercifully silent vomits out of five.