Cassavetes once again uses what I guess you'd call pseudo-cinéma vérité although his film is acted by professionals and (allegedly) scripted in advance, it's given a documentary look. "Faces" was, too. But "Faces" actually was photographed in 16 mm., with available light and sound, so of course it looked that way.
With "Husbands," a deliberate effort has been made to simulate the 16-mm, cinéma vérité look, even though the graininess isn't necessary. That isn't dishonest -- a director has a right to do anything he can to make his film work -- but it doesn't grow organically out of the material. Nothing in this film, in fact, seems organic to it; the idea, the style, the narrative, the acting, all seem laid on to a reluctant film. "Faces" was all of a piece; "Husbands" is in pieces.
The story sounds promising when you hear it. Three friends (Cassavetes, Ben Gazzara, Peter Falk) mourn the death by coronary of a fourth. Mourning leads naturally into drinking, and after an extended binge (including the singing of maudlin songs, the expression of undying friendship, copious beer drinking and even more copious vomiting) the friends find themselves flying to London. They pick up three complaisant girls (rather easily, it seemed to me), and in wine, gambling and lovemaking they seek truth.
Fair enough. Here we have three characters on the edge of middle age, and the fact of their friend's death is the shadow of their own. Considering the talent involved in the making of "Husbands," it is surprising that so little was made of such material. There are a lot of problems. One is with the script. "Faces" was almost totally scripted, and seemed almost totally improvised. A really excellent script should always seem improvised, of course, to the degree that the actors seem to be saying real things and not reciting dialogue. "Husbands," which Cassavetes takes a writing credit for, sounds improvised in the worst sort of way.
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