One thing you got in 70s cinema, as the 60s generation began to grow up and relaxations on content stopped being threatening and started being normal, was that the message movie went mainstream. Understandably, the eloquence of the message was always going to be more important than its real importance.
Network was scripted by Paddy Chayefsky, who was less the angry young man of the anti-Vietnam generation, and more the grumpy middle-aged man of any and every generation. Appropriately enough the picture is a cynical and grouchy rant. It is preachy, hysterically so in places, and yet it is so pessimistic, offering no solutions to the problems it builds up to ridiculous proportions, that watching it is a rather draining experience. Its message is not as clever as it thinks it is, conflating a new technology with ongoing social problems, as short-sighted cynics have done for centuries. There is even a none-too-subtle dig at women who take on masculine roles, which just goes to show how bitter and reactionary Network is. And the idea of someone so obsessed with an idea it causes them orgasm prematurely is simple a sad mix of bad psychology and playground puerility.
And yet, the 70s were also a time in which Hollywood was starting to regain some semblance of professionalism, after the unevenness of the previous decade. Network seems to have been made by a highly consistent production team. Sets and costumes are designed to perpetuate a pattern of regular black and white shapes arranged in rows. Not just ceiling lights or skyscraper windows, but filing cabinets, radiators all conform to this same style. Director Sidney Lumet, with his usual mode of subtle stylisation, even keeps it up in the few outdoor daytime, with the even framing of the tree-lined boulevard in the scene after Ruddy's funeral. Lumet also often has opposing shots of two actors with one in bright white and the other in black, so the switching back-and-forth between them is like a light flicking on and off.
The 70s was also a time in which acting really started to successfully reconcile dramatic realism with theatrical exuberance, and here we have some great examples of both. William Holden, looking decidedly weary and craggy, seems to have entered the age which suits his style best, and he brings a layer of genuine humanity which Network sorely needs. Beatrice Straight gives a small yet impassioned performance as his wife, and though barely five minutes long her performance is among the more memorable. Another excellent bit performance is that of Ned Beatty, whose glorious hamming is the complete opposite of Straight's straightness, but nevertheless provides one of the most entertaining scenes of the whole picture. Of course any more than a few minutes of screen time and these two performances would unbalance the entire thing. Which brings us onto Peter Finch, who again is pure ham, but of the classic Charles Laughton variety, putting every ounce of strength he has into a compelling act. Had it not been Lumet's policy to ensure the real-world cinema screen never becomes the same as the film-world TV screen, we in the audience would be truly mesmerised by those mad prophet speeches.
And thus Network delivers its message with great force and power. And of course the film has now gained a new raft of fans because this banal grumble about TV was supposedly "ahead of its time", except that TV never has been and never will be quite that way, because audiences – human beings – are not as stupid as Chayefsky thinks they are. In fact, the thing that Network probably best predicts is the wave of movies like Fight Club that didn't really say much but said it with an original twist and thus became cult hits. Which is a pity. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to watch the new series of X-Factor, which though lowbrow at least makes good entertainment.
Network was scripted by Paddy Chayefsky, who was less the angry young man of the anti-Vietnam generation, and more the grumpy middle-aged man of any and every generation. Appropriately enough the picture is a cynical and grouchy rant. It is preachy, hysterically so in places, and yet it is so pessimistic, offering no solutions to the problems it builds up to ridiculous proportions, that watching it is a rather draining experience. Its message is not as clever as it thinks it is, conflating a new technology with ongoing social problems, as short-sighted cynics have done for centuries. There is even a none-too-subtle dig at women who take on masculine roles, which just goes to show how bitter and reactionary Network is. And the idea of someone so obsessed with an idea it causes them orgasm prematurely is simple a sad mix of bad psychology and playground puerility.
And yet, the 70s were also a time in which Hollywood was starting to regain some semblance of professionalism, after the unevenness of the previous decade. Network seems to have been made by a highly consistent production team. Sets and costumes are designed to perpetuate a pattern of regular black and white shapes arranged in rows. Not just ceiling lights or skyscraper windows, but filing cabinets, radiators all conform to this same style. Director Sidney Lumet, with his usual mode of subtle stylisation, even keeps it up in the few outdoor daytime, with the even framing of the tree-lined boulevard in the scene after Ruddy's funeral. Lumet also often has opposing shots of two actors with one in bright white and the other in black, so the switching back-and-forth between them is like a light flicking on and off.
The 70s was also a time in which acting really started to successfully reconcile dramatic realism with theatrical exuberance, and here we have some great examples of both. William Holden, looking decidedly weary and craggy, seems to have entered the age which suits his style best, and he brings a layer of genuine humanity which Network sorely needs. Beatrice Straight gives a small yet impassioned performance as his wife, and though barely five minutes long her performance is among the more memorable. Another excellent bit performance is that of Ned Beatty, whose glorious hamming is the complete opposite of Straight's straightness, but nevertheless provides one of the most entertaining scenes of the whole picture. Of course any more than a few minutes of screen time and these two performances would unbalance the entire thing. Which brings us onto Peter Finch, who again is pure ham, but of the classic Charles Laughton variety, putting every ounce of strength he has into a compelling act. Had it not been Lumet's policy to ensure the real-world cinema screen never becomes the same as the film-world TV screen, we in the audience would be truly mesmerised by those mad prophet speeches.
And thus Network delivers its message with great force and power. And of course the film has now gained a new raft of fans because this banal grumble about TV was supposedly "ahead of its time", except that TV never has been and never will be quite that way, because audiences – human beings – are not as stupid as Chayefsky thinks they are. In fact, the thing that Network probably best predicts is the wave of movies like Fight Club that didn't really say much but said it with an original twist and thus became cult hits. Which is a pity. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to watch the new series of X-Factor, which though lowbrow at least makes good entertainment.