Salesman (Maysles and Zwerin)

When I was studying in Prague, my classmates and I frequently got into heated debates over whether or not there was a certain “feminine sensitivity” noticeable in films to which women had made a significant contribution. While no consensus was ultimately reached (both camps refused to compromise) the discussion, even though it has passed, encouraged me to watch a film’s sensitivity and ultimately build a case for my point. The Maysles’ Brothers Salesman, although easily perceived as a male driven film, considering its protagonists, would not evoke the same emotional response were it not for editorial decisions made by Charlotte Zwerin. Zwerin herself says that the film “is a difficult film to view…it comes across at a very slow and undramatic pace.” (Zwerin, 91) Yet it could also be argued that Zwerin’s choice to linger on certain moments is the saving grace for what would be otherwise an exceptionally hard to structure film.

Editing can be compared to Darwinism, although having “the strongest shots survive” may certainly be a matter of the editor’s taste. In her interview, Charlotte Zwerin voiced her initial dismay when editing Salesman that, aside from the traditional continuity issues that arise from the very nature of Verite filmmaking, she could not feel the enthusiasm that David and Al Maysles brought back from the set. However, ultimately Al’s “unexciting footage” followed his self-spoken principle to “catch a kind of ‘subjective-objective’ truth… in which ethics and aesthetics are interdependent, where beauty starts with honesty.”( Blue, 259) However, it was from the winnowing down of the footage and the focus on one character, Paul, that the film ultimately gains its poignancy. Watching Paul stutter his way through a sales pitch, with cuts showing the unenthused faces of his potential clients, Zwerin keeps the shot on Paul’s face in his awkward sales pitch long enough for the viewer to empathize with his captive audience in the general feeling he has overstayed his welcome. Then, the reaction is what is valued, and the use of very tight close-ups on the customer, magnifying their facial reactions as Paul needles them, usually unsuccessfully, into making the purchase, takes the focus away from the actual subject of the scene (Paul) and shows what could be considered the consequences of his unpolished pitch. It is these moments where the shot is held slightly too long, where the blank reaction fills the screen for an uncomfortable extra second, that empathy for the characters is bred.
A departure from the Drew Associates’ crisis based films, Salesman could almost be considered the tale of an anti-hero. Rather than structure the story around Ray or Charlie, one of the more successful salesmen (of whom there was equal amounts of footage depicting their triumphs in the trade) Zwerin and the Maysles put the audience’s eye on Paul, who at times is almost painfully human and anti-hero. While the articles mentioned the removal of scenes where Paul goes to his daughter’s wedding, which would have been exceptionally humanizing, Zwerin’s inclusion of moments less maudlin or obvious investigations into Paul’s humanity reinforces the notion that her sensitivity is what truly solidifies the emotional impact of the film. While in many of the repetitive scenes in hotel rooms, Paul appears to mug for the camera, it is when he is in his car, warbling “If I Were a Rich Man” or slipping on an icy path on the way back from a failed call that he is ultimately made sympathetic. The decision to include these tiny, seemingly insignificant moments that gradually build a deep emotional relationship between the audience and the down on his luck salesman rather than beat the audience over the head with sentimentality is a mature decision that would not have necessarily been made in the earlier, crisis oriented direct cinema films, in which the Maysles participated.
Further examples of these “tender” moments, which can also be viewed as exceptionally anti-climactic, reinforce Zwerin’s opinion that the film is undramatic and difficult to watch. However, I applaud her for her decision to include these rather than take the obvious material for building an emotional case. One need only see two moments in hotel rooms, in which the men idle and Paul expresses his dismay at the current selling scene (while the camera captures the uninterested or concerned faces of his compatriots) to imply that this is a common occurrence in the lives of these men, and that every territory looks the same from inside the walls of a budget motel. Yet these scenes depict an intimacy between the salesmen, in their moments of respite, which cannot easily be conveyed in other material. It also builds a slow, strong case for Paul’s discontent at his own lack of success, which appropriately climaxes in a final motel scene, where the same spiel about “join the force and get a pension” is repeated. Yet after the audience has encountered these motel scenes repeatedly, the deviance from Paul’s usual gruff dismay to his almost tearful dejection is all the more powerful. Zwerin’s decision to include the final one, in which that powerful close up of Paul at the end of his emotional tether, past the point where the action would further the story, is an excellent illustration of her decision to value character rather than circumstance. That still shot of Paul, after repeating for the umpteenth time the Irish “dream” he’s avoided by going into bible sales, gains emotional strength as it lingers until Paul nearly breaks down into tears. This moment does not beat compassion into the audience, but by virtue of the fact that Zwerin has chosen to repeat these monotonous, seemingly identical moments, it carries more emotional clout than a more overt event might.
Coupled with less frenetic camera movement on the part of Al Maysles and his prescience to understand when a reaction shot is more valuable than one of the subject speaking, Salesman becomes a film about the small moments that make or break a man. Although Charlotte Zwerin mentions in the interview that she was ultimately unhappy with the film, as she thought its pacing was too slow (to render it almost unwatchable) this is mostly in comparison to the existing, fast paced and crisis driven verite films. As a female editor, the slow pace translates to artistry of the pause, and Zwerin’s innate understanding of when to hold a moment of silence for ultimate emotional impact. Salesman may not be as riveting as a film with perhaps a more action packed situation, but as an investigation into the human condition vis a vis Paul’s struggles, the tenderness of Zwerin’s long held moments brings the film a delicate humanity it would have not achieved otherwise.