John and Mary (1969)

Most of us have been there. You awaken in a strange place, wipe the sleep from your eyes, turn over in bed and look at the contours of the sheets created by the stranger next to you. You begin to piece together the hazy fragments of the previous evening. A few drinks with friends, some lively conversation, a knowing smile, an innocent flirtation and WHAM! You are there. In a stranger’s apartment. And you realize that you have made a hasty sexual decision.

In 1969, when John and Mary was filmed, the practice of a freewheeling sexual attitude was still considered a tad scandalous. Nowadays, the social stigma of one night stands has receded more into regretful paranoia. The contemporary media has fueled fear of STDs, psychotics and predators to the point that moral self-doubt becomes a happy bargain to the possibility of awaking chained to a wall in a basement or in a bathtub full of ice with one less kidney than you had the evening prior.

John and Mary, of course, does not delve into these ghastly possibilities. Being one of the first Hollywood pictures to deal frankly with the phenomenon of “the pick up”, it more tastefully (and often humorously) captures the emotional fallout and behavior of the sexes during the aftermath of coitus.

Dustin Hoffman and Mia Farrow were chosen to play the leads. Both were blossoming actors coming off recent successes and offered the somewhat controversial material a hip and fresh perspective. The film looked to cash in on the newfound celebrity of the pair while also tapping into the youthful enthusiasm of the burgeoning cinema art crowd. This is what gives John and Mary its decidedly European look and feel.  

Hoffman’s turn as John has been unfortunately shadowed over the years by the two legendary roles which bookend this performance, Benjamin Braddock in 1967’s The Graduate and Ratso Rizzo in 1969’s Midnight Cowboy. Hoffman’s early reticence (a trait he has since abandoned) serves him well here. Physically unassuming and heady, he has never been cut from leading man timber. He is a great re-actor, playing off situations and others, bringing to his work a peculiar realness in his atypical mannerisms. His characters always play with a slight hint of self doubt, but remain curiously assured of their actions. A Freudian case study turned thespian with anxious thoughts continuously pouring out of him.

Mia Farrow’s star was concurrently rising. She was the daughter of director John Farrow and actress Maureen O’Sullivan and had gained some notoriety in the TV series Peyton Place in the mid ‘60s. A brief marriage to Frank Sinatra was more tabloid fodder than career enhancing and it was not until 1968, with Roman Polanski impregnating her character with the spawn of Satan in Rosemary’s Baby (1968) that she became a star in her own right. Her portrayal of Mary has been regrettably overlooked. It is a fun, gutsy and endearing performance at a time when innovative, modern roles for women (sadly, much like now) were scarce or non-existent. Arguably, Mary’s character helped pave the way for the likes of Julie Christie’s Jackie in 1975’s Shampoo, Diane Keaton’s Annie Hall in 1977 and Jill Clayburgh’s Erica in An Unmarried Woman (1978).

Director Peter Yates was coming off two recent hits with 1967’s Robbery and the Steve McQueen vehicle, Bullitt (1968). His early success with TVs The Saint (seven episodes) led him to these pictures but with John and Mary he began to veer away from the action genre. He hit his stride in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s with The Deep (1977), Breaking Away (1979), and Eyewitness (1981) leading to his masterpiece The Dresser in 1983. He continued in the vein of character study throughout the remainder of the ‘80s with Eleni in 1985 and Suspect in 1987. His career has wandered aimlessly since and one wonders whether his reluctance to return to the action picture, now the predominate force in the industry, has caused this lack of focus.     

Mervyn Jones’ source novel for the film was adapted by John Mortimer (Emily Mortimer’s father). The screenwriter provides a unique setting, avoiding the normal pitfalls of relationship films, by confining the story to John’s apartment and the twelve hour day following the couple's sexual encounter. This allows for a piercing gaze into the intimate psychology of the characters and hones the dialogue with which the emotional chess match will ensue.

Through the film’s non-linear narrative: voice-over asides, flashbacks, imagined scenarios, we are offered a voyeuristic glimpse into the lives of the characters and the difficult, often self-defeating nature of modern mating rituals. 

John and Mary meet at a singles bar in Manhattan, a place John grudgingly refers to as “a subway with booze”. He is disinterested in the scene. As his buddy is hitting on a woman, he wanders and falls into a film discussion that Mary is having at a table with her friends. Keeping with the arty hipness at the film’s core, the group is discussing a ten minute traffic jam and cannibalism (obviously a reference to Jean Luc Godard’s masterpiece Weekend). Mary’s male friend didn’t care for it. She tells him he’s missing the symbolism. John agrees. He buys them drinks and Mary casually gravitates to him. The film’s humor and post-modernity are reflected in their resulting exchange:

   John: “I’m glad you liked that movie”.

   Mary: “I didn’t. I just didn’t like him not liking it”.

The two hit it off. She goes back to his place to euphemistically “listen to some records”.

The next morning, she awakes first. Nervousness and mild disorientation are apparent. She wanders around his apartment (a former artist’s loft) as he feigns sleep. He heads to the bathroom and discovers her purse. She scans his books (Tom Wolfe, Norman Mailer), wall art (pop art posters abound) and music collection (classical, jazz). The delicate ballet has begun. They are initially cordial and pass the time sussing out one another for hints of motive. Here, the voice-overs reveal to the audience the insecurities, prejudices and nuances of their psyches. His misogyny convinces him of her intention to move in. She believes he is married or involved and wants her out. Each of them attempts leading questions in order to trick the other into a damning admission. Despite this, we realize they do like each other. The frustration is tangible.

John’s impeccably neat, orderly lifestyle (he is a furniture designer) contrasts Mary’s more carefree essence (she works in a primitive art gallery). He prefers solitude; she lives in a walk up with bohemians and eccentrics. He is a bit of a nudge. She is more the free spirit. Their former love lives (revealed through flashbacks) illuminate their differences as well. His experiment with cohabitation (a gorgeous fashion model) ended with him kicking her out rather swiftly. She had an affair with a married Senator.

In all this, it would be remiss to disregard this film’s influence on other filmmakers. Specifically, and not only due to Mia Farrow’s involvement, Woody Allen owes a great deal to its innovative structure. The subtitled sequence between Woody and Diane Keaton on the apartment rooftop in Annie Hall (“Jesus, I sound like FM radio”) is a device lifted from this film. Allen later used the same voice-over approach with great effect in the remarkable Hannah and Her Sisters (1986). The entire chic New York urbanity and culture that Woody culls from are initially found here in John and Mary. Remember, at this time (1969), Woody was a writer, standup comedian and sometime actor embarking on his first feature Take the Money and Run; mining slapstick, Groucho Marx and Bob Hope schtick. It was not until eight years later with Annie Hall that his maturation as a director/screenwriter allowed him to adopt the techniques and style utilized here by Yates and Mortimer. To quote the Tony Roberts character from Stardust Memories, “An homage? Not exactly. We just stole the idea outright”.            

John and Mary demands rediscovery. This treatise on contemporary sexual mores has aged well. Its cosmopolitan feel, intellectual humor and willingness to explore uncomfortable subject matter have kept it relevant. After all, as much as we like to fool ourselves, the interactions of men and women have changed little over time. The dance may have a different beat, but it still takes two to tango.