The Maysles brothers are famous for their 1976 documentary, Grey Gardens, a unique portrait of equally unique two women, a mother and daughter known as Big Edie and Little Edie—the Beales and relatives of Jackie Bouvier Kennedy. The brothers, David and Albert, captured not only a picture of these two women who lived reclusively in deplorable conditions (the television show, Hoarders, would have had a field day with them) but of an America that doesn’t exist anymore, or perhaps it never did.
David and Albert had a magnificent talent at seeing people as authentically as possible. They refused the description cinema verité but instead said that they were making direct cinema. Although they arranged the images of their films during the editing process, they never asked their subjects to do or say something, or even to move elsewhere because “the light is bad.” Their subjects trusted them, and the result is a beautiful menagerie of humanity’s desires and failures.
In Salesman (1969), the Maysles enter the lives of four Bible salesmen. (Charlotte Zwerin was part of the editing process.) The four men—Paul Brennan “The Badger,” Charles McDevitt “The Gipper,” James Baker “The Rabbit,” and Raymond Margo’s “The Bull,” are Catholics from Boston, and the Maysles chronicle their journey in Boston and Florida, as they go door to door and attempt to convince people they should buy the “beautiful Catholic, Church-approved Bible.”
It’s a strange juxtaposition: capitalism, sales, and religion but it’s also a uniquely American venture. It’s not unlike the situations in Flannery O’Connor’s stories, populated by contradictions of human condition.
As the documentary progresses, what started out as a story about four salesmen turns into a story about one of them: Paul Brennan. Unlike the other three, Paul’s having terrible issues in trying to make a sale, and it becomes clear that he’s a tragi-comic hero of the documentary.
The salesmen aren’t simply knocking on any door they see. The potential customers expressed interest on a different occasion or they filled out request forms at their own parish. What’s humorous is that all of them are very surprised when they see the salesmen at the door. One can imagine an awkward social situation at the parish: families signing request cards because the priest is insisting on it, and they want to be rid of him.
All of the families the salesmen visit are poor. Almost nobody can afford these Bibles, not even at one dollar a week. The budget’s tight, whether it’s because of the size of the family, or retired people living on a small pension.
The men try to explain why these Bibles matter: they’re approved by the Catholic Church, they have beautiful art, and exegesis of the text. The Catholic Encyclopedia “answers 43,000 questions” about faith and life in general. The Bible will be a great companion at home for the whole family, insist the men but most people say no, especially women. Whether it’s true or not, the documentary reveals women who appear to live in fear of their husbands. They’re not allowed to spend any money, and like small children, they have to wait to see what the husband will say. Most people listen politely, and even though those who end up buying the Bible do so reluctantly. Religion and theological enlightenment is not what’s on the mind of anyone trying to pay bills.
Almost immediately, Paul Brennan is irritated that he’s not making any sales. Others are doing better but not significantly different. What is different is the attitude. Charlie, James, and Ray accept defeats in a less obvious manner, and perhaps aren’t even aware of what a failed sale might mean for the condition of their souls. Paul, on the other hand, is too aware of both the economic conditions and his own failures.
Paul expresses cynicism at the beginning of the documentary. He trudges through the sloppy, greasy snow of Boston and sings his own version of Fiddler on the Roof: “Wish’t I was a rich man/I wouldn’t be goin’ around this shit land.” Perhaps it’s all a bravado but his dissatisfaction only grows. He dismissively makes fun of the potential customers, talking in an exaggerated Boston accent as well as the Irish brogue.
David and Albert follow the men as they go from town to town, motel to motel. In one of the scenes, Paul goes into the motel room that he shares with Charlie, and begins to complain about the lack of sales. But Charlie’s too busy watching a boxing match on television, and isn’t interested in Paul’s difficulties. Or one would imagine, his own.
The intersection of economy and religion is a big part of Salesman—whether for the customers or the salesmen themselves. They’re all trying to achieve the American Dream and economic independence. In fact, one of the customers praises the salesmen for taking the initiative and doing something on their own, not desperately waiting for the pension. But where does this chase and pursuit of the elusive dream lead to? Into oblivion? Into the dark and desperation? Only if you are aware of such emotions and states of mind.
More than this, Salesman is about alienation. We like to think that we, today, are experiencing the pinnacle of being alienated from the world and each other. That may be true, but what’s clear from Maysles’ chronicles is that alienation is an unfortunate, inevitable part of the human condition. People are anti-social, cynical, and fearful.
But there’s another side to this darkness. In an interview, the Maysles brothers described Paul as a Joycean hero. What drives Paul’s story is an odd mixture of American persistence and Irish poetry and drama. He’s fully aware of his condition and this is what makes the “long day’s journey into night” difficult but not unbearable. It’s the persistence of comedy throughout the documentary that gives it gravitas. The metaphor is everywhere. It doesn’t have to be made up. We just have to open our eyes and see it.