Seven months after a revelatory viewing of Faces, I finally found a rentable DVD copy of Cassavetes' first feature. Shot on a shoestring in Manhattan and in his acting workshop on ad hoc sets, Shadows was the culmination of months of improvisational rehearsals, in which the (mostly amateur) actors bonded with one another, invented their characters, and polished their techniques to give their filmed performances just the right tenor of spontaneous familiarity. This intimate approach led to some incredibly daring work in Faces—i.e., Seymour Cassel cramming his hands down Lynn Carlin's throat in an attempt to revive her from an overdose—just as the actors' utter conviction here yields blisteringly honest moments like Lelia and Tony's post-coital assessment of their relationship and Ben's revulsion at a black woman's touch as a manifestation of his racial confusion and self-loathing. This is a homemade production in the best sense: the out-of-sync dubbing and sound recording, and the granular cinematography and up-close camera setups, build an immersive atmosphere that perfectly suits Cassavetes' nuanced vision of human relationships as perpetual works in progress, marked by desperate emotional fluctuations and wistful attempts at communication and understanding. Charles Mingus's largely improvised jazz score is an ideal complement to the film's vision of living by the moment, a mantra by which Cassavetes worked and seemingly lived.
