Existentialism: Point Blank

Existentialism: Point Blank

            If existentialism can be described as the philosophical view of man as an individual who uniquely views and confronts his life within the context of an otherwise meaningless world, then Point Blank, captures existentialism well.  Walker, the main character who bluntly announces that he never uses his first name, is a very singular entity who moves through a series of confusing, almost unrelated events, without particular attachment to anything other than the pursuit of what he sees as his.

            John Boorman, the director of this film, uses a series of flashbacks and cutaways to pull the viewer into Walker’s thoughts.  Far more is revealed in this than in the actual dialog of the film, with significant thoughts – at least significant to Walker – tying past scenes to the present action.  While there is some degree of erotetic narration in the actual dialog, more is revealed in these flashbacks as to Walker’s point of view.  Otherwise, the viewer is left to sort out the movement of the plot through sets that are spare and lean, modernistic, but bare of vivid emotional impact. Physical contact, whether violent or sexual, have no deeper meaning to Walker as he drives toward his chosen goal.  He is a man on a mission, his own mission, and nothing exists outside Walker in his view of the world.

            Lee Marvin’s portrayal of Walker is exceptionally well done.  He was well-chosen for this role and both his stoic appearance and deep, almost monotone voice, emphasize his central position in the piece as well as his detachment from the world beyond his personal view. While the total cast is solid, it is Marvin that drives the film every bit as much as Walker is driven in his mission to get what he believes is due him.

            There is a certain dreamlike quality to this film as it moves from very slow scenes to high action scenes, rather like a rough night when sleep is troubled and drifting in and out of bad dreams and quiet moments are exchanged rapidly. Boorman seems to have used color to emphasize and contrast between the grayness of the background with the bright colors worn by Dickenson and Marvin, for example when they both worn yellow and gold, or the blood red wall in the penthouse. Then there is the interesting shot of Walker peering through a screen door, the focus first hazy and then more clear and then hazy again, another example of dream to reality and back.

            So many questions raised by the plot were left unanswered.  How did Walker, apparently injured, manage the escape from Alcatraz? How does he enter the apartment across from the penthouse and talk two men into tying themselves together? And here’s a thought about how mission-focused Walker is: he leaves his dead wife in a bed riddled with bullets, touching the empty bottle of medicine she used to kill herself, and never bothers to wipe his fingerprints, leaving himself open to charges that he killed her.  This character has no purpose in his life but to collect $93,000.  Oddly in the end, he doesn’t even take that. The viewer is left to make cosmic jumps to determine (or ignore) how and why certain things come to be, recognizing that, in Walker’s perspective, they do not matter.

            Is Point Blank “pointless” or is it that pointlessness that makes it the powerful film that it is?  While not a particularly fascinating plot line, the manner in which it was directed and edited and even acted gives it status above a generic action thriller and moves it into the realm of film art.  Beyond that, it stands as a solid example of the existential in film.