"A Thousand Clowns" (1965)

“You are about to see a horrible, horrible thing…People going to work.”  Murray the free spirit, to his young nephew Nick, in “A Thousand Clowns”

“A Thousand Clowns”, an amiable adaptation of Herb Gardner’s popular play, is small and charming, and unfortunately has been largely forgotten.  Although it was embraced by those who would go on to create the 1960s counterculture, its ideas about freedom vs. conformity seem almost elementary today.  It is hard to imagine that this was considered subversive in the early 1960s. 

Watching it now during the pandemic, with massive unemployment, fears over re-starting the economy, and a workplace that is suddenly risky and uncertain, “A Thousand Clowns” is like an invitation to step back and re-evaluate the idea of working.  

It also asks us to think about the difference between unlimited self-expression and selfishness. The on-screen antics give us a chance to reflect on our own love-hate relationship with work, and whether our culture makes it possible to earn a living by following our passions, and still meet our responsibilities.

The movie is cleverly written and bitingly funny.  Its romantic notions about following your heart and unleashing the real you—like a clown-car bursting forth with all your many facets, “whooping and hollering and raising hell”—appeal to the dreamer in most of us.  

Although its roots are firmly in a 1960s New York bohemian-coffeehouse-and-psychology mindset, “A Thousand Clowns” translates well to anyone who has longed to walk away from the 9-to-5 routine. It's easy to lose yourself in this film, and to identify with it.   It inspires us to consider abandoning the expectations that our culture places on us, to live spontaneous and free.  

I have grown to love “A Thousand Clowns”, flaws and all.  It is a film whose attitudes foreshadow the hippie movement, which I was too young to be a part of except vicariously; it’s like “Easy Rider” for the suit-and-tie crowd, but humorous, and bittersweet.

The great Jason Robards plays Murray, the ultimate nonconformist.  Murray is a comedy writer who has quit a stultifying job creating scripts for a dreary children’s television show called Chuckles the Chipmunk.  Murray would rather spend his time living an unconventional life: adding to his collection of marvelous junk that decorates his one-room apartment; visiting the Statue of Liberty; and proclaiming holidays to celebrate his self-appointed heroes, like the owner of the local deli.  

The movie is filled with images that symbolize Murray’s free, American soul: soaring seagulls, floating kites, departing cruise ships; and magnificent eagles, Murray’s most prized collector’s item.

Murray is annoying and irresponsible, with a quick mind whose distractions border on attention deficit disorder.  He is also lovable and persuasive, as he decries the idiocy around him and justifies the pursuit of his own heart’s desire.  Robards is sly and loud and endearing, a cheerleader for self-expression, like a favorite high school drama coach. It is the role he was born to play, and he gives a beautiful performance.

Murray takes care of his twelve-year-old nephew Nick (Barry Gordon), who was abandoned by Murray’s sister years ago.  A precocious kid, mature beyond his years, Nick is truly a father to the man. Nick loves Murray, looks up to him, and enjoys his playfulness, adopting behaviors that naturally appeal to a twelve-year-old (like singing duets with a ukulele, and admiring a silly hula-girl doll with boobs that light up). 

But Nick also looks after Murray, keeps him grounded, and reads to him from the Help Wanted ads to recapture the appearance of household stability.  Nick is desperate, because Murray has been ignoring calls and letters from the Child Welfare department.  If Murray doesn’t find steady employment, Nick could be removed from their home.

Right on cue, Albert and Sondra, investigators from the Child Welfare office, arrive to evaluate Murray and Nick’s home life.  In a long and very funny scene, Murray hilariously deflects their psychobabble, but in the end, he cannot buck the establishment.  He must find work in two days, before a custody hearing. 

Sondra, a recent PhD graduate in social work, is hesitant to live fully and lacks a sense of identity. She gets so invested in Murray and Nick's case that she loses her job and her fiancée (who happens to be Albert) and falls in love with Murray.  

Barbara Harris, as Sondra, is the warm heart of the film.  She can suffuse even the most mundane line of dialogue with surprisingly fresh readings.  She brings a welcome softness to the rollicking energy of the film; it’s easy to believe that she might be Murray’s calming salvation.

Can Murray reign in his ‘clowns”, let Sondra rearrange his apartment (which represents his beloved chaos), and accept a conventional workaday life for the sake of those he loves?  This is the big question of “A Thousand Clowns”, and one that remains, to its credit, somewhat ambiguous to the end.

Murray encounters people in his circle who he cannot stand, but who might help him preserve his life with Nick.  Least objectionable is his brother and agent Arnold, played by Oscar-winner Martin Balsam.  Arnold settles for an unexciting life, plays by the rules, accepts the glad-handing, and embraces his mediocrity.  In Arnold’s words, he has “a talent for surrender”.  

In a terrific monolog delivered without irony by Balsam, Arnold champions the average guy, finally proclaiming himself “the best possible Arnold”.  It is a good performance by Balsam, in a role that is unusually low-key for Oscar attention.

Arnold tries to fix up Murray with new writing gigs, but Murray has alienated almost everyone in town, and those that WILL meet with him are total no-nothings.  The most intolerable is Leo (Gene Saks), who plays Chuckles the Chipmunk on TV, and who has been floundering with unfunny routines since Murray quit on him. 

Leo hates kids, knows he is a phony, and relies on marketing analyses to prove to himself that he is funny. Murray recoils at the thought of having to work for Leo again, and Nick is adamant against it; but Murray knows he might have to buckle down and accept his old job back for Nick’s sake.  

Leo's’ scene near the end of the film becomes tiresome, until Nick triumphantly tells him off.    If “A Thousand Clowns” would have benefitted from a shorter running time, this scene would be my first to tighten.

I wonder what Murray would do in today’s situation.  Might working at home be a better fit for him, to avoid what he sees as the stupidity rampant in his profession?  Would Murray rejoice if his job was deemed non-essential?  Or would Murray go crazy in a reside-in-place order, without the ability to move freely? Murray seems to have enough to live on for the time being; but would his quest for individual expression be as strong if his money ran out after a prolonged period of unemployment?  Would he hold out, or take whatever work was available?  (The child welfare hearing forces this issue.)

Admittedly, “A Thousand Clowns” stacks the deck in Murray’s favor to make its point:  the “horrible thing” Murray mentions, the sight of people going to work, is filled with images of blank-faced crowds, moving like lemmings, running anxiously for buses, racing through unhealthy lunches, moving in all directions with no apparent direction or enthusiasm.  (There must be some who love their jobs, and who haven’t sold out?)  These scenes are done in effective, quick and often amusing montages edited by the great Ralph Rosenblum.  

The movie relies on music to keep a frolicsome tone, especially during the montages. Sounding like some demented marching band, the music emphasizes the notion that the American Dream has gone haywire.  The manic arrangements of Sousa marches and other patriotic songs run counterpoint to the miserable and frantic activity of the crowds.   The score is what used to be called whimsical, although occasionally the forced musical irony is a tad too loud. 

Quibbles aside, I was struck by how much I was absorbed by “A Thousand Clowns” in a recent viewing. I bought into Murray’s philosophy, and rooted for him.   I enjoyed Murray’s romance with Sondra, and how it softened the serious, buttoned-down material near the end.  The memorable dialog and monologues inspired me with their originality and good sense.  I loved the infrequent but stunning use of closeups on the actors’ faces, which conveyed surprising depth of emotion and meaning.   

The film also made me think hard about the future of the workplace, from the perspective of a character who had an unusual way of looking at life.  Considering today’s career challenges, I found Murray’s philosophy refreshing, a reminder of the faded idealism of the 1960s.  I wondered whether the moment is right for our culture to incorporate some of Murray’s views, about individuality and loving life, into a new paradigm of working.