A largely forgotten yet star-studded film, The Chase presents a significant day in the lives of the characters who make up a dysfunctional southern American town. This town is ostensibly run by its Sheriff, Calder (Marlon Brando), but the man with the real power is Val Rogers (EG Marshall). Rogers has amassed both wealth and standing but there are things the town knows to which he remains uniquely ignorant. Most significantly his son, Jake (James Fox), is having an affair with Anna Reeves (Jane Fonda). What makes this situation particularly scandalous is that Anna is married to Bubber Reeves (Robert Redford): a convict who has recently broken out of prison. Bubber's escape coincides with numerous celebrations, one commemorating the birthday of Val Rogers, at which the town's most important members are present, and the other being a compensatory dinner party for those uninvited to the former do. As Bubber is rumoured to be heading closer to town, each of the residents becomes more agitated, excited and inebriated. Something vicious seems to be bubbling away amongst key members of the community and there is a genuine threat that long-standing resentments and barely suppressed tensions may finally come to the fore.
The Chase is a very strange film. In some ways it seems almost designed to be dizzyingly chaotic and preposterously plotted, to the extent that it becomes an eerily fascinating spectacle of creative indulgence and disarray. None of the characters' back-stories and motivations appear to make any sense. For instance, the main character, Brando's Sheriff Calder, spends most of the film wandering around apparently in search of Bubber but he is constantly distracted by minor affrays and potential outbreaks of violence. As he always appears to be present where the worst of the action is occurring, it is no coincidence that he ends up becoming the victim of a violent attack himself. In what has turned out to be the film's most famous scene, Calder is viciously beaten by a gang of the town's residents for no clear reason at all.
Then there is Bubber himself, the man who draws the town's attention faster than a lightening rod in a storm (even if the police often appear to be inexplicably distracted). Not only does he decide to break out of prison when he had very little remaining of his current sentence, he decides to travel to the exact place he would be most likely to get caught and sent back. And why does he do this? Because he's hungry, apparently, and could do with a few bucks. Surely he'd have been better off eating his prison food until he could seek the town's alimentary assistance without risking the triggering of a nationwide manhunt...
Illogical plotting aside, the entire atmosphere of the film is stagey and artificial. Characters are often portrayed lolling about, drinking and getting into petty disputes as if performing a stifled rendition of the party scenes from La Dolce Vita. The few characters who are not rambling drunkards are instead loitering with intent, trying to pick up on the latest gossip and scandal, supposedly because they have no internal lives whatsoever. In short, there is nothing about this film that feels natural, logical or convincing, and yet, in the extravagance of its artificiality, it is quite gripping.
The contrivances in the film seem to be used to try to hold up some sort of mirror. The writer, Lillian Hellman, clearly feels that she is making a point about something, although exactly what is extremely difficult to say. There are overt references to classicism, racism, the limits of self-actualisation, the sins of the past, overbearing paternal authority and the insidiousness of small-town corruption... and, of course, throwing all of this into the synthetic soup of visuals and allusions that this film represents achieves absolutely nothing in terms of conveying a coherent message. However, it does all serve to shine a light on the monstrous maliciousness and seething, destructive hatred which exists beneath the town's surface, the observance of which makes for quite compelling viewing.
I have no idea what the creators of this film wished to achieve and it is perhaps quite by accident that the final product is ultimately so deliciously subversive. None of the characters are particularly relatable or likable and therein is generated an inverse charm. The film presents a snake-pit of sorts which the viewer may stare at from a distance with feelings of fascinated revulsion and shamefaced enjoyment. The fact is that the entire event is such a glorious spectacle of wrathful ridiculousness that it must finally be acknowledged as highly entertaining.
The Chase is a very strange film. In some ways it seems almost designed to be dizzyingly chaotic and preposterously plotted, to the extent that it becomes an eerily fascinating spectacle of creative indulgence and disarray. None of the characters' back-stories and motivations appear to make any sense. For instance, the main character, Brando's Sheriff Calder, spends most of the film wandering around apparently in search of Bubber but he is constantly distracted by minor affrays and potential outbreaks of violence. As he always appears to be present where the worst of the action is occurring, it is no coincidence that he ends up becoming the victim of a violent attack himself. In what has turned out to be the film's most famous scene, Calder is viciously beaten by a gang of the town's residents for no clear reason at all.
Then there is Bubber himself, the man who draws the town's attention faster than a lightening rod in a storm (even if the police often appear to be inexplicably distracted). Not only does he decide to break out of prison when he had very little remaining of his current sentence, he decides to travel to the exact place he would be most likely to get caught and sent back. And why does he do this? Because he's hungry, apparently, and could do with a few bucks. Surely he'd have been better off eating his prison food until he could seek the town's alimentary assistance without risking the triggering of a nationwide manhunt...
Illogical plotting aside, the entire atmosphere of the film is stagey and artificial. Characters are often portrayed lolling about, drinking and getting into petty disputes as if performing a stifled rendition of the party scenes from La Dolce Vita. The few characters who are not rambling drunkards are instead loitering with intent, trying to pick up on the latest gossip and scandal, supposedly because they have no internal lives whatsoever. In short, there is nothing about this film that feels natural, logical or convincing, and yet, in the extravagance of its artificiality, it is quite gripping.
The contrivances in the film seem to be used to try to hold up some sort of mirror. The writer, Lillian Hellman, clearly feels that she is making a point about something, although exactly what is extremely difficult to say. There are overt references to classicism, racism, the limits of self-actualisation, the sins of the past, overbearing paternal authority and the insidiousness of small-town corruption... and, of course, throwing all of this into the synthetic soup of visuals and allusions that this film represents achieves absolutely nothing in terms of conveying a coherent message. However, it does all serve to shine a light on the monstrous maliciousness and seething, destructive hatred which exists beneath the town's surface, the observance of which makes for quite compelling viewing.
I have no idea what the creators of this film wished to achieve and it is perhaps quite by accident that the final product is ultimately so deliciously subversive. None of the characters are particularly relatable or likable and therein is generated an inverse charm. The film presents a snake-pit of sorts which the viewer may stare at from a distance with feelings of fascinated revulsion and shamefaced enjoyment. The fact is that the entire event is such a glorious spectacle of wrathful ridiculousness that it must finally be acknowledged as highly entertaining.