Gloria (1980).
Written and directed
by John Cassavetes.
Rated PG.

On a superficial level, Gloria can be seen simply as a genre film, a gritty crime thriller about a former gun moll and the boy she is trying to protect, on the run from the mob. But this a film written and directed by John Cassavetes, and there are other layers of story here -- an independent woman thrust reluctantly into the alien role of mother and guardian, and a newly-orphaned kid vacillating between confused fear and trying to be "the man."
An ex-showgirl and ex-girlfriend of a gangster, Gloria (Gena Rowlands, in an Oscar-nominated performance) has settled into a low-profile retirement ("I saved all my life so I could have some money," she says early in the film. "And I got it. I got my money, I got my apartment, I got my friends, my cat."). That life disappears when she visits a friend down the hall to borrow some coffee. Jeri Dawn (Julie Carmen) is the wife of a mob accountant turned FBI informant (Buck Henry), and gunmen are on their way up to kill the family and take the ledger where Jack Dawn keeps names, dates, and figures. He gives the book to his son, six-year-old Phil (John Adames), and gives Phil to Gloria, moments before the hit. "You're the man," Jack tells his son in their final conversation. "Phil, you're the head of the family. Remember that."
Gloria and Phil have the unfortunate timing of leaving the building as photographers and TV crews show up with the police. The next morning they find themselves on the TV news and front pages of the tabloids. Gloria finds herself in a tough spot: the men now coming after her and Phil are associates, if not friends, from her former life.
Cassavetes ratchets up the tension here, as Gloria and Phil barely escape once again and are out on the eerily silent New York City streets, figuring out their next move on the run. Phil's fear is palpable; after claiming he can take of himself, full of bluster, he clutches at Gloria pathetically, wrapping his arms around her waist as they make their way down the sidewalk, while Gloria, self-preservation instinct kicking into high gear, pushes him away. "Go on!" she says. "I'm not taking care of you anymore. . . . The people that killed your parents, they're my friends. I can't get involved with you. Go on now, run."
Her "friends" catch up to her then, in a quiet square, their car squealing to a halt in front of her. She makes her choice. In her silk suit, she pulls a revolver from her purse and fires blast after blast into the car, emptying the gun as the men attempt to speed away but crash, Phil gawking in awe. Then she puts away her gun and hails a cab.
Rowlands carries the film admirably with a nuanced performance, a woman pushed to flight and violence against all better judgement, bewildered by her growing attachment to a kid who is the root of all her troubles. In Cassavetes on Cassavetes by Ray Carney, professor of Film and American Studies and chairman of the Film Studies Program at Boston University, the director said, "She caught the rhythm of that woman living a life she'd never seen. When she's ready to kill, I'm amazed at how coldly she does it." Gloria's progression from resisting her new role to acceptance is not a smooth and gradual arc, but more a case of one step forward, two steps back. But for every moment of lost patience and frustration with Phil and their predicament, her tough exterior opens up a little more. She never loses her gruff, world-weary but pragmatic attitude; rather it becomes a protective mantle for the boy.
In his first and only role, John Adames' portrayal of Phil as a little tough guy wannabe is funny (sometimes unintentionally), charming, and heartbreaking without being sentimental. "The kid is neither sympathetic nor non-sympathetic," said Cassavetes. "He's just a kid . . . constantly in shock, reacting to this unfathomable environment. He was always full of excitement and wonderment as to what he was doing, trying to comprehend this fathomless story of a family being wiped out."
So while the plot of running from the mob drives the action, it is the relationship between Gloria and Phil that anchors the story. "It was about a woman who beyond her control stood up for a kid whom she wanted nothing to do with," said Cassavetes. "This woman gives up her whole way of life, and she does it in such a fashion that you believe her, and that's basically the picture. If that works, then I think the picture works. . . . Gloria celebrates the coming together of a woman who neither likes nor understands children and a boy who believes he's man enough to stand on his own."
Working at cross-purposes, these characterizations add another more involving level of tension to the film. The viewer wonders not only if Gloria and Phil escape, but if they will come to terms with each other as well. "We avoided anything like a traditional mother-son relationship," said Cassavetes. "Gloria doesn't know why she's doing any of these things. She's lost by it."
Gloria makes the attempt, however. After a couple of days of moving from hotel to hotel, Phil grows homesick. "Think of something funny," Gloria says.
"I can't."
"You? You can't think of something funny? Hey, anybody says anything funny to you, you practically split your blood vessels laughing," says Gloria, coaxing a smile from Phil.
Eventually, the subject of their surrogate relationship comes up.
"I asked you once if I could be your mother. You didn't want that."
"Why would you want to be my mother?" asks Phil.
"I don't know. Just want to clear things up."
"You're my whole family. You're even my friend, Gloria."
"Well, I'd like to be family."
"She and the kid found an amazing restraint," Cassavetes said of their connection. "Even when they're thrown together, they don't pretend to care about each other because it's fashionable. So at the end, when they do care about each other, it's because of their personal trust and regard."
At one point, Gloria takes Phil to a cemetery for a symbolic farewell to his family, because, as Gloria says, "You always got to say goodbye." (Watch for a little kid's innocent interpretation of the sign of the cross.) Later, she fails to return from making a deal for the book, and Phil figures she's dead. The subtext is crushing: he is on his own now, with only the money Gloria has left him and whatever street smarts picked up from her, the mob still out to get rid of him to set an example. He finally gets out of New York as they had planned, and finds another cemetery. Phil stands before a monument, a small brave smile on his face. "Hello, Gloria. How are you? I miss you. But I know you're dead. And I want you to know that I know you're dead. Anyway, give my love to my family. And I know you'll be seeing each other. My mother loved you anyway, even though I didn't till now. I made it to Pittsburgh, and. . . . Amen." The scene is rendered powerful through Cassavetes' lack of sentimentality and Adames' straightforward and honest delivery.
Though more than 20 years old, Gloria still feels contemporary. There are few cultural references to date the film. The 70s-era cars are the most obvious sign of the decade. It's probably safe to say, though, that many of the same vehicles can still be found today in the streets Cassavetes chose for his outdoor locations, run-down New York City neighborhoods not usually seen in many movies. The urban depth of New York is further evoked through the moody, muted trumpet and sax of Bill Conti's score.
An action movie that involves the viewer in the story with an emphasis on strong characterization is rare in this age of "blockbusters." The recent release of the picture on DVD will hopefully bring Gloria the wider attention and larger audience that Cassavetes' writing and direction and Rowlands and Adames' performances deserve.