My first meeting with Gena Rowlands
Saturday, August 17, 2024 at 8:00PM 
The dedication at the end of Pedro Almodóvar' ALL ABOUT MY MOTHER (1999).
Yesterday, as The Film Experience's first foray into honoring Gena Rowlands drew to a close, I asked the readers: Can you remember how you first encountered her?
It's an interesting query since the introduction to an artist can set so much of one's relationship with them going forward. Personally, it's a matter of fascination because I remember so well when and where I first met the goddess that Cassavetes immortalized in his films. At least, I know the moment I became aware of Rowlands as someone I should pay attention to and treasure. It wasn't through any of her works, not directly. Instead, this brush with my actressexual fate came at the end of a tomato-red melodrama beset by maternal madness and a Spanish twist. Yes, I discovered Gena Rowlands through the dedication at the end of Pedro Almodóvar's All About My Mother...
To Bette Davis, Gena Rowlands, Romy Schneider... To all actresses who have played actresses, to all women who act, to all men who act and become women, to all the people who want to be mothers. To my mother.
As I've written about my relationship with that picture before, I'll keep things short and Rowlands-focused. My mother introduced me to Almodóvar, her favorite filmmaker, and All About My Mother guaranteed my lifelong devotion to the queer auteur. I watched it young, probably still unable to grasp the breadth of its ambitions, the cornucopia of desires and ideas vibrating beneath the surface. And yet, as if a predator or some harpy-like diva, the thing got its claws on me and didn't let go. That dedication at the end was especially curious, for it presented a path forward, a guide leading to more enticing discoveries.
Having fallen in love with this story about mothers and actress? Why wouldn't I be fixated on discovering the women who inspired it?
Davis I already knew, and Schneider was a familiar name from the cover of my Ludwig DVD and stories of her Sissi-powered fame. Rowlands was a different matter altogether, mostly recognizable because I had already spied her name on the lists of Best Actress Oscar nominees across the ages. As a budding cinephile and awards lunatic, her Academy-anointed turns should have been a priority, but the Almodovarian influence persisted. After all, neither A Woman Under the Influence nor Gloria were at the genesis of the melodrama. Instead, it was Opening Night, a film I – once again – discovered a bit too green to fully grasp. No matter, it still entranced me.
OPENING NIGHT (1977) John Cassavetes
Moreover, Rowlands was a besotting thing, breaking apart and putting herself together in the same motion, so loose and erratic that she seems under constant threat of dematerialization. Go read my Almost There profile on the performance for more details, but long story short, I fell for her. I fell hard for this new divinity in my mind's actress pantheon, and couldn't wait before I got my hands on more of her movies. That bore true even if there was something intimidating about the legendary status I'd read about in those early adolescent deep dives into film history. Soon, the Oscar-nominated roles would follow. Of course, I'd have to get them on DVD first.
And trust me, some of those American indies, no matter how revered, were hard to find in Portugal. So, to satiate the voracious curiosity, I turned to one picture that had collected dust for a few months. The Notebook DVD had arrived at my home as part of a film collection distributed as gifts with a newspaper I can't recall. Such things were common years ago, making many prestige flicks available for cheap. Sure, the editions had ugly covers and no bonus features, but the movie was there. More importantly, in this case, Gena Rowlands was there. In retrospect, I imagine I may have been alone as a starstruck kid seeking out the romantic hit for the great Rowlands.
Thankfully, she didn't disappoint, breaking my teenaged heart with her portrait of a mind seeping away, memories lost within the revolving nightmare of dementia and Alzheimer's. Years later, this would also be the real woman's lot in life, loading the picture with more emotional baggage than it already carried. For me, her characterization also served as a glimpse into what was to come, as I watched my grandmother suffer from the same malady Rowlands played. Films are entertainment, but, like any story, they're a way to tame the chaos of living, giving the shapeless a shape in the form of narrative.
THE NOTEBOOK (2004) Nick Cassavetes
It's difficult to describe the slow-seeping sorrow that becomes part and parcel when you witness a loved one forget you. One day, you share years of memories, an entire childhood spent in the warmth of grandmotherly affection. The next, you're a stranger. Moments of lucidity come forth, occasionally, but less so as the calendar pages turn into obsolescence and give way to their successors. There comes a day when only you remember, and the love within must be enough for both people. And there comes a day when you realize how much memories are part of the person. When they evanesce, old eyes aren't the only ones seeing a stranger before them.
From grandmother to grandfather on one branch of the family, and then the next. At this point, it's inconceivable that I won't see it happen to other people in the family. Maybe I'll be the one forgetting at the end of it all. Such ideas are well-worn baggage I take everywhere and have sometimes shared in writing. And to think that, before it all started, my first idea of that sad reality was a gift from Gena Rowlands' delicate hands. Revisiting her scenes, I still find much of it rings true, and there's plenty to admire as a piece of romantic melodrama, too. It might not be at the level of her work for Cassavetes Sr., but I understand why so many people think first of The Notebook when remembering Gena Rowlands. I guess that's why I wasn't so outraged over all those headlines a few days ago. To a point, I get it and respect it. How could I not?
All About My Mother is streaming on Max and Hulu. You can find Opening Night on there, too, as well as on the Criterion Channel. Finally, The Notebook is available to rent and purchase on Amazon, Apple, and the Microsoft Store.
Reader Comments (3)
I will not win any friends with this post.
I contend there is little interest in a career retrospective of Gena Rowlands. Much like the recent overkill of the Nicole Kidman retrospective, numerous articles that reassess the artistic integrity of a large number of films from one artist becomes tiresome.
I do not think the death of a 94 year old actress enduring the consequences of a terminal illness is particularly tragic. When I heard the news, I was relieved for both Rowlands and her family that the interminable suffering had ended.
Lastly, and probably most controversially, I would suggest that the television work of Rowland is more significant that her feature films. Rowlands's Emmy recognized work in An Early Frost, The Bette Ford Story (win), Face of a Stranger (win), The Color of Love: Jacey's Story, Wild Iris, Hysterical Blindness (win), What if God Were the Sun, and The Incredible Mrs. Ritchie (win) is worthy of study. I am not certain that rewatching A Woman Under the Influence is a particularly sought after experience. The intensity of her performance is memorable but not motivating for repeat views.
Serious film advocates have pushed Opening Night for years. While it has a limited number of die hard fans, the film looks a bit, well, cheap. The sets are cobbled together and don't feel genuine. Look at Hannah and Her Sisters. Woody Allen shot much of the footage in Mia Farrow's apartment. Never once does it feel like anything other than the home of Hannah. Not the case with the work of John Cassavetes.
Finbar McBride -- We're not doing a career retrospective on Gena Rowlands. Just a few posts from a handful of writers.
Thank you for your recommendation of Rowlands' TV work. I've been curious about a lot of it, though most of those productions are hard to find. Is there any you'd say is especially essential?
Regarding your opinions on Cassavetes and his collaborations with Rowlands, I understand your acrimony, even if I don't share it. I hope you can tolerate the diverging takes on their work from me and others.
I recommend Hysterical Blindness which reunited Rowlands with Ben Gazzara. The two together are magic.