You would struggle to head on over to 1967, or indeed that defining era in American cinema in general, to find such a social commentary to get under your skin than The Incident. The film’s under-the-radar status is quite baffling. Even today, what with all the race issues, the money troubles, the unstoppable violence, The Incident should stand out like a beacon.
Directed by Larry Peerce, and adapted for the screen by Nicholas E. Baehr, The Incident was lifted from the earlier television production, Ride with Terror. A film delving into such relevant, mystifying notions of the poor state of humanity. Such a cautionary tale holds strong over fifty years later.
Opening with a couple of young hoodlums, Joe (Tony Musante) and Artie (Martin Sheen), The Incident takes extensive care in its introductions. Joe and Artie, despicable thugs that they are, kick up a stink when asked to leave a pool hall. Then harassing a couple on their travels, before jumping an old man, and beating him half to death. And for what, eight lousy dollars?
“There’s an aura of resentment, and sexual hunger, and misplaced pride.”
It’s truly an alarming moment. Even watching it today, such unprovoked, heartless acts of brutality and terror have you shaking your head. But this was made in 1967. I mean, how much has changed since then? Our capacity for witnessing such torment has hardly shifted.
The plot then leaves Joe and Artie for a large chunk of the picture. The seeds of such behaviour have been sewn. What follows is carefully crafted foray into the group of characters. All travelling from various corners of New York City, to all eventually end up on the same Subway train.
And these people themselves are carrying the weight of their own personal problems and gripes. Some more significant, and vocalised louder, than others. They bicker about finances and the state of the youth culture. One man picks an argument with a ticket officer. There’s an aura of resentment, and sexual hunger, and misplaced pride. It’s late on a Sunday evening / Monday morning, so there are some pretty worn out souls in the Bronx.
On said train car, we first encounter a passed out vagrant, as a husband and wife board with their sleeping 5 year-old daughter. There’s a blooming teenage couple, an elderly Jewish husband and wife, a conflicted middle-aged couple, two soldier buddies (one has a broken arm). We also meet a down-and-out alcoholic, who is approached by a gay man – both board the train, and an African-American couple.
Trouble-makers, Joe and Artie, reappear when they get on the train. Presenting themselves to this cluster of everyday folk with a heavy whiff of rowdy repulsion. Aware of their meek audience, it does not take long for Joe and Artie to begin their reign of humiliating them.
“The tension, the claustrophobia, takes over beyond any physical sign of courage or detriment.”
Bit-by-bit, the morons start to degrade whoever they can. Plucking their targets as the wind blows. Every single passenger is confronted at one point or another. Joe and Artie even prevent from leaving the train (and people getting on), without any of the bystanders seemingly able to out-maneuver the predicament.
We join the passengers in watching this madness. And that is just it, the suffering endures without any real efforts to thwart these idiots. The black husband seems to revel in the torment of ‘whitey’ at first, but Joe puts him in his place. Not only that, from there Joe ridicules him, blurting out the ‘N’ word on numerous times. That he does not like them, that they smell. Truly cringe-worthy, appalling retorts.
One man is taunted by Artie, acting to befriend him, only to aggressively call him a ‘rotten fag’. There is no end to these guys’ out-pour of abuse. And as the journey continues to take its toll, the passengers lash out at each other in places. The tension, the claustrophobia, takes over beyond any physical sign of courage or detriment.
The teenage boy does nothing as Joe leers all over his girl. And when the middle-aged woman is leeched upon, she turns on her husband, getting off her chest her true resentment of him, as he too just stands there and watches. When one of the young soldiers makes a stand, even with a pot on one arm, he disappointingly asks his friend: “Where were you buddy?”
“The multi-dimensional characters demonstrate a shrill analysis of the modern world.”
The Incident has a lot to say about the strains of urban life in general, but certainly a telescope points at the changing times of the social scene in the sixties. The multi-dimensional characters demonstrate a shrill analysis of the modern world. Anger builds under the surface, both in the passengers, and us watching.
As the audience, as in life, we are forced to witness the lack of conviction and honesty in the human race. Even at the end, the passengers ignore the sleeping drunk rolling off the seat, to step over him and onward with their own little lives.
As the degenerates, Tony Musante and Martin Sheen make their screen debuts. Musante in particular is menacingly impressive. The terrific cast also includes a fresh-faced Beau Bridges, Donna Mills, and Ruby Dee, as well as veterans Jack Gilford, Ed McMahon, and Thelma Ritter. And the acting talent in The Incident is a testament to a movie that really ought to be slipping off the tongue much more in conversations about the cinema of 1967, for both its impact and its innovation.
