Clerks
Kevin Smith, USA, 1994, 92 mins; Artificial Eye
Review by Gerald Houghton (1995)
Spike Lee, Richard Linklater, Hal Hartley and Jim Jarmusch are all thanked in the credits to Kevin Smith's celebrated debut; nominated for their idiosyncratic approach to off-beam, independent films in this era of the studio mega-buck. And of them it's clearly Jarmusch to whom Smith's debt is owed. Shot on 16mm and blown-up to 35, Clerks has the same ultra-grain black and white, static qualities as Jarmusch's own wonderful debut, Stranger Than Paradise (1984). Indeed, static and long are fast becoming watchwords for much of what's most exciting in contemporary cinema: reactions and close-ups in Clerks are often exchanged for protracted medium shots of people doing that most uncinematic of things - talking.
Talking appears to be the most radical of discoveries for a largely self-taught generation of new movie-brats. Tarantino is feted for it, of course, but Hartley and Linklater also pen sparkling dialogue and allow their performers the space to say it. Kevin Smith is not yet in the same league, but when his script is good, it's very good indeed.
The plot is simple: Dante (Brian O'Halloran) is a twentysomething clerk at a Quick Stop store. Called in on his day off, he opens up and deals with the customers drifting through, talks with his friend Randal (Jeff Anderson) clerking the video store next door, and worries about a love-life that includes girlfriend Veronica (Marilyn Ghigliotti) and shock on discovering high-school sweet-heart Caitlin (Lisa Spoonauer) is about to marry an "Asian design student".
The paucity of the production is always highlighted in this kind of film and Clerks is no exception: Smith made it for a measly $27,000, shooting at night in the store he clerked during the day. (The shutters up front remain steadfastly closed - gum in the locks - and Smith more than adequately convinces us that the day is passing Dante by outside.) The down-scale result is offset by a front-rank soundtrack - Jesus Lizard, Bad Religion, Soul Asylum - added after the film was picked up by Miramax for the States. The two marry with surprising strength.
The shoestring of a budget begins to show, however, in some of the performances. O'Halloran is terrific, as he needs to be, holding the centre of the piece together. And despite some early reticence, Anderson's crude, amoral sidekick - he goes to another video store to rent a "chicks with dicks" flick - has the endearing air of a Dennis Leary about him. Both Spoonauer and Ghigliotti are excellent, but some of the bit-playing from Smith's friends is at best uneasy and occasionally downright embarrassing. Smith himself - as Silent Bob, standing outside the store all day - sensibly lives up to his name.
The real star of a film like this though has to be its script, and there lurk moments of sheer inspiration in here. Randal's discourse on the roofing contractors and plumbers killed on the Death Star at the end of Return of the Jedi is a gem, and Dante's horror on hearing his girlfriend's only had sex with 3 others but "sucked 36 dicks" is handled with sufficient comic invention to be lewd but never just filthy. Only when Smith goes for more outright comedy - a visit to a funeral parlour, a shot at necrophilia - does he break the spell. Shorn of about ten minutes, this could be something of a minor masterpiece. As it is, Clerks is a superior calling card and a cult in the offing. What Kevin Smith can do with a big budget will be interesting to see.