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This is the first Harold Pinter play i watched. It's weird, claustrophobic and interesting, i mean, first 40 minutes are somewhat slow-paced but then, it speeds up and raise the stakes. Biggest quality here is acting, every actor did a tremendous job. It's not easy to categorize it, it is something like a black comedy +psychological drama thriller+ Absurdism. I could have rated it higher but it's too ambiguous and i don't love movies which are being intentionally so vague. It's so easy to create a mystery, every writer can do it but it takes a lot of skill to give also the right-mindblowing- answers to the questions you just raised. Pinter doesn't give any answers, so my rating won't be that thigh. Yet, it was a fun ride, almost Kafkaesque in a way, and those comedic moments were almost brilliant. In any case, this is a good movie.

I think that Roger Ebert pinned this work down when he said that adapting the Pinter play would inherently cause some problems - what one can buy as a little more fantastical and hermetically sealed on a stage, where one can be just stuck with these two people on the 'job' with their assignment as Mr. Stanley Webber (Robert Shaw) is a little harder to buy in a film because the reality is different (at least in this case. While I would recommend the film to people, especially for those who want to seek out Friedkin's oeuvre, and it has some terrific performances, it is an exceedingly strange and odd sit.

The film is about... well, what is it really? I suppose it's about what happens to a man when he cracks under the weight of pressure and has a nervous breakdown, but that's the sort of main-ultimate point, if there is one. I felt like Pinter was challenging me and the audience, though to what end I am sure I don't know. Of course there is a great deal of suspense - what Shaw knows that the owners of the house don't about these two stranger-boarders (Patrick Magee, who you may recall as the Writer from Clockwork Orange, and Sydney Taffler who is really razor-sharp and wonderfully sadistic as Nat Goldberg) - amid this 'birthday party' which is now really on his birthday.

Of course this is what is called 'theater of the absurd'. And to this point there are a few funny moments, but I wouldn't necessarily call it a comedy, at least in Friedkin's hands. Perhaps it's because of the edge of Robert Shaw, who is probably the main reason to watch the film is for his startling performance that keeps an emotional through-line. When he first starts off in the movie he's mad at Dandy Nichols for... something or other (the tea, the corn flakes, the milk, for not, uh, talking to him in a particular way). One almost wonders if he's about to strike her, it's that sort of intense screen persona. But there's a lot more to his character and Shaw conveys this in this big early scene (he's also, I think, an ex-concert pianist or something).

You have to be set in the right frame of mind for this movie, and it definitely won't spoon-feed you easy dramatic answers to questions that are posed. By the end I was still not sure who Goldberg and McCann represented (my first thought was they were in some criminal organization - the "job" aspect made me think of a heist, and perhaps that's not that far from the truth by the very end, in a sense). Maybe it's a metaphor for how easily people can crack up, how manipulation and torture are so insidious, especially when pressed hard enough, and meanwhile the mostly happy old Mrs Bowles has her own dimensions too and works as a counterpoint for everyone else (she, along with her husband, has nothing to hide).

There's also some dazzling and bizarre camera and lighting choices, though these mostly come in the last couple of reels as the birthday party 'amps up' so to speak, with a camera at one point latched on to a character's head for dizzying perspective and when the lights go out at one point it's... I can't even. The point is, The Birthday Party is a good little find that is Friedkin in love with a piece of material that is bold, difficult and gives himself some chance to take what he learned directing television (I'm not sure if he did live theater but it wouldn't surprise me) into cinema and make it alive and thrashing. Whether it all makes sense is another story.

Harold Pinter's brilliant early play-on-film, The Birthday Party, is one of his best efforts, and perhaps, with The Homecoming, the pinnacle of the Theater of the Absurd. The plot itself is simple. Two men come to visit Stanley, a classical pianist who has, for unknown reasons, left his home and is staying with a provincial couple. He is visited by Shamus McCann (Patrick McGee) and Nat Goldberg (Sydney Tafler). They alternately celebrate and menace Stanley, who may or may or may not know them. Nothing is clearly stated. Most of the dialogue consists of insinuations and vague threats. Performances across the board are outstanding, with Robert Shaw outdoing himself as Stanley Weber. Moultrie Keisall as Petey is excellent but understated, and his final words really put the cherry on the birthday cake. (sorry for the pun). Nothing I can say can communicate the unique strangeness and power of this film. Top marks, 5 stars, classic.

Friedkin does an excellent job of turning Harold Pinter's crunchy little Comedy of Menace into a suitably dank, dreary-looking movie full of dark corners, both visual and characteristic. Cast is spot-on, but Sydney Tafler's Goldberg is outstanding; alternately affable and deeply threatening with sublime ease. Even better is Dandy Nicholls as Meg, a truly pitch-perfect performance in one of Pinter's few sympathetic (and substantial) female roles. This reading does invite comparison with the 1987 TV production, in which Pinter himself plays Goldberg and Joan Plowright the daffy Meg. For my money, this movie is the winner by a length. Highly recommended.

If one has never seen a Pinter play, this one is a hard one to start with. I studied numerous playwrights in college and nearly wrote a dissertation on this guy, but my advisers turned down my proposal. Absurdist theatre is a hard business from Ionesco to Beckett, but Pinter paved his own way. It was interesting to see Robert Shaw, the skipper in Jaws and a bad guy in The Sting, the victim here. He lives in a house (not really a boarding house) and is a harsh, depressed man. The woman who runs things is a clueless nit. Out of nowhere come a pair of men, who decide to stay there, but their target is Stanley (Shaw). Their motives are unclear, other than to turn him into a relative vegetable with intense nonsense interrogation. The title comes from what would seem a benign celebration of Stanley's life which then turns into a nightmare. The film is pretty well crafted with "good" performances. But like every Pinter play I've seen, it leaves one unsettled and spooked.