Two brothers get together to re-evaluate their lives and dreams, but it soon become apparent that they have more differences than similarities, and perhaps would have been better off not hooking up at all.This is a movie that makes you work. There are no easy clichés to grab hold of. Nicholson shows that he can act the pants off most others, playing a sundied, self-examining radio host, a million miles from the 'Nicholsom' we're used to.Dern gives an astounding performance as perhaps one of the most obnoxious characters to ever grace the screen - a self-obsessed businessman and would-be millionaire, if he wasn't to busy taking drugs and abusing women.Ellen Bursten is utterly convincing and heartbreaking performance as one of his neglected hangers one, and just as one is thinking the film is burning itself out, steals the show with an memorable explosion of emotion.Julie Anne Robinson, the young of the two women hanging around Dern, is equally impressive. A promising actress with three films to her credit, she sadly died of smoke-inhalation during apartment fir at her home on Eugene, Oregon, 13 April 1975.It's Nicholson one ultimately remembers most from this film, even though he is really an observer thorough whose eyes we witness the self-destructive habits of the others.Really glad I saw this, happening upon it when browsing through a batch of 70's movies that cane into my possession. No car chases, gun fights or sex scenes (well, one brief one), but a rare ensemble performance, a real gem.

Alienation and disconnection -- the uncomfortable mood gripping the nation would soon degrade into deep malaise and acute paranoia as America was stunned and traumatized by revelations of the government's deceptions and lies about the failing war in Viet Nam and then soon enough the vaudevillian scandal of Watergate. This film strives to capture the infinitely subtle drama of when innocence isn't so much lost as it's cynically packaged and sold. Dreams may die hard, but delusions usually expire with barely an audible whimper, and there was no more epic delusion expiring at that moment in our history than the vainglorious belief in the USA's infallibility. God, himself, had ordained this vast land exceptional and anointed its multitudinous inhabitants, or so we'd been told. Like the crumbling, decrepit, musty seaside resort town which plays host to this tragicomic farce, America was not living up to its slogan as the Shining City on the Hill. Atlantic City in the early 70's not only manifested the startling decay of so much of this nation's urban spaces, but also poignantly symbolized the inner decay of our national psyche. And while it's certainly sad and scary to witness the gruesome, slow, writhing death of the Great American Delusion, it's also somehow comforting and reassuring to know that just beneath the still warm corpse germinates tender seedlings incubating the merest wisps of hope for our nation's future. Amidst the emphatically strained and tortured metaphors which comprise this modest cinematic tragedy lurks genuineness and sincerity and psychological resonance. It's an awkward, peculiar little picture story that will haunt your psyche, if you're not already dead, or too delusional.

"The King of Marvin Gardens" is an ensemble piece that turns on the collision of four dysfunctional people. Jack Nicholson plays a perennially depressed, bookish "straight" type opposite the "dynamic" and "goofy" Bruce Dern. Ellen Burstyn and Julia Ann Robinson play, essentially, a mother-step daughter team of hookers. None of these characters is compelling and all of them become quite grating in their various ways; Bruce Dern takes the prize as being the most annoying and tiresome of the bunch.The movie is set in Atlantic City and makes frequent use of the more lurid, campy or bizarre aspects of that location. Unfortunately, the antics of the four main actors are mostly forced, mannered and flat. I found myself cringing at the strained quality of the movie as it reached toward inspiring in the audience some sort of artsy, reverse-chic epiphany it was nowhere near attaining.There really is no plot, and almost any scene could be deleted without affecting the remainder of the film...except for the happy outcome that the thing would be that much shorter. I sat through most of this mess but at a certain point I finally succumbed to my urge to walk out and... walked out. It felt really good to say goodbye to "The King of Marvin Gardens."

It's ironically indicative of this movie's theme and the relationship between American culture AND this film that the vast majority of IMDb raters have given this a 6 or 7 (out of 10). Most Americans that actually watch this film will be confused by it. Very strange, maybe, in that it is a truly American movie: American cast, American production, American themes, American sets, American problems, American answers. But, tell me--how do you rate yourself when you look back at that nude in the full length mirror right after you get out of the shower? If you're feeling generous (and you're only rating for yourself), you might get a 6 or a 7, right? Rafelson's early (funnier...haha, couldn't resist that), more critically successful Nicholson vehicle, FIVE EASY PIECES, has some really GREAT moments (like the toast-ordering scene), but ultimately, the pacing is off. There's just not enough there, there. Not so with King of MV. WOW, this is one helluva emotional roller coaster. The much, much underrated and underutilized Bruce Dern gives one of his best two or three performances as Nicholson's manic (American through and through) salesman brother. This riffs on Arthur Miller and all the best dramatic pitchmen roles from the 1st half of the 20th Century. Ellen Burstyn is spot on, as is the other female interest. But the real focus is on the guys. (And just a word about the late, great Scatman Crothers--so so excellent and iconic in this.) And now we get to Jack... ...I think this is arguably his best performance. It is one of the very very few where his eyebrows were nailed down, anyway. His character is so weary, so defeated, so human, you're tempted to think he's a Russian or a Jew or maybe even a Russian Jew. But no, he is a through and through Willie Loman American. And one we so rarely see on the stage or screen--though we all know/have known them. They are that vast minority of reasonable, intelligent, sensitive, fairly strong and honest and wise individuals who just can't take it or who just don't think it's worth the trouble having seen too many people taken advantage of or getting their teeth knocked out. They are sick of what they've seen; they are sick of not being able to toe the mark--even though they know that those expectations are unreasonable. Rare stuff, indeed.BTW, this is NOT a happy movie--fair warning.Bless you, Bob Rafelson--a brilliant, brilliant film that should rest on the shelf next to Renoir and the very best of the 50's British Angry Young Men cinema.