Husbands

[Husbands] serves up heavy dosage of humor and tragedy and an impressive honesty rarely captured in American movies. Cassavetes' scripting and direction are quite realistic and often brilliant.

Few films capture with such life-affirming wonder the despair, hatred, and incomprehension that drives the sexes together and apart.

Cassavetes was a masterful anti-Hollywood director who probed human failings until he reached right under the skin.

A brilliantly textured film to be savoured.

Unyielding and underdeveloped, like a semi-interesting draft for something John Updike decided against writing.

Husbands may not be structurally perfect, but it's an unsentimental dissection of ego, fear and masculinity nonetheless.

Realism, in the cinema of John Cassavetes, has an edge of madness, pain and neurosis. Cassavetes aestheticizes pain and anxiety to represent the truth of his reality.

The film is too overlong, too dreary, too unfocused for anything to have any real impact.

Some astute observations are lost in an avalanche of endless scenes and a cascade of tiresome and self-absorbed characters.

[Cassavetes is] really a medical examiner: vivisecting human relationships and recording his findings on celluloid.