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How others will see it. This film made a minor stir in its day, and helped make a name for Sydney Pollack. Most will find it unpleasant, but mildly fascinating, much like its subject matter, the dance marathon. As usual for an "A" Hollywood movie, the cast is stocked with familiar character actors, as well as one bona-fide star, Jane Fonda. Those who are fans of specific actors may enjoy the movie. Gig Young has an especially good role.
How I felt about it. People will do what they have to do, to survive. That is one theme of the movie. If they have to suffer through sleep deprivation and long-term physical exhaustion, so be it. Meanwhile, they'll get fed and have lodging, two important concerns during the Hoover stage of the Great Depression. Roosevelt's socialist programs may or may not have been effective, but they gave the poor hope, which was sorely lacking for the folks in this movie, especially Fonda.
Fonda's character is the main problem here. She's completely bitter, despite having one major advantage: she's beautiful. This makes her marriageable, but no, she'd rather carp about her hard-luck story trying to make it as an actress. Well, everyone knows its about impossible to become a leading actor, unless like Jane Fonda yourself, you are closely related to a famous actor or a powerful producer. Get over it.
Fonda is just determined to win the marathon, despite going through four partners. Her competitiveness is inconsistent, however, with her defeatist attitude, which in turn is inconsistent with her advantages of youth and beauty. She still has chips on the table. The time to despair is when they're gone.
Another problem character is played by Susannah York, the peroxide blonde actress. She seems to think she's in a play, or a beauty pageant, rather than a dance contest. This head case would never last a day, since she would quit once her feet hurt, or her looks or hygience are affected.
Some actors do hit the right notes, including the seen-it-all sailor Red Buttons, overly protective husband Bruce Dern, and dopey, passive, sad-eyed Michael Sarrazin, whose character is just stupid enough to shoot someone because he's asked to.
They Shoot Horses, Don't They? is a downer, which shows that a title can actually be appropriate in terms of its mood, if not its subject. This documentary of human misery and hypocrisy never lets up, much like the Great Depression itself, which didn't really end until a worse event took place, World War II. Yet, being successful in its mission is not the same thing as cinema greatness. If it was, porn films would receive Academy Awards.