Mike Nichols (1931–2014)

Mike Nichols was a great actors' director. He made some excellent camera choices, but what set him apart from his peers was his consistent facility for coaxing superb performances from his cast. Nichols started in theater as a performer and continued to direct for the stage throughout his life. He was extremely intelligent about analyzing the essence of a story and scene, breaking down the beats (especially the subtext), and helping the performers make them into living moments. If you listen to his commentaries or interviews, it's a real pleasure to hear him discuss small moments in a performance and little tricks he used on set or in rehearsal to get an actor into the right mental space. He possessed great empathy as a director, and had a fine understanding of human behavior, particularly what was going on below the surface and how it drove people to act – the indirect, circuitous, and even self-defeating ways we funny human beings behave. Watch The Graduate, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? or any of his other films, and you'll encounter wonderfully human moments – comic, tragic, or both—of poorly managed anxiety, fearful hope, constrained despair, displaced anger, petty spiteful revenge, small understated kindness, and relaxed grace. Actors and directors who take the art and craft seriously could do far worse than to study the work of Nichols (along with that of Ingmar Bergman and a handful of other directors). Even Nichols' more uneven films (such as Wolf and Primary Colors) contain some accomplished scenes that can serve as master classes on acting and directing.

Nichols confessed that he didn't love performing, that he found it draining, in contrast with his stage (and occasional writing) partner Elaine May, who thrived on it. As a result, he was extremely sympathetic to his actors and tried to support them as much as possible, especially in emotionally vulnerable scenes. My favorite interview moment with Nichols came when he was asked about his directing style (by Charlie Rose) and he spoke about these dynamics. Nichols talked about how lonely and naked it can on stage or in front of the camera, and what he tried to give his actors to alleviate that. Rose then played a clip of Kathy Bates (who justifiably received a Oscar nomination for Primary Colors) gushing about Mike Nichols – with other directors, it was often different, but with Mike, you weren't alone out there. (Brenda Blethyn said something similar in a Q&A session – if she felt her director's support, that level of trust, she could "go anywhere" in a scene.) Nichols was slightly embarrassed but moved by the Bates clip. What she said is about the greatest compliment a director can receive, and for Nichols, it was well-deserved.

From The New York Times, an obituary, an appraisal by Ben Brantley and reactions from colleagues. The obituary has some choice passages:

“A director’s chief virtue should be to persuade you through a role; Mike’s the only one I know who can do it,” Burton said after the film was finished, a remarkable compliment from a renowned actor for a fledgling director. “He conspires with you to get your best. He’d make me throw away a line where I’d have hit it hard. I’ve seen the film with an audience and he’s right every time. I didn’t think I could learn anything about comedy — I’d done all of Shakespeare’s. But from him I learned.” . . .

“I’ve always been impressed by the fact that upon entering a room full of people, you find them saying one thing, doing another and wishing they were doing a third,” [Nichols] said in a 1965 interview with the weekly newspaper The National Observer, now defunct. “The words are secondary and the secrets are primary. That’s what interests me most.” . . .

“But what I really thought [improvisation] was useful for was directing,” he said, “because it also teaches you what a scene is made of — you know, what needs to happen. See, I think the audience asks the question, ‘Why are you telling me this?’ And improvisation teaches you that you must answer it. There must be a specific answer. It also teaches you when the beginning is over and it’s time for the middle, and when you’ve had enough middle and it’s time already for the end. And those are all very useful things in directing.”

Los Angeles Times coverage includes an obituary and a full archive of new and old pieces on him, covering his versatility, how he worked with stars, and what he learned from success and failure.

The Washington Post provides an obituary and reactions from colleagues.

NPR offers multiple pieces on All Things Considered, Morning Edition, The Two Way, a text obituary with video clips, and older interviews on Talk of the Nation and Fresh Air.

Charlie Rose interviewed Nichols several times, and spoke about him for CBS News.

Elaine May's salute to Nichols for his AFI Life Achievement Award is predictably funny. For his Kennedy Center honors, she observed, "Mike has chosen to do things that are really meaningful and that have real impact and real relevance, but he makes them so entertaining and exciting that they're as much fun as if they were trash."

Roy Edroso has a good remembrance.

Mark Evanier posts a great Nichols and May sketch, recommends a commentary track (and Todd McCarthy's 2012 appreciation of Nichols for The Hollywood Reporter) and passes on Nichols' five rules for filmmaking:

1. The careful application of terror is an important form of communication.

2. Anything worth fighting for is worth fighting dirty for.

3. There's absolutely no substitute for genuine lack of preparation.

4. If you think there's good in everybody, you haven't met everybody.

5. Friends may come and go, but enemies will certainly become studio heads.

Philip Seymour Hoffman (1967–2014)

I was shocked and saddened to see that Philip Seymour Hoffman had died. He was an extremely talented, versatile and intelligent actor who made every project he was in better (seeing his name on the credits was a reassurance). His early work is notable for how he turned what could have remained small, forgettable or clichéd roles into memorable, intriguing characters. Likewise, one of many things I admired about it was that, even after he was getting leading parts, he continued to play extremely interesting supporting roles. He was a regular fixture of P.T. Anderson's films, and it's no surprise that good writer-directors sought out Hoffman and vice versa. Although he had a hulking frame, he managed to sell himself (all the way to an Oscar) as the diminutive, soft-spoken Truman Capote. He could play a snitch or a villain with panache, and showed a deft feel for comedy as well. His death at the relatively young age or 46 is a tremendous loss. A rash of fine performers have died recently, but at least Peter O'Toole, Pete Seeger, Maximillian Schell, Shirley Temple Black and Sid Caesar had long runs.

Hoffman's list of credits is extraordinary. I still need to see his directorial efforts, but the list of performances I loved is long. He plays a memorable weasel in Scent of a Woman and a suck-up par excellence in The Big Lebowski. As Scotty in Boogie Nights, his self-loathing (he's gay and smitten with Eddie/Dirk) makes him sympathetic. I've only seen clips of Flawless, but a friend of mine who adored Hoffman cited that performance all the time – what impressed her was that Hoffman didn't play Rusty as stereotypically gay or transgendered, but simply and matter-of-factly as a woman, and with dignity (more unusual in 1999 perhaps, but still). He plays a small but crucial role as the nurse in Magnolia. In The Talented Mr. Ripley, he's the one character to see through Tom Ripley's façade from the start, and he infuses his lingering stares and offhand remarks with subtle but palpable menace. In Almost Famous, he delivers a lovely, kind sermon to our hero on being "not-cool" and how embracing that difficult path can lead to becoming a good writer. He's the comic relief buddy to Ben Stiller in Along Came Polly, and he brings a goofy, fun energy to every scene he's in. His Oscar-winning performance is Capote is restrained, detailed, and engrossing. His passionate bluster as Gus in Charlie Wilson's War is enormous fun and one of the best things about the movie. In Doubt, the movie depends on him keeping us guessing, and he walks that line expertly. He and Paul Giamatti are excellent and the best things about The Ides of March. He's grounded and completely believable as worldly-wise Oakland A's baseball manager Art Howe in Moneyball. His charismatic, enigmatic role in The Master is assured and accomplished, and he plays wonderfully off his costars Joaquin Phoenix (playing Freddie) and Amy Adams (as Peggy), utterly still in the face of Freddie's manic chaos, yet occasionally exploding his own façade when challenged. The scenes between him and Donald Sutherland in Catching Fire were a joy. Hoffman was always so good regardless of the role it was easy to take it for granted that he'd deliver a fine performance and that he'd gift us with many more in the future. He will be greatly missed.

The New York Times obituary.

The Los Angeles Times obituary.

The Washington Post obituary, plus fan and peer reactions.

Rob Vaux's remembrance for Mania.

Rolling Stone: "Philip Seymour Hoffman Mourned Online by Fans and Colleagues," "Philip Baker Hall Remembers 'Genius' Philip Seymour Hoffman" and "9 Overlooked Philip Seymour Hoffman Performances."

Aaron Sorkin: "Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Death Saved 10 Lives."

Marc Maron on Hoffman and addiction.

Lance Mannion revisits his reviews of Hoffman's films, starting here (you can scroll through the other posts up above).

The remembrance threads from LG&M and Balloon Juice, featuring some great clips.

Peter O'Toole

(I didn't get a chance to write a proper post earlier, so…)

Peter O'Toole was one of the all-time greats, a true master of the craft and art of acting. There were better fits for specific roles or projects, but you couldn't ask for anyone of higher caliber. He didn't start out as an actor, and his career was the result of risk-taking, fortuitous chance and immense talent. He didn't like to give interviews, but he was a wonderful raconteur and charming guest. He said acting had always been very hard for him, yet in his performances, he made it all seem completely natural. He garnered headlines for his off-screen carousing, but his work remained impeccable, and this was no contradiction; he was a bon vivant who didn't do anything by half-measures. He must have done meticulous preparation and thinking before a role, but when actually performing, he was fully present, electric, a high-wire act, a presence.

One of the many stories he told about Lawrence of Arabia centered on the scene where Lawrence tries out his new Arab garb for the first time. It’s a character moment without dialogue, and director David Lean asked O'Toole to improvise. It was O'Toole's first big movie role and he felt a bit stranded, then started thinking, what would a young man do in this situation? He would want to see how he looked. And how would he do that? O'Toole seized on the idea of Lawrence using his dagger as a mirror. O'Toole heard Lean say quietly off-camera, "Clever boy." O'Toole smiled as he told the tale, and he had many great ones.

My favorite O'Toole performances are Lawrence of Arabia (no surprise) and My Favorite Year (which needs a good, new, affordable disc version). I'm also fond of his work in Ratatouille and as King Henry II in both The Lion in Winter and Beckett (I don't like some directorial or studio-driven choices in Beckett, but O'Toole himself in superb). Troy is a so-so film, but O'Toole is marvelous in it, as he was in many not-so-great films. (Venus is the second film I reviewed here.) O'Toole didn't win a Best Actor Oscar despite his eight nominations mainly due to extraordinary bad luck, but honorary Oscar were devised for precisely his situation, and his is one of the best deserved.

Here's the dagger moment from Lawrence and the scene that follows:

Here's one of O'Toole's best talk show segments, telling tales of Lawrence:

Here's O'Toole presented with his honorary Oscar:

Relevant links:

New York Times obituary.

Los Angeles Times obituary.

The Guardian obituary.

The Washington Post obituary.

Irish Examiner: Peter O' Toole: ‘I will stir the smooth sands of monotony’

The New Yorker appreciation.

Peter O'Toole's 1993 interview on Fresh Air, covering his films, Shakespeare and much more.

James Gandolfini (1961–2013)

I was sad to see that James Gandolfini had died at the relatively young age of 51. To expand on what I've written elsewhere, I saw Gandolfini on stage in God of Carnage in 2011. The play is slighter than Yasmine Reza's other hit, Art (a comedy with moments of depth), but both plays are fantastic actor showcases. Gandolfini and his costars (Jeff Daniels, Marcia Gay Harden, and Hope Davis) were all great. Gandolfini always gave a very natural, grounded performance. The nuances, shifts and tiny beats in his longer speeches in The Sopranos – normally with Dr. Melfi – really were a joy to watch. He made it look easy. (In the Loop is another of my favorites.)

Justifiably, his most famous role was Tony Soprano, the crime boss and central figure of David Chase's TV show The Sopranos, which became a cultural phenomenon. The character Tony Soprano was smarter (and definitely shrewder) than most of his fellow gangsters, but it was the little touches of human insight – along with the refusal by Chase and Gandolfini to truly sentimentalize the character – that really made him great. (Roy Edroso writes well about this.) Tony was in the bulk of the scenes in almost every episode. Gandolfini essentially had to carry the series, sell the whole affair, and boy, did he. It's not as if he was just playing himself, either – he famously said, "I'm a neurotic mess. I'm really basically just like a 260-pound Woody Allen." To perform at the level he did – and sustain it – requires a serious dedication to craft along with superb intuition. The Sopranos became such a hit it might be easy to underplay or even forget how much of a coup it was for an actor who wasn't terribly well-known and didn't look like a typical leading man to get that part, and how uncommon the role itself was.

Let's take a look at two scenes. You can consider them and everything below minor spoilers. Several people linked and discussed this one (alas, the image is slightly distorted):

What's your reaction? For me, I'm drawn in, even seduced, and then pushed out. The beats/shifts are well-written, and Gandolfini hits them beautifully. This is a quintessential Tony-Melfi scene. He tells a story, it's somewhat funny but has a hard, even cruel edge, yet he shows surprising insight… only to undercut that at the end. The structure even mimics that of a joke, with Melfi giving the setup for Tony's topper at the end. If there's an audience surrogate in the series, it's Dr. Melfi; like us, she's observing Tony Soprano, and thinks she understands him, and may even become sympathetic, but may just be getting conned by a sociopath. (This becomes an explicit concern of hers late in the series.) Tony often shows these moments of striking insight into human nature and his own past conduct, and as an audience, we can marvel at this, even admire him, and think that he might change. But Chase and Gandolfini don't let us off that easily. What's Tony's last jab about, mocking Jimmy? Is he just regressing, unreflectively slipping back into familiar behavior, and making a joke he's made dozens of times before to get a laugh? Is this covering behavior, Tony rejecting his momentary vulnerability (but also his own insight)? Is there any real change, let alone progress? Laugh at the last gag, and you've become complicit. More likely, you feel disappointed in the briefly-insightful Tony mocking Jimmy again – and that means you've been seduced, perhaps conned, and complicit in a slightly different way. Either way, most of us keep watching.

"God is a luxury I can't afford." It's a fantastic character line in Woody Allen's great film Crimes and Misdemeanors, and it fits many of the characters in The Sopranos, perhaps most of all Tony and his wife Carmela (Edie Falco). Many critics (especially Emily Nussbaum) have commented on the scene where Carmela seeks counsel from a psychiatrist about their marriage, and is sternly warned to take her children and leave her current life, one of comfort built on evil. ("One thing you can never say, that you haven’t been told.") It's a striking, memorable scene. But not surprisingly, Carmela balks at this advice. She's willing to make some sacrifices, perhaps, but not that much. She wants to make a bargain. She's very much like her husband in this respect. In the very first episode, and for the bulk of the series, Tony Soprano doesn't truly want to change his way of life, certainly not to abandon his life of crime – he just wants his panic attacks to stop. Similarly, it's arresting to see the mafia dinner late in season 1 after seeing the entire series; so many of the characters are eventually killed off. This life takes its price. And Chase and Gandolfini don't let us completely off the hook as viewers, either.

Here's another great scene from late in the series:

Again, it's a well-written scene (and that shouldn't be overlooked), but it's also simply a superb performance. Straightforward emotion is relatively easy to play, but emotion under restraint, a character in true turmoil, wrestling with something, switching tactics, bargaining, anger at his son and Melfi but also self-loathing and guilt, losing it briefly and pulling himself back – that's really something. As an actor, Gandolfini is grounded, real, in the moment, fully present, and this makes Tony Soprano dangerous, sympathetic, and human. Not every episode had a scene this strong, but more than a few did, and most of them had scenes that came close. The Sopranos could boast a fine ensemble cast, and had some superb writing and directing, but it depended on James Gandolfini pouring himself into the role of Tony Soprano and selling us on it throughout 86 episodes. He was the real deal.

Many great actors never get a chance at such a role, but we're all lucky Gandolfini did. (And by all accounts, he was very grateful for it. I've heard several stories about the lavish gifts he got his fellow actors after his big contract.) RIP – he left us far too soon.

Other articles and tributes:

Roy Edroso.

Slate: "The Longform Guide to The Sopranos. A useful compilation of good articles.

Matt Zoller Seitz: " A Great Actor, A Better Man."

Gandolfini on Sesame Street.

GQ: "The Night Tony Soprano Disappeared."

Emily Nussbaum: "How Tony Soprano Changed Television."

David Remnick: "Postscript."

LA Times: Obituary, appreciation 1, appreciation 2, industry reactions, and remembering his stage work.

NY Times: Obituary, reactions, and a 1988 piece about "apartment gypsies" with Gandolfini before he made it big.

Condolence threads by Lawyers, Guns & Money and Balloon Juice.

Finally, the blog Master of Sopranos has "the definitive explanation of the end" of the series. This is exhaustive and very well done. (Honestly, when I watched the end, I thought the visual syntax of the sequence strongly pointed in one direction, and the only reason I found myself second-guessing my reading was because I thought David Chase was trying to achieve an ambiguous, open ending.) In any case, a memorable piece of work.

Enough From Me – What Do You Think About Me?

The 2012 Screen Actors Guild Awards were held this past weekend. You can see the list of nominees and winners here. As usual, there are some worthy recipients and nominees. (I didn't watch the entire show myself, just some clips, but I'm always glad to see good work recognized.) For Oscar watchers, the SAG Awards have some predictive value, since actors make up the largest block of Oscar voters. That said, I did find this panel of a slideshow web ad hilariously appalling:


"The only award show where every award goes to an actor."

Yikes. I hoped to FSM that this was the idea of some marketing person, and not anyone at the SAG Awards, but Backstage and several other sites use the same slogan in their coverage. (Google shows the phrase only appearing in recent coverage – older webpages featuring it are merely displaying recent feeds.) I don't see how this pitch can be read as anything else but, 'no awards for boring stuff.' Where's Jenna Maroney to sneer at all the little people?

You'd be hard pressed to find any film-lover who didn't appreciate good acting (even if their conception of it was highly atypical). Personally, I love and prize fine acting, and enjoy discussing the art and craft of it, especially how a particular actor approached a specific role, or scene, or line. Some actors are lovely people in real life and a joy to work with professionally. However, all those tales of diva thespians you've heard are, um, extremely well-founded. There's an old saying that Hollywood is high school with money. Actors are the popular, good-looking kids. One of the all-time best Oscar presentations was in 2010 for the screenplay awards, as Tina Fey and Robert Downey, Jr. sparred over writers versus actors, and Downey's topper was that filmmaking was "a collaboration – a collaboration between handsome, gifted people and sickly, little mole people." It was hilarious, especially because some actors actually think this way. Some view directors and everybody else as failed, wannabe actors. After all, they are the stars – who wouldn't want to be them? While some are indeed wonderful people, actors as a class are the most narcissistic, vain and self-absorbed people involved in show biz. (Certain producers, agents and directors can give them a run for their money.) Some of this self-absorption falls into the "occupational hazard" category, depending on what school of acting one subscribes to (it can be a delicate balancing act of insecurity and ego). Still, stories of actors (and pop stars) neither understanding nor caring about what everybody else on the set does are commonplace. Hell, they're also some of the most popular show biz stories (less so among the divas themselves). Some such tales are legendary, and even mostly true. Consequently, trumpeting an awards show as "the only award show where every award goes to an actor" betrays a lack of self-awareness and just feeds the beast. Sure, that's what Hollywood stars really need, reinforcement of their worst traits! Let's encourage the most narcissistic group in Hollywood to ratchet it up several notches! That's what the public needs, too, to be persuaded that all non-acting work in the biz is of piddling importance!

It's all reminiscent of what Jessica Alba said back in 2010: "Good actors never use the script unless it's amazing writing. All the good actors I've worked with, they all say whatever they want to say." (Ken Levine made short work of that.)

Indeed, who needs writers, or awards for them? The scripts write themselves. Screenwriting must be easy, because everyone in Hollywood has written a script (including actors). Directors? Films direct themselves; each actor can ignore everyone else and do what feels right, including improvising the blocking; the cameraman will adjust. Sound? Well, actors don't need to be heard. Bring back the silents. Cinematography? Some would argue that the image is what makes a film a film and not a radio play, but that's just silly. Editing? Editors are the scumbags who cut into a brilliant performance. Let it run, uninterrupted, in a ten minute closeup. Music? It's not necessary. Who can remember the scores from Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Psycho, The Shawshank Redemption, Brokeback Mountain, Tron: Legacy, or any score from Ennio Morricone? Visual Effects? Almost every one of the top grossing films of all time uses visual effects, but they're not really necessary. Production Design? My cousin Bob has a homemade alien spaceship in his backyard, we can use that. Makeup? Since when have you known an actress to want, let alone need, makeup before appearing before the public? Costumes? Well, they're not that important in "adult" films, so surely all those stodgy "costume dramas" can make do with less, too.

It's not surprising that People magazine, other gossip rags and late-night talk shows focus on actors to the exclusion of almost everybody else in entertainment. As a class, they're the prettiest and most glamorous, and American celebrity-watching is the same spectator sport as obsessing over a royal family. (There's also the schadenfreude, train-wreck appeal of some celebrities.) They are the public face for endeavors that involve (in Hollywood productions) hundreds of other people. Audiences form emotional connections with characters and the actors who play them. However, even Entertainment Weekly and similar outlets discuss directors and writers who aren't Steven Spielberg and considered "celebrities" themselves. While undoubtedly there is a group of moviegoers who only care about actors and neither understand nor care how this movie they love so much came to be, I have to wonder how large this group really is. I also have to wonder if this group was staying away in droves from the SAG Awards before, but will be lured in by this implicit promise of 'no awards for boring stuff.' (The ratings for 2012 were almost the same as for 2011 – a 2% rise, but also a slip in the much coveted 18-49 demographic.) Even relatively popular actors often can't "open" a crappy movie. A really big star can do this (that's in large part how stardom is defined by the studios), but even then, word of mouth and reviews quickly spread. Even among fans who are inclined to see everything that, say, Julia Roberts is in, they will distinguish between their favorites and the ones they feel aren't as good. (All but the most unreflective consumers have some sense of this.) Most Hollywood flicks of a certain budget level show technical craftsmanship. As for content, crap sometimes sells awfully well, but even potboilders are not all created equal, and there's also nothing wrong with a good popcorn flick (it's just not good when that's the only thing available). However, generally, a well-made popcorn flick with a big star will still do better box office than a poorly-made popcorn flick with a big star. Take that one step further – all the SAG Award nominees, which are in some cases quite popular or crowd-pleasers, do aspire to a much higher level of craft than "Ow, My Balls."

All this makes the SAG Award pitch an odd blend of pandering and snobbery. (Or, at least, an obsession with the cosmetic, and reflecting that high school mentality.) We actors know what you the people really want – US!

An actor friend of mine has said that he's never been on a (professional industry) set where the actors didn't have the easiest job. Acting can be grueling and emotionally draining. Prosthesis work or special rigs can make for a long day. However, in most cases (especially for stars on big productions) actors can hang out while everyone else is setting up the next shot. Stars have their trailers, their riders, and even have stand-ins so the DP can get the lighting right without asking the actor to be present. Some actors don't stick around for off-camera reverses shots in a given scene, and the script supervisor or someone else reads the lines. (Some actors insist on sticking around as a professional courtesy.) Basically, there's a small army of people there working non-stop to make the actors look good (using the term broadly; for someone playing a villain, "looking good," often entail being convincingly evil.)

The dynamics are much different, of course, on smaller sets and independent guerilla projects, where the lead actor may also be the production designer, or the director also is the field mixer, gaffer, dolly grip and script supervisor. (Those projects can also be much more fun.) Some high school and college theater programs insist that all their aspiring stars do some tech and backstage work, to gain a better appreciation for what everyone does. (On the flip side, some film programs insist on aspiring directors taking an acting class, since some have never done theater and are relatively clueless about the acting process.) Actors who get their success late in life tend to be cooler (not always), because they know what a crap shoot the game is. Likewise, working actors of the non-star variety can occasionally be deluded divas, but tend to be more grounded and pleasant to be around.

In any case, I hope the SAG Awards continue to honor good work, and I particularly like that they give awards for entire ensembles. However, that's also precisely why I hope they ditch that awful slogan. Theater, TV and film are highly collaborative art forms. Plus, as one of my directing teachers was fond of saying, "Love the art in yourself, not yourself in the art."

Dennis Hopper (1936-2010)

Dennis Hopper's terminal cancer and marital woes had made the local news out here months ago, but while his death isn't a surprise, it is a great loss. He was a prolific man, superb actor and fine, innovative director. He had a talent for playing villains, psychos and oddballs, because he was simultaneously edgy and grounded – as bizarre or quirky as he might behave, he was completely believable. His character might be a madman, but he was clearly enjoying it – and that made him interesting, even riveting, to watch.

I grew up seeing Dennis Hopper mostly in those offbeat and psycho roles, so it was a bit of a shock to see his earlier work, particularly in Giant, where he was so clean-cut. He was, however, extremely good. His performances were always real, and focused. I caught several interviews with him talking about his training, his influences, his process, and his many demons. (The wildest non drug-related Hopper story I've heard is that, supposedly, he went so method for Apocalypse Now he didn't bathe for a month and the rest of the crew refused to ride on the same bus with him.) Like some other actors, including his close pal Jack Nicholson, Hopper could get typecast – nevertheless, he always played the "Dennis Hopper role" very well. If something was weak in a film, it wasn't going to be his performance.

It's hard to underestimate how influential his film Easy Rider was, either, a low budget, counterculture blockbuster. It was interesting seeing Colors and trying to reconcile that this guy with the burnout, crazy image had directed it. Besides Rebel Without a Cause and Giant, the roles I'll always remember him for are in Apocalypse Now, River's Edge, Blue Velvet, Red Rock West and Hoosiers - the last one a role that may have been closer to the real Hopper than many of the psychos he played. Just as the audience roots for his alcoholic character, Shooter, to turn it around, I think many fans were rooting for Hopper to keep it together and do well.

Dennis Hopper was a fine photographer as well, and quite the art aficionado. He was a friend of Andy Warhol's, and when L.A. did a major Warhol retrospective several years back, Hopper recorded the (very good) audio guide. An exhibition of Hopper's art is scheduled for July at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles.

The Wiki entry on Hopper isn't bad, and the Los Angeles Times has both an obituary and appreciation. The New York Times did a good appreciation earlier this year (including a brief video segment), and Roger Ebert has a good piece on him.

The best overview I've seen of Dennis Hopper's career is this lengthy compilation from The Museum of the Moving Image (it has a fair amount of profanity, if that's a concern):



RIP.

Update: Fresh Air combined two interviews with Hopper for an excellent remembrance.

Lynn Redgrave (1943-2010)

Actress Lynn Redgrave has died of cancer. Condolences and best wishes to her family, who will be facing their third funeral in a little over a year. That's awfully rough.

Here's her official website, and pieces from the London Times, BBC, New York Times, and Los Angeles Times, plus a very good NPR remembrance by Bob Mondello.

While there are plenty of Lynn Redgrave's performances I've yet to see, every one I have seen was very good. One brief scene in particular comes to mind. Her sister Vanessa was one helluva closer for Atonement, and Lynn really brought it home in this late scene from Kinsey. You'll need to turn up the sound, but check it out:



RIP.

Arts Roundup 12/17/09

It's all film today. Congratulations to Liv Ullman, who just turned 71. She's quite a good director, and an exceptional actress. Her performance in Scenes from a Marriage is one of the best I've ever seen.

Elvis Mitchell's radio show The Treatment has been especially interesting recently. Two weeks ago, he sat down with director and mad genius Werner Herzog, who offers some great (and unconventional) advice for becoming a good filmmaker. Herzog's mainly talking about his new film, The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans. (The title is not his fault.) I just saw it this past weekend. It's not for people who like their main characters virtuous, because Nicholas Cage as Police Detective Terence McDonagh is more than a little "bad." But it's also hard to take your eyes off him. He's shockingly sleazy, crazy, surprisingly effective at his job at times, but always engrossing. It's Cage's best performance in a few years, Herzog shoots the film through with dark, wild humor, and the two of them make a great pairing.

The latest Treatment was with Viggo Mortensen, who's excellent in the film adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's The Road. It's an extremely bleak movie (as is the book on which it is based), but if you're up for it, certain scenes are haunting. memorable and moving. Like Ullman and Herzog, Mortensen just seems like a really cool, well-rounded human being. At one point he quoted Eleanor Roosevelt, in a line that seems especially relevant given the political battles of our time: "When will our consciences grow so tender that we act to prevent misery rather than avenge it?"


(Ullman with Bergman.)