The best Xmas gift for film buffs in
NYC this winter is MoMA's comprehensive festival of the work of Robert Altman, who is arguably the great modern American filmmaker.
The festival includes all of his theatrical features, some of his
best television work, and early rarities, from the industrial films
made in Kansas City to his tongue-in-cheek Scopitones.
Viewers of the Funhouse TV show will
know that I'm a diehard fan and student of Altman's work, thus my
attempts to keep up with which of his titles are debuting or being
“upgraded” on DVD and Blu-ray (see my reviews here, here,
and here).
The last comprehensive Altman retro
took place at the Museum of the Moving Image back in the early
Nineties. In that case the rarities were grouped together into two or
three programs; the MoMA program has distributed them throughout the
retro, pairing each rarity with a feature film — thus the cultist
has the dilemma of whether to revisit an Altman feature in order to
catch a 4- to 20-minute super-rarity (read: items that have near to
zero chance of appearing on a DVD).
A few key rarities have already played
in the festival but there are plenty more to come in the next month.
The most notable are the shorts “Pot au Feu” and “The Kathryn
Altman Story,” “Precious Blood” (half of the “2 by South”
program that was Altman's first recorded piece of theater), a segment
from a Dinah! episode about A
Wedding, and Jazz '34.
For those who are newcomers to Altman's
work, there are several films that serve as perfect introductions to
his style. A short list would have to include Brewster
McCloud, McCabe and Mrs. Miller, The Long Goodbye, Thieves Like Us,
California Split, Nashville, Three Women (the film that drew me in),
Secret Honor, Vincent and Theo, Short Cuts, and Gosford
Park. I am one of those who really loves O.C. and
Stiggs (1987), but realize it works best for those of us
who dislike teen movies as much as Altman did.
But now onto the “listicle,” since
that bite-sized manner of distilling complicated or detailed
information seems to be the preferred way to reach the Net reader.
I'm not overly fond of it, and I suspect Altman didn't love it
either.
In any case, there are many individuals
who could be called “the great American filmmaker” of post-1965
cinema. The most likely figures are trailblazers/geniuses like
Kubrick, Cassavetes, Coppola, Scorsese, Malick, Lynch (who was seen on the Oscars, right, telling Altman "you should've won" when Ron Howard beat both of them for Best Director), and (least
fave) Spielberg. Others, like Woody Allen, Spike Lee, the Coens, Tim
Burton, Clint Eastwood, and Tarantino have made certain films that
remain influential. Many independent and “underground”
trendsetters changed the face of cinema (Kenneth Anger, Shirley
Clarke, to cite just two), but their films were never widely
distributed.
Altman’s position is thus very unique
in “the Pantheon” — one wonders if Andrew Sarris would
have granted him entry, but we’ll never know, as Sarris never
updated his hierarchy of American filmmakers after 1968. Right after
Nixon became president, Altman solidified his distinct visual style,
crafted his films in a highly unique way, and stayed true to his own
vision of the world, which permeated everything from socially
conscious political commentaries to out-and-out frame-filled farces.
With this list of elements I’m not
saying that Altman was better than Kubrick, Cassavetes, Coppola, et
al. Instead, I would maintain that he was a filmmaking genius on
their level, but his work combined so many different elements that he
qualifies as the ultimate modern American filmmaker. Argue and
comment if you’d care to. On with the list!
1.) He was an incredibly
versatile filmmaker. Altman made comedies, dramas, crime
films, musicals, westerns, science fiction, thrillers, military
dramas, and uncategorizable “dream films.” The phrase
“revisionist” has often been slapped onto his well-regarded
Seventies features (which have been the most revived of his films; a
few years back a local rep house programmed a much smaller “Altman’s
Seventies” retro); he did indeed rework and comment upon classic
genres in his genre pics.
2.) There’s an incredible
consistency in his work. As I noted in my recent obit for Mike Nichols, a filmmaker should always have a “signature,”
a thematic and stylistic identity that runs through their work. From That
Cold Day in the Park (1969) to A Prairie Home
Companion (2006), Altman created a series of films, TV
movies, and plays that all possessed the same “signature.”
3.) He was frequently bashed
by the American critical establishment. Both Cassavetes and
Altman received wildly negative reviews for some of their best work.
Their soldiering on in spite of these bad reviews was one of the
reasons they are so significant today, when critics run to throw
garlands at the feet of Wes Anderson, Sofia Coppola, and others from
their first film onward. I believe the bad reviews they faced made
Altman and Cassavetes stronger and more determined filmmakers as a
result.
4.) He worked within the major
studios, while fighting against them. In interviews Altman
never hesitated to criticize the studio chieftans, and yet he was
talented (and lucky) enough to work for the majors for a significant
part of his career.
The fact that he made The
Player (1992) with industry money was a spectacular “fuck
you” to Hollywood. When the studios did refuse to work with him, he
obtained funding wherever he could, from French and British
production companies to game show mogul Mark Goodson (Come
Back to the 5 & Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean).
5.) He had a distinct visual
style. One of the most important aspects of Altman’s work
is his visual style. In his films, the camera probes, explores, and
pirouettes around the characters. To him a zoom shot serves not only
to underline a character’s behavior, but also to isolate him/her
from the crowd bustling around them. Altman was a “ringmaster” in
a sense (see the end of Brewster McCloud) and his
crowd sequences are bravura moments where identities are conveyed in
the flash of an instant.
His work with audio was also
revolutionary. One of the key elements in his mythology is that he
was fired from TV assignments and the movie Countdown
(1968) for having characters talk over each other. He often noted
that he didn't create this technique – it had been used in the
screwball comedies of the Thirties (Hawks loved doing it), and Welles
employed it a number of times. When Altman used it, it both simulated
and mocked reality — the viewer hears what he/she needs to hear
and loses the rest of the noise. His films are indeed
“immersive” experiences.
6.) He allowed his actors to
improvise. While modern masters Cassavetes and Mike Leigh
used the rehearsal period for improvisation to build their characters
from scratch, Altman allowed his actors to improvise on-camera,
especially in crowd scenes.
Some of the most memorable lines and
physical bits of business were created by Altman’s cast members
while the camera was rolling. When I interviewed Karen Black (see
below), she proudly noted that her best remembered line in
Nashville (about Julie Christie, “she can’t
even comb her hair”) was something she came up with on the spot.
7.) He didn’t shy away from
political messages. Many of Altman’s film tackled
American politics, some openly (Nashville, Secret
Honor), other more covertly (Thieves Like Us,
Streamers, Short Cuts).
Altman’s finest comments on
American politics were the Tanner '88 (1988) and
Tanner on Tanner (2004) series. Scripted by Garry
Trudeau, the Tanner shows spotlighted the
negotiations and the compromises that drive American politics. The
final plot point of Tanner on Tanner goes straight
to the heart of the Democratic party’s standard operating principal: compromise
must triumph over integrity.
8.) He “belonged” to
different generations. Although Altman was 45 when he had
his breakthrough with M*A*S*H* in 1970, his
renegade sensibility meshed perfectly with the youth culture of the
time, though, as evidenced by that film and his next, the wonderfully
odd Brewster McCloud.
Throughout his career, Altman showed an
affinity for things from his own era — the jazz in Short
Cuts and Kansas City, and the radio
shows in Thieves Like Us and A Prairie
Home Companion. He also embraced new innovations (super
16mm, digital video), while telling stories that perfectly reflected
the disillusionment felt in the youth culture of the Seventies.
9.) He never pandered to
adolescent and kiddie viewers. At this moment Hollywood is
a machine that cranks out copious amounts of multiplex crap aimed at
teens and kids. Altman proudly noted in interviews and in his DVD
audio commentaries that he added curses to his films to make certain
that teens weren’t allowed to see them. He was not a Spielbergian
sentimentalist who believed in crafting family-friendly fiction that
plays on the heartstrings.
The only film he made that could be
called a kiddie movie was Popeye (1980), which is
actually a strange fantasy that entertains adults more than children.
His sole “teen movie” is O.C. and Stiggs, a
film that mocks teenage behavior and, again, eschews the
sentimentality of John Hughes to create an Altmanesque universe
inhabited by a variety of weird characters.
10.) He drew inspiration from
other art forms and other cultures. Altman was a filmmaker
first and foremost, but he also directed stage plays and operas. His
filmed plays were experiments in blending theatrical and cinematic
techniques, while some of his best “later” works are centered
around fine art (Vincent and Theo), literature
(Short Cuts), opera (his short piece for
Aria and the PBS special “The Real McTeague”),
and modern dance (The Company).
Although most of his films coalesce to
form an incredible “tapestry” of American life, he set later
features in the U.K. and Europe when it became clear that overseas
funding was easier to obtain than money from Hollywood. Thus his
fashion industry satire Ready to Wear (1994) was
set in Paris and his pitch-perfect British class-conscious drama and murder mystery,
Gosford Park (2001), was set in an English country
house.
And because any tribute to an
iconoclast like Altman should have an oddly numbered list, I close
out with an eleventh reason why he remains the great modern American
filmmaker. Namely the fact that he produced a large body of
work.
I revere Cassavetes’ eight personal
films and Kubrick’s baker’s dozen of dark, grim masterworks, but
Altman left behind an extraordinarily rich heritage (37 theatrical
features from ’69 to 2006, plus many TV and stage projects) that
can be explored from an infinite number of angles. If you haven’t
seen them before, the majority of his films are blissfully
unpredictable. If you are already initiated, the bulk of his films
are eminently rewatchable.
Like a prolific novelist (or
considering his love of Carver, short story writer), Altman left
behind a significant body of work that will be “discovered” over
and over again for a long time to come.
The festival at MoMA will
continue through Jan. 17.
NOTE: Some of the photos used
in this entry came from the Tumblr blog “Fuck Yeah Robert Altman.” The blog has a deep trove of both images and links to recent
articles about Altman.
*****
Some rare clips about and by Altman.
First his Jan. 1972 appearance on The Dick Cavett Show.
This episode is found on the Shout! Factory “Hollywood Greats”
Cavett box, and it’s fascinating to note that Cavett’s producers
booked as examples of “young Hollywood” Altman (46 years old),
Mel Brooks (45 years old), and Peter Bogdanovich (32 years old). The
guest of honor, Frank Capra, has a more positive view of the major
studios than Altman, who refers to them as morons.
I posted this slice of an interview
from the arts-cable show Signature from 1981.
Altman is brutally honest about why he is out of fashion in
Hollywood. (“I’m tired of car crashes…”)
My interview with Karen Black, who
spoke about working with Altman on the stage version of Come
Back to the 5 & Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean:
Some rarities from Altman’s many
decades of work have surfaced on YouTube. The first film credited to
Altman as director, an educational item called “Modern Football”
(1951). You can see a news item about filmmaker Gary Huggins’
discovery of a print of this film here.
Altman directed several Scopitones
(music-videos made for film jukeboxes) for dough. This one features
Bobby Troup singing “Girl Talk”:
For a long time this was was *the* Holy
Grail for Altman collectors, a Scopitone he directed for an
instrumental by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass called “Bittersweet
Samba.” The film is called “The Party” (no connection to the
Blake Edwards feature) in Altman filmographies:
When Altman suddenly became “hot”
again in Hollywood circles, he was asked to direct films for ABC.
True to form, he chose the most esoteric material possible, two short
plays by Harold Pinter. The first one aired after
Moonlighting; the second, “The Room,” to my
memory aired on a Saturday night, tucked away at 10:00 p.m. ABC
didn’t kill it, however. Film never dies.
Another item from Altman’s later TV
career, an episode from the 1997 anthology series Gun
personally directed by Altman (he was a producer of the series, which
used as its conceit the fact that a particular gun was traveling from
person to person):
A TV ad that Altman made for Parisienne
cigarettes:
And, in closing, I’ll pick one scene
from a wildly underrated Altman film. Here is a brilliant moment about creation, the artist, and madness from
Vincent and Theo (1990):
