"Spanning Time"

At a screening of a rare print of Vincent Gallo's Buffalo '66 last night, I realized I was having a strange, but rather glorious first-time cinema experience.  I had the seen the film, in fact, programmed it, during its initial run in 1998, nearly 15 years ago (!).  I probably saw the film first in the NY market in the summer of '98 and then again in the Fall when we booked it in Madison.  Last night was the first time I'd seen it since those couple times I watched it projected in '98.  I don't believe I've had that happen with another film before.  I recall liking the film quite a bit back then, though I was annoyed by Gallo's off-screen antics--calling critics and claiming complete creative ownership of the film, loudly proclaiming his Republican allegiances, etc.  Seeing the film now, in my mid-30s, I appreciated and really loved it even more than I did the first time around.

I was 20 when it was released and saw just about every indie release at the time.  For a cinephile and aspiring filmmaker, this was a rather inspiring, special time.  And, Buffalo '66 was certainly one of those inspiring, exciting films.  But, I, of course, didn't truly recognize nor quite appreciate what a golden age it would prove to be.  And, as that time also encompassed my college years, as well as the death of my father, there's a certain degree of pain and sadness associated with it, not only for the loss of a loved one, but also for the subsequent waning of the idealism and hopefulness that comes with being that age.  I pushed, actively or not, films like Buffalo '66 out of my consciousness for awhile.  Revisiting this one was a revelation for me.

As co-screenwriter Alison Bagnall said in the q & a that followed last night's screening, the script is filled with moments and dialogue that are funny and sad at the same time.  I definitely laughed more watching it now than I recall doing in '98, but I also embraced and felt the melancholy underlying the entire film.  Seeing the recently deceased Ben Gazzara, still appearing fit and formidable, as Gallo's father, was quite moving.  The same goes for seeing the tragic, once-beautiful Jan-Michael Vincent in a small role as a bowling alley proprietor; Vincent had already destroyed his voice box in an auto accident and looked ravaged by years of alcohol and drug abuse, but it was nothing compared to the state he is in now.  Mickey Rourke, who I'd forgotten appeared here, looks somewhere in between his formerly beautiful self and the post-surgery / post-boxing / post-steroids human concoction that he has become.

Major props go to Gallo for doing whatever he did to get these actors, along with the amazing Rosanna Arquette and Angelica Huston (admittedly, something of a weak link here), to agree to act in this oddball, funny / sad, ugly / beautiful (like the aforementioned Coonskin) masterpiece.  This is a '90s film, that unlike so many others that try and fail to, genuinely recalls the best of '70s cinema.  In spite of (or because of?) its auteur's bedeviling mix of vanity and "fuck all" attitude, it retains a vitality and a purity of spirit, along with a refreshing lack of bullshit sentimentality, that are way too rare and precious in any age.

As with all of the films we programmed at my university, we had countless trailers, one-sheets, and stills, which we ordered from the likes of National Screen Service and Consolidated.  We, of course, taped and stapled these things all over the place to promote the screenings.  Afterwards, the posters went to us programmers.  Many adorned my walls over the years, Buffalo '66 being one of those.  When I tired of one, I'd give it to a friend.  How I wish I'd hung onto my Buffalo '66 poster...aside from the fact that it is now quite rare and pricey, it had a gorgeous black and white image of Gallo and co-star Christina Ricci printed on heavyweight paper stock.  Best of all was the treatment of the title on the poster--it was filled with actual, glued-on silver glitter.  But, similar to the baseball cards and comics of my parents' generation, albeit on a much smaller scale, I didn't really value these films or their ephemera as much as I perhaps should have.  I was, and remain, fascinated by things that came before my time, that I was not able to actually "experience" when they were new.  And, so all those great posters that we used the hell out of, have gone to who knows where.

According to my friend, filmmaker Alex Ross Perry, who "presented" the screening last night, it's "possibly the last narrative feature shot entirely on 35mm reversal stock" and, let me tell you, it looked gorgeous.  It's a bloody shame, and then some, that Lionsgate doesn't actually have any 35mm prints circulating anymore (the print, along with the film's brilliant trailer, last night came courtesy of a collector).  I won't watch it in any other format, save for a well-authored Blu-ray (if that comes along).  Alex's own Buffalo '66-inspired cinematic statement, The Color Wheel, opens soon and was the occasion for this screening. 

Something also needs to be said for the very smartly-chosen soundtrack.  I love the pitch-perfect use of Yes's "Heart of the Sunrise." At that point, in '98, I'd burned or sold all the Yes records I adored as a high school geek in favor of punk and indie, but man, did this film make this tune cool and relevant again.  Now, as is typical, I've re-bought the best of those classic Yes LPs in remastered, reissued form.  The trailer, which does not appear on the DVD, is quite piece of art on its own, separate from the film, which it promotes.  I'm guessing it's absent because the Yes song appears throughout and would probably have to be licensed for re-use separately from the film itself, which surely got some sweetheart licensing deals, as evidenced by the special thanks in the credits to Yes, Jon Anderson, King Crimson, et al.

I guess the point of all this is to say that we, or I, should make sure not to undervalue or discard things--movies, albums, books, whatever--that we are able to experience as they are first released, in favor of the things that came before.  I will continue to worship at the figurative altar of my heroes that pre-date me, but I will more actively embrace the impressive works that have come during my adulthood and which prove to stand the test of time.  I guess that means re-looking at things like Dream With the Fishes, The Hanging Garden, Dreamlife of Angels, The Daytrippers, Happiness, and many others.  I hope some of them hold up.

Before Instagram.

They All Laughed (1981, Peter Bogdanovich)

I finally got around to seeing Peter Bogdanovich's They All Laughed after my friend Brian raved about it and I found it in a bargain DVD store for $6. I'd read quite a few reviews critiquing the film as being too light and insubstantial. I tempered my expectations going in and found myself most pleasantly surprised when all was said and done.

After viewing the film with and without Bogdanovich's commentary, as well as the interview between Bogdanovich and Wes Anderson, I'm left wondering how this movie might have played if star Dorothy Stratten hadn't been murdered just after production wrapped. For such a sweet little confection, They All Laughed becomes incredibly poignant and bittersweet with the knowledge of Stratten's tragic demise (told in Bob Fosse's Star 80 and a 1981 telefilm starring Jamie Lee Curtis). In fact, the initial failure of They All Laughed with filmgoers and critics is attributed, in large part, to the close proximity between Stratten's death and the film's release. It was too soon for audiences to see and enjoy a film starring Stratten just as the talented beauty was coming into her prime...a shame because she is so utterly charming and lovely here. When one considers the premature death of star John Ritter in 2003, that the film would contain the last starring feature role for Audrey Hepburn, the film's attention to many vanished or radically altered New York landmarks, and its positioning at the end of the '70s golden age of American cinema, it becomes even more sad. Obviously, this isn't the best thing for a comedy, but it makes for a rich viewing experience.

Leaving aside the real-life drama of They All Laughed, the film has a lot going for it. The story follows New York private detectives Ben Gazzara and Ritter as they follow and quickly fall for their client's wives, Hepburn and Stratten. They are accompanied along the way by fellow detective and stoner Blaine Novak, cabbie Patti Hansen, and country singer Colleen Camp. Bogdanovich explains in the supplements that he wrote all of the roles specifically for the actors who filled them and the proof is in the sublime performances by Gazzara, Hepburn, Stratten, Ritter, Novak, Camp, Hansen, Sean Ferrer, and the rest of the cast.

Gazzara and Hepburn had had an affair after meeting on the set of their previous film Bloodline. Both were in the midst of the collapses of their respective marriages when they got together, but their affair had already ended by the time of filming of They All Laughed. Without giving away the specifics of their onscreen relationship in They All Laughed, it's fair to say that Bogdanovich's knowledge of their offscreen relationship betters the film and adds another layer of complexity to the storyline, which is, admittedly, pretty thin on its own. Both actors do so much with looks and body language--it's a more than respectable ending to Hepburn's legendary film career; not having seen too much of Gazzara before, I was really impressed with his seemingly effortless cool and look forward to watching him in his work for Cassavetes and Bogdanovich's Saint Jack.

Ritter, playing a younger variation on director Bogdanovich, complete with trademark big glasses, shows himself to have been a gifted physical comic, one of the best of his generation to be sure. I never watched too much of Three's Company or the actor's few other feature roles, so his performance here was a real revelation for me. His absence from screens, big and small, is a huge loss. I'd seen Star 80 several times over the years and leafed through her Playboy layouts, but I'd never viewed any of Stratten's film or television performances. From what I understand, none of the other ones offer the glimpse of her burgeoning talent that They All Laughed does. She is as gorgeous as one would expect, but she possessed a comic timing and screen presence that belie her youth and inexperience.

Patti Hansen, a supermodel who would become Mrs. Keith Richards, is as beautiful as Stratten and has a spunkiness that I would have loved to have seen grace more films. Blaine Novak, who helped write and produce the film and worked for years in film distribution, is a really unique-looking and sounding performer. His hilarious onscreen lingo and dialect that lends itself so well to Bogdanovich's fast-moving, Screwball throwback dialogue, is apparently how he really talked. His "Is it dark yet?" line should be adopted by pot smokers in much the same way "It's 12:00 somewhere" has become a guideline for beer drinkers everywhere.

Colleen Camp never had any great starring opportunities, but she's a dynamo here whether she's convincingly belting out country tunes or aggressively pursuing Ritter or Hepburn's son Sean Ferrer. Bogdanovich made a brilliant decision to change Camp's character Christy from a jazz singer to a country singer and Camp's as good a performer as Jeff Bridges nearly 30 years later in Crazy Heart. This is a quintessential New York movie in so many ways, but the decision to go country is refreshingly unpredictable and atypical and the juxtaposition of country and city is one of the best parts of the film. I wish the real country nightclubs depicted in the film still existed.

I really enjoy Bogdanovich's portrayal of the kids in the film--growing up across the river in New Jersey, I always fantasized about being a "city kid," riding the subway, sans parents, to school and, in general, living a less sheltered, more independent life than we suburban kids did. My vision was no doubt shaped by films like this one, Rich Kids, Fame, Jeremy, and others. Here, Bogdanovich's daughters play Gazzara's and their banter and the way they carry themselves seem, to me, to be unique to kids growing up in a city like New York.

Keeping with the family, "company," vibe of the film, Hepburn's son Sean Ferrer humorously plays Jose, suitor to Stratten and Camp, and Linda MacEwen, Bogdanovich's assistant at the time plays secretary to George Morfogen's detective agency boss. Morfogen co-produced and co-wrote the film and had come up as an actor with Bogdanovich in the '50s.

My friend Brian tells me that he caught They All Laughed on television as a kid growing up in Ohio who hadn't spent any time in New York. Years later he'd end up living and working in New York and They All Laughed was the film that made him want to be there. Bogdanovich intended the film as a love letter to the city so I'm sure he'd be thrilled by Brian's reaction to the film. As much as it showcases well-known landmarks like the Plaza Hotel, the Algonquin Hotel, the Brooklyn Bridge, and the Twin Towers, the film spotlights a lot of downtown locales I haven't noticed too often in film--the foot of the Manhattan Bridge, the South Street heliport, a long vanished roller disco, and the since shuttered City Limits country-western bar come readily to mind. The use of country music, the stylized, profanity-free dialogue, and the characters' dependence on elaborate signals to communicate combine to create the effect of a fantasyland New York that's appealing to me now and I can only imagine would have left me as spellbound as it did Brian, if I'd seen it as a child.