Goodbye to the Real Player
Robert Altman's dead, and somehow I have a hunch he's not too unhappy about it.
That's pure speculation, of course, and those of us who love movies are decidedly unhappy about it, but the man was 81 years old, and although he worked practically up to his last breath he had been in poor health for a while. It's not like he owed us anything, either.
Much has been made of his distinctive style of filmmaking. He's the one who directed his actors to speak over each other and his cameraman to pan over to action already in progress, so that we in the audience felt like we were seeing something as it happened, not something set up artificially (it was, of course, set up artificially, it just didn't seem that way). Altman got to direct movies in his own manner, and make money at it, which very few filmmakers have ever had the skill or the support to do. He was lucky, and knew it, and deserved it. We're going to miss him.
Opinion is divided as to his greatest movie. Some vote for M*A*S*H, some for The Long Goodbye, some for Nashville, some for The Player, some for Popeye, some for 3 Women, maybe even some for Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean (no). I'm no cinematic maven, but I remember one comment from Roger Ebert's original review of McCabe & Mrs. Miller.
Mr. Ebert later described this as Altman's only "perfect" movie, and for all I know he's right. That's not what struck me, though. In his original review (not the "Great Movie" review but the original one, which doesn't seem to be on his website for some stupid reason), he describes the opening scene thus (I'm paraphrasing):
Some time after I read that review, I watched the movie. I had assumed that Ebert's description was mere rhetoric - if you can't understand what the man is saying, how can you possibly know what he's talking about? Well, lo and behold, Warren Beatty stopped his horse, got down, put on his hat and muttered to himself, and his meaning was exactly what Ebert said it was.
That's a compliment both to Ebert's understanding and to Beatty's performance (and I've never thought too highly of his acting), but Altman's the one who knew what was needed at that moment, got the proper attitude out of his actor, and realized, critically, that the audience should not be able to make out the words. Most directors (most people, for that matter) assume that the audience has to be spoon-fed, if not force-fed. Remember the controversy over what Bill Murray said to Scarlett Johanssen at the end of Lost in Translation? Altman did stuff like that all the time. It was a critical encouragement to audiences, and I just hope that Sofia Coppola and maybe some others will continue to take Robert Altman's cue.
Benshlomo says, It's hard to treat adults like adults, but that's the only way to play.
That's pure speculation, of course, and those of us who love movies are decidedly unhappy about it, but the man was 81 years old, and although he worked practically up to his last breath he had been in poor health for a while. It's not like he owed us anything, either.
Much has been made of his distinctive style of filmmaking. He's the one who directed his actors to speak over each other and his cameraman to pan over to action already in progress, so that we in the audience felt like we were seeing something as it happened, not something set up artificially (it was, of course, set up artificially, it just didn't seem that way). Altman got to direct movies in his own manner, and make money at it, which very few filmmakers have ever had the skill or the support to do. He was lucky, and knew it, and deserved it. We're going to miss him.
Opinion is divided as to his greatest movie. Some vote for M*A*S*H, some for The Long Goodbye, some for Nashville, some for The Player, some for Popeye, some for 3 Women, maybe even some for Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean (no). I'm no cinematic maven, but I remember one comment from Roger Ebert's original review of McCabe & Mrs. Miller.
Mr. Ebert later described this as Altman's only "perfect" movie, and for all I know he's right. That's not what struck me, though. In his original review (not the "Great Movie" review but the original one, which doesn't seem to be on his website for some stupid reason), he describes the opening scene thus (I'm paraphrasing):
A hooded man rides his horse in a mild snowfall down a muddy path and stops just short of a ratty little cluster of slapped-together shacks. He gets off, shrugs out of his hood and puts on a snazzy bowler hat, first brushing the snow off. As he does so, he mutters to himself. We can't understand his words at all, but his meaning is clear enough - this time, he snarls, the bastards aren't going to get him down.
Some time after I read that review, I watched the movie. I had assumed that Ebert's description was mere rhetoric - if you can't understand what the man is saying, how can you possibly know what he's talking about? Well, lo and behold, Warren Beatty stopped his horse, got down, put on his hat and muttered to himself, and his meaning was exactly what Ebert said it was.
That's a compliment both to Ebert's understanding and to Beatty's performance (and I've never thought too highly of his acting), but Altman's the one who knew what was needed at that moment, got the proper attitude out of his actor, and realized, critically, that the audience should not be able to make out the words. Most directors (most people, for that matter) assume that the audience has to be spoon-fed, if not force-fed. Remember the controversy over what Bill Murray said to Scarlett Johanssen at the end of Lost in Translation? Altman did stuff like that all the time. It was a critical encouragement to audiences, and I just hope that Sofia Coppola and maybe some others will continue to take Robert Altman's cue.
Benshlomo says, It's hard to treat adults like adults, but that's the only way to play.
posted by benshlomo at 12:15 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home