Big Eyes

by Scott Alexander

  This was a great untold story, which is our favorite kind. We love pieces of Americana that happen in the margins. Everybody knows the sad-eyed images, but nobody knows where they came from. And certainly nobody knows the pain behind the paintings. The story was crazy—and we were hooked. This could be a biopic.

  We leapt into research mode. We spent a few weeks in the UCLA Research Library, scrolling through microfiche from the old San Francisco Chronicles and Examiners. The Keanes were society-column stars up there, and we found tons of coverage. We read old LIFE magazines. We found a Mike Douglas Show appearance from 1972. Our friend, rocker Matthew Sweet, is a rabid Keane collector, and he gave us access to his collection of Keaneabilia. The story wrapped up in a Hawaiian courtroom, and we tracked down the coverage from the Honolulu papers. We loved it all. Usually movies about artists are stuffy and pretentious—but this one could be funny!

  As we organized the material, we came to a dawning conclusion: Walter was the showboat, the obnoxious, funny, outsized type of personality we love. But … Margaret was the character with the journey. Even though Walter does most of the talking, we decided to make Margaret the protagonist. This was a big decision for us, as we had never told a bio script from the woman’s point of view. We realized we could shape the story to parallel the women’s rights movement: Margaret starts out as a repressed 1950s housewife and ends as a liberated 1970s woman. By the climax, she has the courage to speak up and tell the truth.

  The story also fed into themes of high art and low art, which always fascinate us. Like Ed Wood, Margaret and Walter were outsiders, blocked by the artistic community gatekeepers. In the Keanes’s case, they couldn’t get past the fancy art galleries and withering press critics. They were terribly out of step. Modernism was in vogue, and abstract art was incomprehensible to Walter. He would rage against these phonies. To Walter, art was a bowl of fruit. We were giddy with the idea that we could make a satiric movie that debates “good art” vs. “bad art,” and whether such a distinction even exists. If the crying children provoke emotion, aren’t they valid? And more intriguingly, does the revelation of the real story make them more “legitimate”?

  In their time, the paintings were accused of Extreme Kitschiness because the artist supposedly was Walter—masculine, cocky, with a strong drink in his hand. Why on earth would this man be painting little crying children? But once you knew the truth—that Margaret was the artist—the art was suffused with great meaning. Quite simply, it was a sad woman expressing her feelings.

  After all our research, there was still too much we didn’t understand. Why had Margaret made these choices? Why had she allowed this lie to go on for so long? What had she known, and when had she known it? The public story didn’t answer these questions. Walter had died, but Margaret was still alive and still painting. We realized we had to track her down.

  In the summer of 2003, we flew up from Los Angeles to meet Margaret in a rural area outside San Francisco. Like high schoolers studying for a term paper, we memorized every aspect of the Keane saga so that she would know we were serious. She is very private, and we had to win her over. We wanted her life rights, as well as the rights to use her art. This was a big mountain to climb.

  Over a very long lunch, Margaret opened up. Incredibly, her key concern was that people might watch the movie and think that Walter was the painter. This concept blew our minds. How could anyone still think that? Margaret had won in court. Walter hadn’t produced any paintings in the thirty years after their divorce! Margaret still produced new paintings daily. Yet, like the abused wife she was, she still feared that Walter’s PR spin would win in the court of public opinion.

  The lunch also revealed a side of the story that we had known nothing about. During the years of deception, Margaret had been lying to her daughter, Jane. The three of them had lived together, and it had been patently obvious, even to a child, that Mom was in the painting room all day. Walter might blow in and out with his “new” painting, but Mom was clearly the artist. But Margaret was forced to lie to Jane’s face for a decade. Jane knew she was being deceived. Margaret could see it in Jane’s eyes, and this was heartwrenching to her. It was the biggest regret of her life. The person she was closest to in the world knew she was being lied to. It created a terrible gulf between them. This was very sad and touching, and we realized this would become the emotional center of the movie.

  Margaret also described how the arrangement with Walter took over her life. The situation became like Watergate, where the cover-up was worse than the crime. Incredible amounts of energy were expended in keeping the “cover story” viable—that Walter was the painter. Back then, people didn’t have Google, so it was easy to adjust the lies over the years without getting caught. The details were fascinating and horrific. Margaret described how Walter wouldn’t allow her to have friends—because friends might want to come to the house. Or Margaret might slip up and confide in one. So he isolated Margaret more and more.

  Margaret also described the personal happiness that came from her becoming a Jehovah’s Witness. She asked if we could put this in the movie. She said it was the most important thing in her life. Living as a Witness had given her the courage to live honestly—and honesty had meant outing Walter as a fraud. We glanced quickly at each other—we hadn’t planned on having religion within the film. However, in an unspoken decision, we figured there was a way to make this element dramatic and organic to the story, and so we said yes.

  By the end of the afternoon, we were all laughing and carrying on like old friends. Margaret could see we were simpatico with her. We had earned her trust. Yes, we could option the rights. We finished with hugs good-bye and promises that we would make a deal, write a script, and do her proud. We were off to the races!

  On the flight home, we were drunk on all the insight and details we had learned. That one visit inspired the majority of our supporting cast. Jane was clearly a major part. Margaret’s tales of friends pushed away created the composite character of Dee-Ann, the girlfriend who starts to figure out the ruse. And Margaret’s constant references to Dick Nolan, a gossip columnist whom Walter befriended, made us realize that Nolan was a major player in this story. He had helped make them famous. We realized that Dick was all over our notes from the microfiche. Adding him to the story delighted us, as he reminded us so much of the characters in Sweet Smell of Success, a movie we loved. That 1957 movie is all about jazz nightclubs, newspapers, and the desperate hustle for fame. With that world clear in our minds, we envisioned our movie. We knew we could jump into this confidently.

  When we met Margaret, she was seventy-five. Our goal now was to write an intimate drama that we could direct ourselves, on an independent budget. In old-school parlance, it would be a “two-hander”—a story about two great characters that would attract two great actors. We funded all development out of our own pockets, as we believed so strongly in the material. By 2006, we had a script we were happy with. By 2007, we had a cast, crew, a budget, and $12 million in financing. Margaret was so excited!

  But then, the stock market crashed. Financing sources dried up. Margaret was disappointed. Undeterred, we relentlessly kept reconfiguring the movie, recasting, at various times planning shoots in Los Angeles, Portland, Salt Lake City, New Orleans, even Buenos Aires! Each one of those false starts represented months out of our lives. New schedules and budgets, new scouts, new crews. Years of our lives were expended looking for the perfect mid-century modern house for Margaret and Walter to live in, our search spread across the United States, parts of Canada, and South America. More than half a dozen producers cycled through, with promises that all collapsed. The budget kept dropping. Unwilling to concede defeat, we brought in a new producing partner, Lynette Howell, who came from the world of scrappy indies. Lynette helped us rethink the movie as something smaller, but the film remained a period piece in 1960s San Francisco, never a cheap story to tell. At one point, we got so desperate that we looked into financing from characters out of a
Nigerian e-mail scam—but even they fell through!

  We brought in Tim Burton as a producer, because he is a Keane collector and a fan. We thought that Tim’s involvement would help make the film happen. But still, no. Actors and actresses kept approaching us about the script, so that gave us hope, reassuring us that we weren’t insane to keep chasing this dream. So many years went by that we had to keep extending our rights deal with Margaret. Eventually the extensions ran out, and we had to write a new deal. It was ridiculous. Margaret was patient, but not getting any younger. Every few months, she would call: Are you ever going to make our movie?! We were guilt-ridden! Margaret was now in her mid-eighties. Still no film!

  Finally, in early 2013, a phone call came in. Would we be interested in making the film with Christoph Waltz? Wow. What a spectacular idea. We e-mailed Tim and asked his opinion, and he immediately responded enthusiastically: YES! He’s Walter! And suddenly … we had an epiphany. We should hand off the film to Tim. He was the only director in the world we would entrust our Keane project to. At this point, a decade had passed without results; we just needed this movie to see the light of day. We had had a fabulous experience with Tim on Ed Wood. He had shot our first draft, and he did an impeccable job with the look, tone, and performances. We knew he would nail this one, too. So we pitched our scheme to Tim. His producer Derek Frey was highly encouraging—feeling a smaller movie would be an artistic palate cleanser for Tim. A day passed … and Tim bit. He was in. We would produce, and he would direct.

  Tim met with Christoph. A few days later we were all in a casting meeting. By the end of that week, our first choice, Amy Adams, was cast. Harvey Weinstein stepped in to finance, and suddenly we had a green light and a start date! Friends called to congratulate us: We can’t believe how quickly you put this movie together! We laughed, dumbfounded. Quickly?! It’s been ten years!

  In July 2013, we started filming. We tried to include Margaret in the process. We arranged for Amy to meet Margaret, and they spent a happy day together, with Margaret tutoring her in brush technique. Amy was assuredly studying Margaret the whole time, storing her away for her performance. During production, we could afford a grand three days in San Francisco, and we brought Margaret to those sets. It was like magic—suddenly she was standing in North Beach in 1958 again. She was staggered by the detail of the art direction. The film wrapped and went into extended postproduction. Finally, in the middle of 2014, we started pushing everybody to let us show Margaret the film. Tim was still tweaking his final touches, but it was hugely important to us that she get the opportunity to see it. She had waited so long! For goodness’ sake, she was almost eighty-seven! Everyone agreed, and on a glorious summer day, we flew back up to San Francisco, just like that day eleven years earlier, to meet Margaret. But this time, we had a film to show her. Margaret brought Jane and her family. Our tiny group sat down in the plush theater at Skywalker Ranch, and the film started rolling.

  We sat behind Margaret and Jane, so we could watch their faces. A few scenes in, a Sunday art show appeared, with young Margaret and eight-year-old Jane in the park. In the theater, we could see the real Margaret and Jane nudge each other in recognition and grin, delighted. They remembered the moment. At other times, the film turns very sad, and it made Margaret weep. But when it was over, she just sat there in joyful disbelief. She was very happy with the movie. We came over to her, and we all hugged. The long journey had been worth it.

  —SCOTT ALEXANDER & LARRY KARASZEWSKI

  Margaret in San Francisco apartment, 1958

  Margaret Keane Looks Back

  An Interview

  by Tyler Stallings

  MARGARET KEANE: I met Walter Keane at the San Francisco Art Festival. I was doing charcoal portraits for five dollars. Walter walked by and kind of swept me off my feet.

  INTERVIEWER: And about how old were you both at that time?

  MARGARET: I was twenty-eight. I think he was twelve years older. And he certainly acted like an artist. He wore a beret and had a wonderful personality. He charmed anyone. We ended up getting married. He was in the real estate business although he was painting on the side. He wanted to be an artist so bad and give up on real estate. So he started to try to sell his street scenes and my portraits.

  INTERVIEWER: At an art fair?

  MARGARET: Yeah, we would go to art fairs. Then he took my Big Eyes paintings and his street scenes and put them in the hungry i canteen.

  INTERVIEWER: Can you describe what the hungry i was?

  MARGARET: It was a nightclub/bar, a very popular place, and that’s where Phyllis Diller got her start, and the Kingston Trio. Walter was really part of the scene down there, entertaining everybody. I was home painting, and he was down there selling.

  INTERVIEWER: And how were you signing paintings at that time?

  MARGARET: At that time, I just put “Keane” because Margaret is so long. He had “Walter Keane” on his street scenes. So this went on for a couple of years, but I didn’t realize he had been telling people he did all of them. And the children with the big eyes were selling better than the street scenes! Then we had a big controversy one night with Enrico Banducci, the owner of the hungry i. They got into a fistfight over some woman who was sitting at the bar. And somehow she got hit, accidentally, I think. It was this big thing that was on the front page of the paper, and they had a trial, and it was just farce. I don’t even know what the outcome was, but we couldn’t hang the paintings at the hungry i anymore, because Walter and Banducci weren’t speaking. So he found a space above Vanessi’s restaurant on Broadway.

  INTERVIEWER: What year was this?

  MARGARET: This was 1956 or 1957. So he opened this gallery and we wanted to do some posters. We’d staple ’em or glue ’em to fences, telephone poles, houses, anywhere, everywhere we could think to put ’em. And we’d go by the next day and they’d all be gone! We were so upset—we didn’t know who was taking the posters. Then in the gallery we would give them away, and when that got too expensive, we started selling them and we couldn’t print them fast enough. People were just loving them and it was snowballing. It was about this time that I found out that he was telling people that he did my paintings. Then one day, I was in the gallery and I was unpacking everything … and I found this bottom box, this great big, huge box. I was curious about what was in that. I opened it up and in it were all these Paris street scenes with the name Cenic. C-E-N-I-C. I immediately realized that he hadn’t done any of these street scenes. This man, Cenic, did them.

  Walter and Margaret newly married, Berkeley, California, 1957

  INTERVIEWER: Was that a teacher of his or something?

  MARGARET: Well, he claimed that it was his teacher. I think what [Walter] did was take [Cenic’s] name off and put his name on. So this was a nightmare for about ten years. It was just a terrible nightmare. Of course he had me believing it was my fault that he couldn’t paint. I really was like … not physically abused but emotionally and psychologically abused, to the point where I was afraid to open my mouth in public. If I did, when we got home he’d rant and rave and say, “Why’d you say that” and “You should just keep your mouth shut.” It was pretty bad. Anyway … I’m a survivor.

  INTERVIEWER: Just to summarize, you got divorced in 1965?

  MARGARET: I finally got the strength to leave, and I said, I gotta put two thousand miles between us.

  INTERVIEWER: And then after that, he still claimed ownership. Eventually you had to take him to court?

  MARGARET: The lawyers just decided that the only way to make him stop was to sue him. So I sued him and that case is the one where I did this painting in court and won the unanimous jury decision, that I was the artist. But I just want to say … Walter was a genius at promotion, and I feel sorry for him, because he wanted so much to be an artist. He was extremely talented in what he did. He took those paintings and made them well-known because of his talent. I really think he deserves a lot of credit there.

  INTERVIEWER: Let’s just
jump back: Could you tell me about when you first got started painting and the use of your daughter as a model?

  MARGARET: You want me to go way back to the beginning? Well, I remember that I was always drawing, and in the first grade the teacher told my mother she thought that I had talent. So my mother encouraged me, and I had an uncle who encouraged me. After school, when I was about ten, I started taking art lessons at the Watkins Art Institute in Nashville. And I was the youngest one there. Most of [the students] were in their teens, and they were drawing these wonderful pictures. I wanted to be able to do what they were doing, and I couldn’t, at that age, but it made me want to do it. I just always knew I was going to be an artist. I wanted to go to New York and study art, and I finally got there after high school. I first got a job typing and went to art school at night. Then I got married and got sidetracked a little bit, and when my daughter was a baby, I started drawing her picture. When she was about two, I think, I did my first oil painting of her. Some of my friends who had kids, they wanted me to do their children. So pretty soon I was doing quite a lot of portraits, and on all of them the eyes were big. I think when you look at a child, you notice the eyes are big. That’s kind of how the eyes started. Then I wanted to do faces and not have to make it look like a particular child, I wanted just an imaginary face—and then the eyes were even bigger in those. I didn’t realize it at the time, but what I was doing was painting my own inner feelings and expressing them through a child.

  Walter and Margaret in Hawaii, 1958

  INTERVIEWER: A lot of your early paintings were what [the art world] called the waif paintings. Can you tell me about those?

  MARGARET: I started doing them to relax and to do something for myself and not have to please the sitter or the parents. I would do these sad kids because I was sad. And I was putting my feelings into them. Even though they were sad, I think they had hope. They were looking for answers … and I was looking for answers. You know, “Why are we here?” “Why is there suffering?” “Why is there injustice?” And then, when Jane was growing up, I would often use her as a model, but I would change it and make the eyes larger to express more what I was feeling. A lot of people think the eyes are the windows to the soul, and I think they express our inner feelings. I’ve also been interested in spiritual things. Deep philosophical things. So I think that comes out. And I really love children’s art. What’s important to them is the big thing—they make it larger, way out of proportion to reality sometimes. I think that’s why the eyes got bigger. I didn’t do it consciously and I didn’t realize till later why I had done it.