Quintessential Jack
The Art of Jack Nicholson on Screen
SCOTT EDWARDS
McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers
Jefferson, North Carolina
Photographs are from the collection of the author unless credited otherwise.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGUING DATA ARE AVAILABLE
BRITISH LIBRARY CATALOGUING DATA ARE AVAILABLE
e-ISBN: 978-1-4766-3086-1
© 2018 Scott Edwards. All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
On the cover: Jack Nicholson in Heartburn, 1986 (Paramount Pictures/Photofest)
McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers
Box 611, Jefferson, North Carolina 28640
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Acknowledgments
There are many people who have honored me with their inspiration, without whose contributions and assistance this book could not have been possible:
My mother and father, both of whom passed away during its writing. My older brother, Kenny, now gone for 16 years, who shared and fueled my early obsession with film. And my younger brother, Michael, who now keeps the family going with me.
Love and support from Natalie.
Encouragement and enthusiasm for the craft of writing from friend David Stuart, author of Jane at the Fair: The Adventures of Calamity Jane at the 1901 Pan-American Exposition. The confidence to try from Diane di Prima (directed specifically to me) and Ray Bradbury (as part of a group).
Special thanks to Mews Small for the behind-the-scenes photo shown in the Preface and to Emily Corey for permission to quote from and show her father’s notes found in the Jeff Corey Collection at the Ohio State University. Appreciation to Rich Maurer for his sonic forensics to uncover additional content in recorded interviews.
Gratitude to all who took their time to provide interviews and insight, in particular Mews Small, Gary Kent, Michael Margotta and Dr. Brooke Cannon.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Preface
1. The Actor as Auteur
2. Heroes and Villains
3. Men on a Mission
4. Pieces of Schmidt
5. A More Perfect Union
6. The School of Roger
7. As Cuckoo as It Gets
8. Hippies and Hogs and Horses
9. From Ballbusters to Heart Attacks
10. The Developing Delinquent
11. Writers on the Storm
12. Rom-Com Wonder
13. Misfits and Misanthropes
14. The Dicks Versus the Hoods
15. Head Trips
16. The Occasional Filmmaker
Chapter Notes
Bibliography
List of Names and Terms
Preface
“This project will be a little tough to get off the ground.”1
—Jack Nicholson’s agent, Sandy Bressler
Mr. Bressler was correct. But 12 years and 100,000 words later, this book belongs to you, the reader. Quintessential Jack: The Art of Jack Nicholson on Screen presents the most comprehensive study of the actor’s career that is neither a story of the man’s life nor a Films of… approach, but rather an in-depth examination of roles, acting style and technique, and screen persona, as well as the films’ thematic links.
Every film is represented, organized into chapters that correlate the types of characters (such as disaffected youth or men trapped in a fatalistic cycle); compare and contrast movie archetypes (heroic roles vs. the villainous); examine the portrayal of the human condition (the depiction of those suffering from mental illness); and follow common messages and themes (sexual freedom and anti-consumerism).
The fluid nature of the book’s structure, liberated from a film-by-film chronological format, allows for an enriching exploration of seemingly disparate men. For instance, a shared dedication to duty, honor and a higher organizational calling bring Colonel Jessep from A Few Good Men into the same orbit as Jimmy Hoffa from the Danny DeVito biopic and ACLU lawyer George Hanson from Easy Rider.
To help collect even the most incongruent characters together in this way, a literary device brings the men of a given chapter together in the same physical space at the same time to introduce them within that chapter. Jessep and Hoffa and Hanson are in one place at one time. They coexist physically just as they coexist via shared character traits.
Four or five Nicholson characters might be in the same diner or jailhouse or some other related setting. This cinematic device underscores the intersection of multiple movie worlds and provides a creative entrée to the idea that is presented in a particular chapter.
In addition to covering all of Nicholson’s motion picture roles, the book also includes individual chapters devoted to his screenwriting work and his directorial efforts.
* * *
This analysis has been augmented by full interviews and “grab-and-go” comments from actors, directors and crew with whom Nicholson has worked. Interview subjects include Shirley Knight, Joe Turkel, Mews Small, the late Ed Nelson, Millie Perkins, Michael Margotta, Nancy Allen, the late Hazel Court, Gary Kent, James Hong, the late Barry Dennen, Jimmie Rodgers, Richard Kaufman and Salli Sachse. Shorter encounters have included the Monkees Michael Nesmith, Micky Dolenz and Peter Tork, as well as Veronica Cartwright, Jack Hill, Ed Begley Jr., the late Martin Landau, Marion Ross, Ve Neill, Noah Wyle, Peter Fonda and Bruce Dern.
Additional perspective has been provided by a range of experts, including several Apollo astronauts (related to the Garrett Breedlove character in Terms of Endearment and The Evening Star); original TV Batman Adam West; a reporter covering the trial of Whitey Bulger; a psychology professor specializing in the depiction of mental illness on screen; a founding member of the Oakland chapter of the Hells Angels; and the founder and president of the Institute of the American Musical.
A special moment in time, captured by an unknown photographer between takes of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975) at Oregon State Hospital. Jack Nicholson treated Marya (Mews) Small “like a kid sister” (courtesy Mews Small).
The result is a practical viewer’s guide for the actor’s filmography that presents the Jack Nicholson beyond the cliché, so much more than toothy smiles and arched eyebrows and what I’ve called his “Jacksplosions” of explosive physical action. My hope is that Quintessential Jack can become a passenger as you make your personal journey through the career of one of our most acclaimed actors. Keep it handy as you watch the movies discussed and enjoy your trip through the films of Jack Nicholson.
1
* * *
The Actor as Auteur
There is a room. It is large, but sparsely furnished.
Scan the room and see only men. At least 50, maybe 60, 70. Hard to guess what they have in common or what brought them here. Young, old; strong, flabby; loudmouths and introverts; a few are leaders and famous and command attention, while more are questionable, shady, and evade eye contact.
Seating arrangements weren’t exactly thought-out, with a hippie next to a military officer and a couple of cops eyeing a few obvious hoods. A drunk astronaut, a drunk ballplayer and a drunk retired detective have too much in common—leveling their differences through a corrosive commonality.
Too happy, too depressive, too goddamned obsessive, they’re all here together with writers and rockers, a lawyer and a dog trainer, an insurance bean counter and a hotel caretaker. This is some group of a bunch of real characters.
What brought them together
and what can they have in common?
They are all the creation of one man, one man who brought them to life through truth and effort and research and will. One man made almost 75 men come to life in collaboration with many other men and many other women.
This room is filled with Jack Nicholson, filled with his creations and his collection of characters. This one, large room is large enough to hold the career’s work that breathes the essence of this actor-writer-director. That is the “quintessential Jack,” all that defines Nicholson’s film career.
“Jack wanted to appeal to the whole world. And he did.” That’s how co-star Millie Perkins put it.1
In a career spanning over half a century, Nicholson invented nearly 75 men, men who all reside in this one place. They coincide, not always so comfortably, yet have come together to influence each new visitor. The room always stays the same size, while the experience and insight and feelings fill it up more and more.
* * *
Traditionally, it’s only the director who’s been given the credit as auteur, but why not the actor as well?
Directors merit scholarly study. They are filmmakers. They shape the film. When they are big enough and important enough, we call them auteurs.
But what about the serious actor? Isn’t it possible that a screen actor of import who can command exorbitant salaries can also shape his or her career choices into meaningful patterns of theme and subject matter, with formative influence over the work beyond the role itself?
If an actor has the commercial power and artistic integrity of a Jack Nicholson, it does seem likely that the stories chosen, the messages intended, the issues advanced, and the aesthetics embodied become an integral part of that actor’s choices.
Nicholson admitted that “some movies can’t get made without someone like me in them. You can’t call yourself an auteur if you want Robert Duvall for a part but wind up with Jeff Goldblum.”2
True, many of the movies were primarily commercial decisions and others obligations to colleagues (no other explanation than the latter can plausibly justify How Do You Know or Man Trouble). But look at this list: Films like Carnal Knowledge, The King of Marvin Gardens, The Last Detail, The Passenger, Reds, The Border, Ironweed, Hoffa, The Crossing Guard and The Pledge don’t get produced—at least not on the scale they were and for wide release—without the weight of this star and the influence of this actor-artist. They could have been made, completed with difficulty on the smallest budgets and independently distributed, yet they probably would not have gotten the exposure, nor would they be recalled these many years or decades later, no matter how artistically successful, without the heft of a Jack.
Political and social messages are interwoven throughout the actor’s career. Once established, Nicholson was able to choose his projects. Prior to the breakthroughs of Easy Rider and Five Easy Pieces, the decisions were more or less made for him, to pay rent and get credits. He didn’t exactly go on The Andy Griffith Show (twice!) because he wanted to put the spotlight on small town America struggling to survive against big city encroachment.
His screenwriting, however, does provide clues about the man’s beliefs, through patterns about sexual liberation, materialism, drug use and the Vietnam War that begin to offer a view into the artist’s sensibilities.
Take another look at that list of films with this in mind and it’s easier to craft an image of an influential figure who creates and chooses projects and roles in order to say something. Nicholson grew into the “actor as auteur” role, blending social commentary with box office acceptance to forge a truth as actor, writer and director.
Obviously, this use of “auteur” applies more to the French translation of “author” and a dictionary definition of “an artist whose style and practice are distinctive,” rather than relating to the auteur theory, which represents the director as the “primary creative force.” Calling the actor an auteur is more about formative and foundational involvement, and exercising a meaningful structural influence instead of any sort of suggestion that Nicholson takes over a production just because he’s a big star (not that such a thing has never happened in the history of the movie business).
In Reframing Screen Performance, Cynthia Baron and Sharon Marie Carnicke posit that a film’s “author” is not necessarily an individual but an abstracted personality, and that audiences create a “Jack Nicholson” persona from the characters plus the actor’s personality. A “recursive process is formed between the iconic ‘Nicholson’ construct and the Nicholson films, wherein the two constantly shape and reshape each other,” making connections between scenes and continuities among characters.3 Dennis Bingham adds that this dynamic puts the “author” of a Nicholson film open to debate, with the actor’s presence strong enough for the persona to transcend the mise en scène.4
Nicholson wrote that the “actor brings to his work the undeniable uniqueness of himself and the work takes on a personal quality that has a fabric incomparable to anyone or anything else.”5
After over 60 motion picture credits as an actor, six as screenwriter, and three as director spanning more than 50 years, Nicholson meets the standard deserving an in-depth examination of his work, in a new way—the way ordinarily afforded solely to directors.
* * *
Sometimes, Hollywood gets it right. But it might take a while.
It took several years of small roles and experiments in script work, but Jack finally broke through in 1969 with Easy Rider. The following year’s Five Easy Pieces made him a star.
Millie Perkins, who worked with him in Monte Hellman’s back-to-back productions Ride in the Whirlwind and The Shooting, told me about that struggle: “He wanted to make it badly; he wanted to have a career. He wanted to be in the business.” She recalled the moment of the breakthrough: “Jack came to New York and he needed a place to stay, and he stayed with my husband and me there. I remember him walking down to the beach and I saying to my husband, ‘Poor Jack. He wants to make it so bad, but he probably never will.’ And there he was, right after that—Easy Rider and all the rest of them started to happen and there he was. The guy made it!”6
The years of slow progress did get to him, as actor-stuntman Gary Kent remembered while connecting that frustration to Nicholson’s forays into writing and producing. “He was quite proud that he had done Weary Reilly in Studs Lonigan and had been a minor hit in Europe. And he kept saying, ‘In Europe, they know who I am, but over here they don’t, they don’t know me yet.’” Kent felt that Nicholson’s “main interest was acting, and that if he had to produce in order to do it, then he was going to.”7
Robert Vaughn, who worked with Nicholson in acting classes in the late 1950s, recalled Jack’s frustration about his career. Vaughn had become a star via TV’s The Man from U.N.C.L.E., while Nicholson was struggling in exploitation movies and small television roles. In the early fall of 1967, Nicholson sat on the floor of Vaughn’s dressing room and declared, “Vaughnie, I’m going to give myself two more years in this business. Then I’m going to look for another way to make a living.”8
While collaborating on the Monkees movie Head, Nicholson let loose to director Bob Rafelson: “I’m tired of it. I always get to play the shitty B-part, not the A-part, and it’s always in conventional movies.”9
That challenging journey began in acting classes taught by Jeff Corey and Martin Landau. Bruce Dern recollects, “Whether they’d been in the Actors Studio or not, we all basically came to California with the same desires and urges. [Nicholson] came right to Hollywood and I think he was working at Metro” and at that time “was in the acting class along with a bunch of other really terrific young actors, taught by Marty Landau.”10
“I’m still teaching,” Landau told me, not long before he passed away. When I asked him the most important thing he taught actors like Nicholson, he replied, “Everything. It would take me two years to explain.” The Method teacher felt that Nicholson had “tremendous potential, but not a lot of craft.”11
Nicholson!—needs poetry—surge—conservative—undoing—bilious—must enthuse more. Petty childish—needs maturity and some degree of caring application. Too concerned with self—doesn’t care for acting as such—Quite disappointing—Won’t face his fear of acting maturely. Ought to discuss possible termination. Put up or shut up.12
A personal assessment provided to Jack was just as unfavorable:
Nicholson, J
Have to select more carefully what it is you are playing. There is a kind of undisciplined wandering. Too vague—not fixed enough. Make yourself a surer target. You move and filibuster as though to keep from committing yourself…. Just a vague impression of charm and humor.13
As part of my research, I had the rare privilege of accessing 23 boxes of materials relating to the acting class, thanks to the Thompson Library Special Collection at the Ohio State University. The aspiring young actor struggled at first, with feedback both direct and critical, yet ultimately invigorating and helpful:
Jack…. Sometimes the voice is strong and authoritative and the body is rambling, uncoordinated and unsure … sometimes the body is commanding and impressive and the voice is weak and high pitched…. Bear down on the parts that belong to you … claim what is yours and beat the living hell out of it…14
After actor Jeff Corey was blacklisted, he helped some of the biggest names in Hollywood learn the craft of acting—including Jack Nicholson. These class notes from the early 1960s, in Corey’s own hand, show that Nicholson was far from obvious star material at the time (courtesy Jeff Corey Collection, Thompson Special Collection, Ohio State University).
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