by David Lipsky
I didn’t want to ask about Blade Runner. Too obvious and embarrassing. I mean: everyone loved it.
Godfrey, who wouldn’t? Although Pauline Kael didn’t like Blade Runner.
Yes, she didn’t.
[Break]
About heroism and redemption in a corporate culture. I mean that’s what makes it a great movie. Is that the machine thing is the barest and most skeletal of metaphors in that; Rutger Hauer is us. It’s sort of like, I don’t know, now you’ve got me thinking—there’s so much beauty and profundity in all kinds of shitty pop culture all around us.
Like living in Bloomington: one of the things that I do, I mean, you have to listen to a lot of shitty country music. ’Cause that’s like pretty much all there is on the radio, when you’re tired of like, listening to Green Day on the one college station. And these country musics that are just so—you know, “Baby since you’ve left I can’t live, I’m drinking all the time” and stuff. And I remember just being real impatient with it. Until I’d been living here about a year. And all of a sudden I realized that, what if you just imagined that this absent lover they’re singing to is just a metaphor? And what they’re really singing is to themselves, or to God, you know? “Since you’ve left I’m so empty I can’t live, my life has no meaning.” That in a weird way, I mean they’re incredibly existentialist songs. That have the patina of the absent, of the romantic shit on it just to make it salable. But that all the pathos and heart that comes out of them, is they’re singing about something much more elemental being missing, and their being incomplete without it. Than just, you know, some girl in tight jeans or something.
And it’s so weird. It’s like you live immersed in this stuff, it’s very Flannery O’Connorish. And then every once in a while you realize that it’s all the same, and it’s all about the really profound shit. And that it’s adjusted in various ways to talk to various demographic groups for commercial reasons. But that if you cock your ear and listen real close, it’s—that it’s deep, you know?
Where else do you see that kind of nice stuff rising out of shit pop culture?
Wow. Oh, God, everything. I mean even—we were making jokes about Love Boat and Baywatch. These really—the really commercial, really reductive shows that we so love to sneer at. Are also tremendously compelling. Because the predictability in popular art, the really formulaic stuff, the stuff that makes no attempt to surprise or do anything artistic, is so profoundly soothing. And it even, even the densest or most tired viewer can see what’s coming. And it gives you a sense of order, that everything’s going to be all right, that this is a narrative that will take care of you, and won’t in any way challenge you. It’s like being wrapped in a chamois blanket and nestled against a big, generous tit, you know? And that, OK, artwise maybe not the greatest art. But the function it provides is deep in a certain way.
That all this stuff is like deadly serious and really deep all the time. I mean, it doesn’t mean that you should go around being some kind of scholar of pop culture and dismantling all the stuff. But that it’s—that we find, that art finds a way to take care of you, and take part. Kind of despite itself. And that’s one of the cool things about Kael. Is Kael, Kael writes about the miracle of … all the odds are stacked against, you know, the profundity. You know? Writing about the Hollywood system and stuff. And like crabgrass, or like Jeff Goldblum says in Jurassic Park, “Life finds a way.” You know?
That like, the cool stuff and the magic stuff, it comes out all the time. The trick—you know, if there’s one thing that the serious art can do, is that it can try to put you in places where you’re more alive to hearing that. You know? That it can seduce you into paying attention to stuff in a way that’s hard to pay attention to.
[Pleasant sound of tires over asphalt roadway. Now with like semi-regular chunks, like rolling a pin over dough on a counter. We keep hearing the tires changing sound on different surfaces, and the car slightly sways. … It’s cold now, as usual, from cracked open window. And with the air leaking in, noisy.]
… example …? Movies or TV shows? Both were moved by that Blade Runner scene.
Well, we were talking about—we were talking about that scene in True Romance. Which it would be easy to see as high camp. You know: What an idiot, he fucking kills himself and then that number is on, and then that number is on the refrigerator. That’s really this incredibly existentialist thing. It means—it means that the goal of protecting the son was never about that. That it was about the heroism. And choosing how you die. And the incredible sadness in his face as he went through this incredible, this really sad—I mean, it’s about everything.
What’s amazing, you can see it. He picks up that Chesterfield, he knows it’s his last cigarette. And he smiles at it.
And he enjoys it. He draws the smoke in and holds it like a bong hit. A little extra time, you know, knowing it—that you know, that colors got brighter for him right then, and that sounds got sharper and he was starting to … One reason I think you’d like Angels is right at the end, this guy’s going to the gas chamber. And he just talks about, you know, wanting to—he’s looking out his prison cell at the clouds and realizing how cruel it is that the day is so precious to him on this, his last day. But also realizing that if it weren’t his last day, you know, it wouldn’t be so precious. It’s just all—it’s just all real true. It’s not a great book, but Angels is full of moments like that.
And things that are less deliberately high culture …
Tell you what, turn the thing off for a second and let me think—[Break]
[He asks me to prompt him: from a list of movies we’ve talked about.] Last of the Mohicans. My girlfriend always mocks this part, Daniel Day-Lewis is escaping, by leaving Madeline Stowe high and dry … “Whatever happens stay alive. I will find you.” … I find that moment very moving … And the guy who’s been kind of a prick, the British officer, the Redcoat who’s also in love with Madeline Stowe … They get captured by the bad Indians, someone has to die—
And he does it. And I’ll tell you, that change is plausible in a way Schindler’s wasn’t. There was something I bought, somehow. That he and Natty had been through enough, and earned enough of each other’s respect, so that this man became enough of a man to realize that he deserves, that Natty deserved to live, and he didn’t. Yeah, I found that tremendously … I don’t know—and then the mercy of Natty, killing him, with his long rifle. No matter how blunt the phallic symbol, you know? I mean it’s weird that it can be cheesy and—
For example, you didn’t like that movie Always. You know? But there was—I myself found that metaphor of his appreciating Holly Hunter at just the time that she can’t see or hear him anymore, is such a great metaphor for not appreciating something that you’ve got, you know? Loving somebody who’s absent, you know? Their presence didn’t satisfy but you feel their absence so much more keenly. And how the pain is more exquisite than the pleasure always is, because it’s got that keener edge.
Or, I don’t know, there’s a moment—there’s that movie Broadcast News. Which is in many ways a really—James L. Brooks is a, has the heart of a whore. But there’s, Albert Brooks has that marvelous scene where he talks about William Hurt being the devil. And Holly Hunter says, you know, “Oh, what do you mean?” He goes, “Well, who do you think the devil’s going to be? Somebody with”—you know, I only saw this once, but I’ve never forgotten it. “What’s he gonna be, in a red cape? Whooo! No, the devil will be a very nice, very likable guy. Who very gradually lowers our standards of what’s good, you know? And that’ll be his job. And he’ll get all—”
“The great women.”
Right. Which of course James Brooks can’t resist. He can’t resist the sappy Albert Brooks’s own agenda in it. You can’t let Brooks have unalloyed passion, nobody in a James L. Brooks movie can do that.
So it’s weird. It’s like how the, like—I mean it really is, you know. You’ve got this enormous lump of shit, and then a rose growing out of
it. And then you realize that the more rank the shit, the more, the more saprogenic the shit, the more fertile it is too. And it’s not like “Oh, pop culture’s great, we’re surrounded by this beauty all the time.” But the trick is that—is if you can get the right arrangement in your head. And get kind of in the right spirit to really try to pay attention, and do the work, to like see what’s beautiful in it.
The paradox is that the popular stuff is training you not to do the work. It’s telling you, you don’t have to do the work.
[Break]
[We talk about Glengarry Glen Ross—“another absolutely great movie of the last ten years,” he says—Anthony Minghella’s movie of The English Patient.]
Have you read that book by the way?
… not completely my cup of tea …
No, Nan Graham [Scribner’s editor in chief] sent it to me saying it was like the best thing published in the last twenty years. I haven’t started it yet but I’m going to.
… read the first few pages …
It’s not domestic? I would have thought it was very—
[Break]
… I make people watch the film with me … True Romance … see if they were struck by that moment of incidental niceness …
And we’re also—we’re being incredibly Pauline Kael-ish here too. ’Cause this is her whole sensibility. Is that what keeps her going, is looking for the little flashes. I’ll tell ya, we talked about Schindler’s List and I wasn’t crazy about that. But that whole—that incredibly seductive way he tries to get Amon Göth to stop killing, by appealing to his megalomania. And indulging his forgiveness. And then that scene where—I’m sorry—Ralph Fiennes looks in the mirror, and tries to see himself as a forgiver. And is looking in his face, and that moment—that could so easily have been played for laughs—“Nah, I’ll go kill the guy.” But it’s, he looks into his eyes and his soul, and sees that that’s not him, you know? And sees how pathetic he is. And then can’t tolerate that, and that’s why he goes and shoots the boy. I mean there’s so much stuff going on just in that little ten or fifteen seconds. Inside of a movie—inside of a movie whose central project ended up being, you know, dishonorable and cheating. But that’s the neat thing about—I mean that’s probably ultimately why novels and movies have it over short stories, as an art form. Is that if the heart of the short story is dishonest, there aren’t enough of the little flashes to keep you going. Whereas in a novel or a movie, even if the central project doesn’t work, there are often ten or fifteen great, great, great things.
… I love in Jaws … with the kid at dinner, where Roy Scheider—
Where they’re making faces at each other? Yeah. Except you can really sense that Spielberg knows it’s brilliant. And you can hear, like grinding character development going on in the chief. It’s at that moment that you know the chief won’t get eaten.
… because why? He’s too likable …
Yeah, I mean that—there was this way, when I was talking with you in Broken Arrow—I mean, ’cause we’re a lot the same—I mean I think we were watching that movie in a way that nobody else there … Maybe Julie was. But it’s sort of like this game you play, we’ve seen so many of them. And we’ve seen, you know—we’re viewers where you know if you’ve got Tom Sizemore, that you’ve ruined the movie for us. And it’s, there’s this, these whole other ways to kind of watch movies, and sort of fence with the director. But it adds this whole other level of suspense: Is the director going to cheat or not? How can he—is he going to pull this off? Like the way we both groaned when we—when the fistfight came at the end, oh, with the twenty-dollar bill. You know, we’re like—
… That was by the way why I loved Seven … last half hour … new kind of genre.
Yes. Although totally gratuitous stuff with Blythe Danner. I knew when Blythe Danner had that conversation with—that she was going to die and so was the baby. I mean emotionally a whole matrix of—
No, of course. But then … the thrill of being surprised by having the movie change its tack like that.
Yeah. It’s weird, that movie didn’t do very well, did it?
No, it was a huge hit.
Was it?
… Toy Story.
[Break]
And—what was that Grisham thing?
The Firm.
Yeah.
… too broad for me …
You’re a smart movie watcher.
[After talking about Alec Baldwin and Jennifer Jason Leigh liking each other in Miami Blues helps us like them too …]
I love in … Jaws … it’s the normal guy who got the shark …
Big difference in the book. Did you ever read the book? The book is a really terrible Moby-Dick remake.
… brings me close to tears, him having to pull off heroism … he hates the water …
But it’s so sad, because seeing Scheider, you know, perched in that same crow’s nest in Jaws II, I don’t know, it’s ruined. And it’s also then seeing Spielberg milk the exact same thing in Arachnophobia. Or also, he milked it in Raiders of the Lost Ark when Harrison Ford hates snakes.
… he has that self-parodying repeating gesture … [in Jaws] people reaching out their hands to each other …
What do you mean reaching out—
… where someone’s going to fall …
Oh, right.
… Close Encounters … falling down the hill … Melinda Dillon runs down … pulls him … I find that incredibly moving …
And I think the frame’s chopped, so that we just see the hand when he’s rescued? It takes us a beat to realize it’s her hand. Why do you—because you know about this stuff—why does Spielberg have this fetish for putting other directors in his movies? Truffaut, who’s the guy in Jurassic Park?—Richard Attenborough?
… Attenborough’s always acted also …
So you think Attenborough, like, read for the part? What else has Attenborough been in?
… Séance on a Wet Afternoon …
Did you ever see a movie called The Hit with John Hurt and a very young Tim Roth? Terence Stamp. How old is that movie? Why is this guy blinking his lights at us?
… Terence Stamp … doesn’t want to face death …
Yeah, that’s very odd. I like that the woman lived. Tim Roth was a great—Tim Roth is another one. He’s a little annoying. I think I was the only person in America who liked Four Rooms, just because of Tim Roth. Who, he was completely, he was so over the top that he couldn’t even look down and see the top. And I saw that movie twice. And the second time I couldn’t even get anybody to go with me, ’cause the word was out. I don’t know what I liked, very difficult to figure out why we like stuff.
… smart director … same deflating and inflating gag in Reservoir Dogs as in True Romance … Tim Roth … about to make contact as undercover guy with the criminals. … He’s been building his cred, working up his alias, now he’s going downstairs, looks at the poster …
He looks at what poster?
Silver Surfer. Then he looks in the mirror, tells himself not to worry … then crossing street, the voiceover …
We see him walk out through the point of view of the cops who are—
Right, in the car behind. And the cop says, “A guy’s gotta have rocks in his head the size of Gibraltar to work undercover. You want one of these?” “Yeah, I’ll take the bear claw.” It so undercuts the heroism …
But it’s also very reductive of—there’s a whole TV humor device which involves the person like, you know, “God, I’d never sell myself so cheaply. Oh, ten dollars? Sure.” And then the audience—you know, it like happens ten times in every sitcom.
… had other characters do it …
True.
Tarantino as an example of self-parody … he then gets paid $200,000 to do … rewrite of Crimson Tide … all he did … add pop culture and comics references: an argument about the Silver Surfer.
That also had that actor who, “you got a lot of heart, kid” from True Romance, he pla
yed one of the—the weird thing about that movie is that movie could have been so great. If it had been left a little more ambiguous that Denzel Washington was right at the end, that sort of orgiastic vindication of his chest-thumping thing. But that could have been so—that could have been so true to how messy that situation really could have been.
I don’t know, Denzel Washington’s another one, I don’t know whether I like him a whole lot. But God, you talk about star presence, he’s just like—you’re just, your eye, he fills your eye no matter where he is on the screen.
I read they were saying they couldn’t bank on him in a movie …
Wait. He’s been a leading man in tons of movies that have done well. Oh, come on—this was a period—people don’t see history movies anymore, people don’t see like a noir movie with a black man as the hero. I mean it’s an enormous risk.
… Glory …
Glory was a great movie.
That moment: Matthew Broderick saying good-bye to his horse …
Yeah. Talk about something that could have been cheap, they had the balls to, like, do something that could have been really cheesy. And that ends up just—and it’s ingenious in so many ways. Ferris Bueller’s essential woodenness works perfectly for a young man, you know, prematurely elevated to a position of that kind of power.
Callow.
Callow youth, you’re right. He’s callow in this.
Best battle scenes … that first scene at Antietam … people say best battle scenes …