Friday, October 24, 2014

All Ben Bradlee’s Men

It’s hard to believe that Ben Bradlee has left us. I always pictured Bradlee, the longtime executive editor of the Washington Post, as something like the figures on Mt. Rushmore: unmovable and eternal. What a shock to learn that this brilliant and feisty man succumbed last Tuesday, at the age of 93, to the ravages of Alzheimer’s disease. 

Benjamin Crowninshield Bradlee started life as a Boston blueblood, with a direct connection to wealth and power. He was by all accounts a charismatic leader, one whose mannerisms and sartorial style (slicked-back hair, striped shirts) were imitated by generations of rising journalists. But he was also a man of courage. A champion of modern investigative journalism, he re-made the lackluster Post as a gutsy newspaper that skewered the Nixon administration by publishing the Pentagon Papers and then blowing wide open a little caper called Watergate. As a direct result of stories first published in the Washington Post, Richard M. Nixon resigned the presidency on August 9, 1974.

Of course the enterprising newsmen who investigated the 1972 break-in at the Democratic National Committee’s D.C. headquarters were Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein. At the time, they were lowly reporters following a hunch that the Watergate burglars were backed by someone high in the Nixon White House. Over the course of two years the pair became America’s most famous newspapermen, as well as models for a generation of young journalism students eager to uncover political wrongdoing wherever they found it. Woodward and Bernstein’s newfound celebrity was reinforced by a book they published in 1974, All the President’s Men. And this book quickly led to an immensely popular film of the same name, in which the chief roles were played by two of the industry’s brightest young leading men, Robert Redford (Woodward) and Dustin Hoffman (Bernstein).

A breathless political thriller, All the President’s Men was nominated for eight Academy Awards, including Best Picture. It was beaten out of the top prize by Rocky, but won four Oscars, including Best Adapted Screenplay ( by Hollywood legend William Goldman) and Best Supporting Actor. This latter award went to the great Jason Robards, for bringing Ben Bradlee so vividly to the screen.

Bradlee was also impersonated in other films. He was played by G.D. Spradlin in Dick, a wacky little 1999 comedy in which two high school girls who wander away from a school trip to Washington meet President Nixon, and come to advise him on handling the Watergate scandal. (For the record, the two girls were Kirsten Dunst and Michelle Williams, while the role of Bob Woodward was given to none other than Will Ferrell.)

I can think of at least two more Hollywood films that connect, in one way or another, with the Watergate era. The first involves Carl Bernstein, who was married to writer-director Nora Ephron from 1976 to 1980. Ephron later fictionalized their marriage, including Bernstein’s disastrous extramarital fling, in the darkly comic Heartburn, a bestselling novel that later became a movie starring Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep. And let’s not forget the shadowy informant who gave Woodward and Bernstein the key to the Watergate mystery. In the reporters’ book, this Nixon administration higher-up who spilled secrets in a Washington parking garage was nicknamed Deep Throat. Needless to say, Deep Throat was the title of a  hugely popular soft-core porn flick (1972) in which Linda Lovelace demonstrated a very unusual talent.

I’m not sure how Ben Bradlee felt about that connection. But, wherever he is, I wish him well.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Dan O’Bannon: Real Horrorshow

Halloween is coming, which means scary movies on everyone’s radar. Last week I was invited to the USC Film School to see a documentary titled Shock Value: The Movie—How Dan O’Bannon and Some USC Outsiders Helped Invent Modern Horror. This assemblage of USC student films circa 1970 provides a riff on Jason Zinoman’s Shock Value, a fascinating book on the evolution of contemporary American horror films that I’ll revisit as October 31 creeps near. I was enthralled by my glimpse of student work in the early 1970s, full of sex, miniskirts, and endless cigarettes. (The level of violence, though, was tame indeed, even by today’s TV standards.)

These days, USC’s film school—the nation’s oldest—is housed in palatial digs built by George Lucas and other Hollywood royalty. But in Dan O’Bannon’s era, film students mingled in a ramshackle former stable. Everyone knew everyone, and they all knew Dan O’Bannon, who was probably both the weirdest and the most multi-talented of the film geeks. O’Bannon could do it all: writing, directing, acting, special effects. But, as a post-screening panel made crystal-clear,  he was not an easy guy to be around. For one thing, he would never suffer a fool . . . or a bad movie. At student screenings  in  the hallowed Room 108, he could be blunt when criticizing the work of his classmates. And his private life was turbulent. He kept by his bedside a huge stack of porn , topped by a wicked-looking .45.

The evening at USC was essentially a tribute to the work of O’Bannon, who’s best remembered today as the writer of Alien. (He also directed such Hollywood hits as The Return of the Living Dead, but succumbed to Crohn’s disease in 2006.) The documentary kicked off with his funny and gruesome Blood Bath, in which a young man bumbles from a morning-after hangover to a death most bloody. Dan’s acting chops (as well as his makeup skills) were also on display when he impersonated an elderly codger in the futuristic Good Morning, Dan. Most memorably, in Judson’s Release -- which was later renamed Foster’s Release -- he played a maniacal stalker, harassing a pretty babysitter over the telephone before making a deadly in-person appearance.

Sound familiar? Author Jason Zinoman applauds this student film (directed by my future Roger  Corman buddy Terence Winkless) for establishing the horror tropes that we associate with John Carpenter’s big breakthrough movie, Halloween. No surprise: O’Bannon and Carpenter were USC classmates, who together had their first taste of success with the spoofy sci fi flick, Dark Star. This student film was snapped up by Hollywood and expanded into a feature, with O’Bannon on camera (eluding the fearsome tomato monster) as well as collaborating with Carpenter on the script. When they hit the big time, though, Carpenter was only too happy to dump his old pal. It was clear from all of the evening’s speakers that John Carpenter is not the most generous of men.

Of course, that’s the way Hollywood operates, and in later years  Dan O’Bannon suffered
 his share of betrayals. He had to fight for credit on screenplays he had originated, and (according to an elaborate story that was told from the stage) the great Orson Welles apparently swiped one of his story ideas.  Others have gotten far richer, but his widow Diane insisted that  “what he cared about was the work . . . and the audience.”  Diane knew Dan for 17 years before they married, by which time he had mellowed from a weirdo into “a fusty old guy with a very big heart.”

Friday, October 17, 2014

Interacting with Neil Patrick Harris, 2015 Oscar Host

In the midst of a serious Ebola scare and so many other national disasters, it’s great to be able to trumpet a bit of good news: Neil Patrick Harris is going to host the Oscars. I doubt I have to explain who NPH is. Albuquerque’s favorite son first made headlines as a teenager in the goofy title role of Doogie Howser. M.D., a popular TV series (1989-1993) about a fourteen-year-old med school graduate. 

He also made films. I was surprised to recall that one of his very first was the leading kid role in an amiable fantasy called Purple People Eater, written and directed by a Roger Corman friend of mine, Linda Shayne. Many of his later films have been lightweight too, like Starship Troopers and (playing a parody version of himself) Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle. And of course there’s recently been his Emmy-nominated sitcom role as playboy Barney Stinson in How I Met Your Mother. Yet his appearance in Gone Girl proves he can go dramatic as well.

But he’s made perhaps his biggest impression in a series of Broadway musicals. (He can sing, dance, do magic tricks, and probably walk on water.) He’s starred in everything from Sondheim to Rent to the Tony-winning transvestite role in the rock musical, Hedwig and the Angry Inch. It must be said, he has great legs. What’s really going to prepare him to serve as Oscar host, though, are the years he’s spent brilliantly hosting the Tonys, by far the  most entertaining of the big awards shows.

One of the things that most intrigues me about Harris, aside from his versatility, is the fact that he’s the ultimate social media creature. He has 10.7 million Twitter followers, to whom he sends out almost daily tweets, like this one: “Yesterday I celebrated the birth of my twins. Tomorrow I celebrate the birth of my book. I hope the book poops less.”

Yes, he’s got a new memoir out. In a typically puckish twist, NPH  pays homage to the Choose Your Own Adventure books kids used to love. Here’s part of the official blurb: “Sick of deeply personal accounts written in the first person? Seeking an exciting, interactive read that puts the ‘u’ back in ‘aUtobiography’? Then look no further than Neil Patrick Harris: Choose Your Own Autobiography! In this revolutionary, Joycean experiment in light celebrity narrative, actor/personality/carbon-based-life-form Neil Patrick Harris lets you, the reader, live his life.”

Sounds like fun. See his official book trailer below. For those not involved with today’s publishing world,  it might not be known that video book trailers are now considered de rigueur, but Harris’s is surely more entertaining than most. And of course it smartly capitalizes on the current fad for all things interactive. Even the stuffy old Academy of Arts and Sciences, the organization that stages the Oscar broadcast each year, has finally recognized that fans want to get involved on an active level. The Academy just completed a redesign of its site, so that movie buffs (and not just visitors to the Academy’s Margaret Herrick Library) can view priceless photographs and film clips. Now anyone with Internet access can see Audrey Hepburn’s screen tests for Roman Holiday and the theatrical trailer for William Castle’s Homicidal, which offers a “fright break” (with full refund of the ticket price) for those too scared to continue watching. 

I doubt I’ll need a fright break when watching NPH strut his stuff at the Oscars. True, the Oscar hosting job has scared some of the biggest names in the business. But not NPH, surely.

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Geoffrey Holder: Un-Ordinary, Unforgettable

Geoffrey Holder, at age 84, has left the building. I wonder how many movie fans are saddened by that news. Holder is perhaps not a household name, despite his memorable appearances as the eerie Baron Samedi in To Live and Let Die and as the amiable Punjab in Annie. Ironically, he was best known for a series of commercials for 7-Up, in which, clad in a gleaming white suit, he sang the praises of “the Uncola.”

Even if you didn’t know the name, Geoffrey Holder made an impression. Measuring down from the top of his bald heat, he was six foot six, with a dancer’s grace and an exuberance all his own. His voice was basso profundo, his Caribbean inflection was lilting, and he spoke in superlatives: the world for him was “lovely,” “mahvelous.” And his clothes . . . suffice it to say that one of his many talents was for costume design.

I’ve  been following Geoffrey Holder’s career for many years, ever since my beloved first dance teacher, the beautiful Carmen De Lavallade, brought him down the aisle of the Lester Horton Dance Theater  and introduced him as the man she was going to marry. If memory serves, all of us little girls at Dance Theater were invited to the wedding, even though it was quite clear that we were not about to travel from L.A. to the fabulous estate in Connecticut where the outdoor nuptials were held. But we saw the photo spread (I think it was in Ebony, or Jet), and it looked to be a splendid calypso-flavored bash.

Carmen had met Geoffrey on Broadway, when both appeared in a Harold Arlen/Truman Capote  musical fable called House of Flowers. Playing the God of Life and Death, Geoffrey designed his own costume: a burnt-orange cape and a loin cloth. He intuitively knew how effective this get-up would be: “Being a dancer you stand with a straight spine. You look 12 feet tall.” In later years, Geoffrey returned to Broadway with The Wiz, the “urban” musical based on The Wizard of Oz. As director and choreographer he won two Tonys, and I well remember him dancing up to claim his statuette, artfully working the Uncola into his acceptance speech.

I’ve interviewed Geoffrey twice over the years, once for a piece on costume design, and once regarding his role as an unlikely tribal chieftain, Willie Shakespeare X, in the elephantine movie musical, Doctor Dolittle. He mostly enjoyed this first of many Hollywood adventures, but was blunt in discussing the egotistical and  racist Rex Harrison, as well as his equally obnoxious wife, actress Rachel Roberts. Typically, Geoffrey found a creative way to upstage Harrison in their first scene together. Noting Harrison’s veddy British vocal timbre, he decided, “I will drop my voice to make him sound like a sissy.” Gleefully he told me, “I had a private ball doing that.”

After describing to me the Paris soiree at which he met Marlene Dietrich, Geoffrey announced, “I am deliberately dropping names. I am so rich by being so honored by the best people. So when people talk about stars today – please!” He loved fun, but also held tightly to his formidable sense of self. As he liked to put it, “Dignity is not something you buy at Bloomingdale’s.”

A 2005 documentary film called Carmen & Geoffrey chronicles the long creative partnership of my former teacher and this amazing man. When I mentioned to Geoffrey that his wife was a truly lovely person, he promptly replied, “I know. I have good taste.”

Au revoir, Geoffrey. You’ve earned an “absolutely mahvelous” rest.

A quick segue from Geoffrey Holder’s flamboyant costumes to a heartfelt documentary about the subtle craft of Italian-born tailors. Vicki Vasilopoulos’ Men of the Cloth will be playing at the La Femme Film Festival for women directors in downtown Los Angeles on Sunday October 19th at 2 PM.  Brava, Vicki!