Thursday, February 16, 2012

“The Wind and the Lion”


TCM just showed John Milius’ masterpiece of hokum, which I’d not seen since the day it opened at Radio City Music Hall in 1975. There’s much to commend: Billy Williams’ beautiful cinematography, Jerry Goldsmith’s stirring music, Sean Connery (as a Berber pirate, no less) and Brian Keith (as Teddy Roosevelt) carving up enough ham to feed fifty at Easter dinner, and Milius’ energy in staging a throwback to some of the great cinematic ripping yarns of yore. Think “Gunga Din”and “Lawrence of Arabia” for starters.
Milius loosely based his screenplay on an incident in 1904 in which Mulai Ahmed er Raisuli and his brigands kidnapped a man named Ion Perdicaris and his stepson from Perdicaris’ Tangier villa. When Raisuli made various ransom demands, President Roosevelt and Secretary of State John Hay, sensing an issue to boost Roosevelt’s reelection, sent several battleships to Morocco and thrilled Americans with the slogan, “Perdicaris alive, or the Raisuli dead.” Ironically, Perdicaris, the dilettante son of a wealthy American, had given up his United States citizenship years earlier, a fact that failed to deter either Roosevelt or Hay. Perdicaris and his stepson, who became great friends with the Raisuli during captivity, were eventually released unharmed—and Roosevelt, of course, won another term.
Milius used this event as a springboard for his story, wisely transforming the 64-year-old Perdicaris into a beautiful widow named Edith Pedicaris with two precocious children (Candice Bergen, whose last name in the film has been shorn an “r”). Following the formula of thousands of movies since the first nickelodeon lured paying customers, Mrs. Pedicaris at first despises the Raisuli, then slowly respects him for his gallantry before seeming to chastely fall in love with him, a no-brainer when the rascal who kidnapped you is Sean Connery, who’s having such fun with the role that it doesn’t matter when his Scottish burr vanquishes his mild attempts at a Arab accent.
Milius only falters in the last third, when US Marines square off with a contingent of German soldiers during an attempt to rescue Pedicaris and her children, who themselves are intent on saving the Raisuli who’s been captured by the Germans. If you’re not following this, it’s okay because Milius has failed to clarify what the Germans (and the French, as well) are doing in Tangier. But no matter, really, because the climax is exciting, and the movie succeeds as a grand, old-fashioned entertainment. Available on DVD (for $4.99 on Amazon)—or watch for the next time TCM airs the film in all its letterboxed glory.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Long-lost Donald Westlake tape: Redford, Godard, Hammett and more*




Here’s another recent discovery from the dark recesses of my garage: a
60-minute Sony audiotape of an interview with the great Donald E. Westlake conducted on November 2, 1973.
Donald Westlake (1933-2008) wrote more than 100 books, numerous short stories and screenplays over a 50-year career in which he won three Edgars, the title of Grand Master from the Mystery Writers of America, and a 1990 Oscar nomination for his superb adaptation of “The Grifters.”
At the time of the interview, I was in grad school in Boston studying journalism, although “studying” is a stretch. I’d been assigned to interview a celebrated person, and I immediately thought of Donald Westlake, a writer I’d admired for his humorous thrillers (“Adios, Scheherazade,” “The Hot Rock”) and his hardboiled caper novels about a professional thief named Parker, written under the aptly chosen pen name Richard Stark (the character’s latest movie incarnation opens in October with Jason Statham in “Parker”).
Mr. Westlake seemed surprised when he opened his Manhattan apartment door--he’d been expecting me the following week. Despite the confusion, he welcomed me warmly. For the next hour or so, he patiently—and most entertainingly—answered my many questions.
For space reasons, I’ve condensed some of his responses.
Beginnings:
“I started writing when I was 11. In my late teens, I was writing short stories of every conceivable type, and sent them to everything from Future Science Fiction to The Sewanee Review. First story I ever sold [at 19] was science fiction, second was a comedy to a men’s magazine, third was a mystery story. Mysteries were what I got a good response on. I spent years saying I was a writer disguised as a mystery writer, and after 30 books and several movies, I thought maybe I’m a mystery writer disguised as a writer.”
Favorite writer:
“My admirations are not necessarily my influences. My favorite living novelist is Anthony Powell [author of the 12-volume “A Dance to the Music of Time”]. If I ever took an influence from him it would destroy me because he writes such a controlled but leisurely way that if I put anything of that into my stuff, it would break the springs. I love those books.”
Influences:
“When I was a kid and first writing I was completely in love with the Cornell Woolrich/William Irish books. I think he’s dated rapidly. I didn’t exactly borrow from him, but I had much of his sense of heightened expectations of people always being slightly off balance.
“I love Hammett, never liked Chandler—I’m one of the few. In ‘Red Harvest,’ there’s my favorite chapter title of any book: ‘The Seventeenth Murder.’ Some of Parker comes out of that.
“A guy named Peter Rabe wrote a batch of books for Gold Medal in the 50s, and he was absolutely the single largest influence on writing style. I was completely in love with the way the man wrote. Everything is a little bit oblique, but with this sense of terrific tension underneath. I read that he had [advanced degrees] in psychology, and that his dissertation was on frustration--and that was the key to the man’s writing: how to behave like a normal human being under the stress of frustration. Throughout the 50s, he was doing beautiful work . . . with awful Gold Medal titles like ‘Murder Me for Nickels.’”
Writing as Richard Stark:
“I was doing a book a year for Random House, and I thought it would be a good idea to have a paperback company that I was selling to to [help] pay the rent. So I did the first Parker novel in which he got caught, and the editor at Pocket Books took me to lunch and said ‘Is there any way that this guy could get away at the end, and you could do three books a year for us?’ And I said, ‘I think so.’”
The funny business:
“My agent urged me not to do it [write humorous thrillers]. ‘You won’t get any paperback reprint, you won’t get any foreign money.’ I was calling it at the time ‘The Dead Nephew.’ I was edging into it being funny. It wound up as ‘The Fugitive Pigeon’ [1965]. The hardcover sold twice as well as any of the book before it, and it did a better paperback sale, and got all the same foreign sales. It was a first step forward.”
On Jean-Luc Godard’s “Made in U.S.A.” (1966):
“A producer in France said he wanted to buy the rights to ‘The Jugger’ [a Parker novel]. I consider that the worst book I’ve ever written. It was the wrong kind of story for that character. My agent said [the producer] wanted to buy it. That was amazing—I don’t care how good the translation was, it’s still going to be a rotten book in French. A deal was made [but] he only made three payments, all late . . . so we assumed he had given up. But he was going ahead. Godard made the movie on 12 afternoons . . . sort of making the thing up as he went along. Anna Karina played Parker. After that, and Lee Marvin [in “Point Blank”] and Jim Brown [in “The Split”], a friend of mine said, ‘Parker has been played by a white man, a black man, and a woman. I think the character lacks definition.’ It’s a very, very bad movie.”
On “Point Blank” (1967):
“I thought it was a fine movie when I first saw it. Its mannerisms and its artiness are making it creak now. Lee Marvin is lovely, and John Boorman worked his ass off. Even the things that didn’t work, I thought were beautiful. There’s one sequence where Lee Marvin has gone into an apartment, and he’s looking for somebody, and he’s told that that person isn’t there, but a messenger shows up the first of every month. Marvin says fine, and sits down to wait for the first of the month. Boorman shows him walking around the room. Then he sits down, and Boorman fades out, then fades in on the same room with all the furniture gone—it’s just an empty room and Marvin is sitting crouched on the floor in the corner. Waiting. Then Boorman fades out, and fades back in with the furniture back in the room, and Marvin sitting on the sofa when the doorbell rings. That image of dead time and sitting in a corner of an empty room didn’t work because people were wondering, ‘What’d he do with the furniture?’”
On “The Hot Rock”(1972):
A good movie that could have been a much better movie. Bill Goldman did a beautiful, funny screenplay. The director, Peter Yates, had made ‘Bullitt,’ which wound up with a chase at the airport—well, the original screenplay of ‘The Hot Rock’ wound up at an airport, and Yates said he didn’t want to do it again. It was a terrifically funny sequence. Bill Goldman had done a chase—not out of the book. He had established that Kelp [George Segal] did a lot of jogging and had been a track man in high school, and that an assistant of Dr. Amusa [who wants a priceless gem restored to his African nation] was a former Olympic runner, so when they get into a chase across the airport it gradually turns into a race where they’re doing racing things rather than quarry- and-hunter things. When that was written, [Robert] Redford was going to be Kelp, and George C. Scott was going to be Dortmunder. Redford did honorably. He was miscast [as Dortmunder]—he did the best he could. There are terrific moments in that movie, like Ron Leibman flipping the scarf over his shoulder in the back of the truck.”

At interview’s end, I asked Mr. Westlake to inscribe my paperback copy of “Bank Shot.” Here’s what he wrote:
All right, Vince,
You ask too many questions. Take him away, boys.
Don Westlake
Opposite the inscription is a page listing some of his book titles, including “The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,” “The Magnificent Ambersons,” and “A Tale of Two Cities.” Didn’t know he wrote those, eh?
Donald Westlake was a funny guy—as well as a gifted writer and lovely man who couldn’t have been kinder to a nervous, would-be reporter on his first big interview, all those many years ago.
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*This originally appeared in the New York Daily News book blog, Page Views

Wednesday, February 08, 2012

Small Moments on a Foggy Day





Cruising east with Roxie the Lab after a walk through the lovely but fogbound dog park at the Berkeley Marina, listening to Jonathan Schwartz on SeriusXM. The fog matches my murky mood. But then Schwartz plays three wonderful songs, wonderfully performed—and fog and mood slowly fade.

First up is Johnny Mercer, a great lyricist who had a parallel career as a singer, particularly in his early days. He’s singing a bluesy something I’d never heard (and not a song whose words he wrote): “I Lost My Sugar In Salt Lake City.”

I lost my sugar in Salt Lake City
Oh, why did I go there?
I should have stayed down in New Orleans
And never gone nowhere

A man which we talked from Kansas City
His words were sweet like wine
He gave us diamonds & limousines
And stole that gal of mine

At some point, Mercer flows into—for want of a better word—recitative:

Salt Lake City is renowned for it's beauty
The snowcap Sasquatch mountains are nearby
In 1929 the factory output was 43 million dollars
Wholesale trade amounted to
71 million five hundred & ten thousand five hundred & seventy three dollars
Retail trade ninety two million
There's salt beds & farm lands producing
alfalfa, green, sugar beats & vegetables in the vicinity
But as far as I'm concerned
I don't care if I ever set foot there again in Salt Lake City
That town is a nemesis to me

On paper, it sounds odd, but Mercer makes it work, and the recording is a delight.

Next comes Lena Horne with “It’s Love” from the great Bernstein-Comden-Green musical, “Wonderful Town.” A lovely song, beautifully sung:

It’s love, it’s love
Well, who would’ve thought it?
If this is love then why have I fought it?
What a way to feel, I could touch the sky
What a way to feel, I have found my guy

Finally, there’s Fred Astaire backed by the Oscar Peterson Trio (Ray Brown on bass, Alvin Stoller on drums), performing “I’m Putting All My Eggs In One Basket”:

I've been a roaming Romeo
My Juliets have been many
But now my roaming days have gone
Too many irons in the fire
Is worse than not having any
I've had my share and from now on:

I'm putting all my eggs in one basket
I'm betting ev'rything I've got on you
I'm giving all my love to one baby
Heaven help me if my baby don't come through

This is part of a four LP album released in 1952 as “The Astaire Story” (and yes, it’s available on CD). Wonderful stuff.

As Peterson hits his last note, Roxie and I pull up in front of the house. The sun’s shining, my mood’s lifting, all thanks to some great music. As Astaire sings in “I Got Rhythm”: Who could ask for anything more?
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I know: no books, no movies mentioned. Let's just call it droit du bloggeur.