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Roy Scheider died yesterday. Damn. He was one of those actors who was often much better than the material he was given (a curse that followed him from his first screen credit: TV's The Edge of Night).

But all that's moot, because he appeared in one of the most entertaining films ever made (Jaws, where he ad-libbed the line "You're gonna need a bigger boat"), one of the most exciting (his reaction shots behind Gene Hackman lent humanity to the often cold and heartless French Connection), one of the most overlooked (William Friedkin's difficult and uncompromising Sorcerer), and two of the most daring (David Cronenberg's version of Naked Lunch and his narration for Paul Schrader's Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters). Most importantly, he starred in (and received an Academy Award nomination for Best Actor for) Bob Fosse's brilliant All that Jazz, which is just flat-out one of the best movies ever made.

Roy Scheider was a classic example of one of those actors, like Bogart, who always, regardless of circumstance, rose to the occasion; so that, in those those few-and-far-between instances when the occasions rose to him, he was ready.

He is already missed.

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Some lunatic has put online all 2,846 of Pauline Kael's capsule reviews from her fine compendium, 5001 Nights at the Movies. While I don't advocate the unauthorized hijacking of anybody's copyrighted works (the site's been out there for a while now, so who knows whether or not it's been sanctioned), it's indeed handy having these insightful cinematic kernels available at one's fingertips. (Which is to say, it saves me the arduous task of getting up off my butt and taking the book itself off the shelf.) Such is the insidiousness of the Internet.

On paper or in cyberspace, one thing these reviews reveal is that Kael was at her best writing in the long form. Reduced to the amount of space usually permitted in Entertainment Weekly, often lost are the insights, the snap of her words, and the sense of enjoyment that shone through her writing. Kael, like Paul Nelson, was as much a stylist as she was a critic, in some cases rendering the reviews she wrote better than the films she was writing about.

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"You see, in this world there is one awful thing, and that is that everyone has his reasons."

I've known that quote well for many years, thanks to the writings of Paul Nelson (who referenced it often), just as I've known that the man responsible for originally uttering those words was Jean Renoir. But until last week, when I watched his fine film The Rules of the Game for the first time in over twenty years, I didn't know (or I'd forgotten) that the quote emanated therein. Spoken by the pivotal character Octave, played by Renoir himself, hearing the words spoken aloud, in French, was a surprise and a revelation.

(In writing a biography of Paul Nelson and collecting his best writings into book form, and trying to understand how someone so talented and so loved came to an end that few of his old friends could comprehend -- living a life that was solitary at best, lonely at worst, while no longer writing for publication -- I've been tempted to rely on Renoir's words to explain and excuse what happened. Thus far that strikes me as too easy; but then, I've more than once used Renoir's quote to explain my own actions.)

In the September/October 2006 issue of Film Comment, director Paul Schrader writes an ambitious, lengthy (the longest article the magazine has published in its 42 years), erudite, and sometimes impenetrable piece entitled "The Film Canon" (the introduction to which may currently be found online). Supposedly sans favoritism and "taste, personal and popular," based on "those movies that artistically defined film history," he cites The Rules of the Game as the number one greatest film of all time.

According to Schrader: "For me the artist without whom there could not be a film canon is Jean Renoir, and the film without which a canon is inconceivable is The Rules of the Game."

It is no doubt a great film: funny and poignant and heartbreaking and, ultimately, very moral (thus satisfying Schrader's dictum that "no work that fails to strike moral chords can be canonical"). But even if it were not, if it were only a so-so movie that happened to contain Renoir's memorable quote, which spoke to me last week as if it were Paul Nelson trying to help me understand, there'd be a place in my heart for The Rules of the Game.

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Asked by Rolling Stone back in 1977 to name his ten favorite records of the last ten years, Greil Marcus wrote: "Every record on this list includes some element -- a riff, a guitar line, a vocal inflection, a, shall we say, moment of truth -- that is beyond the ability of the mind to conceive, or even completely absorb. These records seem like miracles to me." 

For me that moment appears in the third line of "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35" ("They'll stone you when you're trying to go home)" when Bob Dylan cracks up and evokes a camaraderie that invites the listener to come along and have fun with him. It's how close Van Morrison's mouth is to the microphone on "Crazy Love" (I especially listen for his staccato inhalations at the beginning of each line in the final verse). Or the inflection in John Lennon's voice at the end of "God," first when he declares, "I don't believe in Beatles," then upping the ante with his simple and elegant phrasing of "The dream is over." 

There are similar moments in movies. For Harlan Ellison it's the pure cinematic note which ends Coppola's The Conversation. Werner Herzog never forgot the look on Klaus Kinski's face the first time he saw him onscreen, in a Fifties war film. For Pauline Kael it was the silence shared by Jason Robards (as Howard Hughes) and Paul Le Mat (as Melvin Dummar) in their drive across the desert in Melvin and Howard. 

Re-watching Martin Scorsese's The Last Waltz the other day, I was reminded of -- and swept away again by -- a moment of truth that's cinematic and musical. It's not Dylan's fiery performance -- or his look, which falls somewhere in between a bearded Born to Run Bruce and Bella Abzug:

                          +    =     

Nor is it Van Morrison's marvelously mad leprechaun performance wherein he seemingly channels both James Joyce and the Radio City Rockettes. And it's not Neil Young's transcendental rendition of "Helpless" (so gorgeous that even the wad of cocaine lurking inside his left nostril, especially visible on DVD, doesn't detract). 

No, for me the defining moment of The Last Waltz occurs after the Band has purportedly played its last concert and the members have gone their separate ways. Away from the boisterousness and bravado of the rest of the group, bassist/guitarist/violinist/trombonist Rick Danko gives Scorsese a tour of Shangri-La, their recording studio, and the two men sit down alone at the mixing board.

                                                 
                                                                                    Rick Danko

Scorsese asks him what he's doing now that "The Last Waltz" is over. Danko fumbles for words as he shyly looks around for his hat, which he puts it on as if to hide from not only from the director and his question but from his own new role as solo artist. 

"Just making music, you know," he says. "Trying to stay busy... It's healthy." 

He queues up a new song he's recorded, the lovely "Sip the Wine." As his heartbreaking vocals commence and the camera closes in, Danko, who passed away in 1999 at the age of 56, disappears into listening to his creation. And perhaps because he feels uncertain about sharing something so new with someone sitting right in front of him (let alone that someone being Martin Scorsese, who happens to be filming the experience), or maybe it's because he's embarrassed by the intimacy of the song's lyrics --

I want to lay down beside you
I want to hold your body close to mine

-- but Danko nods his head, and the camera captures in slightly slow motion his face completely disappearing into darkness beneath the brim of his noirish hat. 

The effect is breathtaking and, to paraphrase Marcus, ineffably honest.

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Writer/director Paul Schrader, subject of last week's post "You Talkin' to Me?" when he surfaced in London to edit his latest film and confess to withholding information from the FBI in regards to John Hinckley Jr.'s attempt to assassinate Ronald Reagan, yesterday appeared in Jerusalem to announce his next film, an adaptation of Yoram Kaniuk's novel Adam Resurrected. Schrader says it's "the story of a man who was once a dog who meets a dog who was once a boy."



Hannah Brown, THE JERUSALEM POST Jul. 11, 2006

Actor Jeff Goldblum gave a press conference yesterday at the Bar Cochva restaurant in Jerusalem to announce that his next film, an adaptation of Yoram Kaniuk's novel, Adam Resurrected, would be shot in Israel. But the actor was accompanied by such a distinguished group that even his movie star persona and unique presence did not dominate the event.

Goldblum, familiar to audiences from dozens of films including The Big Chill, Jurassic Park, Independence Day and The Fly, sat alongside director/ screenwriter Paul Schrader, best known for his screenplay of Taxi Driver and films he has directed such as Affliction and Patty Hearst. Also present was Yoram Kaniuk, who in addition to Adam Resurrected has written books including The Last Jew and Commander of the Exodus, and producer Ehud Bleiberg, who has made movies around the world as well as in Israel, and recently produced Frozen Days. The four men are collaborating on the film version of Adam Resurrected, and most questions focused on the upcoming movie, which is set to start shooting in Haifa, Tel Aviv and desert locations next March.

When Goldblum was asked a typical movie-star question - what famous line from his films do fans repeat to him when they recognize him in public - he seemed almost embarrassed as he answered, "They say different things, but a lot of the time it's 'I forgot my mantra,'" from his bit part in Annie Hall. "But I'm always happy when people come up to me," he said.

Goldblum said he was "wildly drawn" to the script of Adam Resurrected - which Schrader described as "the story of a man who was once a dog who meets a dog who was once a boy" and admitted was "difficult to adapt." A more conventional description of the book is that it tells the story of a former circus clown who entertained other Jews at a concentration camp on the way to the gas chambers, then finds himself struggling with his sanity in an asylum in the Negev. "People will label this a Holocaust story, because people in the media like easy labels," Schrader said, expressing hope that the story would be seen for the complex tale that it is. The director, who was raised in a strict Calvinist household and never saw a movie till he was 18, said he insisted that the movie be filmed on location in Europe and Israel. He first visited Israel in the late Eighties while doing research for The Last Temptation of Christ, the Martin Scorsese film that was eventually made elsewhere, and said he was "disappointed it wasn't shot here. In the end, it came down to money."

Goldblum, who said he was excited he would be working in Israel, spoke of how much he was enjoying his first visit here, which began last week just in time for the opening of the Jerusalem Film Festival. Asked why he had never visited before, he said, "I'm bad, I'm just bad," and smiled his trademark, slightly crazed smile.

Schrader said he always thought the actor was "born to play the part" of Adam in his next film, and never considered anyone else for the role. "The character is an entertainer, a ring master, the sort of cavalier character Jeff does so well,"Schrader said, and also praised Goldblum's physicality and comic persona. After reading the novel, Goldblum phoned Kaniuk and told him he was studying violin in order to play the hero, who is a musician. "I said, 'You should also learn to bark,'" said Kaniuk. "And then he barked into the phone for about ten minutes." Asked how he planned to depict the canine characters on screen, Schrader said he didn't know, but promised, "It won't be CGI [computer generated imagery]."

After Goldblum spoke enthusiastically of his itinerary over the past few days - including visits to Jerusalem's Old City and Yad Vashem - Kaniuk courted controversy by saying in curmudgeonly fashion that Yad Vashem had become "the Israeli Disneyland" where visitors to Israel are dragged. Producer Bleiberg quickly spoke up to emphasize that no one had dragged Goldblum there, and the actor insisted that he had found his visit interesting.

Bleiberg emphasized that "there was no reason not to shoot here," so Israelis can look forward to seeing a lot more of the always entertaining Jeff Goldblum next spring.

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On Wednesday ogawaogawa, over at his blog One Last Thing, excerpted a great quote by director Werner Herzog from the book Herzog on Herzog, edited by Paul Cronin.

Whether it's dragging a boat across a mountain in the Peruvian jungle (Fitzcarraldo), pursuing the ghost of Timothy Treadwell in Alaska (Grizzly Man), or pulling actor Joaquin Phoenix out of his overturned automobile in real life, Herzog's own existence continues to appear no less strange and wondrous than the lives of those characters whose obsessions form the basis for his films.

The remarkable tale in question may be found by digging here:

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Paul Schrader                                                          Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver

As I've written in an earlier post, the film Taxi Driver changed my life. It remains as electrifying and intense today as when I first saw it upon its release back in 1976, and continues to serve as reminder and inspiration as to the heights art can achieve.

The movie is being re-released in the UK on 14 July in conjunction with its 30th anniversary. Screenwriter Paul Schrader, in London to edit his latest film, was interviewed by Geoffrey Mcnab in today's Guardian Unlimited. The fascinating article "I was in a bad place" not only tells about Schrader and director Martin Scorsese's failed efforts to thwart the wrongheaded release of a Taxi Driver computer game, but includes Schrader's confession of having lied to the FBI the day Ronald Reagan was shot.

The Feds wanted to know whether failed assassin John Hinckley Jr., who'd become obsessed with Taxi Driver and its co-star Jodie Foster, had contacted Schrader. From the article:

His office had received one or two letters from "this kid in Colorado who wanted to know how he could meet Jodie Foster". He told the secretary to throw the letters out. "I knew that if I told the FBI, 'Yeah, I got a letter from him [Hinckley] once but I threw it out,' I would be fucked, my secretary would be fucked. We'd have to be endlessly answering questions about a letter we've thrown out and don't remember. So I just said, 'No, I have never heard of him.'"

Some of Schrader's other credits include: as writer, Raging Bull (with Mardik Martin), The Mosquito Coast, The Last Temptation of Christ, and Bringing Out the Dead; as director, Cat People, Patty Hearst, and Auto Focus; and as writer/director, Blue Collar (co-written with his brother Leonard Schrader), Hardcore, and Affliction.

Photographs: Linda Nylind/Kobal Collection