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I love both the novel and film. As usual, the novel makes more of a social statement. If you check IMDb for the tagline to the film - "As P.T. Barnum put it, 'There's a sucker born every minute.'" - you get a sense of the difference between the point of view of the book's author as opposed to the producers of the film. The film producers are after the carnival-like novelty of a crooked bible salesman and his too cute daughter, who's also a thief at heart and, by the way, a better one than her father, who is basically a loser. The reason for this is clear: films are basically hi-faluted carnival acts. Apparently, the audience member is just another sucker.
The novel, on the other hand, carries a great deal more compassion for the human condition, particularly human frailty. Not to say that the film wasn't at all sentimental in this way. Ryan O'Neill's character, the loser father, was treated sensitively by director Peter Bogdanovich. But he (Bogdanovich) is unique, a prime example of the kind of compassionate intelligence that flourished to some extent during the Let It Be trend of the early 1970s, a trend that could do the human race well if it was allowed to continue forever. The producers/distributors reveal, with their tagline, a more Hollywood-typical ruthlessness. Like "Ha ha, people. You're all jsut a bunch of suckers ripe for the taking."
True, the overt theme of the story & film is basically about how hilarious it might be to watch such father/daughter con artists, especially when these con artists are working in 1930s territory where stupid, faithful Christian farmers etc. (middle America) dwelled. But the most important part of the story happens toward the end, when the thieves are confronted with their toughest mark: a more experienced thief (Mr. Robinson?, can't remember).
This character is far more developed in the novel. He's great fun in the film. But in the book he's downright Marxist. Indeed, one of the greatest anti-capitalist epigrams ever written, in the tradition of Wilde and Twain, is spoken by this succesfully affluent crook, in what is otherwise merely a silly/fun little dark comedy of a story (paraphrasing): "Anybody can make money. It doesn't take any great talent to do so. No, people who make money are merely people who can't do anything else. But it takes real talent to be a fine musician, or an artist..." Something like that (I don't have the book with me now). But you get the point.
Clearly, Joe David Brown, like John Steinbeck, was an author with an important, righteous opinion on the weaknesses of our capitalist system. He died a few ears after the movie was made. Too bad it wasn't Reagan who died and Mr. Brown, instead, the "great communicator" of the 1980s.
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Contained within these pages is a critical access to the creative process. Each director interviewed (obviously some more than others) provides invaluable insight into the nuts and bolts of film directing. Bogdanovich has compiled with this book, an indispensable historical document that does much to inspire, educate and guide any aspiring film director.
I particularly valued Alan Dwan's insights into the importance of communicating character relationships into the narrative. I have incorperated much of the late director's invaluable advice into my attempts at stage direction.
All in all a must have for anybody interested in directing or gaining insight into the creative process.
I rate all of these books Five Stars but probably enjoyed reading Bogdanovich's book the most because the conversations ramble along somewhat messily, as most of my own conversations tend to do, and also because Bogdanovich is more actively involved in the interaction than Emery and Schickel are. As a reader, I feel as if I were really an eavesdropper as 16 directors casually share their opinions, information about specific films and actors, gossip, "war stories," and overall evaluations of their careers' various successes and failures. At no time does Bogdanovich seem intrusive or manipulative. Moreover, perhaps to an extent he did not realize when writing this book, he also reveals a great deal about himself...much of it endearing and some of it admirable. His passion for film making and his appreciation of the great directors are almost palpable. Readers' interests about various directors and their respective films obviously vary. I include myself among those who are die-hard film buffs and so I enjoyed reading every chapter and every word in each chapter. Indeed, each conversation was for this amateur "gourmet" a feast to be consumed with delight and, yes, gratitude.
Although I'm not a huge fan of the latter's movies (with the exception of "Paper Moon," which I loved ever since it came out when I was eight, and fell in love with tomboy Tatum O'Neill forthrightly), I have begun reading about half of this book over the past few days, and find it better than my previous favourite, the Hitchcock/Truffaut book. Of course, much favoured above Wilder/Crowe, namely because of Crowe's incessant name dropping of "Jerry Maguire" and "Tom Cruise" every other irritating sentence, which prevented the reader from finding out what
Wilder had on *his* mind.
What impresses me about the Welles/Bogdanovich volume is the raucous sense of humour Welles brings to the conversation, always as lively and as larger-than-life as Welles was. Also, Bogdanovich has laced the book with pertinent interviews, articles, anecdotes that elucidate certain points of the text, as well as Welles' lines cut from "Magnificent Ambersons" and the long memorandum he wrote to Universal studio chiefs and cc'd to Chuck Heston, trying to save what I consider his masterwork,
"Touch of Evil" from falling prey to overzealous editing by indifferent studio hacks.
But most of all, I am touched that when all the world was dumping on Welles, when he was being derided as a has-been and a spendthrift, that up-and-coming director Bogdanovich gave him his friendship and accorded him the respect he was so shamefully denied. Even Pauline Kael couldn't resist savaging Welles, and she wrote a particularly nasty and libelous article that Welles didn't write any of the screenplay to "Citizen Kane."
Of all Hollywood's sins (and I retain in memory a cross-indexed catalogue of them), the fact that even when Welles started getting "lifetime achievement" accolades, he still couldn't get any financing for his movie projects, on which he worked until his last days, leaves the bitterest taste in my mouth. There must be certain people destined to the lowest rungs of hell -- or at least purgatory -- for creating a world in which Orson Welles' last paid acting role was as the voice of the evil planet in a "Transformers" movie.
What entertained me the most was Welles' genius for story, which he not only used in such mastery on stage, radio, and film, but also in telling us of his own personal stories. I didn't realize the extent of Welles' accomplishments, which include some of theater and radio's finest moments, as well as film. Before making Citizen Kane at the ripe age of 26 (or 23?), Welles had a fuller, more distinguished life than most people manage to squeeze into a lifetime. Most importantly, this book can give a film fan some general insight to all those great "lost masterpieces", the films in which Welles often lost control over (which basically are the majority of his films). He explains his original visions and where the studios altered his work. Watching these films with this book as my guide, I noticed more of his touch and his genius than I would have without it. A great book and gift to filmmakers everywhere.
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From these writings, Peter Bogdanovich accuses the Playboy sex machine and Hugh Hefner of being a driving force in her death. I disagree, I think she was just discovered by the wrong person in the form of her sleazy future husband and murderer, Paul Snider. I wish a reputable modeling agency would have discovered her instead, not only would she probably still be alive, but I think she had the star quality that would have made her a huge celebrity. All of this would have come without the stigma of having posed nude for men's magazines; Bogdanovich points out that this leaves a blemish on you even after death. It is no wonder that even though she's been dead for nearly two decades, Playboy and others are still peddling her naked pictures. I appreciate that Bogdanovich did not publish any of these photos of her or Paul Snider out of simple respect. The photos of her that do reside in this book are when she has a most natural and angelic appearance, without the tons of makeup and hair bleach regulary used by Playboy. The cover photo is exemplary of this. It is sad to think what could have happened if a reputable modeling agency discovered her.
Although I thought Bogdanovich tried to respectfully preserve her memory, I think he exposes some pretty intimate sexual moments which is not in the best of taste. Also, what made him think that he was any different than any of the other male "Hef regulars" at the Playboy mansion that came on to her as well? He just succeeded where they didn't. Perhaps an 18 year old girl would respond to a man more than twice her age if he was rich, powerful and giving her a starring role in his upcoming movie. I do think he was madly and pathologically in love with her from these writings. However, I will also give him credit for trying to provide the essense of who she was. He made me realize that she was not just another blond bimbo posing nude for Hefner, but a very sensitive, shy, bright and unique young woman with an ethreal beauty that put her in extreme situations of great limelight to exploitation and eventually death.
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