I don’t feel I could do justice to such a legend with my measly words, but I did finally watch McCabe and Mrs. Miller this year and it lived up to all the praise I’ve heard over the years from the Scarecrow staff. I was amazed by Gosford Park and am still irked that A Beautiful Mind won for Best Picture and Best Director. And of course there’s M.A.S.H., which was my first introduction to Mr. Altman’s genius. When my friend called this morning to tell me the news, I was sad not just for Mr. Altman’s family, friends and fans, but that we as cinema loving folks have lost one of the great directors.

I still haven’t seen The Long Goodbye. I think that’s next.

http://static.flickr.com/22/26005195_569f3dd60c_o.jpg

no more hands on a hard body

You never know Tommy, Steven Spielberg could gather together whatever pre-production work Altman had already done on Hands On A Hardbody. Wasn’t Chris Rock already cast?

I wish I had some great story, like Jim Emerson’s, about how the first Altman movie I saw was Nashville on the big screen when I was a teenager. Sadly, I think the first Altman movie I saw on the big screen was Gosford Park. But I enjoyed Popeye immensely as a kid.

Maybe now Brewster McCloud will get a DVD release!

Although the decline in his health was increasingly visible in interviews over the last few years, I personally was left feeling sad and emptied by the news. I teach film and screened “A Wedding” to students on the night he died only to wake up and see the news. My first Altman exposure was “Nashville” in my own first film class and I remember that movie looking like nothing I had ever seen before. My interest grew year by year, film by film, to the point where I even began to enjoy the ones everyone else seemed to hate. On some level, I felt like I ‘got’ him or at least what he was aiming for. I steadily began to collect Altman, ultimately moving past his films and into his television work; I enjoyed scouring for his individual episodes and rare films. At the end of the day, I always found a distinct point of view in his work that I admired: Everyone is a star in their own movie; but that also means you are an extra in everyone else’s.

I feel like I’ve known Robert Altman my whole life, almost. We “met” when I was 14, in 1980. My dad bought the family a VCR, and everyone got to pick out a tape to buy. My folks picked THE BETSY, my sister picked HUGO THE HIPPO, and I picked M.A.S.H. I proceeded to watch it every day after school. I once fell asleep
reciting the lines along with the cast while my schoolfriend sat and watched
the rest of the film for the first time. I’ve always wondered if there was
something that sneaked into my subconscious in those formative years. I say
this because when I finally became aware of ROBERT ALTMAN THE FILM
DIRECTOR, it was like I had known him my entire life. Any film I saw that he
directed seemed to just flow into the natural order of things. I was not
surprised by any of it, yet so many little moments were so fascinating, so
many scenes so rich and naturally textured, that it almost seemed like you
were just watching life go by, and watching it through the most fascinating,
observant eye. So many people have attempted to re-create an Altman
world on celluloid, yet by the very fact that they were “trying” seemed to
make them destined to fail. I think Altman was the ultimate master at not
trying, letting things happen, and then catching them with his keen
eye and razor sharp mind so that we could focus on the most interesting
thing at that particular moment in time. Whether it was a scattered piece of overlapping dialogue from a side character or one of those slow little zooms on one of his characters at the moment they figured out, or seemed to figure out what the heck was going on for the first time in the movie, every single moment in an Altman film mattered, in one way or another. That’s why his films were so rich, and why I’m so thankful of the films he left us. Like all great works of art, I can go back to them time and again, year after year, and get something fresh out of each new experience, and delight in my memories of experiences past.

One last thought – I met him once, finally, in 1998 at a video store trade show. He was there for a DVD panel discussion with Leonard Maltin, Bill Condon, and Brett Ratner, and sat at a table to meet folks afterwards. The anticipation leading up to this meeting was something I had never experienced before, and after about 30 seconds of listening to me blurt out everything I wanted to say about how great he was, he just took a breath to compose himself, looked at me like a benevolent cleric, and said “you know, my feet are on the ground.” I took a breath also, relaxed, and spoke WITH him for a couple more minutes. Immediately afterwards, I felt quite the fool, like one of those buffoons in his films who blabbers on all through the story, often coming up short at the end. Then, thinking later, I thought of two things. One, he cared enough to stop me, so I didn’t come up short, and two, that he really does have his feet on the ground. His seeming lack of ego centered me, but much more importantly centered each and every one of his films. By taking himself out of the mix, letting his actors create, he was able to let things happen, and then “direct” them. What a rich legacy he left us. Thanks Bob, for taking all of those chances, for respecting your actors so that they could find their characters, and for respecting your audience enough to let them find all of the lovely things in your films.