Archive for Robert DeNiro

The Haul

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 24, 2021 by dcairns

What I do is, I mostly go from charity shop to charity shop, these days. They’re all very stocked-up, can’t shift the stuff fast enough, and I’m finding lots of interest.

Mary Pat Kelly’s Martin Scorsese: A Journey is one of the finest books on this filmmaker. Part biography, part critical study, part oral history. Full of fascinating stuff. Readers of Easy Riders, Raging Bulls may be amused by how the drug stuff is elided. But just as a for instance, in the section on RAGING BULL, we learn that DeNiro thinks that Vickie LaMotta cheated on Jake with his brother Joey. Joe Pesci and Cathy Moriarty are dumbfounded by this. “Absolutely not.” And yet DeNiro had a hand in the script. They deduce that he sees the story entirely through Jake’s eyes.

The Genius of the System by Thomas Schatz doesn’t seem to argue its case but is full of research and stuff. I need to give it a chance, I guess. I don’t agree with the concept and a lot of the stories told in it tend, to my way of thinking, to confirm that the genius lay in certain individual practitioners of the system, though of course the system facilitated them and they all required brilliant collaborators…

Making a Film: The Story of Secret People by Lindsay Anderson, most of whose faded lettering has been washed out by my camera, was a real find, and I got it only five minutes from the Shadowplayhouse. Anderson follows the development, preproduction, shooting, and most of the post of Thorold Dickinson’s 1952 Ealing drama. It’s an odd little film — Ealing had just made THE LAVENDER HILL MOB and THE MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT so one could argue that poor Lindsay has picked the wrong movie to follow. But it doesn’t matter what film it is, since Dickinson is a smart director and Anderson has total access to his process, apart from the bits going on in the man’s mind. Audrey Hepburn, a bit player in LAVENDER HILL, is elevated to a major supporting role here, and Dickinson directed the screen test that got her the lead in ROMAN HOLIDAY, so the story of SECRET PEOPLE is hooked into history. I’m reading this now, properly, and loving it.

North Berwick is an idyllic seaside town with good ice cream, fish and chips, and charity shops. The weather’s been hot so we went, and I picked up Chaos as Usual: conversations about Rainer Werner Fassbinder by Juliane Lorenz. It isn’t as scandalous as I’d expected but it’s very enjoyable — feeling the need to dip into some more Fassbinder. I’ve seen very little of his massive output, really. Appetite whetted.

The Essential Wrapped in Plastic: Pathways to Twin Peaks by John Thorne. Lots of interviews in this one, which is what sold me. Only covers the first two series. It has many typos, like the Fassbinder book, but these ones are more amusing, as in the phrase, “ad-fib.” An improvised lie? Sounds like a useful term.

Shocking Representation: Historical Trauma, National Cinema, and the Modern Horror Film by Adam Lowenstein seems like an ambitious critical work. I’m not at all sure Franju’s EYES WITHOUT A FACE is inspired by the Holocaust but I’m interested to see Lowenstein argue it.

That’s just a fraction of the reading matter I’ve been acquiring. More soon!

Prisoner and Escort

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , on May 19, 2021 by dcairns

RIP Charles Grodin. When I found out Fiona hadn’t seen MIDNIGHT RUN, didn’t know what it WAS, we had to watch that, even though we don’t often do screenings of people who have just died. We’re more random.

I was struck by how this one has a perfect clip for the TCM Remembers and Oscars In Memoriam sections. But more important, it’s perfect in the film itself. George Gallo’s screenplay is very, very good.

It’s almost a variant on Raymond Chandler’s instructions for writing pulp fiction: “Whenever you get stuck, have a guy come through a door with a gun. (This could get pretty silly.)” Here, this being a road movie, the guy might drive up, and is generally more likely to emerge from a landscape. But the writer has given himself just the right number of things to play with: apart from our fugitive heroes Grodin and DeNiro, he has a rival bounty hunter, the mob and the FBI. That turns out to be just enough elements so that he can always surprise us with who turns up. The story is practically made of surprise entrances, including one borrowed, I think, from THE DRIVER, where suddenly a space is crowded with feds who weren’t there an instant ago and have somehow apported silently into position without the alert protagonist noticing them. So —

RIP Yaphet Kotto also. This was, shockingly, the last film I saw him in. I friended him on Facebook (or at least I think it was him) where he mostly talked about his UFO abduction.

Grodin, of course, is terrific. The film is really skillfully edited, too, so Grodin gets big laughs just with reaction shots. Comparing this to ELEVEN HARROWHOUSE, I’d argue that he was the great master of rupturing car chases with character moments. In the middle of 11H’s climax his voiceover comments flatly on the country estate where the life-and-death developments are occurring. “It was never a fun place. Oh, they had a pool and everything, but it was never fun.”

I suspect director Martin Brest had a camera on each of his stars all the time, so he wouldn’t miss any magic moments.

Since I like Gallo’s plotting and character stuff so much, it’s a shame I can’t watch BAD BOYS thanks to Michael Bay’s meaningless stylistic jerkery getting between me and the people.

Youthification without Youth

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , on November 22, 2019 by dcairns

I really really like THE IRISHMAN and want to see it again.

Consider the trilogy, now — GOODFELLAS (youth); CASINO (middle age); THE IRISHMAN (old age).

Consider the peculiar mix of brilliance and craziness in Scorsese’s use of the de-aging technology, or what he calls “youthification,” and its effects.

It certainly wouldn’t be the same film with a younger actor wearing old-age make-up for the older scenes. First, there’s the history of De Niro on the screen and our relationship with his image, and his relationship with Scorsese and our memories of their previous collaborations.

Casting an older actor and making him younger tells us what the film’s priorities are: having a 100% real old De Niro is more important than having a 100% real young De Niro.

After half an hour I stopped paying attention to what they had done digitally to the leads. I was always slightly conscious of it, I suppose, but it in no sense distracted me. One of the advantages of having a long film.

Since this tech is evolving, I wondered if this pioneering example will come to look embarrassing in a few years. I sort of suspect that even if we see more perfect de-agings in future, our reactions to this one will be fairly consistent… we’ll notice that something has been done, and then we’ll get used to it as the film goes on.

They haven’t recreated the young DeNiro of TAXI DRIVER or even GOODFELLAS. They have removed some lines from De Niro’s big, twenty-tens face, creating a whole different appearance. I guess they wanted him to look as much like his current self as possible, only a good bit younger. Our noses and ears grow as we age, De Niro has put on some weight, gravity has pulled at that weight. The effects people don’t mess with any of that, they just remove the obvious marks of aging. I *think* that’s a less distracting choice than recreating a specific De Niro or set of De Niro’s from the past. If we suddenly saw Travis Bickle or James Conway or Max Cady’s face, I think it would be startling, distracting, TOO MUCH of a callback to the actor and filmmaker’s shared history.

And certainly this is an amazing advance comparing it to the Peter Cushing and Carrie Fisher fails in ROGUE ONE and most of the other stuff I’ve seen which attempts comparable tricks. And De Niro can act through it.

Some have pointed out that they can’t make De Niro move like a young man. Apparently, they had a movement coach on set all the time to help with that. But a guy in his seventies doesn’t move that way out of choice, it comes naturally. Some people retain youthful movement, some do not, and I would think it’s a very hard thing to assume once it’s gone. But, though De Niro’s walk does not put you in mind of a younger man, it didn’t seem to me impossible that a forty-year-old or whatever might walk like that. The guy’s a truck driver, I’m not expecting Fred Astaire. So I noted it for what it was and didn’t let it bother me.

So, what’s been done with De Niro and Pesci (magnificent), then, makes complete sense, allowing us most access to them, with least visual interference, when they’re old.

In a way, what’s been done with Al Pacino makes no sense at all. And yet I can’t complain.

Pacino never plays Jimmy Hoffa in his seventies — the man disappeared (and we learn a convincing version of what may have happened to him) in his early sixties.

Of course Pacino isn’t Hoffa’s German/Irish-American mix any more than De Niro is an Irishman. And they haven’t tried to digitally make Pacino look like Hoffa. The lines in the movie about how Hoffa isn’t really remembered too much anymore are the filmmakers’ “out” letting them ignore the character’s historical appearance. Again, he’s a de-aged version of the actor who doesn’t look like Pacino did in his forties, fifties or sixties.

While we may bemoan the supposition that Scorsese could only get this movie made via Netflix, it’s a remarkable testimony to his influence that he could get ANYONE to sign off on this extremely expensive and untested approach whereby an actor who is too old for the part will be altered to fit, when casting a younger man would self-evidently be easier, cheaper, more natural, safer, and more likely to assure commercial success (though of course the combo of Pacino + Scorsese + De Niro is more marketable than Pacino is by himself). It’s a piece of casting that flies in the face of everything — and Pacino is the most entertaining actor in the film (with Stephen Graham as his main foil a close second) and you wouldn’t ever want to see anyone else in the part.

In fact, just as Pacino brings a blast of energy into the film when he arrives (and his tendency to explode if very well used here, no complaints about overacting from me), the effect of his departure is equally striking — a lot of the life goes out of the film, De Niro gets even more muted — his phone call to the widow is one of the greatest things he’s ever done — and there’s nothing left but the slow, inexorable slide towards senescence and death.

Catherine Scorsese to her son from her hospital bed: “Well, we were put here to suffer.”