For those readers who follow this blog from Los Angeles, nothing that appears in this space can seem very strange – especially when it touches upon the world we call Hollywood – the neighborhood, the industry, the way of life. Nevertheless, a few of you may have been surprised that I lingered over a one-time player, at least one of whose signature looks was a caftan. (Look out – it may be coming back in one form or another. Consider this.)
We’re looking back at style-makers and style-setters who caught our eyes and captivated our imaginations; whose passings remind us where we’ve been and where we’re going. The thing about Hollywood is that it’s a very small world; and even if you have nothing to do with the business, you can’t help bumping up against it; and I don’t mean at the movie theatre. An agent of Sue Mengers’ stature connected directly or indirectly to scores of its players beyond her clients. Among Mengers’ clients were Peter Bogdanovich and Cybill Shepherd. Bogdanovich’s first wife was the producer and production designer Polly Platt; and it's impossible to talk about the look of movies or for that matter, the most creative aspects of Hollywood film and television production without mentioning her name. If the production design and art direction for Bogdanovich’s film of Larry McMurtry’s The Last Picture Show had been Platt’s sole achievement, she would have earned a place among great Hollywood artists. But that was just the beginning. I mentioned Wes Anderson in a previous post. Guess who shepherded him through his directorial debut? Between those bookends, a myriad of achievements: Terms of Endearment; Broadcast News; The War of the Roses; and so many more. And need I mention The Simpsons? Well so there.
Platt was not the only stylish film-maker who left us in 2011. There was Peter Yates (Bullitt; John and Mary; Breaking Away; etc.). And that mad maestro of the romantic and grotesque, Ken Russell. No one is quite the same after viewing his films of Huxley’s The Devils and Lawrence’s Women In Love. His nexus with Hollywood (the business) was more troubled (let’s just call it ‘bad blood’ with screenwriter, Paddy Chayefsky, and leave it at that); but Altered States remains a fascinating picture. Can you imagine a picture with the visual, literary, even poetic scope of, say, Women In Love getting made today? (The Devils was all but butchered by Warner Bros. before its American distribution.) Not bloody likely.
The lush art direction, luminescent photography and unrivalled sensuality of those films, at least two of which featured Hampstead-Highgate’s currently standing Member of Parliament (Labour natch) in leading roles (she appeared in two others) reminds me of another loss to English film and theatre, Susannah York, whose break-through role for most American audiences was as Sophie Western in Tony Richardson’s film of Tom Jones. (She was Claire to Glenda Jackson’s Solange in Christopher Miles’ film of The Maids.) You wonder if it’s simply a matter of ‘six degrees of … ‘ D. H. Lawrence? (Or sisters? She was Alice in both They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? and The Killing of Sister George.) I don’t mean to let this devolve into a game of ‘six degrees’ or Trivial Pursuit, but looking back over these images, we’re reminded of the extent to which these films and film-makers influenced the look, style, and attitudes of the 1960s and 1970s (and beyond) – attitude perhaps most important of all.
We can’t forget the music, either, of course: Gil Scott-Heron, Phoebe Snow, Cesária Évora. It’s never just about a look or the way we’d like to look; it’s about the way we look at life and the way we live. Attitude is everything. (Not that I’ll be giving up my Miu Miu and Ferragamo shoes any time soon.)
Oh and one more thing – while I still have that classic trench coat from Chloé in mind (the rainy days will soon be upon us after all – in theory anyway); or while we’re thinking about what we may be wearing in the trenches in this new political year, how can we forget that character whose rumpled trench was the ultimate attitude-accessory to conceal a steel-trap talent for detection. Wim Wenders saw Peter Falk as a “Filmstar” who himself was once an angel. It made a kind of sense. Falk incarnated Lieutenant Columbo as an unassuming avenging angel – inquisitive yet almost benign, unfailingly courteous, an absent-minded messenger who knew what he was after and methodically, haltingly, yet inexorably, delivered. Wenders understood the package: star, angel, and flesh-and-blood friend. What could be more chic?
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