MM Remembers

Roy Scheider: 1932 - 2008

"You're gonna need a bigger boat!" Delivering that single, splendidly spot-on line of dialogue—in Jaws, of course—was more than enough to eternally ensure for Roy Scheider a warm spot in the hearts of movie buffs everywhere. (Of course, it didn't hurt that he also said, in the very same movie, "Smile, you son of a bitch!")

But for some of us, the lean and leathery actor with the bluntly chiseled profile will remain most fondly remembered not for his engaging turn as a small-town sheriff battling a Buick-sized shark, but rather for his drop-dead brilliance as Bob Fosse's stressed-for-success, razzle-dazzling autobiographical alter ego in All That Jazz, the go-for-broke, shoot-the-moon musical fantasia that deserves honorable mention on anyone's list of the greatest and most audacious movies of the 1970s. I am not ashamed to admit that, the first time I saw this masterwork in 1979, the gut-punch impact of Scheider's final exit (which, I swear, I most certainly did not see coming) caused me to burst into tears. Bye-bye, life, indeed. Jeez, I can still hear the sound of that damn zipper...

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February 11th, 2008 | Category: MM Remembers | By Joe Leydon

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Delbert Mann: Jan. 30, 1920 - Nov. 11, 2007

In parts of Europe if you create just one great work of art you’re forever after known as a “maestro,” a genius, a rock star… You don’t have to buy yourself another cup of espresso as long as you live. On the “what’ve you done for us lately?” side of the Atlantic, though, it of course isn’t quite like that. Over here, if you’re a great master of your art form and you live long enough, you’re likely to die in obscurity after decades of buying your own coffee, completely forgotten by the audiences that you once so moved with your work.

Oscar-winning director Delbert Mann died Sunday night at the age of 87. On a warm June day last spring I had the good fortune to spend an afternoon with him at his apartment in Hollywood, where we talked for hours about his movies, his life and his relationships with various people in the business, most of whom he’d outlived. He was very frail and had to be propped up on the sofa by his nurse, but he was warm and generous and very sentimental—exactly the kind of guy I expected the director of one of my favorite movies of all time, Marty, to be.

If Mann had only done Marty, his little film which won the Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor and Best Screenplay Academy Awards in 1955, he would be the maestro. (If you’re an independent moviemaker and you haven’t seen this film, do yourself a favor and rent it tonight. This is how indie films should be made—smart and cheap and with passionate attention to story, character and performance. It was shot in just 16 days and because Mann was so well-prepared, nothing was rushed—that’s all the time he needed.) But Mann also directed the wonderful Separate Tables with Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr, which won two Oscars and was nominated for five others, and dozens of other important productions for the big and small screens. What virtually all of them had in common was their human scale. Delbert Mann was a genius at capturing the essence of the human condition. He told me he cared nothing for special effects and would never consider using them.

“All this fancy technology is just bull,” he said. “I have no interest in that whatsoever. Never did. The key is to have a great writer. You need to seek out real stories about real people.”

Delbert Mann, thanks for the lessons and the inspiration. Rest assured that many of us will miss you very much.

You can read Tim Rhys’ complete article on Delbert Mann in our Winter 2008 print edition.

November 14th, 2007 | Category: MM Remembers | By Timothy Rhys

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MM Remembers: Joel Siegel (1943 - 2007)

Being a movie critic wasn’t always as easy as starting a blog and telling all your friends about it. Now any and everyone seems to want to voice their opinion, and give their two cents worth (which is usually is worth even less than two cents). “Film critic” used to be a trusted position--a name, a real live person who could give you an honest opinion that you could count on. They knew that your money went where they told you to put it, and that many movies lived and died by their opinions.

One of those critics was Joel Siegel, and for 25 years he told people what he thought--and they listened. Siegel wasn’t just a critic though; he was a Tony-nominated playwright, a joke writer for JFK, a passionate
activist… the list goes on. He even had a trademark mustache.

But, how better to explain a man like Siegel than with his own words? Here are some of his best quotes.

1. Remember the movie critic Sony invented to give their films good reviews? Not even he would like The Sweetest Thing.
2. Follow your passion.
3. I do my best not to have any expectations when I go into a movie because it’s not fair.
4. If you fight back and get hit, it hurts a little while; if you don’t fight back it hurts forever.
5. I let the audience know what they should look for in the movie and also to try and improve their movie-viewing habit.

Siegel passed away on June 29th after a lengthy battle with colon cancer.

July 6th, 2007 | Category: MM Remembers | By MovieMaker Staff

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MM Remembers: Jack Palance (February 18, 1919-November 10, 2006)

Jack Palance in Tim Burtonâ€™s Batman (1989). Photo: Warner Bros.

When Jack Palance famously took the stage at the 1992 Academy Awards, he was celebrating much more than a single Oscar victory. For the first time in his long Hollywood career, Palance was getting the recognition he deserved.

After 40-odd years as an iconic on-screen villain, it was Palance’s self-mocking turn as Curly Washburn in City Slickersâ€”a surprising comic performance from the actorâ€”that would win him the statuette, and the opportunity to show off his talent for one-handed pushups in front of all of Hollywood and a worldwide viewing audience.

But famous stunts aside, Palance was an impressive on-screen presence, able to portray villainy to perfection in films like David Miller’s Sudden Fear and George Stevens’ Shane. An accomplished painter and writer (his prose poem, The Forest of Love, was published in 1996), Palance was known for his matter-of-fact attitude toward the Hollywood machine; he was a man who played the game without selling out. As the embodiment of old-school movie star masculinity, Jack Palance made an indelible mark on the film world that will not be forgotten.

November 14th, 2006 | Category: MM Remembers | By MovieMaker Staff

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MM Remembers: Adrienne Shelly

Actually, itâ€™s hard to believe Iâ€™m writing this. Itâ€™s just been reported that Adrienne Shelly, the lovely, talented New York-based independent film actor, director and writer, died suddenly and unexpectedly Wednesday night. She leaves behind her husband and three-year-old daughter. She was 40.

Adrienne was a creative dynamo, first gaining fame as an actress in Hal Hartleyâ€™s early movies and most recently starring in Factotum. Her publicist reports that she was excited to hear from Sundance about her new movie, Waitress, which she wrote and directed.

Some longtime MovieMaker readers may remember that Adrienne was our covergirl on issue #20 in the summer of 1996. Iâ€™d spent a couple of days with her that spring, getting to know her a bit for that piece. She struck me as so different from most actresses Iâ€™d met. She was focused on her career, yes, but not driven to do anything that didnâ€™t fall in line with her definition of creative fulfillment. It was obvious that Adrienne walked to the beat of her own drummer.

As I look back on that interview, it seems Adrienne may have been as prepared as a person can be for this type of tragedy. Her father died suddenly when she was very young, and heâ€™d never even been sick, she told me.

â€œIâ€™ve gone through life with this feeling that life could end at any given moment. When I wrote Sudden Manhattan, a writer friend said to me â€˜Look, Adrienne, itâ€™s your first featureâ€”it might take seven years to get produced!â€™ And I thought, this is not acceptable to me. Because in my way of thinking, I might not live another seven years.

â€œThis is a feeling that kind of frees me. This is my life, so Iâ€™d better enjoy it and be responsible. Thereâ€™s something that Kierkegaard writes about in a similar vein. He said: Donâ€™t make plans for the future without adding the phrase â€˜However, I might be dead in the next 10 minutes, in which case I shall not attend to it.â€™â€

Adrienne went on to tell me she was a huge Yankee fan. In 1978 her team was in last place, doing horribly. Her father died that August, and right after he died, the Yanks made an amazing comeback. She always felt like maybe her dad had a hand in thatâ€¦

Adrienne, I hope you and your dad get to catch some games together this season. You can be sure that you will be sorely missed by me, the independent film community, and by virtually everyone whose life you have touched. Sleep well.

To read the complete interview with Adrienne Shelly in MovieMakerâ€™s archives, click here.

November 3rd, 2006 | Category: MM Remembers | By Tim Rhys

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