Sunday, Jul 20, 2008
Hollywood's ultimate outsider is at long last the Big Daddy of American cinema.
Aug 15, 2000 | Kate Mantilini's is an overpriced, smug little diner on Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills known chiefly for selling heaping plates of frog's legs to the Armani and Prada set. Were it not in Beverly Hills, it's unlikely it would get away with serving anemic burgers and tasteless fries with patronizing sniffs from its wait staff. But it does get bragging rights for famous faces. Like on the night of June 22 when it seemed the entire cast of Robert Altman's "Nashville," along with Altman himself, had retired from their 25th anniversary party at the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences to the only nearby spot open past 11 p.m.
As luck would have it, I was on hand trying to find the meat in my bun when the first onslaught of "Nashville"-ites arrived, buzzing about the place, waiting for their leader. There was Henry Gibson, accompanied by his wife; Ronee Blakley, with her daughter; Michael Murphy, looking as handsome and buttoned-down as, well, Michael Murphy; and the aptly named Karen Black stalking about with the intensity of a mental ward escapee on the hunt for the sharpest piece of cutlery in the joint.
Altman finally arrived in a group. Dressed in rumpled white pants, a black jacket and a white shirt open at the collar, the 75-year-old director was one part Foghorn Leghorn, one part Big Daddy from "The Long Hot Summer" and one part Nutty Professor (pre-Eddie Murphy), the last bit emphasized by his white sneakers and a pair of black- and blue-striped socks.
The waitresses pushed two tables together, and Altman and his entourage were seated. There were constant migrations to Altman's table, where he sat nibbling on some bread in his long, delicate hands, wearing a grin he might've stolen from some old print of a Pasha in his harem.
In a way, Altman was in his harem -- his harem of actors and actresses. It was an incestuous, chaotic scene that could have been lifted from one of his films -- "A Wedding," "Nashville" or "MASH" -- with each character, such as Murphy or Blakley, jostling the other to come closer to their adopted father. And just like all of those grand, layered ensemble masterpieces for which Altman is renowned, it was Altman himself who was at the center holding it all together, basking in the love of his wayward children.
Now before screaming "muddled metaphor" -- crossing a harem with an extended, flaky family -- consider the high praise actors award him, such as these remarks, culled from the post-"Nashville" screening discussion that took place just before the soiree at Kate Mantilini's.
From Robert DoQui, who plays Wade, the black dishwasher pining for Gwen Welles' Sueleen Gay: "One of the most remarkable experiences is to work with a director who allows trust on the set and among the actors. A lot of the improvisation and a lot of the work comes from that trust ... In order to find new creative moments, you have to have the freedom to explore and fall on your face. Robert Altman allows it, and I love him for it ..."
From Blakley, whose mental meltdown as the snow-pure Barbara Jean is at the crux of "Nashville," describing how Altman allowed her to write the monologue of her psychic collapse before a country music audience: "I remember having this black, covered journal I had scribbled away in. I was in makeup that morning, and I asked if I could speak with Bob. He came down to speak with me, and I showed him what I had written. He asked, 'Do you know it?' and I said, 'Yes.' And then he said, 'Let's shoot it.' But as I had written one speech, Bob is the one, of course, who said, 'Let's break it up a couple of times.' That's why Barbara Jean stopped and started again twice. It was very exciting. An extreme high, creatively."
From Henry Gibson, who played corn-pone country music legend Haven Hamilton and got the big laugh of the evening with this: "I remember one lovely line that Bert Remsen (one of Nashville's bit players) said to me in the middle of all this great madness. He said, 'You know, Henry, being in a Robert Altman film is like sex. When it's good, it's very good. And when it's not so good -- it's still good."
And finally, from Altman stalwart Murphy, who plays politico John Triplette in "Nashville" and who has brought to life key roles in "Kansas City," "MASH," "McCabe and Mrs. Miller," "Tanner '88" and numerous other Altman projects: "Thanks for my life, Bob!"
The feeling Altman's actors have for him is a mix of what one might feel for a father and a lover. Granted, this feeling sometimes tends to develop more in hindsight. (Folks forget there was a bit of rebellion on the set of "Nashville" when Barbara Harris demanded some back pay due to all.) Altman has butted heads with many of his stronger-willed actors, like Elliott Gould and Donald Sutherland on the set of "MASH" or Warren Beatty on the set of "McCabe." Like any great American father figure, from FDR to Billy Graham, Altman is a dictator, albeit one with a gentle hand. It's his way or the highway.
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