”What if you die some day?”
“I will die.”
“Don’t you want people to remember you?”
“I don’t want them to be told to remember me.”
I don’t think anyone’s going to have to be told to remember Robert Altman. His remarkable filmography is so packed with gems that will be rediscovered over and over that I think his legacy is secure. Right now, as I sit down to write this, Toshi’s here in my office, dancing along to the songs as POPEYE plays. Later, when Toshi’s asleep, I plan to revisit SHORT CUTS, one of my very favorite Altman films, or maybe CALIFORNIA SPLIT and THE LONG GOODBYE as a double-feature. Or maybe MCCABE & MRS MILLER, with that incredible score of Leonard Cohen songs.
The point is, deciding which Altman film to watch to honor the man’s passing is tough because he left behind a film for every mood, excellent work in so many different styles and genres. You can’t watch any one single film and get the full experience of Robert Altman the filmmaker, and that’s one of the reasons I think it’s safe to call him a genius. He made films his way his entire career, and he never seemed terribly concerned with the industry at large. He never chased trends or bought into the system. Instead, he just kept moving forward, always seeming to find the funding to make the personal and idiosyncratic pictures that he wanted to make.
I didn’t make it to the theaters for A PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION, but I’ve watched it twice since New Line sent a review copy of the DVD, and I guess if he had to have a “last movie” (and wouldn’t it be lovely if certain directors never had a last movie, but just kept working as long as films were around?), then PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION is a solid pick. The quote at the start of the article is an exchange between Lindsay Lohan’s character and Garrison Keillor, but I think it sums up Altman’s own attitude that seems to permeate the entire film. Death is not something to be feared or dreaded, especially at the end of a productive life. It’s just... next.
Altman’s films are all messy around the edges, and that’s where his genius lies... in the way he manages to allow life into his films, unafraid of accidents, in love with chaos. It’s an illusion, of course, because there’s an amazing amount of control required to pull off the anarchy that he seemed to pride himself on. And his aesthetic could make some audiences crazy. I still remember taking my girlfriend at the time to see SHORT CUTS on opening night in Century City. I practically staggered out of the theater, amazed by what I’d seen, only to end up in a vicious argument because my girlfriend not only hated the movie, but hated everyone associated with it and the way it made her feel and me for liking it and taking her to see it. It was a reaction I’m sure Altman would have enjoyed as much as any positive one, because it obviously made her feel something. It pushed her, and that’s one of the things he most loved to do with his films.
One of the quiet miracles of A PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION is how gentle the entire enterprise feels. Altman loved the abrasive, but PHC feels like a warmer, kinder mood for the filmmaker. Some of that is, of course, due to the source material. Garrison Keillor’s creation has been a staple of the publishing and radio world for so many years now because of the comfortable familiarity of the show, but in collaborating with Altman, Keillor has created something that looks deeper, into the source of nostalgia, and it connects our desire to hold onto the past with our fear of what’s yet to come in a way that feel pointed, but never confrontational. And maybe it was the fact that the insurance companies insisted on Altman having a back-up director (Altman disciple PT Anderson) waiting in the wings just in case, but whatever caused it, the shadow of death hangs over the entire film in a very real way. The entire film is about finality, about the end of something, and about how you continue after that thing ends. Whether it’s a career or the radio show or someone’s life, Altman seems to see endings as a step in the process, and not remotely final. As one of our chatters said this morning during one of many conversations about Altman that have happened since the news hit, “It’s really hard to shed a tear for the guy when his last film basically says don’t cry... celebrate.” That’s exactly what the film feels like, a celebration of the very act of creating and the personalities who are drawn to the simple basic joy of putting on a show.
The New Line disc is fine, with good sound and picture and decent extras including an interview with Altman. He was one of the last great Southern gentlemen, an unrepentant stoner, a iconoclast, a gleeful shit-stirrer, an old-school professional with a rebel’s heart, and I will miss the living shit out of him.
But no tears. Just a triple-feature and a smile.
Drew McWeeny, Los Angeles
