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No
Created on: April 02, 2008 Last Updated: April 03, 2008
On the Notion of Filmmakers Peaking Like Athletes
There is something special in the audacity that comes to light the moment a person declares the talent of someone they never knew but formerly admired to be well and permanently vacated. I think there is an unarticulated notion underlying a lot of people's discussions about filmmakers on the web. That a filmmakers body of work follows the same life trajectory as that of the athlete, peaking at some point in his relative youth and then plummeting downward forever after with the rate of travel the only question left to answer.
To me this is one the one hand a horrifyingly animalistic way of viewing the one greatest tool we humans have in terms of elevating ourselves above the animal kingdom: creativity. On the other hand it shows a lack of appreciation for the fact that disagreements with artists in a subjective world are inevitable. The more something is moving me the further it fills another with distaste. And we all have thousands or more differences and when highlighted have a choice of keeping our mind on the discrepancy or, when referring to the person who led you there, thinking back to earlier times when you appreciated their work.
I think how a person chooses to view the talent level of someone who made many films they liked after seeing one they didn't shows something about their basic personality. I was just reading someone on a film discussion forum lamenting the Coen Brothers' filmmaking abilities based on the movie Ladykillers. It was an old post that had been dredged up. He thought the Coens had "lost it" and "sunk their careers with this travesty". Many agreed with him!
I see a lot of things like this on the Internet. Perhaps it is the venue but it happens often enough to make me wonder if on some basic level it relates to optimism or pessimism being revealed in the viewer in the conclusions that are drawn often from small samples with such extreme conviction.
Here are some more examples of what I consider a common phenomenon, since I go to the message boards of sites like Internet Movie Database often:
I saw it happen with M. Nyght after The Village. I saw it happen to Raimi a little after taking on Spiderman 1 and 2, but most people liked the first one and loved the second one. Then Spiderman 3 comes out and people start disparaging him as if he were a completely different person. I also saw some of that for Jackson when taking on Lord of the Rings and then even more after King Kong. Ang Lee went from loved to hated by many on here after making The Hulk. Then there is Lucas, the Wachowski Brothers...
Best example: A great deal of people on here talked smack on the Coen Brothers after Ladykillers and Intolerable Cruelty, saying they had lost it and what not. I would always reply saying that the more films someone makes the more likely one is to dislike one of them, and the order of two you do not like coming out in a row should probably be viewed as coincidence and nothing more. That in the future they would make films those of us who did not like those two comedies would love...
After No Country for Old Men came out and was hailed as a masterpiece by many of those same people I asked about the old threads. Of course no one responded save one person who says, "Whatever. They may have got it back but for awhile they lost it." I thought losing it meant you were done making quality films, not just taking a break?
I do not think creative talent decreases with age but it seems like that is the popular perception and that coupled with people's arrogance that their perception of films is some sort of objective truth causes many to declare the talent of an artist they used to like dead the moment they disagree with them!
I hate it when people assume that just because a filmmaker (or in the case of the Coens, two) makes a movie or two in a row that they personally dislike that they have "lost it". The Coens are obviously extremely gifted. Their resume is quite intimidating. You do not just lose talent. This is not football where your body hits the wall after a certain period, so unless you think they are going senile in middle age...
An example which you may or may not agree with is De Palma. Did a great job on Scarface, then makes some decent films but mainly crap for years... so according to you he has "lost it". Then he comes along and makes Carlito's Way, which was spectacular. I guess he "regained it"? Or maybe he just finally made a movie I liked after years of making ones that did not appeal to me. (This is also why Writer-Directors tend to be more consistent than plain old Directors, as they control the source material as well as its interpretation). If you disagree with this example, there are hundreds more.
I hate this line of thinking for two reasons, other than the fact that talent never dies. One, directors hear what people like you say loud and clear; it in fact plays to one of their worst fears. They know that if they make one or two bad films in a row they will be labeled has-beens by the impatient masses. This encourages some to avoid riskier fare or films outside the genre they had success in, as well as causing some to wait years between films. Secondly, I think this attitude hurts the viewer who carries it. So say the Coens make not just one but two more films you do not like and you come on here posting about how they have lost it and should quit making movies, etc. Then they make another one you would normally love, but you are blinded by your own prejudice, and miss a good film because of it. Or if you are above being so stubborn, you take it back, making your original assumption erroneous.
Obvious, right? So why not think ahead and save yourself the run-around of saying they "lost it" or "got it back" according to which movies of theirs you did and did not like.
Learn more about this author, Royce Radcliffe.
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Yes
Created on: July 30, 2008 Last Updated: August 04, 2008
Like athletes, some directors seem to gather momentum and peak somewhere in the middle of their careers. Others, like Frank Capra and Billy Wilder, directed consistently successful, if work-a-day, films throughout their lives. And still others, like Orson Welles and Stanley Kubrick, peak early. Kubrick rarely faltered except for a few arty experiments. And Welles once said of himself, "I started at the top, and worked my way to the bottom," a statement that, given Welles' prolific film career, afforded him a moment of uncharacteristic modesty.
Driven by that extra reservoir of energy and an inner incandescent fire, the great and the successful seem to peak because the gamut of their best years exceeds such extraordinary expectations that their latter work usually compares poorly with it.
The two most conspicuous standouts are Alfred Hitchcock and Richard Lester.
Two of Hitchcock's earliest films, "The 39 Steps" (1936) and "The Lady Vanishes" (1938), are now considered classics. But his interim work was surprisingly uneven until the '50s, when he directed a string of indisputable hits: from "Rear Window" (1954), through "The Trouble With Harry" (1955; Hitchcock's personal favorite and Shirley MacLaine's film debut), to the enigmatic "The Birds" (1963). Hitchcock couldn't seem to fail when he was between 55 to 64 years of age. Then, his work began to gradually decline.
"Marnie" (1964), though technically polished, was an anemic shadow of the director's earlier style. "Torn Curtain" (1966) was pedestrian and ordinary. Except for a memorable overhead staircase shot of a Castro-like revolutionary on a black-and-white chessboard tiled foyer, "Topaz" (1969) was an ambitious failure. "Frenzy" (1972) looked like a hand-held student project, as it seemed to suffer from poor camera placement, an unusual plight since Hitchcock liked to storyboard all his films. And "Family Plot" (1976) seemed rooted to Universal's dingiest part of the lot like the Earth-bound cardboard story-line that plagued it. Uncharacteristic for any director of note, "Plot" was just awful. But Universal was eager to squeeze every bit of box office potential out of Hitchcock they could before he passed on. Alfred Hitchcock died four years later, at 81.
Richard Lester was a child prodigy from Philadelphia who earned a B.S. in clinical psychology; he started directing television at age 20 (in 1952), kicked around Europe in his early 20s playing guitar off-grid for tips, and settled in England to collaborate with Peter Sellers for hit British TV comedy, "The Goon Show," in 1958.
Lester proved himself a master at playful invention with his first two Beatles' films, "A Hard Day's Night" (1964) and "Help!" (1965), through "The Three Musketeers" (1974;
both this film and "The Four Musketeers" were filmed simultaneously), to the morose but unusually realistic riff on Ian Fleming's James Bond in "Cuba" (1979) in which a balding Sean Connery plays a British "military consultant" hiring himself out to the Batista regime in pre-revolutionary Cuba. But Lester's best years were between 32 to 42 years of age. His next film, "Finders Keepers" (1984), looks like it was phoned in.
Woody Allen seems another exception to the rule of peak. Though most cite his first directorial breakthrough as "Take the Money and Run" (1969), the better "Bananas" (1971) started a comedic hit-making streak through the '70s earning him an Oscar for "Annie Hall" (1977), which was arguably not as good as the transcendental "Manhattan" (1979). His last memorable comedy, "A Midsummer Night's Sex Comedy" (1982), fills a period in which Allen was 34 to 47.
It was then he turned increasingly introspective and started making more "serious" films, spanning the dark "Shadows and Fog" (1992) to the mordant "Match point" (2004). Though some might compare Allen's more recent work with less charity than his comedies, others would say that his current work is merely different. But Allen summed it up best in "Stardust Memories" (1980) in which Allen the director is assessed by space aliens on a lonely hillside during one of his own film retrospectives: "Don't get me wrong. We like your movies," assures the alien, "especially the early funny ones."
Robert Zemeckis is another case of a promising director who lost sight of his earlier inventiveness. Zemeckis began with one of the best, and most underrated, comedies of the '80s with "Used Cars," whose plot is exactly what the title says. His last noteworthy film was the breathtaking "Castaway" (2000), after which he descended into a digital slough; the motion-capture technology in "Polar Express" (2004) and "Beowulf" (2007) rendered the actors as digitally enhanced avatars whose movements were a little too fluid and wooden (you achieve both at once?), whose eyes were lifeless and creepy, and through whose mouths delivered dialogue that rarely ascended above the level of comic book pulp. Through Zemeckis, Hollywood seems to be saying "Why paint with a brush, when you can use a sledgehammer." Zemeckis' peak - until he proves otherwise - 28 to 48.
Stanley Kubrick's only two movies that were mildly disappointing were "Barry Lyndon" (1975), an arty experiment filmed mostly by candlelight; and his incomprehensibly disjoint "Eyes Wide Shut" (1999), in which all the New York City locations were shot entirely in England. But, dying that same year at 71, Kubrick didn't live long enough go bad.
Even that self-styled "bad boy" of Hollywood, Orson Welles, never really worked his way to the bottom, but, after "Citizen Kane" (1941), maintained a prolific directing career (from 26 to 47 years of age), though either on a shoestring ("Touch of Evil," 1958) or in the foreign market; though "Othello" (1952) and Kafka's "The Trial" (1962) were considered "unsatisfactory," the imagery of both films are striking. However, since Welles eschewed the mainstream, Hollywood was a little afraid of him. Despite this, Welles enjoyed a rich acting career until well into the end of his life at 70, an accomplishment few would consider a failure.
Perhaps, it might be argued, that great artists, far from declining beyond their peak; just succeed far beyond the expectations of later work which, by any other standard, would be considered merely above average.
Learn more about this author, Joe Murray.
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