Robert Altman

by Mitchell Zuckoff

  * * *

  JULIAN FELLOWES (actor and screenwriter): Bob was a very explosive personality. Bob was hot. He was a kind of charismatic exploding lion, and that is something that has to be handled with care.

  GERALDINE CHAPLIN: He was such a focus of your attention that when he didn’t call you worried you had done something. He was the best person in the world to be loved by. You’d always love him, but you never knew if he loved you or not. I fell out of favor for some reason, I don’t know why. I probably got old and I wasn’t useful anymore.

  BOB BALABAN (actor/producer/director): Well, he had a ferocious temper. I don’t think it was an age thing necessarily, but I think for a lot of men anyway, he’s their father. Because he’s the thing you fear in your father, you need his approval desperately, because people around Bob really, really want his approval, which he gives so lavishly when he’s giving it. So the times when he didn’t give it, it’s like your father has taken away your worth, you know?

  PAUL NEWMAN (actor and philanthropist): He was an original. Being an original means that you’re standing out there on thin ice sometimes. But at least he was out there skating while everybody else was waiting for cold weather.

  HENRY GIBSON: I’m always surprised that people are surprised that an artist has tantrums, has fits, has prejudices, becomes easily exasperated, is impatient, is overly exuberant, loves to entertain, is theatrical, is a gambler. This is human nature. Artists from the beginning of time have been this way. What, are we really surprised? Are they surprised because perhaps in the twenties and thirties and forties the press was not exposed to this? Yes, that’s what I think. But did great artists, great conductors, great writers of the last three centuries not have similar characteristics and traits? Yes. This is all part of the fabric of greatness. He was very, very human. He never presented himself as a saint.

  Now, his work demonstrates his generosity, the expansiveness of his spirit, his encouragement of others, his taking chances on others, his recognizing talent, his fanning it. He held people up. Yes, there were some actors who gave brilliant performances only for him. And could not sustain it, because perhaps they did not have the technique to follow through, the training, the exposure. What they didn’t have was Bob. No, if you talk about the man, I see both sides and I hug both. It would be unbearable if he was treacly. He’s not a greeting card. He’s not haiku.

  He had this gift—which was also an affliction—of people finding in him the father they never had. Because he was by nature in accommodating cast, crew, the people he worked with, paternal. Did this come from his father? I don’t know. Normally we do one of two things. We either imitate our fathers or we couldn’t stand them and we go in the complete opposite direction. As we mature as kids, we realize that this man that we idolized makes mistakes. He does have clay feet. He does some outrageous things. He’s our father. We love him. And then we get a little older, and we say, “You know, we’re all made of many strands.” So some people might go into shock. Some people didn’t mature. Some people were daddy-hung. It sounds like an Indian word, doesn’t it? Or something on an Indian menu.

  Your capacity for hurt is sometimes stronger than your capacity for love. You’re talking about people being so hurt that they remember it for thirty years. Because they refuse to accept the fact that he was human. He never could be a saint. I know some of those people you’re talking about. You know, “I can never forgive him.” Hold on for a minute. From that one incident, and yet you worked for him here, you’ve worked for him there? Someone spilled wine on your new burgundy dress? A disproportionate reaction to a larger-than-life soul, I think.

  CHAPTER 20

  Active Verbs

  *

  Buffalo Bill and the Indians, or Sitting Bull’s

  History Lesson (1976)

  Charles Champlin, review in the Los Angeles Times, June 30, 1976: When Robert Altman’s movies are good, they are very, very good, and when they are bad, they are infuriating because there is something arrogantly self-destructive about them. … The Altman successes and the Altman nonsuccesses are linked by his unchallenged ability to make strong images and arresting scenes. His films are sometimes pretentious and sometimes exasperating but they are not often boring, although the latest, “Buffalo Bill and the Indians, or Sitting Bull’s History Lesson,” is all three…. Buffalo Bill is played as one long Homeric hangover by Paul Newman in a shoulder-length curly wig (which he is caught without, self-scalped so to speak, in one farcical early morning confrontation with Sitting Bull).

  * * *

  KENNETH BRANAGH (actor): Buffalo Bill is an example of Altman putting an American icon, Paul Newman, into the role of an American icon. He had the ability to attract actors with surprising roles in controversial pieces that were about something—in that case a look at show business, a look at history, a look at how America looks at itself, a look at the West. It was a real potpourri of really fascinating, controversial insight. He was unafraid in that picture of presenting disillusion in a very prominent way, and yet it wasn’t gloomy. He looked difficult things in the eye.

  With Paul Newman, as Buffalo Bill, during location shooting universally described as a joyful experience, followed by a ho-hum audience response and a bitter dispute with producer Dino De Laurentiis

  MIKE KAPLAN (publicist and producer): It was an Altman movie—what you expect is not what you get. Looking back on it I don’t know what they were expecting. I just see the film in my eyes. They were expecting much more of a traditional movie that would have more action, maybe—it had Paul Newman and Burt Lancaster. And Bob was making a statement about celebrity and the treatment of the Indians and the nature of America.

  MATTHEW SEIG (producer): He was fascinated by the whole role of putting on a show, the whole tradition of showmanship, whether it’s a con or not and how very American that tradition is. He’s very much in touch with American culture. Whether or not his films are accepted by it is not really the point. It’s his interest in America and its institutions, including show business.

  * * *

  PAUL NEWMAN: The way he chooses his language and his descriptive phrases is amazingly perceptive and helpful. And if you don’t listen very carefully, you might miss it. Bob directs using active verbs. You can play an active verb. You can’t play an inactive one.

  I don’t remember what the specifics of the scene were, but Altman beckoned me over. He thought for a minute—I was playing a scene with another actor—and he said, “Crowd him.” It was so clear and so defined and so unmistakable what he wanted from that scene and from that character that he made it easy to play. When he tells you to crowd the guy you’re talking to, you know exactly what he’s talking about. You put out physical presence to bear on the scene. “Back off” you can play in more ways than one. You can play it intellectually, you can play it physically. If he tells you to amuse the other character—almost any active verb you can think of you can find a way to play.

  When you needed it, that was the kind of direction he would give. Most of the time he was happy to let you find your own way and to be comfortable. But if you got into trouble he sure as hell could get you out of it.

  He knew how to make people comfortable. Even when he disagreed with them he knew how to make them comfortable. It’s a great gift, particularly a great gift for someone who has authority.

  JOHN CONSIDINE (actor and screenwriter): Newman has a great sense of humor. I think when Newman arrived Bob had his dressing room filled with popcorn. That started this back-and-forth of practical jokes on each other. Bob had this beautiful pair of beaded gloves that an Indian tribe had made for him. He wore them all the time. Somehow Newman got ahold of these gloves.

  At his desk in the production office of Buffalo Bill and the Indians, or Sitting Bull’s History Lesson

  PAUL NEWMAN: The popcorn, I thought, was a minor insult. But to get into his bedroom at the hotel and steal his gloves and then have them French-fried and served garni in a fast-food box I thought was r
ather stylish. I’ve forgotten what he retaliated with. He always had his very fancy camper. I think I got ten thousand chickens and put them in his camper, which needless to say was both difficult to clean and to drive.

  I had someone tell him that I had an announcement broadcast on the local radio station—there was an emergency, and the production department needed four thousand extras the next morning at six o’clock. He was crazy. Of course he didn’t know how to stop it. There was a flurry of excitement in the production department. I think I let him off the hook, told him it was a gag.

  We had a bad scene, which we finally, obviously cured, but he said, “The reason I got so pissed off—underneath every practical joke, there is an element of malice. You’re trying to make someone look silly. You’re trying to humiliate them or make them feel bad.” And he said, “Why would anybody want to do that?” And so that was the end of my reign as the king of practical jokes. Altman was very relieved when he found out about that, I might add.

  ALAN RUDOLPH (director): Bob once suggested to Paul Newman that they form a company together using the first half of Bob’s last name and the second half of Paul’s. They’d call it the Altman company.

  JOHN CONSIDINE: Dino De Laurentiis was the producer, and he expected a shoot-’em-up kind of thing. He came to the set one day. Bob had rented this big place for the whole cast and crew to watch this big Muhammad Ali fight. At one o’clock in the afternoon Bob says, “That’s a wrap. We’re all going to watch this fight.” He and Dino had this huge argument. “Bob, you can’t stop shooting at one o’clock!” The last thing I heard was, “Dino, Dino, it’s just a goddamn movie.” So we all watched the fight.

  During the last third of the shooting, Bob was in extraordinary pain from a bad back. He could barely walk, and you could tell he just wanted it to be over. He probably rushed through the cutting process, too, because I always thought if he ever went back and recut it, it could have been a more successful film. It was a colossal flop. It was so wild to have this amazing, wonderful time and then the reception was so bad.

  GERALDINE CHAPLIN: He was always at his best when he had his back against the wall with a knife at his throat. He was too excited to get on to the next project always. He had so much talent and he was such a genius, his mind was going much faster than the project. And a lot of times he would be on to the next project before he finished cutting the one he was on. His best projects were when he was out of favor and had to prove himself. That’s when he paid most attention.

  LAUREN HUTTON: I went to the premiere straight from the airport. I had this giant elephant bone—huge—it was about four feet long, a bull-male tibia. So I went to the premiere with this thing over my shoulder. And then it was a disaster. Then I see Bob and Dino having this huge fight in the lobby. And then I went and got my suitcase, my little duffel, and my bone, and we went to Bob and Kathryn’s apartment for the after party. Everyone was so stricken that when I walked in the door, I immediately took my bone off my shoulder and said, “This is for you.” And I gave it to Bob, this giant bone. So Bob spent that whole night with that bone on his shoulder.

  KATHRYN REED ALTMAN: I love that bone. It’s been here in my home for more than twenty years.

  BILL ROBINSON (agent): Dino wanted it to be more commercial. He flew over here and almost threatened Bob, “That movie has got to be shorter!” The longer it was, in his mind, the less people would like it. Bob didn’t care. “That’s my movie. You can’t cut it.”

  JOAN TEWKESBURY: Dino is a guy who tells a story, and there’s a beginning, a middle, and an end. They may have been sitting down at the same table to have dinner, but they weren’t having the same meal.

  Unbylined story headlined “De Laurentiis Dismisses Altman from Ragtime,” The New York Times, June 22, 1976: Robert Altman, one of Hollywood’s top-flight directors, whose credits include “M*A*S*H,” “Nashville” and “Buffalo Bill and the Indians,” which is scheduled to open in New York on Thursday, has been dismissed as the director of “Ragtime,” the movie to be based on E. L. Doctorow’s novel.

  The award-winning director said last night that he was dismissed by Dino De Laurentiis, producer of “Ragtime,” three weeks ago, because of a difference of opinion, not about “Ragtime,” but about how much should be cut out of “Buffalo Bill and the Indians.”

  “He [Mr. De Laurentiis] was disappointed in ‘Buffalo Bill’ and requested that I cut the film rather drastically,” Mr. Altman said. “I did my best to accommodate him, but in the end it’s my movie and I had to put it out the way my conscience dictated.” … “I’m naturally disappointed. I feel like Adlai Stevenson—It hurts too much to laugh and I’m too old to cry. It’s not the artists who are disagreeing, it’s money.”

  MARTIN SCORSESE: The big tragedy, I think—well, “tragedy” may be too strong a word and “disappointment” is too light a word. I’m talking about when he was going to do Ragtime and he didn’t get it. As interesting a film as it turned out to be, with Milos Forman, there’s something uniquely American about it, and it had to do with a kind of gigantic fresco of America at that time. The rebelliousness and the nature of the material, and a gallery of characters. Who could handle that better? Who could juggle it better? Who could weave them in and out like a beautiful tapestry? Who else but Altman could do that kind of thing?

  I saw him right after that happened. I said, “What do you do now?”

  He said, “Punt” [laughs]. And even though the only football game I ever understood was in M*A*S*H, I got it.

  * * *

  Story headlined “Buffalo Bill Wins Top Berlin Prize,” Reuters, July 8, 1976: The United States film “Buffalo Bill and the Indians, or Sitting Bull’s History Lesson” won the Golden Bear award at the Berlin Festival, despite an earlier protest by the director, Robert Altman, that he did not want the picture considered for a prize. In a letter to the festival, Mr. Altman said the film had been edited so drastically that it perpetrated “a fraud” on audiences. The version at the festival was authorized by him.

  JEFF GOLDBLUM (actor): After Nashville, I saw Buffalo Bill. I loved it. The guy who played Sitting Bull hardly talked. Altman said, “I learned something from him—he had the courage to be empty.”

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  Robert Altman as Producer

  Welcome to L.A. (1977, directed by Alan Rudolph); The Late Show (1977, directed by Robert Benton); Remember My Name (1988, directed by Alan Rudolph); Rich Kids (1988, directed by Robert M. Young); Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle (1994, directed by Alan Rudolph); Afterglow (1997, directed by Alan Rudolph); Trixie (2000, directed by Alan Rudolph).

  ROBERT BENTON (writer and director): He produced for me the way he would want someone to produce for him—to be supportive and never lie. Altman taught me how to be a director. It’s that simple. I was a writer working as a director. I illustrated a screenplay. He taught me a way of listening to the actors, a way of respecting the actors, a way of letting the picture become a more fluid process. It was great process for me.

  On Late Show, he was there every day at the end of the day saying, “Great work, you’ve done a great job.” When there were notes they would be extremely good notes. Essentially he said, “The actors are the only real heroes in movies. It’s easy for guys like you and me to stand behind the camera and make up a story. If he or she has a question with our logic, we really should listen to them.”

  There was a tiny scene and Lily Tomlin was in her apartment and these guys came in to threaten her. It was a tiny moment and she said, “No, no, I’d do this.” I suddenly realized, only because Altman had made me see that, she wasn’t speaking as Lily, she was speaking as Martha, the character. She knew exactly what she was doing, and my job was to let the actors have a safety net so they could risk anything and they could feel secure. I think that’s really what Altman did with all his actors, made them feel safe and that he would protect them. And he did.

  He was out preparing 3 Women, and he said, “Show the picture to Warner Brothers.
” In the back of Lion’s Gate there was a garage he converted into a screening room. All the people from Warner Brothers came. They sat down and it was very pleasant. We started running the picture—it was the worst screening. Three minutes in, I felt like I was on the Titanic.

  I got a call from David Geffen, who was then head of production at Warner’s. He said, “If it were up to me I’d bury this. But there is a young executive named Paula Weinstein, and she wants to work with it.” Altman’s favorite mode is to put on your helmet and get into the trenches and tell them to go fuck themselves. But he listened to me and he listened to Paula and he said, “We have to change the editor.” He brought in Lou Lombardo and he was great. From September until Christmas of ‘76, we significantly changed the picture. It was really Lou Lombardo and Paula who did it.

  Altman kept getting madder at me and madder at me. He thought I was listening to just anybody. He didn’t understand how desperate I was. And we got into big fights. He would get so mad he would fire me. I’d be hysterical. I’d call Sam Cohn, who was my agent and also Bob’s agent, and he would say, “Don’t worry.” I’d be back at work the next morning and everything would be fine. He loves a good confrontation, and I was the opposite. It worked in the end. Oh God, I drove him crazy. But I still have enormous affection for him. I owe him more of a debt than any other filmmaker I can think of. If that movie is good it’s because of him.