Then Cannon unexpectedly pulled the plug on the deal, saying there was no money to finance the picture. They also set a prohibitive turnaround fee, the price another movie company would have to pay to take over the project. Schroeder responded with one of the most bizarre bargaining tactics in the history of Hollywood. He bought a Black & Decker circular saw, took it into Menahem Golan’s office, plugged in, switched on and held the blade over his left hand, threatening to slice his finger off unless the film went into production. When Golan saw that he was serious, he told him he had a deal. Bukowski reflected that his past life seemed tame in comparison with this sort of madness.
When Mickey Rourke visited San Pedro for tips on playing his part, he noticed that although Bukowski lived comfortably, his typing room ‘looked like a boarding house, like a piece of shit dive. It was very suburban except for the room that he wrote in.’ He got another insight into how he would play the character by listening to Bukowski talk. ‘He spoke in a very peculiar way, almost like he was speaking to himself where he didn’t really give a fuck if anybody else understood him.’ Bukowski boasted about the fights with Frank McGilligan in Philadelphia, but Rourke didn’t take the posturing seriously. ‘You can’t be any sort of physical specimen if you live out of a beer can,’ he says. ‘I saw him as a man who was more physical with his mouth than his fists.’
Filming began in a bar in Culver City with genuine barflies as extras, although Bukowski didn’t know them. Mickey Rourke invited Bukowski into his trailer on the first day and poured him a large whiskey. He was most hospitable, saying Bukowski was welcome to stay as long as he liked. ‘OK, I’ll stay forever,’ Bukowski replied, having lived in smaller apartments.
Mickey Rourke was thirty-two, just a little older than Bukowski had been when he lived in Philadelphia. He came on the set unshaven, wearing dirty clothes, shuffling and talking in an approximation of Bukowski’s peculiar voice, drawing words out for emphasis. It was a fairly good imitation. ‘The guy was great,’ Bukowski said of the actor’s performance, although he later modified his praise. ‘He really became this barfly. He added his own dimension, which at first I thought, this is awful, he’s overdoing it. But as the shooting went on, I saw he’d done the right thing. He’d created a very strange, fantastic lovable character.’
They also filmed at a bar on the outskirts of downtown, around 6th and Kenmore, where Bukowski worked as a stock room boy in the early ’50s. Bukowski had a cameo part as a barfly in the scene where Wanda and Chinaski meet. There was real booze in the bottles and Mick Collins, who played the barman, began fixing drinks for everybody, getting himself and Bukowski loaded. He recalls how important a figure Bukowski was on set, unusually so for a screen-writer in a Hollywood film (Schroeder didn’t change a word of dialogue unless Bukowski agreed). ‘Barbet, Mickey, Faye, everybody took second place. They all respected him,’ says Collins.
The exterior shots for Wanda’s apartment were filmed at the Maryland Royal Palms, a rooming house at 360 S. Westlake Avenue next door to the Aragon where Bukowski had lived with Jane. In one scene, Faye Dunaway and Mickey Rourke walk down the hill outside the building. She is going to look for a job, and he wants her to come back and drink with him. If they had kept going to 6th, turned right and walked another block, they would have been on Alvarado Street where Bukowski met Jane. The memories all came back as Bukowski watched the filming of his life, amazed at how his fortunes had changed.
Faye Dunaway tried to make herself like Wanda, described in the screenplay as ‘… once quite beautiful but the drinking is beginning to have its effect: the face is fattening a bit, the slightest bit of a belly is beginning to show, and pouches are forming under her eyes.’ But the actress was still beautiful. Bukowski didn’t like her at all. In Hollywood, he described Chinaski’s irritation when a scene had to be rewritten so the actress playing Wanda could show off her legs.
Filming continued for six weeks, and Bukowski spent much of that time hanging around the set. Linda Lee had taken acting lessons, and was given a small part but, unlike Bukowski, didn’t make it into the final cut. David Lynch and his girlfriend, Isabella Rossellini, visited the set and chatted to Bukowski about Eraserhead. Helmut Newton photographed Bukowski with Faye Dunaway on his knee. Having a movie made about his life was a heady experience, and Bukowski was not so cool that he failed to get excited by it. He found himself watching the dailies and wondered aloud whether Barfly would win an Oscar, an institution he had once mocked in his poem, ‘Another Academy’.
While Barfly was being edited, yet another film adaptation of Bukowski’s work was released. Directed by Belgian film-maker Dominique Deruddere, Crazy Love (aka Love is a Dog From Hell) was premièred in Los Angeles in September, 1987. Bukowski watched it with Linda Lee and his new celebrity friends – Sean Penn and Madonna, and Elliott Gould and his wife. Although he had nothing to do with the making of the movie, and it remains an obscure art house work, Bukowski came to regard this adaptation of three of his short stories as the most successful attempt to bring his work to the screen.
The theatrical release of Barfly was heralded by a publicity campaign and, for the first time in his career, Bukowski was sought after by the mainstream American media. It turned out he was a natural story for journalists: the bum they made a movie about. A question and answer session conducted by Sean Penn was given a spread in Andy Warhol’s Interview magazine, illustrated with pictures by the famous photographer Herb Ritts. Bukowski and Linda Lee were pictured outside their house for the Los Angeles Times. Bukowski was also profiled in the gossip magazine, People, which ran the headline:
BOOZEHOUND POET CHARLES BUKOWSKI WRITES A
HYMN TO HIMSELF IN BARFLY, AND HOLLYWOOD
STARTS SINGING
The article described him as a ‘potbellied old boozer’ and the mythology of his life was embellished with the story that Linda Lee fed him thirty-five different types of vitamins to keep him alive. It amused them both because People was one of the low-brow publications Bukowski sometimes bought when he was shopping for beer.
He was also invited onto a number of television programs, including Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show, but declined them all figuring his appearances on Apostrophes in France should be the beginning and end of his talk show career.
The finished film was a great disappointment. Bukowski thought Mickey Rourke quite good as Chinaski, but said he’d never looked that scruffy; no landlord would have rented a room to him if he had. Mickey Rourke defends himself, saying he looked as Schroeder directed him to and adds, probably with an element of truth: ‘When you see yourself as you really are, sometimes that hurts.’ Linda Lee thought the film awful, and Marina didn’t think Mickey Rourke played anything that remotely resembled her father.
There was a party after the Hollywood première, with champagne served and photographers’ flash lights popping. Mickey Rourke and Faye Dunaway congratulated Bukowski on his screenplay and reporters from the daily newspapers made a note of every slurred word he uttered. He enjoyed the attention for a while and then the booze kicked in and the scene began to seem phony. ‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ he told Linda Lee. She suggested they stay a little longer, but he was adamant. ‘This place stinks,’ he said. ‘It’s making me sick.’
The reviews in the morning papers were mixed and Barfly did only fair business when it opened across the United States, although it proved more popular in Europe. Yet despite the lack of box office success, and although the film is not truly representative of Bukowski’s work, it is Barfly more than anything that he became known for among the general public.
* Linda Lee eventually inherited the entire estate.
15
THE LAST RACE
A side from almost bleeding to death when he was thirty-five, Bukowski had managed to abuse his body throughout his adult life with remarkably little ill-effect. He was certainly in bad shape – paunchy and unaccustomed to exercise, other than sporadically lifting barbells – but actual debilitating i
llness had not troubled him since that long ago hemorrhage after which, as he never tired of saying, the doctors warned he must never drink again. Of course, he had consumed rivers of alcohol since then. He had smoked heavily, used drugs, been beaten-up in bar fights and spent several nights in jail. And yet he did not appear significantly less healthy than most sixty-seven-year-old men.
But in the winter of 1987, following the première of Barfly and all the excitement and stress that went with the making of the film, Bukowski’s health began to falter. At first he thought he simply had flu, but then weeks went by without him feeling better. On 17 January, 1988, he wrote to John Martin that he’d only drunk one bottle of wine since Christmas, a sure sign he was not himself. Blood tests showed him to have been run-down throughout the previous year, but no specific illness was identified and his doctor wanted to carry out further tests. In the meantime, he was forbidden from drinking, and he had little energy for writing the novel he had recently begun, Hollywood, which was based on his experiences making Barfly.
Luckily, Bukowski and John Martin had already decided that their next book would be a collection of early poems from obscure chapbooks and literary magazines, some dating back to the 1940s. It was published later that year as The Roominghouse Madrigals. As Bukowski wrote in the foreword, the poems were quite different from the anecdotal style he had developed in later years, ‘more lyrical than where I am at now’, but he did not agree with those who said the early work was better.
There was another reminder of the past when he received a telephone call from his cousin Katherine Wood, daughter of Bukowski’s happy-go-lucky Uncle John. Bukowski had gone to the trouble of mailing a German language edition of his travelogue, Shakespeare Never Did This, to his Aunt Eleanor in Palm Springs. She thought little of the book and gave it to Katherine, who could not make out what it was about as the text was in German. She tried to guess by looking at Michael Montfort’s photographs. ‘In almost every picture he has a bottle of wine in his hand so I thought he was a wine salesman,’ she says. When Barfly came out, she wondered if cousin Henry was the author and, after contacting Black Sparrow Press, she was invited to tea at San Pedro. ‘He was a little hung-over,’ she says. ‘You could see he had a pretty darn rough life with the drinking and the smoking. He wasn’t in very good shape.’
‘You probably wouldn’t like my books,’ said Bukowski, who had not seen Katherine since they were children.
Katherine agreed she probably would not. She did not want to learn about the ‘seamy side of life’.
Bukowski finished Hollywood late one Saturday night in the early fall of 1988, despite his poor health. It is perhaps surprising what an upbeat and funny book it is, describing a domesticated and financially secure Henry Chinaski laughing at a world crazier than anything he had experienced in the factories, bars and apartment courts of Post Office, Factotum and Women.
The following morning he awoke with a blazing fever of 103 degrees which continued for a week. He could not eat or sleep and shivered until the bed shook, convinced he was dying. The fever stopped only to return a few weeks later, and then there was another attack – three debilitating fevers in succession. His weight fell to 168 lbs.
BAR LIFE
Barman Ruben Rueda who for many years served Bukowski drinks at the Musso & Frank Grill on Hollywood Boulevard. (picture taken by Howard Sounes)
‘beer / rivers and seas of beer,’ Bukowski wrote, ‘beer is all there is.’ (picture by Richard Robinson. Courtesy of Special Collections, The University of Arizona Library. The quotation from the poem, ‘beer’, appears courtesy of Black Sparrow Press)
The Seven-G’s (sic) bar in downtown Los Angeles was one of the places Bukowski drank when he was living with Jane Cooney Baker and working as a shipping clerk at an art supply store. (picture taken by Howard Sounes)
The Frolic Room on Hollywood Boulevard was a favorite bar with Bukowski in the early 1970s. (picture taken by Howard Sounes)
LOVE LOVE LOVE
Bukowski poses proudly, in February, 1971, with the head sculpted by Linda King and presented to him as a gift. Their love affair was at its height. When they fell out, as they regularly did, Bukowski would return the head to Linda. (courtesy of Linda King)
Linda King, the young sculptress Bukowski met and fell in love with in 1970 shortly after he quit his post offi ce job. (courtesy of Linda King)
Relaxing in Barnsdall Park, Hollywood, in 1972, aged fi fty-two and free from the post offi ce at last. (courtesy of Linda King)
In July, 1972, Bukowski went on a rare vacation to the island of Catalina, just off the coast of California. With him was record company executive Liza Williams whom he was dating after a break-up with Linda King. (courtesy of Liza Williams)
Bukowski in the room at the hotel on the resort island of Catalina where he was staying with Liza Williams on vacation. Note the caged bird bought to keep him company. (courtesy of Liza Williams)
THE WRITER
In Santa Barbara with his editor-publisher John Martin and John’s wife, Barbara, who designed Bukowski’s Black Sparrow Press books. (courtesy of John Martin)
Bukowski is beginning to enjoy modest success in 1974 when this picture was taken at his Carlton Way apartment during a magazine interview. On the shelves behind him are some of the many chapbooks and small literary magazines his work had already appeared in. (taken by William Childress)
THE WOMEN …
(Left) Linda King at Flo’s Place, a bar she worked in on Sunset Boulevard. (courtesy of Linda King)
Joan Smith, a former go-go dancer friend of Bukowski’s. She is also a poet, and published a tribute book to Bukowski after his death called Das ist Alles. (courtesy of Joan Smith)
Amber O’Neil cleverly got her own back on Bukowski for what he wrote about her in his third novel, Women, by writing a hilarious roman-a-clef of her own called Blowing My Hero. (courtesy of Amber O’Neil)
Joanna Bull felt so ill after having sex with Bukowski she threw up. (courtesy of Joanna Bull)
Poet Ann Menebroker, a close female friend and long-term correspondent of Bukowski’s. He wanted her to leave her husband and come to live with him in LA. (courtesy of Ann Menebroker)
Jo Jo Planteen, a young fan whom Bukowski tried to seduce in the late 1970s. (courtesy of Jo Jo Planteen)
Pamela Miller, aka Cupcakes, the redhead Bukowski fell madly in love with when he met her in 1975. (taken by Howard Sounes in 1997)
With Georgia Peckham-Krellner, Cupcakes’ best friend, in Bukowski’s kitchen at Carlton Way. (© Joan Levine Gannij)
With Brad and Tina Darby, Bukowski’s neighbors at Carlton Way. Tina worked as an exotic dancer at a go-go club and Brad managed a sex shop. They spent many evenings together. (courtesy of Linda King)
William and Ruth Wantling. Poet William Wantling drank himself to death after his friend Bukowski published a sarcastic short story about him. Bukowski tried to seduce his grieving widow, Ruth, who has never forgiven him for his behavior. (courtesy of Ruth Wantling)
The artist R. Crumb drew this brilliant portrait of Bukowski after referring to photographs taken on his wedding day in August, 1985. Bukowski was marrying his second wife, Linda Lee Beighle, and wore a new pin-stripe suit, snake skin shoes and a fl oral tie for the occasion, presenting a considerably smarter appearance than friends were used to. (Portrait by R. Crumb,© 1986, Water Row Books. Used with permission of Water Row Books.)
Bukowski at work (©Joan Gannij)
SAN PEDRO
In August, 1985, when Bukowski was sixty-fi ve, he married for the second time. His bride, Linda Lee Beighle, was forty-one and had been running a health food restaurant in Redondo Beach. They set up home together in a detached house in the port town of San Pedro, south of Los Angeles. (taken by Eric Sander, © Frank Spooner Picture Agency)
When the actor Mickey Rourke visited Bukowski’s San Pedro home to talk about making the movie, Barfly, he noted that the house was very neat and suburban except the upstairs work ro
om where Bukowski wrote his stories. The work room was like a ‘piece of shit dive’. Here Bukowski is seen at his desk, kissing his typewriter for luck. (taken by Eric Sander, © Frank Spooner Picture Agency)
With his friend John Thomas, and John Thomas’ wife Philomene Long. (courtesy of John Thomas/photo credit: Sheri Levine)
Bukowski relaxes at home in San Pedro in the summer of 1987. His books were selling well and he was working with fi lm director Barbet Schroeder on the script for the movie, Barfly. (taken by Eric Sander, © Frank Spooner Picture Agency)
FAME
In the movie Barfly, which was released in !987, Mickey Rourke played the Bukowski-like character of Henry Chinaski and Faye Dunaway was Wanda Wilcox, a character based on Bukowski’s former girlfriend, Jane Cooney Baker. The book of the screenplay was illustrated with a photograph of Bukowski and the two stars. He liked Mickey Rourke but was less keen on Faye Dunaway, damning her performance with faint praise. (The Movie: “Barfly” published by Black Sparrow Press, 1987)
Charles Bukowski Page 25
