By Keith Uhlich
And so we face another imponderable with the news that director Robert Altman has passed away at age 81. The particulars of his death will no doubt surface in subsequent news reports (and I personally believe that Altman would prefer we focus on how he lived as opposed to how he died). But it's no surprise that the few obituaries I've read thus far do little more than reformulate and regurgitate the received wisdom on this great film artist, praising M*A*S*H for the umpteenth time; consigning most, if not all of his 80s work to a barren, forgotten wilderness; slapping him on the back for his 90s "resurgence" with The Player and Short Cuts; and finally remarking with thinly veiled, aw-shucks irony (and decontextualized supporting pull quote) that his swan song, A Prairie Home Companion, is all about "death."
Well yes, it is. But it's about meeting death with a smile and a song, as exemplified by the scene where Marylouise Burke discovers the body of L.Q. Jones and quickly overcomes her horrified gut reaction with the help of Virginia Madsen's becalmed and curious Grim Reaper. I like to think Altman did the same, looking his maker deep and direct in the eye, accepting mortality with a mischievous Cheshire Cat grin that I can only hope he flashed, in life, at the numerous financiers, industry insiders, clueless critics, and studio executives who worked overtime to quash and/or devalue his talents. I feel confident saying that Altman's is a body of work that will stand the test of time, successes (Images, Kansas City, the supremely underrated O.C. and Stiggs) and failures (Quintet, the game of life, I'm looking at you) both.
It's hard for me to write through shock--in some ways the death of a beloved artist hits me as deeply and profoundly as the loss of a close relative. In a more tempered frame of mind, I might be able to expound on the importance of Popeye and The Player to my own development as a writer and movie critic. Of the glories and frustrations, as a young college student, of seeing Kansas City in a near-empty theater where, to my retroactive delight, an elderly patron audibly told off Jennifer Jason Leigh (in one of her finest performances) every five minutes. Of the thrill of watching a restored print of Images with Altman himself in attendance--embodying contradiction, he hobbled up to the front of the auditorium (the outward stereotype of an old man), then let loose with a giddy and energetic series of recollections (a true conquistador, looking inward to discover the fountain of youth). At the moment, I can only list these experiences and hope they convey--in microcosm, anyway--what Altman means to me. And besides, I'd rather not overstay my welcome on the eulogy pulpit. When it comes to death, I've got something of an Irish wake mentality: turn it into an outright celebration of a person who has now fully become a part of our hearts and minds. Below, I've listed a series of links, mimicking our "Links for the Day" format, that lead to writings on Altman and that will hopefully inspire discussion (please feel free to post additional links to pieces that I've, with no malicious intent, neglected to spotlight). Additionally, I'd ask that our House readers take the opportunity to comment, at their leisure and at whatever desired length, on the Altman films or experiences that mean the most to them.
1. "Great Director's profile": Robert T. Self profiles Altman for Senses of Cinema.
["That career has consistently been marked by high critical acclaim and hostile popular reception. His refusal to tell straightforward stories, his apparent improvisation of script, his casting unusual actors and stars against type, his restless and obliquely motivated zoom shots, his multiply layered soundtracks – such qualities have regularly been seen as significant innovations in Hollywood story and style or as quirky irritations. Reactions to Gosford Park again are representative in their exuberant admiration and characteristic antagonism. The hyperbolic superlatives of the national film critics reflect the qualities of invention now generally ascribed to America's reigning auteur director: the film is everywhere described as “remarkable”, “brilliant” and “magisterial”. Like his other films which famously feature a large ensemble of actors – MASH, Nashville, A Wedding, Buffalo Bill and the Indians, The Player, Short Cuts, Prêt-à-Porter, Kansas City, Dr. T and the Women (2000) – Gosford Park's numerous story lines are perceived as “engrossing”, “entrancing” and “amazing”. The film reflects the director's “astounding ability to orchestrate dozens of featured players into a coherent whole while allowing each actor individual shining moments.” Andrew Sarris praises Altman's “patented polyphonic virtuosity”. The director who has routinely described himself as a painter rather than a storyteller is compared to Rembrandt, the “greatest flow master in movie history.” Roger Ebert writes: “Here he is like Prospero, serenely the master of his art.”"]
2. "California Split": Peter Tonguette writes on Altman's 1974 "gambling movie."["Too often, it seems to me, Robert Altman is valued for his riffs on genre – whether it be the war comedy (M*A*S*H [1970]), the Western (McCabe & Mrs. Miller [1971]), the detective story (The Long Goodbye [1973]), or the Agatha Christie-style murder mystery (Gosford Park [2001]) – and undervalued for his more direct and personal films, the ones which are least self-aware of other movies and most interactive with real life. I don't want to fall into the same trap as those who under-rate that side of Altman by underrating myself the titles I've just rattled off – each and every one of which I love – but simply make the point that to prioritise this strain of Altman above others is to cut oneself off from what may be the purest expressions of this great director's particular vision of life."]
3. "Blogathon No. 3: Robert Altman—An Appreciation": Michael Guillen reports on an on-stage Altman interview at a retrospective screening of Nashville.["Also liked when someone asked how he was able to convince Julianne Moore to be naked from the waist down for five minutes. He praised the actress, said the role was originally for Madeline Stowe who chickened out by saying she would be happy to be naked for him in some other movie, but not that one. He'd seen Moore on Broadway in "Uncle Vanya" and was impressed. Phoned her to say he was going to offer her a film role but that first she needed to know right off that she would have to appear naked from the waist down for at least five minutes. Moore paused and then said, "I can do that." Altman was delighted, said he'd send over the script right away, and then Moore added, "Oh Robert, there's an extra treat." "Yes?" Altman inquired. "I'm a real redhead," Moore cooed. Moore's agent has asked Altman not to repeat that story so he asked all 2,000 of us in the audience to keep it to ourselves."]
4. "81 Candles for Robert Altman": Dennis Cozzalio takes an in-depth look at the Altman filmography.["NOTE: This is part three of my personal retrospective on the films of Robert Altman, in honor of the director's 81st birthday and his upcoming honorary Oscar, to be presented during the telecast of the Academy Awards on March 5. You can access part 1 of this article by scrolling down this page or by clicking here. Part two of this article can also be found by scrolling down the page or by clicking here."]
5. "Altman and Me": Weepingsam of The Listening Ear on how Altman made him a... ["Robert Altman made me a movie geek. That’s basically true. In 1992, the Brattle Theater ran a series of his films, probably inspired by the release of The Player, and I went to most of them. It was the first film series I ever attended, at least the first time I'd seen more than one or two films in a series. It changed me. The simplest change, I suppose, was that it got me in the habit of going to films - going to series’ of films, new films, old films and so on. It’s a habit that took a while to develop, but it started there. When the Altman series ended, I didn't just start going to the next series at the Brattle - but I kept thinking about it. I read their schedules - I kicked myself for missing stuff. And eventually went to another one, and more after that, and so on. It took a couple years, but eventually it was a real habit."]
_____________________________________________________Keith Uhlich is managing editor of The House Next Door, a staff critic for Slant Magazine, and a contributor to a variety of print and online publications.
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33 comments:
A fine tribute, Keith. Despite the man's advanced age, I'm a little too blindsided and shell-shocked to say much more right now.
You and me both, Bill. When you can, if you feel like it, would love to hear your further thoughts. :-)
I'm just grateful I actually got to meet the man once, even if it was just during a press round-table interview. The tributes are piling up across this blogosphere our ours. I have mine up but I especially recommend Dennis Cozzalio's at Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule.
I'll mention again The High Hat's Robert Altman issue, and especially point HND readers to Dana Knowles's beautiful and elegaic A Sense of Altman, which discusses the Altman sensibility in general, and in particular contrasts The Player with McCabe and Mrs. Miller.
McCabe is my favorite of his movies, of course, but his run in the early 70s was nearly pitch-perfect. It's hard to believe that two movies as beautiful and naturalistic as California Split and Thieves Like Us could have been released in the same year. Generally artists take time between masterpieces.
Being a real-life policy wonk, I'm also inordinately fond of Tanner '88, and being emotionally blood-tied to a small town in Alabama, I loved Cookie's Fortune, even when it didn't work. I mean, much of the man's work didn't have any special resonance to anything particular about me than plain and simple humanity, but that was enough.
I learned about Altman's death from a text message while I was eating lunch, and I gave a muffled "oh shit." It's not what I expected or wanted to see on my cell phone, but I guess it's not exactly a shock. Right now it's still hard to imagine a world without Altman, but it's also hard to imagine that his immense filmography won't continue to feel alive forever. He will be missed.
His films never seemed to fall away from my consciousness...I can't recall a time in my life as a cinephile when I wasn't aware of his work, and either profoundly puzzled or affected by it: crying but not knowing why at Nashville as a child; getting but not crying at McCabe and Mrs. Miller as a teenager. Soundly rejecting the sadness of Short Cuts. Changing (or amending) my tune on all three as a twentysomething...I don't see a time in my life when I won't continually revisit these films and feel differently about them each time I do.
I'm just wondering what to answer from this point on when someone asks, "Who is your favorite living American director?"
With the possible exceptions of De Palma, Scorsese and Spielberg, there is no American filmmaker whose visual style brought me more pleasure. And yet, unlike all of them, Altman's technique wasn't the least bit flashy -- it was as subtle and glancing as could be (as were the performances he got from Warren Beatty, Elliott Gould, Lily Tomlin and others). You could see the work those other directors put into their movies. But Altman's films seemed effortless. They flowed.
Tonight I'll be watching my favorite of his movies, The Long Goodbye. Then, over the next few days, McCabe & Mrs. Miller, Nashville and the rest. And I'll be hoping that Thieves Like Us, which I've never seen, makes it to DVD soon.
R.I.P.
There are Altman moments--even movies--that are sloppy, indifferent, callous, crabby, ill-considered. I love every frame. Sometimes for the jazzy offbeat rhythm it contains; sometimes a felicitous bit of background action caught by a zooming camera, or a performance caught unawares cracking to something disconcertingly true.
Altman's cinema is the only one I know as tumultuous and multifaceted as any of us. Movies died more than a little bit for me today.
It's difficult to imagine any film buff not being affected by Altman's passing. It would be one thing if he hadn't worked in years, but he diligently persevered.
Or if his career had turned sellout or to shit, but it never did either of those. The artistic success of many of his projects may be argued, but one thing of which I'm certain: Altman never did a movie just for the paycheck.
I am by no means a massive Altman nut, and most of his recent projects held little interest for me outside of his involvement or until I actually saw them (he was real good at surprises).
But that changed big time when he announced HANDS ON A HARD BODY. I was looking forward to this like I hadn't looked forward to an Altman film in forever. I wrote of my excitement and concerns about the project at The Rued Morgue last month when the news first hit.
Now I'm feeling deeply deprived by the fact that I'll never get to see Altman's take on this material. Despite the frequent talk of his age and health, it never occurred to me that he wouldn't get the chance to make the film - that's how damn sturdy the guy seemed to be.
I echoed Keith's lovely comment about the similarities between losing an artist and losing a family member to my rommate as soon as I heart the news.
Considering how often Altman braved his way through the Hollywood sludge, I somehow thought he would keep on going forever. I very briefly saw him in person at the 2002 San Francisco Film Festival, and hope to include a bit of a tribute in my next posting, as soon as the shock wears off.
We'll always have the films.
Having read all these other tributes - yours, Copeland's, Cozzalio's etc. - the one I've posted feels largely redundant, but it's too bad. I had to say something. I'll add a little here.
We won't have ever have another filmmaker like Altman. His films are totally unique. Most of what I could say has been said better already, so I'd like to highlight something I haven't seen mentioned so much: his honesty as a filmmaker. This came to me as I watched '3 Women', a film that clearly plays around with its own truth and the audience's heads, yet one never feels hoodwinked by it. Like with all his films, he just shows us some stuff, and lets us figure it out. That's what I'll miss the most. He was completely honest with his characters, his actors, his audience and himself. I have only seen four of his films, but their impact on me is such that I can appreciate what an important figure he has been, and I'm now in a rush to see more of his work.
I thought about posting an elegy of my own on my busride home just now but it feels insufficient and irrelevant in the face of such essays as yours as others already on the web. As Bill said, a fine tribute to a master artist. So I'll keep it to a comment here.
I've only recently begun to discover Altman's less obvious worlds of wonder like 3 WOMEN, which puzzled and intrigued me like the best of my boy, Tarkovsky, and, at the same time, opened a door into his particular brand of genius. MCCABE remains my favorite, too, but, really, I've not seen enough of his films to pick a list of essentials. So I offer a few moments that illuminated him for me, raising him above the throwaway label of "condescending hauteur":
1. First, of course, is McCabe telling his Mrs Miller "I've got poetry in me" only to be shot dead in the snow while she tokes opium in the hazy den down the hillside. Perhaps the most genuine of saddest film moments I've witnessed.
2. Lyle Lovett's resigned apology in SHORT CUTS. While it did not bowl me over as in the Carver story that inspired the film moment, Lovett's (non-)performance underscores both men's tact of taking on life. Sometimes, you swallow your monster pride and offer a small, good thing to those in need. SHORT CUTS is no small matter but there is a heart underneath its bleak posturing. I remain faithful to the Carver works but the film feels a precise conflation of the two artists, negating any niggling by the literary fan in me. Plus, the cast is damn impressive.
3. The humor of Shelly Duvall's skirt perpetually caught in her car door in 3 WOMEN. Oh how Stanley spoiled her...imagine the roles she would have had had she not been subjected to such treatment on the set of THE SHINING. Then again, we wouldn't have the same SHINING we know and love today...but that's besides the point here. The point is there was a time when her flippant line readings meant something and this detail, observed again and again, illustrates her abilities to portray a dolt with precision and passion and empathy. Forget Pinky, it's Duvall's Millie that loses this battle.
I'm at a loss for more so I'll leave it at that. I, too, was shocked by this news, like so many because you take an artist's presence for granted. A similar thing happened about a month ago when Cory Lidle flew his plane into a highrise on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. I shook his hand once at an A's game when he pitched for Oakland and that's what I thought of each time I read something about his death. His death was slightly more shocking because he was a young man but nevertheless, this news was certainly a blindside in spite of Altman's age: after his aside about a straight up heart transplant at the Oscars I thought he was invincible. Hat's off to a life well worth our attention.
Bill, Keith, everyone, I too feel a bit too shocked and benumbed and spent by the day to go on too long here. I feel like I've lost a favorite teacher, someone whose lesson plans I could return to again and again and never know exactly what I was going to be taught. Amazing that even in the least of them-- Quintet, Beyond Therapy and (I know I'm in the minority here) Short Cuts-- I knew that whatever it was to be gleaned, it couldn't be found anywhere else, from any other teacher.
Altman was a master antiauthoritarian figure for those cinephiles of my generation, and also an authority figure based upon the gigantic impact of the films that he made, the people he brought before us in ways that no one else could or would dare. (For the emergence of Shelley Duvall alone, he should be forever saluted.)
Tonight I want to slip away with one of his films, but I think Nashville would be just too devastating. I'd like it to be Prairie-- but it may be time to finally spin the DVD of O.C. and Stiggs, one of the most abandoned of Altman's many beloved orphans, a film I loved when I saw it in its week-long theatrical release. Whatever transpires after the movie begins, I'll have a shot of Scotch and offer again my most sincere thanks to this great filmmaker, who taught me how to see movies, his and everyone's. Thanks, Keith, for the wonderful tribute and the links to all the other great writing available in our loose-knit community here. It's a community that Altman himself would have appreciated.
No need to add my own tribute, but I just thought I'd mention two works of his that haven't yet been mentioned that are slightly underrated. Let's not dismiss his work in television. Tanner 88 was a historic miniseries. The way they had actors playing character go out and improvise scenes with real life figures was in many ways a precursor to what Borat is doing today. Also, it's very impressive in that each episode was shot the week before it aired so that it addressed very current events in the aired episodes.
Another very underrated work of his is The Gingerbread Man. He took a generic thriller and populated it with a bunch of well-developed characters to the point where the plot was secondary.
"Altman's cinema is the only one I know as tumultuous and multifaceted as any of us."
Yes, precisely. My mother had to force me to watch "M*A*S*H" because I didn't think much of the TV series; she insisted that it was different, which of course it was, but it was different from my prior experience with movies, too -- I knew these people. I had met these people. I could walk into that movie and know what to say to them. They weren't police-artist-sketch approximations of characters; they were known to me.
Altman's ability to do that, to suggest the entire composition with the gesture...unparalleled. Well, except by Buck O'Neil, so I hope those two old storytellers are going tale-for-tale right this minute. Sorry to miss it.
I hope I don't sound like a jerk for saying I wasn't shocked by news of Altman's death--instead, my reaction was more of a resigned "aw shit, that sucks." Ever since reading that insurance bigwigs required P.T. Anderson to be standing by to replace Altman as director of A Prairie Home Companion in case his health failed, I had a strong intuition that this would happen within a year or so. Along with Wilder and a handful of others, he's definitely one of the directors who had the strongest influence on the way I see the world, not just the way I see the movies. I love how his films are at once so different and so similar, and how his films divide and unite his fans at the same time. I really love a number of Altman movies that kind of have middling reputations--Brewster McCloud, Buffalo Bill and the Indians, Popeye--and dislike a number that are widely touted as masterpieces (most notably Gosford Park)...but the supporters of those movies fundamentally love them for the same reasons that I love the films maudit.
I'm utterly verklempt at the loss. My first viewing of A Wedding stands out as one of those blow-the-back-of-your-head-of moments where your conception of what the cinema can do travels to a whole new leve.
Robert Altman was at The Museum of Television & Radio on October 31 in a public event with Garrison Keillor. We have a photo of them on our site www.mtr.org/archive/events-fall06.htm
He was showing some the burden of his age--and not to be cliched--but his wit was sharp and charming.
He and Keillor made several public appearances that week to launch the DVD of Prairie Home. What set apart their MTR gig was they both chose something from the radio collection that meant something to them. Altman chose Norman Corwin's "On a Note of Triumph." His enthusiasm for Corwin was vivid. He told this story: He had loved Corwin's work since childhood. During the filming of The Player, Altman was with his crew on a private Hollywood street for hours on end, past midnight, making a lot of noise. At 1:00 a.m. a nearby homeowner demands to know who is in charge--he's going to call the police. He pushes his way up to Altman, and it's Norman Corwin. Altman swears that's how they met. Altman told the irate radio master that he was truly a fan, begged indulgence, and they were great friends from then on.
In an article somewhere on this esteemed blog, I wrote that in A Prairie Home Companion:
Dangerous Ginny comments that 'the death of an old man is not a tragedy,' which led me to holler out, “Bullshit, Mr. Altman."
I think that sums things up for me. Altman will be missed; his style will never be successfully duplicated.
Oddly enough, PHC is the movie I want to watch again in honor of Mr. Altman. Why on Earth would I want to watch a movie I didn't even like, instead of watching M*A*S*H or Secret Honor, The Long Goodbye or Nashville, the Player or Gosford Park, all movies I loved? I asked myself the same question, and though I am certain that my opinion of PHC will be just as negative as it was the first time, I'm looking for something that I couldn't see the first time: I wonder how it plays filtered through my knowledge that Altman is gone.
I'm very fond of Kansas City and The Company, two films that, as Keith notes, have received scant-to-zero mention in the mainstream obit pages.
My happiest Altman moment was also one of my earliest. I remember seeing A Wedding on the big screen in 1978, then re-watching it religiously on cable the following year. Near the end there's a scene of Carol Burnett (never better) breaking off her planned assignation with Pat McCormick by telling him, ruefully, "Temptation came to me today in the form of you."
Only in an Altman film could someone like Pat McCormick come to represent temptation. Priceless!
Let this be a lesson to everyone who ever meant to do or say something to someone they cared about... you must do it NOW, you cannot put it off.
I was in the Tarrytown, NY sneak preview audience in January 1973 -- part of a "Judith Crist Film Weekend" -- where the reaction against "The Long Goodbye" was so violently negative that its release two weeks later was pulled, the film was almost shelved entirely, and it was released much later that year with the Mad Magazine poster art. How I wanted to write to him and tell him, 30 years later, that he was so gloriously right all along. And now I never can. Damn.
This is my first visit to this site -- and while I'm sorry it's for such a sad occasion, I thank you for a lovely tribute. I feel the same pain
Mark C.
Some of the best movie moments and fun I had where with Robert Altman.
I loved the Nashville soundtrack and use to play it in a bar until they relized it was a parody of country music some weeks later.
I am arriving late to this memorial after spending 12 hours in a car en route to a Thanksgiving get-together. For now I'll only say how moved I am by Keith's tribute and by the testimonials of others in this comments thread. Losing any artist you admire is difficult, but particular a giant like Altman, one of the very few American filmmakers who can be said to have devised his own style that stood apart from everyone else's and helped viewers see the world anew.
Since it's late, I'll resist the temptation to bang out a mammoth opus about Altman's contribution to movie technique and form, his place within (or more often outside of) the industry, and his worldview, which is often mistaken for mistanthropic or cynical but which instead strikes me as simply realistic (his attitude is the inversion of a famous quote: He may dislike humanity, but he sure does love people). Instead I'll just leave you with this: Yesterday evening, during a dinner stop en route to my in-laws' house in Cinci, I went into a Cracker Barrel in the company of my brother, my 9 year old daughter and my 2 year old son. At a certain point during the meal, everybody was relaxed for the first time since getting in the car six hours earlier, and we were just sitting there eating and talking (or in my son's case, sorta kinda talking). I started thinking about Altman and looking around the room, at an elderly couple at a nearby table, at other families, at young couples, at people dining alone, my eye wandering the room, foreground to background, never lingering on any one relationship for very long; beneath this I heard layers of conversation overlapping and superimposed, with stray phrases standing out here and there -- "No, I already put it in your purse"; "You gonna eat the rest of that? Well, can I have some?" "It's typical. Absolutely typical. I don't know why I bother." It was an Altman moment, which is another way of saying it was a moment of life, real life, not some movie facsimile; it was real, and powerfully cinematic because it was real; there was not much difference, as far as I could see, between how I was experiencing the room and how I might have experienced the room if Altman had photographed it and choreographed and body miked the people within it. And on top of my immense sadness at the fact that he was gone, I felt gratitude for identifying and fixing on film the way human beings actually perceive their environment -- senses roaming, fixating on details, always restless, somehow counterbalancing the individual moment and the societal picture. He was anticinematic as hell -- deliberately so; he was rebelling against aesthetic conventions that had been worshipped like graven idols for half a century or more -- yet he was profoundly cinematic. Small revelations were his specialty. I think the best way to pay tribute to the man is to pay closer attention to the world -- too look more deeply and listen more closely.
Keith, what a great and moving tribute this is. Thank you!
Last night, instead of watching an Altman film, I turned on the audio on his commentary track of 3 Women and just sat down and listened to his voice for a long time....it was very moving.
Of all the director DVD commentary tracks I've heard, Altman's are among my favorites: His wisdom about art and life, the long stretches of silence when he chooses to just remain quiet and not fill up the tape, his choice to not dwell on technical marginalia but instead reflect about larger aspects of cinema and art-making, and mostly his humility....
I never met the man but I really feel like I've got to know him as a person through those commentaries. I'm so thankful that he recorded a fistful of them; they're even more precious now.
It's high time "That Cold Day in the Park," "Thieves Like Us," "Come Back to the 5 and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean" and "Streamers" were put out on DVD. And a full-length version of "Vincent and Theo" would be good, too.
I'm very happy that "3 Women" was given the Criterion treatment. I can still remember a time when my pan-and-scan copy taped off Cinemax at 3am was a much-desired commodity in college. And yes, when I think of Altman's work, I think of Millie Lammoreauox's yellow dress getting caught in her car door time and again.
Close competition: the Bergman-like attention to the women's faces as they confess in "Jimmy Dean," which is a lousy play made into a great film by sensitive direction. And the moment in "Streamers" when Mitchell Lichtenstein reaches out for a pair of dog tags...rarely has a sexual pass on screen been so fraught with danger and excitement.
I watched "The Long Goodbye" again last night, not having seen it in years. Gould is extraordinary, such a bumbler, so funny. He never lets up, like the best modern jazz. And Mark Rydell as Marty Augustine! Who else but Altman would have given actors the freedom to create a Millie Lammoreaux, a Marty Augustine? Moving away from character, I think most about the dance in "The Company" that is electrified by the threat of rain.
Altman has his critics, and they have their points, but his scenes, his people, at their best, are completely unique and utterly alive. I'm sure I've met Millie; I fear meeting Augustine.
"I think the best way to pay tribute to the man is to pay closer attention to the world -- too look more deeply and listen more closely."
Matt: I've found myself looking at rooms and places and people like that often over the years, and I know why. Thanks for expressing your experience, and for expressing what Altman did so well.
I think his greatest films are McCabe and Mrs. Miller; The Long Goodbye; Thieves Like Us; and California Split.
That said, almost anything he does is worth watching (Come Back to the 5 and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean; Vincent and Theo; The Caine Mutiny Court Martial; Secret Honor; Popeye; The Gingerbread Man; The Company). And even his failures are interesting (I remember the very last shot of H.E.A.LT.H. as being one of the funniest punchlines I've ever seen).
I think that damned honorary award was an insult. Never mind that he was gracious about it; he was that bighearted. If the Academy couldn't recognize the value of his work enough to give him one of those goldplated doorstops, it's their stupidity.
If he was gracious about his award, that was his big heart speaking. He probably knew then that he didn't want to waste what little time he had left saying what needed to be said. Kind words would be easier.
Please do read House contributor Ed Gonzalez's Altman tribute over at Slant Magazine.
The amount of Altman films I've seen since the Altman Blog-a-thon I participated in hadn't increase at all. Still Popeye, Gosford Park and The Company. Have yet to see the classics, which is a pity. Was really shocked by his death, especially after the Oscar acceptance speech he gave. I had thought that he could do more.
Anyway, I did a blog entry too. Nothing big, wish I could write more.
Keith:
This is an excellent tribute to a great artist. Altman (who truly was an independent filmmaker) will be sorely missed, but he has left behind a brilliant body of work.
Altman's movie version of The Long Goodbye was a crime in itself. This whining, smug, unfunny, neurotic little dude eviscerating the sublime prose of Raymond Chandler? No thanks. Altman is simply a lightning rod for all the other whining, smug, unfunny, neurotic little dudes out there in their polo necks and loafers and believe me, there's millions of them--just look at the entries here for a piquant sample. Altman was a semi-talented hack who seemed to succumb to some cult of self-importance long before he exited stage left. Comical really, the slavering that goes on when this guy's name comes up.
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