Robert Altman: The Oral Biography

I've always been fascinated by Robert Altman's films, if not overly fond of them. As I mentioned in a recent post, M*A*S*H is one of my favorite films, but of the other dozen or so of his films that I've seen, none of them have particularly bowled me over. They have, though, all of them, been profoundly interesting.

Altman, who died in 2006, lived a roguish life. He didn't make M*A*S*H, his first big film, until he was in his mid-forties, but then made about one a year until his death at 81. He kept this up despite his natural antipathy toward studio heads, and a pugnacious attitude that cost him more than one job. He was married three times, and had many children, though he was quoted as saying he cared more about his career than his kids. He imbibed to excess, at least until he had a heart transplant, which he kept secret.

Mitchell Zuckoff has taken Altman's life and turned it into an oral biography, which means that he uses his interview subject's own words. I frequently like this form (Edie, by George Plimpton and Jean Stein, is one of the best of them), but this one just didn't do it for me. Obviously, when an author chooses this form, he is entrusting everything to what his said to him, so if an interview subject isn't particularly interesting, there's no writerly tricks to make him so. The book suffers for that, especially in the early going, when Altman's childhood in Kansas City and his experience as a bomber pilot in World War II are raked over. Sorry to say, but those who speak on the matter make it all sound pretty dull.

Things pick up a little during Altman's early career as a director. He spent several years in television, on such shows as Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Bonanza, and Combat! His TV career came to an ignominious end when he was working for Kraft Suspense Theater, and gave an interview to Variety and said that Kraft Theater plots were as bland as their cheese.

He then moved on to films, and made a few small-budget films before getting M*A*S*H. As I mentioned in my post on that film, the Altman style would take shape then and there, with overlapping dialogue, large ensemble casts, lack of traditional plot, and the use of a zoom. What becomes apparent is that Altman was an incredibly instinctive director, almost Zen about things. When he made McCabe and Mrs. Miller, the climax took place in a snowstorm because it happened to be snowing that day. He was a guy who went with the flow, as if he were throwing I Ching and making it up as he went along.

Actors loved him (except, it seems, for McCabe's Warren Beatty). His philosophy was that character was an actor's job, and that's what he hired them for. He avoided talking to them about motivation or sticky things like that, giving them free reign. He also encouraged their ideas, which was why he wasn't incredibly popular with writers. Altman used the script as a jumping off point, and only looked at it for the first few days of the shoot.

Though Altman never stopped working, he did have peaks and valleys. After the successes of the early 70s his films in the last half of that decade became more and more eccentric. He made five for Fox that were little seen and less understood, like 3 Women and Quintet. He then hit a wall when he made the big-budget Popeye, which was received like a flop even though it actually made money (and was one of the top ten highest grossing films of the year).

After Popeye he was in the wilderness, directing plays and operas. It was therefore seen as a comeback, a word he hated, when he scored with The Player in 1992, and earned an Oscar nomination. He backed that up the following year with Short Cuts, and then again in 2000 with Gosford Park. He was now an eminence grise, and actors flocked to work for him--just see how many big stars turn in cameos in The Player.

As a human being Altman was a contradiction. Many talk of his two sides--sweet and sour. He was a generous man, but could be difficult to get along with. He absolutely resisted authority. Lily Tomlin has a story about a film she had in production that ended up permanently shelved after Altman punched out a studio guy because he wanted to trim minutes from an Altman film. He was also something of a reckless gambler, and cavalier with money. But he also seemed like he could be a lot of fun. Zuckoff lets a lot of people tell stories about how hard Altman could party. My favorite was when he and his wife attended the Academy Awards ceremony with a bag of pot brownies.

Through it all, even though Altman's flaws are readily apparent, I felt a grudging respect for him. That he never stopped working, and rarely compromised on his vision, is admirable. I think composer John Williams said it best: "One of the big contradictions was that he was always fighting with the studios but he sought acceptance. He sought praise of the establishment in his own way as hard or harder than other people did. He craved the approval of the people out here. His bad-boy-naughtiness character not to the contrary. He didn't want to play the game as he saw it being played."