I can recommend "The Devil's Candy," an account of the filming of Brian De Palma's "Bonfire of the Vanities."
A certain figure is needed to play Sherman, a mostly venal, detestable guy who is the center of the Tom Wolfe novel. Really, William Hurt is needed. But Hollywood wants someone the world loves (even though the world shouldn't love Sherman). Hollywood goes with Tom Hanks.
Sherman is having an affair, and he and his girlfriend strike a man in the Bronx--a hit-and-run! It's expedient never to acknowledge this, so the story seems to be about running from consequences, doing the wrong thing, all the time. Eventually, through a journalist, the truth is revealed, and Sherman gets a lecture from a judge, in the form of Morgan Freeman.
This movie has been called one of the worst of all time, the "Ishtar" of its day, a major flop. The problem seemed to be that no one really cared for, or respected, the story, and so a kind of lukewarm non-adaptation was made--and while you might hate the novel, hate is at least a passionate response, and no one is ever going to feel much passion, of any kind, in regard to a film as cowardly as De Palma's "Bonfire" adaptation.
As the wheels come off the train, more and more money disappears. Money for exotic locales (the scenes eventually get cut from the film). Money for Bruce Willis (he is extremely unpleasant and actually has a limited range). Money for Morgan Freeman, who doesn't bother to learn his lines. Money for Melanie Griffith's new trailer, when the old trailer proves to be unacceptable.
No one comes off especially well, except maybe Tom Hanks; if Tom Hanks is not actually a good guy, he is at least pretty skilled at impersonating a good guy. (That said, he torpedoes a young Uma Thurman's hopes in the first thirty pages, and you don't see him showing much hesitation over this. You won't see Uma Thurman in "Bonfire of the Vanities.")
I really enjoy reading about creative work--because creative work is something I think about often--and so I liked hearing De Palma's thoughts. (De Palma had a big success with "The Untouchables," and he hoped to have a viable Hollywood career. People were always branding him as another Hitchcock, but this isn't really how he saw himself.) I liked reading about Spielberg uncomfortably lunching with De Palma; Spielberg knew his friend, De Palma, had a messy picture on his hands, but he couldn't quite tell the truth.
I liked reading about the guy who dresses in high-heeled shoes to simulate walking sounds, after the movie is basically fully filmed.
I was interested in discussions about the brutal treatment of actresses: the way a woman's body could be frankly appraised in the most piggish terms, and no one would blink. (Both Melanie Griffith and the strikingly fragile Kim Cattrall go through this.)
If you enjoy memorable characters in strange situations, then this is the book for you. It's almost a novel. But it's not a novel. It really happened. I feel a bit more alert and knowledgeable and ready to understand what is really transpiring, for the next time I walk into a screening of a Hollywood movie.
A certain figure is needed to play Sherman, a mostly venal, detestable guy who is the center of the Tom Wolfe novel. Really, William Hurt is needed. But Hollywood wants someone the world loves (even though the world shouldn't love Sherman). Hollywood goes with Tom Hanks.
Sherman is having an affair, and he and his girlfriend strike a man in the Bronx--a hit-and-run! It's expedient never to acknowledge this, so the story seems to be about running from consequences, doing the wrong thing, all the time. Eventually, through a journalist, the truth is revealed, and Sherman gets a lecture from a judge, in the form of Morgan Freeman.
This movie has been called one of the worst of all time, the "Ishtar" of its day, a major flop. The problem seemed to be that no one really cared for, or respected, the story, and so a kind of lukewarm non-adaptation was made--and while you might hate the novel, hate is at least a passionate response, and no one is ever going to feel much passion, of any kind, in regard to a film as cowardly as De Palma's "Bonfire" adaptation.
As the wheels come off the train, more and more money disappears. Money for exotic locales (the scenes eventually get cut from the film). Money for Bruce Willis (he is extremely unpleasant and actually has a limited range). Money for Morgan Freeman, who doesn't bother to learn his lines. Money for Melanie Griffith's new trailer, when the old trailer proves to be unacceptable.
No one comes off especially well, except maybe Tom Hanks; if Tom Hanks is not actually a good guy, he is at least pretty skilled at impersonating a good guy. (That said, he torpedoes a young Uma Thurman's hopes in the first thirty pages, and you don't see him showing much hesitation over this. You won't see Uma Thurman in "Bonfire of the Vanities.")
I really enjoy reading about creative work--because creative work is something I think about often--and so I liked hearing De Palma's thoughts. (De Palma had a big success with "The Untouchables," and he hoped to have a viable Hollywood career. People were always branding him as another Hitchcock, but this isn't really how he saw himself.) I liked reading about Spielberg uncomfortably lunching with De Palma; Spielberg knew his friend, De Palma, had a messy picture on his hands, but he couldn't quite tell the truth.
I liked reading about the guy who dresses in high-heeled shoes to simulate walking sounds, after the movie is basically fully filmed.
I was interested in discussions about the brutal treatment of actresses: the way a woman's body could be frankly appraised in the most piggish terms, and no one would blink. (Both Melanie Griffith and the strikingly fragile Kim Cattrall go through this.)
If you enjoy memorable characters in strange situations, then this is the book for you. It's almost a novel. But it's not a novel. It really happened. I feel a bit more alert and knowledgeable and ready to understand what is really transpiring, for the next time I walk into a screening of a Hollywood movie.
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