Irving Thalberg and Me

I was reading about Dino DeLaurentis' funeral in the Hollywood Reporter and remembered why I first fell in love with movies. The 91-year-old Italian film producer had worked with just about every big name in film from the 1940s until just a few years ago: Federico Fellini, Arnold Schwarzenegger, David Lynch, Jeff Berg, Steven Spielberg, Baz Luhrman -- most in attendance at his LA funeral. When was the last time you got a crowd like that into one room?

To be honest, it wasn't the movies themselves that first grabbed my imagination. It was their time capsule nature that I loved. Every weekend, while watching Tom Hatten's Family Film Festival on channel 5, I felt like I was getting a glimpse of American history on my television screen.

It started as a fascination with what people "back then" dressed like, how they spoke, what music they listened to. Even a futuristic science fiction movie would show its hand with bell-bottomed spacesuits or clunky references to contemporary social issues like race relations or women's rights.

Don't get me wrong, I often loved the movies too. But the films that made it onto syndicated afternoon television weren't exactly all "Casablanca" - and I knew it. So I mined what I could out of Mr. Hatten's picks (including a soft spot for Doris Day/Rock Hudson/Tony Randall comedies), and the more context he gave --about the cast, the box office performance, whatever-- the more I enjoyed watching it.

When it came to current releases, I tended to prefer story and character over spectacle (still do) and, with big budget blockbusters in full effect during my formative moviegoing years, I was left with slim pickings. I gravitated towards quirky comedies like "Down and Out in Beverly Hills," "Raising Arizona"and "Ruthless People" -- all on my favorites list as kid. I also remember convincing my best friend to sneak into "About Last Night," an R-rated movie about a topic I wouldn't understand for another 15 years, instead of going to see "Back to the Future" because it promised to be just a "stupid science fiction movie for boys." (Don't worry, my judgement has improved since then. I think.)

I may have been uninformed of the current movie zeitgeist, but I could tell you all about the studio chiefs during Hollywood's Golden Era. Or at least I hoped to someday, if anyone ever cared to ask. The point is, I loved the old studio system -- warts and all.

In fact, the more I learned about how oppressive the system was, the more I wanted to know. The "bad" side, the ugly side of the business -- in the context of history anyway--is about as juicy as you can get, full of larger-than-life characters that feel like they could only exist in....well, the movies. By the  time he was laid to rest, Dino DeLaurentis had become more than just a movie producer, he was a force of personality. (The news today about the horrific murder of longtime Hollywood publicist Ronni Chasen is already bringing forth similar stories.)

By my sophomore year in college, my school announced it would begin offering a film studies major. While my well-meaning mother had convinced to me to choose a liberal arts school over a more technical filmmaking program, it still only took me about five seconds to change my major.  To keep with their classically-oriented core curriculum, the administration insisted that the major remain strictly film theory and criticism -  no actual "moviemaking."

We were, however, more  than welcome to volunteer as a PA for any of the graduate student films being shot, which I did --once-- with a friend/fellow major . While she fell in love with the heavy lifting, working for free, and long periods of waiting around followed by sudden rushes of panic, I was uninspired to say the least. I guess you could say I cared more about the product than the process. This major was perfect for me. (I'm happy to say my friend is now a successful line producer for indie films.)
 
So in between work study jobs and film-related internships (more posts to come about those), I stayed hunkered down in the school's shabby screening room, soaking up mind bending lectures on film theory from James Schamus, decade-by-decade surveys of American film with Andrew Sarris (a living piece of film history himself), feminist film studies with Molly Haskell. I sincerely enjoyed researching and writing a paper about producer Arthur Freed's contributions to the Hollywood musical.  I grew slightly obsessed with the myth of Irving Thalberg and, through that, discovered the industry's underdog Jewish-American roots  (I still treasure my copy of Neal Gabler's "An Empire of Their Own: How the Jews Invented Hollywood").

I adored the idea that "the business" was an entirely American invention. And that the image we manufacture of ourselves on film is our chief export to the rest of the world (whether we like it or not).  I first grasped this during a middle school trip to Europe when, after talking to locals and flipping through magazines, I was surprised to learn they assumed we all owned guns and listened to rap music -- an image that could only have come from the movies and television shows we produced ourselves. (I suppose these days they think we're all right wing extremists, still with guns of course.)

While I try to give every film my undivided critical attention at the time I review it, what I enjoy more than anything is taking a step back to see where it fits in our own history and self image. That takes some perspective and, having been a working critic for two years (plus 15 years working in and around the media/entertainment industry), I am happy to say I'm gaining some of it.  Not that any of this will help improve my Oscar picks this year.  But I'll still give it a shot.