Tribute to a Master

IndieWire has a great report on a recent Robert Altman tribute in New York on what would have been his 82nd birthday.

There's some wonderful quotes in the piece but I was particularly struck by this observation by Tim Robbins:

"Bob has gotten the financing together for his new film, called 'The Memorial' and we are making the film as we speak. He is watching the people on stage, yes, but there are other cameras looking around the theater today at the subplots, the subterfuge, the silliness, the whispered comments, the backstage preening." And singling out Altman's wife Kathryn Reed Altman, whom the director called "Trixie," Robbins added, "Kathryn, you have a beautiful close-up with a camera dedicated to you, but everyone else beware. He is gonna find us out, and God will laugh."

It's fascinating to me that Altman's pursuit of spontaneity and realism in his films leads inevitably still to the self-conscious, doubled experience of real life as a constructed event. All these actors who showed up at the memorial were pushed, prodded and pressed by the demanding Altman to break free from artifice in front of the camera and now, with no cameras roling, they find themselves at his memorial, utterly self-conscious about the "Altmanesque" nature of this real event.

Is it the case that even Altman, as demanding and determined as he was in his pursuit of realism, couldn't escape the nature of his medium which is to, ultimately, subvert the direct experience of the reality he sought to capture?

For other reasons I was newly struck by Altman's comments at the Oscars last year:

"I've always said that making a film is like making a sand castle at the beach," Altman said, after receiving a standing ovation from the audience at the Kodak Theater in March of last year. "You invite your friends and you get them down there, and you say you build this beautiful structure, several of you. Then you sit back and watch the tide come in. Have a drink, watch the tide come in, and the ocean just takes it away."

I wonder if it's easier for story tellers to suffer heart break because beginnings and endings are their life's work, because they have attuned themselves to building strong bonds with characters and scenarios understanding always that they will eventually have to let go and fade away. I'm wondering how a critic can get to that place where it's okay to sit back and watch the tide come in and watch the ocean carry his memories out to sea.

It's periods like these when I need stories the most, stories that speak to the reality of my life not only so I can make better sense of it but also so I can begin to reconstruct it, to shape its direction, to move me to start work on the next sand castle.