The Screengrab : scott wilson

Famous Last Words: Round 2, Week 9

Paul Clark — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 19:00:00 GMT

I could almost hear the joyful noise coming from my Screengrab colleague Leonard Pierce due to my selection of last week’s Famous Last Words quote. The line came from William Peter Blatty’s irresistibly nutzoid The Ninth Configuration, a favorite of Leonard’s that he takes every opportunity he can to shoehorn into our weekly lists (of course, I’m one to talk, given the disproportionate number of Brian DePalma films that get included). Sadly, very few of the Screengrab readers appear to share Leonard’s enthusiasm for Blatty’s directorial debut, and that’s a shame. Based on Blatty’s novel Twinkle, Twinkle, Killer Kane, the film boasts a memorably intense lead performance by Stacy Keach, as well as a killer supporting cast headed by That Guy! extraordinaire Scott Wilson, who gives his all to memorably unhinged dialogue like “the man in the moon tried to fuck my sister!” If you haven’t seen it, Leonard and I both urge you to give it a look. Congrats to the few who got it.

This week’s quote comes from a film that’s about 180 degrees removed from The Ninth Configuration. Here’s the quote:

“Oh, if only you could have recognized what was always yours… could have found what was never lost…”

Name the film. Remember, submit your guesses to famouslastwords@nerve.com no later than 11:59 PM Eastern on Wednesday. Good luck!

That Guy!: Scott Wilson

Leonard Pierce — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 20:30:00 GMT

That Guy! tends to focus on beloved or quirky character actors, but there's a different species of That Guy! who's just as worthy of attention: the so-called "working famous". These are actors and actresses who aren't especially noteworthy for character parts, quirky looks, or distinctive voices; they're normal-looking men and women who seem like they're perfectly capable of filling leading roles, but never quite make it to the upper echelons of stardom and spend long and often rich careers constantly working in Hollywood without ever becoming household names. Scott Wilson, one of our favorite examples of the working famous, seemed like he was destined for superstardom; after taking up acting more or less on whim after hitch-hiking to Los Angeles from his native Georgia, he starred in two groundbreaking films at the age of twenty-five (In the Heat of the Night and In Cold Blood). Somehow, though, despite starting his career with two breakout roles in blockbuster films, never quite crossed the threshhold into movie stardom. Handsome and versatile, with a laconic Southern drawl and a sad demeanor, Wilson could have been a huge star; but he's never allowed the fact that he didn't go on to become a household name to get in the way of working constantly and making himself a consummate professional. Wilson has gone one to become one of the most reliable actors in the business, capable of delivering terrific, emotionally rich performances even in small roles (such as in the 1974 Robert Redford adaptation of The Great Gatsby). Capable of light, breezy comic performances as well as intense, explosive dramatic roles, he's seemingly up for any challenge as long as it gives him a chance to stretch, and he's never shied away from playing against type. While he's mixed in a decent amount of family films and television work to pay the bills, he's been drawn for over forty years to dark, compelling, risky character roles, and his reputation as a reliable pro has attracted a number of well-known younger actors to working with him. His career has undergone a mini-renaissance of late, with some of his most memorable performances coming after he hit age sixty. His next role (in the Philip K. Dick adaptation Radio Free Albemuth) will be as the President of the United States, and he's been married for twenty-five years to a woman named Heavenly, so he must be doing something right in his life.

Where to see Scott Wilson at his best:

IN COLD BLOOD (1967)

Wilson is so polished and natural in the film adaptation of Truman Capote's infamous non-fiction novel about the senseless murder of the Clutter family in Texas, it's hard to believe it was only his second film role ever. Having previously wowed audiences as the murder suspect in the well-received In the Heat of the Night, Wilson is absolutely dynamite as the confused, wheedling killer Dick Hickock. He's paired opposite the veteran actor Robert Blake in one of his most memorable roles, and the two of them take the movie to a higher level almost by themselves. It also helps that the young Wilson bore an almost eerie resemblance to the actual Hickock.

THE NINTH CONFIGURATION (1980)

In one of his most emotionally intense roles, Wilson was cast by William Peter Blatty as the mentally fragile ex-astronaut Captain Billy Cutshaw in this cult favorite. It's a demanding role, not only because of its depths of sorrow and need, but because it requires Wilson to make the transition from broad comic delivery early on in the film to cynical aggression in its middle passages to vulnerable despair late in the movie. It's pretty close to being the performance of a lifetime, and while the movie wasn't a commercial success, he was rewarded by those who did see it with a Golden Globe nomination for Best Supporting Actor.

JUNEBUG (2005)

In the middle of enjoying an exceptionally rewarding late-career comeback over the last decade, Wilson found himself playing a small-town Southern patriarch in this acclaimed indie drama. Although Amy Adams rightly captured the attention of moviegoers and critics in her role as the impossibly hopeful pregnant sister of the male lead, it's Scott Wilson's performance that seems to anchor the film from the moment he steps on the screen. Showing how far he's progressed as an actor, he manages to dominate every scene he's in with his very presence — nearly silent, but holding impossible, hard-earned wisdom on his lined face whenever we see him.

No, But I've Read The Movie: IN COLD BLOOD

Leonard Pierce — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 17:30:00 GMT

Truman Capote's In Cold Blood: A True Account of a Multiple Murder and Its Consequences was born to be a movie. The book was an immediate best-seller on its release in 1966, and plans were afoot to film it almost before it rolled off the presses. Capote's improbable inspiration was a 300-word piece in the New York Times — then, as now, little more than a blurb — about a murder in a remote corner of Kansas; something about it captivated his imagination, and he spent the next seven years crafting, along with his friend and fellow novelist Harper Lee, a masterful true-crime story about the pointless killing of the Clutter family. Just as Capote had no idea at the time how obsessed he would become with the story of the Clutters and the murderous drifters, Dick Hickock and Perry Smith, who took their lives, the public had no idea that the book he wrote about them would launch a new genre of fiction — the 'non-fiction novel' — and stand out as an early example of what would become known as 'the New Journalism'. It would also cast a huge shadow over Capote's life and career; of all his works, none save Breakfast at Tiffany's would so resonate with the public. The public was fascinated with the story, with the novel that Capote wrote about it, with the way Capote wrote the books, and with the movie made from the book — in fact, so fascinated that as recently as a few years ago, not one but two movies were made about his research into the Clutter murders: 2005's Capote and Infamous the following year. The 1967 film was as celebrated as the book was influential; the year of its release, it was nominated for four Academy Awards (score, screenplay adaptation, Richard Brooks' direction, and Connie Hall's striking black & white cinematography) and has remained a widely respected film, if not entirely the classic that it seemed to be when it first hit screens. But how do book and movie compare?

WHAT IT HAD: Huge amounts of verisimilitude. Brooks believed that if his film adapatation was going to succeed, he needed to immerse it in as much detailed authenticity as he possibly could in order to emulate Capote's own research into the Clutter killings, and he accomplished this to a remarkable degree: the film features actual photos of the Clutters, filming was done in the home where the murders took place, and other locations and details were as accurate as possible. Hall's cinematography is still remarkable, and the cool, evenly paced direction balances out the increasing madness of the narrative. The lead performances by Robert Blake as Smith and, especially, Scott Wilson as Hickock, hold up remarkably well.

WHAT IT LACKED: Due to legal clearance issues, Capote could not be portrayed in the film, leading to the awkward insertion of a narrator and the reporter "Jensen". As a device, it doesn't quite work. Some of the supporting performances — played by theater students from the University of Kansas — are much weaker than the leads. Brooks was an accomplished director, but not an especially stylish one, and his shot composition and sense of cinema are sometimes unworthy of Hall's cinematography; he's also not as good a screenwriter as Capote is a writer. But, by the same token, Capote, even in true-crime mode, could be awfully purple, and some of the dialogue he attributes to the townsfolk is undoubtedly his own; Brooks is faithful to the book when he should be original, and the reverse is also true.

DID IT SUCCEED?: The book has held up much better than the movie, but the film shouldn't be written off as a failure. Age has not been kind to it, it's true, and its final scenes — of Smith's bathetic confessional, aided and abetted by accidental 'tears' of rainfall — seem less moving and more hokey every year, even with the creepy verisimilitude of Blake's own troubles with the law. But it's still a beautiful-looking film, gorgeously filmed and exquisitely paced, matching the book's slow but deliberate teasing out of the sordid, squalid details of the crime. Wilson's lead performance is still a winner, and it remains a more compelling document than the two recent making-of movies, although one wishes that Phillip Seymour Hoffman's astounding job as Capote in the film of the same name could be retroactively ported in to replace Paul Stewart's bland gig as the Capote stand-in Jensen. An inessential, but interesting, contemporary companion piece to the timeless 'non-fiction novel'.

The Most Unnecessary Movies of 2007

Phil Nugent — Fri, 18 Jan 2008 21:00:00 GMT

Here at the Screengrab, we've pitched in our two cents on the best films of 2007, and my esteemed colleague John Constantine has weighed in on the year's worst. But to paraphrase the late Roman Hruska, don't mediocre movies deserve a little recognition too? They make up the bulk of each year's crop of movies that get released (and probably also the bulk of those that will barely see the light of day), and every so often you see one whose unexceptionalism really stands out. So now, as the new film year begins to heat up with the arrival of the Sundance Film Festival and the first big commercial releases of 2008, let's take one last minute to salute 2007, by remembering the movies that everyone has already gotten a head start on forgetting.

BROOKLYN RULES: This '80s-set tough-neighborhood movie attracted a little attention upon its release because it was written by Terence Winter, who won acclaim for his work on The Sopranos. Winter must have been worried about being accused of repeating himself if his movie too closely resembled The Sopranos, so he wrote something that, like 98% of the tough-neighborhood movies of the last thirty-odd years, rather resembles Mean Streets, except there's no crazy young Robert De Niro figure, and he is greatly missed. Instead, we have our audience surrogate, the clean-cut young dude who's going to grow up to be a writer and tell this story, played by Freddie Prinze, Jr.; his buddy who ever since he was a kid always wanted to be a gangster, played by Scott Caan; and their harmless goofball pal who was born with a target on his back, played by that asshole who plays the unendurable Turtle on HBO's Entourage. The cast also includes Alec Baldwin as the local hot-tempered mob boss, who demonstrates that his transformation into a comedian hasn't been so complete that seeing him carve someone's ear off at a deli counter isn't exactly on a par with seeing a post-Airplane! Leslie Nielson playing a hooker's mean trick in the 1987 Nuts. The best way to tell this movie apart from a thousand other Mean Streets/GoodFellas knock-offs is that it's the one that goes the farthest to pull its punches; it keeps hinting that terrible things are on the verge of happening to the principle characters, and then nothing really terrible ever does, unless for some reason you think there's something regrettable about finally seeing Turtle get his.

I'M REED FISH: Better you than me, as they say. This strained exercise in indie quirkiness was written by Reed Fish and stars Jay Baruchel (the goofy aspiring boxer in Million Dollar Baby) as Reed Fish, who everyone in his small town loves and counts on to help them make sense of this crazy old world. But Reed has relationship troubles: he's engaged to Kate, played by Alexis Bledel (of Gilmore Girls), but what is he supposed to do about these tender feelings developing between him and Jill, played by Schuyler Fisk (the fetching and talented daughter of Sissy Spacek and There Will Be Blood production designer Jack Fisk)? These are the kind of problems you'd sell your soul to the devil to have. The movie has been failing to involve the audience for quite a long time before it pulls a whammy and reveals that what we're watching is a movie within a movie, and that the actual Reed, Kate, and Jill are in the audience, and experiencing mixed emotions about seeing their intricate love lives captured on film. The "real" Reed, Kate, and Jill are played by actors named, respectively, John Penner, Valerine Azlynn, and Shiri Appleby. It's all very meta. There apparently really is a Reed Fish who wrote the thing; at least, he has his own IMDB and MySpace pages and blog, which is about as real as you can get these days. On the blog, he celebrated the mixed reviews and middling box office of his labor of love by writing, "We didn't do crazy big business or anything, but hey, most movies like ours don't ever even get the chance to get into theaters, so no sweat." Low aspirations can seem an appealing thing compared to full-blown show business megalomania, but you don't really want them to show up quite so nakedly on the screen.

NEXT: Ever since Blade Runner made science-fiction guru Philip K. Dick a recognizable name in the movie industry, Hollywood has practically developed a whole subgenre in big, noisy, cluttered action pictures that are ostensibly "inspired" by Dick's work. In 2006, with his rotoscope-animated A Scanner Darkly, Richard Linklater actually found a way to film one of Dick's late novels so that the black-comic eeriness would slowly, quietly envelop the viewer and the ideas would have room to breathe. Hollywood gets back on track with this big-budget slice of sound and fury, directed by Lee Tamahori, once the respected director of the emotionally searing Once Were Warriors, now a man who tells the actors where to stand so they'll be properly positioned in relation to the exploding fireballs that the CGI guys will fill in later. Nicolas Cage plays the hero, a man who can see what's going to happen a couple of minutes into the future. This is a talent that comes in handy when he hits the casinos, or tries to evade an FBI capture team led by Julianne Moore, who recites her lines as if she were only using as much of her brain as she can spare while silently counting her money and memorizing her lines for the next Todd Haynes picture. (As for Cage, for all the abuse he takes these days, he remains a talented guy who does generally try to stagger his roles so that he does one picture of at least nominal artistic credibility for each sewer-dwelling money gig. As it happens, this movie came out between Ghost Rider and the National Treasure sequel, suggesting that he may have gotten his calendar dates screwed up.) The whole thing ends with a shockeroo twist ending that effectively cancels out everything that's come before it, which is fine by me, and that also could be seen as a threat to launch a sequel, which is not.

EVER SINCE THE WORLD ENDED and BEHIND THE MASK: THE RISE OF VERNON LESLIE: These aren't as grating as some movies I saw this year, and Angela Goethals does give a very winning performance as the heroine of Vernon Leslie. But between the two of them, they do a lot to sum up why the fake documentary, usually presented in the guise of sci-fi fantasy or satirical comedy, has fast become the most half-assed, tedious subgenre popular among low-budget indie filmmakers. You can see the reasons for its appeal: it enables filmmakers to patch a movie together largely from simple shots of actors talking directly to the camera or "interviewing" one another, and it allows them to pass off things like shitty lighting and cruddy visuals as a mark of "authenticity." But when you set out to use this form to do something like depict life in a world that's been nearly depopulated by a killer virus (as in Ever Since the World Ended), you'd better have a script that's cleverly worked out to the nth degree instead of one that makes it seem that you're just aimlessly kicking the idea around the parking lot. Vernon Leslie is more professional — the supporting cast includes Scott Wilson, Zelda Rubinstein, and genre-movie stalwart Robert Englund — but that just makes its disposable feel that much more irritating. (It's also more derivative; it's about a film crew that's making a tag-along documentary about a serial killer, an idea that, fifteen years earlier, served the makers of the Belgian black comedy Man Bites Dog. The big difference between the two films is that Man Bites Dog was supposed to be about a "real" murderer, whereas Vernon Leslie is set in the B-movie universe inhabited by Michael Myers and Freddy Kruger. It's built on a familiarity with the rules of the slasher-movie genre that makes you want to get the filmmakers a library card.) There's been a bit of an explosion in fake documentaries these last few years, and most of them seem to have been made by people who have no grasp of how much care and planning goes into making something like Zelig seem like a real movie. With any luck, Cloverfield will help to blow the wheels off this particular bandwagon.