Who Am I This Time? - made for TV

 

Director Jonathan Demme

writer Kurt Vonnegut

WHO AM I THIS TIME? – made for TV                 A+                                                                 aka:  American Playhouse Theater TV                                                                                            USA  (53 mi)  1982  d: Jonathan Demme

I have become an enthusiast for the printed word again.  I have to do that, I now understand, because I want to be a character in all my works.  I can do that in print.  In a movie, somehow, the author always vanishes.  Everything of mine which has been filmed so far has been one character short, and that character is me.                                                                                      —Kurt Vonnegut on adapting his stories to film, from the preface of Between Time & Timbuktu, 1972

Among the very best and most intelligent made-for-TV adaptations from American Playhouse, an anthology of original dramatic films that premiered on PBS in 1982 and continued until 1994, where this film has been hidden in the weeds literally for decades.  It features phenomenal early performances from Susan Sarandon and Christopher Walken, which are so amazingly memorable that once you’ve seen them together, you’ll simply never forget them, which in addition to being a master class on acting is also an impossibly sweet love story.  Susan Sarandon was nominated for a Best Actress Academy Award in Louis Malle’s Atlantic City (1980), while Christopher Walken won a Best Supporting Actor Oscar in Michael Cimino’s THE DEER HUNTER (1978).  Both are utterly spectacular.  The source material is a 15-page short story by Kurt Vonnegut, Who am I this time?, originally published in the Saturday Evening Post in 1961, initially entitled My Name is Everyone, and was later included in a 1968 book of short stories called Welcome to the Monkey House, with a screenplay written by Morton Neal Miller, who doubled as a producer, a Chicago area businessman who shifted his career focus midlife while also owning a construction firm that specialized in renovating old Victorian buildings.  This is a reminder of the heights that literary adaptations can aspire to and actually achieve, and while it’s less than an hour in length, this remains among the top-tiered films you could ever hope to see.  Yes, it’s that good.  Unfortunately, it hasn’t been restored, as there’s no Blu Ray or high-res version.  After making MELVIN AND HOWARD (1980), receiving plenty of awards and critical acclaim, Jonathan Demme became a Hollywood director of note, where his work offers light and hope, created out of a deeply felt affection for people, insisting on their potential, embracing all possibilities.  This script was only handed to him ten days before shooting began, featuring the kinds of characters not usually featured much less expected to carry a film.  Essentially a story about people who inexplicably change their identity in order to flourish, it is set in small town America, which could literally be anywhere, as small towns are uniquely distinctive, filled with old world charm, but in this case it is a fictionalized North Crawford.  George Johnson (Robert Ridgely) makes a trip to the local telephone company to complain about being billed for a call to Honolulu that he never made, going so far as to suggest that no one in North Crawford has ever made a call to Honolulu.  The friendly woman behind the desk is someone he had never seen before, Helene Shaw (Susan Sarandon), who’s in charge of installing a new automatic billing system, going from town to town for the past two years, spending eight weeks in a new and different location teaching local girls how to run the new machine.  And while she apologizes for the mix-up, George is taken by her beauty and sweetness, but also her lack of natural expressiveness, asking very politely if she’d like to try out for a community theater group, as he’ll be directing an upcoming production of the Tennessee Williams play A Streetcar Named Desire.  Embarrassed initially, having never given anything like that a second thought, not staying in any one town long enough to establish roots, always remaining a stranger, yet her anonymity, in this case, is an attribute, as she’s a new and fresh face that local audiences have never seen before.

George then wanders over to the local hardware store, seeking out a clerk working in the back, Harry Nash (Christopher Walken in what remains his finest undiscovered role), a painfully shy young man who blends in seamlessly to the background, almost as if he’s not really there, who may as well be invisible in his Harold Lloyd glasses, hat, and bow-tie, yet he is the one constant in the community theater productions, as he always plays the lead role, captivating audiences in every performance, as he has a bombastic flair for the dramatics.  Yet as soon as the final curtain is pulled he disappears, retreating back into that shell of himself, hiding behind those glasses, as socially inept and uneasy with others as he could possibly be.  George treads very cautiously, asking if he would consider the lead role in the next play, which makes Harry extremely nervous, clearly agitated already, finally asking, “Who am I this time?”  Perhaps, unsurprisingly, Ms. Shaw wanders into the tryouts, sheepishly looking around at what looks like a local library, where George, a mild-mannered, aluminum siding salesman, warmly welcomes her, introducing her to Doris Sawyer (Dorothy Patterson), the woman who usually directs the plays, as they ask her to read a few lines of Stella, yet no matter how much they encourage her, she exhibits no emotion whatsoever, drawing on no personal experience, feeling as empty and alienated from the role as is humanly possible, that is, until Harry walks in, already inhabiting the persona of Stanley Kowalski, stripping down to his undershirt, demanding to know when he can audition, aggressively barking out words, as the lines literally explode out of his mouth, where the assault to the senses takes Ms. Shaw by surprise, completely taken aback by his unorthodox approach, taking her breath away, yet the fear he elicits quite naturally turns her into a stuttering and trembling Stella.  When the two of them read one of the play’s fight scenes together, the transformation is like night and day, where it’s suddenly fireworks between them, as she is absolutely transported and thoroughly confounded, touching passions and emotions inside herself she had never felt or even imagined.  Harry is actually a shy, clumsy introvert, but as Stanley he is on fire.  Helene falls hard for him, suddenly feeling weak in the knees, not just because of who he is but because of who she becomes with him.  Yet as soon as they’re done, he retreats back to that nebbish hardware clerk, shunning all contact with people, and literally disappearing before their eyes.  Helene, to say the least, is left stunned.  George and Doris look at each other with eyes of incredulous wonder, as they have themselves a show!  Knowing how much Vonnegut prizes individuality, he has a field day with the blank slates of these two underdeveloped yet highly likeable lead characters, literally paying homage to what theater can do, both embodying their respective roles, neither one with any social life to speak of, never feeling worthy enough on their own.  As described by Helene, “When I get to know somebody nice in real life, I feel like I’m in some kind of bottle, as though I can’t touch that person, no matter how hard I try.”

As the rehearsals progress, it’s clear Helene has grown quite fond of Harry, where he hilariously throws chairs, kicks over tables, while exuding that brute animal magnetism which has charmed its way into her heart, trying to share a picnic basket with him during a break, where it’s clear she’s brought too much, cutting cucumbers in the shape of a heart, so he only has a nibble, yet the queasy nature of just how uncomfortable this makes him is endearing, where it’s remarkable just how dramatically potent they are, where the spaces between the lines say everything, with Demme, who directs with a humanist sensibility, finding just the right balance of comic subtlety in their peculiarly developing relationship which seems founded on just how awkwardly ill at ease they are with themselves, taking comfort that there’s someone else out there to help them bear the load.  But as floundering as they are offstage, their onstage performances are electrifying, becoming a huge success.  Helene is so enthralled with what’s happening between them that she’s informed the telephone company not to move her anymore, as she’s finally staying put.  On opening night, the play is a huge success, as Helene receives a dozen red roses from her coworkers, but finds Harry has disappeared when she turns to give him one, wondering what she’d done to upset him so.  The secret, she discovers, is continuing to read plays together in order to keep Harry socially engaged with her, concluding, “This week I’ve been pursued by Marc Antony, and romanced by Henry Higgins, loved by Henry the Fifth, and I was just proposed to by Ernest Worthing.  Now, don’t you think I’m just about the luckiest girl in town?”  The early 60’s period detail is on point, from women’s hairstyles to storefront window displays, where small town life exudes such an expressive charm, beautifully shot by Paul Von Brack at Oakton School in Evanston and Hinckley, Illinois, never feeling condescending, though it’s given a low-budget TV aesthetic.  A story of two shy people without much personality who come alive onstage is a constant delight, as they go on adventures together in successive roles, where the true value of their performances is just how much fun they’re having, where it’s a bit like John Madden’s SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE (1998), where the superbly written dialogue becomes, in essence, who they are at that given moment, suddenly supercharged with emotions, always inhabiting the characters’ personas for the full run of the play, changing back to their normal selves afterwards.  It’s a miraculous search for identity that just glows with warmth and tenderness as they move from play to play, taking us on a literary adventure of our lifetimes, as the lines between their characters and real life blur, with viewers profoundly changed by the experience, where falling in love was never like this, but it feels so naturally authentic and genuine, with no real false notes to speak of, where this offbeat love story is a blissful hour of entertainment that puts many longer programs to shame, becoming a tour de force about theater, acting, and personality, which miraculously makes you appreciate the wonder of being alive.      

Who Am I This Time? | FULL MOVIE | Christopher Walken ... YouTube (56:02)

Stop Making Sense

 

Jonathan Demme on camera near the end of the film

Director Jonathan Demme and David Byrne

Talking Heads 1977

Talking Heads 1984

 

 

 

 

 

 

STOP MAKING SENSE       A                                                                                                USA  (88 mi)  1984  d: Jonathan Demme

STOP MAKING SENSE creates an energetic synthesis of music and imagery, filled with the rhythmic, off-kilter, and poetic interpretations of Talking Heads who seemed a little out of the mainstream, capturing what feels like a spontaneous artistic vision that still stands alone as a concert film, though it’s impossible not to think of Prince’s Sign 'o' the Times (1987), which is funkier and more soulful, featuring a master showman.  Eliminating interviews, crowd shots, historians and other experts, this is all about the art of the performance, literally transporting viewers to a place they never knew existed, led by lead singer David Byrne’s unbridled energy and quirky mannerisms, but backed up by some extraordinary musicians, this comes across as otherworldly, yet it’s all about capturing the exhilaration of a live performance, where cinematographer Jordan Cronenweth, already infamous for the futuristic look of Blade Runner (1982), used six mounted cameras, one handheld, and one Steadicam.  Made on money that was raised by the group itself, the singular defining quality of the film is that aesthetic considerations superseded marketing decisions, taking viewers on a journey with a soulful mixture of retro pop and rock ’n’ roll, with a little bit of R&B thrown in, turning songs into individual set pieces, each with its own distinct choreography and expressionist lighting, praised for its tight editing and pacing, at times feeling bizarre, yet wildly theatrical and unpretentious, studied in film schools as an example of innovative documentary filmmaking, and added to the Complete National Film Registry Listing in 2021.  The rock ‘n’ roll documentary first developed recognition with the groundbreaking work of D.A. Pennebaker’s DON’T LOOK BACK (1967) and MONTEREY POP (1968) with a makeshift mix of concert footage, cinéma vérité backstage chatter, and scattered glimpses in the crowd of enraptured fans, reaching further heights with Michael Wadleigh’s euphoric counterculture testament to peace and love in WOODSTOCK (1970), with its adulating fans writhing in ecstasy, immersing viewers in the historical era in which these musical festivals took place, followed by the apocalyptic freefall into nightmare and disillusionment from the Maysles’ Gimme Shelter (1970), when a music documentary about a rock band at the height of their power turns into a tragic stabbing death of a young black man at the hands of a Hell’s Angel during an outdoor Rolling Stones performance at Altamont, merging concert footage with real-life horror, all but spelling the end of an era.  Throughout the next decade rock documentaries were largely self-inflated vanity projects of little interest to anyone except those already worshipping at the altar of a few notable bands, with Prince doing something of an iconic revival appearing as a movie character based on his own life in Albert Magnoli’s PURPLE RAIN (1984), which is more of a music film than a documentary, following in the footsteps of Adrian Lyne’s FLASHDANCE (1983) and Herbert Ross’ FOOTLOOSE (1984), where infectious music blares with its identification with youth.  By this time MTV was officially launched on a cable TV channel devoted entirely to music, offering neverending clips of performers in artfully staged yet commercially driven music videos, which saturated the airwaves, with the novelty quickly wearing off, each one looking very much like the next, almost exclusively catering to popular tastes, devoting much of their attention to Michael Jackson, Madonna, Bruce Springsteen, Prince, U2, the Police, and R.E.M. with a few glam rock or heavy metal bands thrown in, and a sprinkling of others.  The time was ripe for something new.   

Enter the minimalist concept of Jonathan Demme, still a relative unknown, who defers to the modernist theatricality and artistic persona of Scottish-born lead singer David Byrne, just in his early 30’s, offering a best-seat-in-the-house vantage point, creating an immersive experience for viewers, which is key, stripping down the production to the bare essentials, accentuating stage design, lighting, constant movement, and layers of sound, essentially capturing the sheer joy of the band’s dazzling December 1983 stage show shot over four nights from Hollywood’s Pantages Theater in Los Angeles to create the feeling of a continuous performance, avoiding the jump-cut style of editing associated with music videos.  While the original group, three of whom met at the Rhode Island School of Design, consists of guitarist, songwriter, and vocalist David Byrne, drummer Chris Franz, guitarist and keyboardist Jerry Harrison (who was an architecture student at Harvard), and on bass, Tina Weymouth (married to the drummer), there are some notable all-black additions, marked by the band’s growing fascination with West African and black American funk rhythms, adding guitarist Alex Weir from the Brothers Johnson, keyboardist Bernie Worrell from George Clinton’s Parliament-Funkadelic, percussionist Steve Scales, and dancers and backup vocalists extraordinaire Lynn Mabry, also from P-Funk, and Ednah Holt, adding plenty of 70’s soulful funk to what was viewed as a white 80’s punk band who got their start opening for the Ramones doing mid-70’s CBGB shows, a dive bar in the Bowery that served as the breeding ground of punk.  Byrne also collaborated with dancer and choreographer Twyla Tharp by writing the music for her 1981 Broadway show The Catherine Wheel, a mix of ballet and modern dance, while also making a number of music videos with choreographer Toni Basil, which may have played a part in his developing stage persona.  The film begins with a close-up on Byrne’s white shoes as he approaches an empty stage alone in his gray boxy suit, introducing himself with the brief remark, “Hi, I got a tape I want to play,” as he places a boombox on the floor before launching into Psycho Killer, Talking Heads - Psycho Killer (Stop Making Sense 84) [4K] YouTube (5:22).  While the programmed drum beats are coming from a control booth, Byrne’s quick, staccato-like rhythmic guitar offers a piercing counterbalance to the shock lyrics delving into a stream-of-consciousness mindset of a deranged killer, “I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax,” who seems to get some strange satisfaction by mixing in a few esoteric French lyrics into the chorus, but what stands out is the upbeat new wave arrangement of such a downbeat subject.  It’s a bizarre experience, as the lead singer is doing things that are profoundly odd, but strangely inventive, very serious and intent on what he’s doing.  The sound is astonishingly clear, attributed to the pioneering use of 24-track digital recording for the first time in movie history, while shots of people, doors, ladders, stairs, and unused equipment can be seen in the wings of the stage as he performs a wildly ebullient version of the song, bringing an artsy cool to the rendition, which certainly gets us in the mood for what follows.  The New York Times magazine did a cover story on Byrne in 1985 proclaiming him the “thinking man’s rock star” (THE CREATIVE MIND; DAVID BYRNE: THINKING MAN'S ...), while he was also featured on the cover of Time magazine, which called Byrne “rock’s renaissance man” (Rock's Renaissance Man - TIME), so superlatives are in order just from the very first song. 

Featuring unbounded energy and musical excellence, the film places an emphasis on the artist’s identity even over the songs themselves, led by frontman David Byrne, who is almost always the center of attention, measured but eccentric, paving the way for American new wave music with his own idiosyncratic style, doing a kind of jerky, back-and-forth dance to the rich mesh of African percussion, guitars, basslines, and synthesizers.  Scorsese’s The Last Waltz (1978) celebrates the legacy of the band and their accomplishments while providing background interview footage to establish an emotional connection.  None of that exists here, with nothing to break the musical momentum, almost never leaving the stage and the performers themselves, with none of those angled-up shots from below the stage that form the backbone of other concert documentaries, no swooping overhead shots, or a reliance upon fixed positions, instead transporting viewers to the stage, with the camera engaging with the band itself, always staying at eye level with its subjects, where the beauty of this film is that such a dazzling performance can actually be experienced at home, or in an IMAX theater, giving viewers an option, where there’s no definitive way to perceive what it’s about, as each viewer can be moved in their own way by the power of the music and the sheer artistry involved, putting on the best show possible, where you never know what’s coming next.  One thing that immediately stands out is that you don’t need a psychedelic light show or artificial add-ons to create an atmosphere, instead there is a simplicity to the progression of the show, as the music’s complexity builds from number to number, as one by one musicians are added to the stage, while a clearly visible yet silent road crew dressed in black sets up equipment in plain sight of viewers, yet existing in the shadows, bringing on a platform for the drums, amplifiers, and two sets of keyboards, stretching all the way to the edge of the stage, while also taking guitars from the hands of performers, exchanging new ones for the next song.  With matching costumes and choreography, no one is ever seen drinking water or any other beverage, as there are simply no distractions, yet the level of energy is consistently ramped up, with Byrne acting out each song as a distinct mini-drama, looking a bit like Norman Bates from Psycho (1960), where his lanky, free-floating body movements defy the laws of gravity, exhibiting a range of nervous expression that is thoroughly captivating.  As bassist Tina Weymouth arrives for the calm after the storm, adding a softening presence from the jarring sounds that we just heard, the next song is a duet, TALKING HEADS Heaven (Live 1983) [HQ] YouTube (3:50), adding a layered vocal harmony, feeling like an evocative lullaby, yet the female voice is heard but not seen, as it turns out to be Lynn Mabry mysteriously singing offstage.  It’s an unusual choice not to visibly feature her, as her perfectly harmonious voice is so significant, yet it’s part of the overall cinematic symmetry of geometric progression adding new members one by one, where the change is gradual but obvious, adding the drums, then the guitar, until finally adding the keyboard with the band fully functioning with Slippery People Live in Stereo David Byrne & Talking Heads ... YouTube (4:40), and the result is electrifying, just a wall of sound, with Byrne dancing with the backup singers, who add a fresh jolt of kinetic energy to the group, where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.  By the time we get to Talking Heads - Burning Down The House (Stop Making Sense 84) [4K] YouTube (4:02), the stage is filled with unbridled joy, culminating in a thunderous full-band arrangement of their biggest hit, with Byrne literally going into a trance from the furiously hypnotic beat before finally sprinting in place with Alex Weir.   

While there are a multitude of close-ups, or groups of interactions together, wide shots are scattered throughout the film, using as few cameras as possible to keep them from appearing in the frame, where the use of dissolves and stark lighting choices add a cinematic intensity, while offering the feel of cameras floating around the stage.  Few other concert films have exhibited flawless control over its music and visuals to create such an intimate experience as this one does, where according to Demme, “This isn’t a concert film, it’s a performance film,” but the intensity reaches new heights once all band members are onstage together, where you’d think it’s impossible to sustain the amped-up energy level, yet the film segways into a true showstopper, Life During Wartime Live by Talking Heads in Stop ... - YouTube (5:48), reminding us “This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco, this ain’t no fooling around,” featuring more running in place, this time including the entire frontline, all in synch with the thundering rhythm, with Byrne flapping his arms, as if attempting to take flight, before weaving his body in strange contortions, somehow resembling a bobble head, even writhing on the floor, where by this time they are really cutting it loose, revving up the crowd, where it’s a party of epic proportions before Byrne starts running around the stage, literally doing laps as the stomping music reminds us once again just how to have fun.  There are drastic lighting changes designed by Byrne, turning into a red backdrop, as if for the coming apocalypse in Talking Heads - Swamp (Stop Making Sense) YouTube (4:33), with a very nerdy-looking Byrne subversively poking fun at the nation state (it was the Reagan years, an era when anything weird was labeled “gay”), suggesting a tenuous balance in the works with this funky tune.  Byrne introduces a lampshade in Talking Heads - This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody) [Stop Making Sense, 1984] YouTube (5:31), with bookshelves in the back, as if sitting in the study surrounded by the comforts of home, before close-up images of various body parts are projected onto a screen behind them, while also creating distorted shadows from the lamp.  Despite the soothing calm, there is a funky bassline that prevails throughout in a thumping rhythm before Byrne does a marvelous little dance with the lamp, literally bringing viewers into the light, apparently lifted from Fred Astaire in ROYAL WEDDING (1951), though not nearly so stylish, Dancing With A Hat Rack 1951 (Fred Astaire) - YouTube (4:13), but eloquent just the same.  Once again we’re reeled into the infectious sounds of another signature work, mostly filmed in a single shot until he deftly pulls others into the picture, Talking Heads - Once In A Lifetime (Stop Making Sense 84) [4k] YouTube (5:34), listed at #28 on the 2021 Rolling Stone list of 500 Greatest Songs of All Time, with that celestial opening, where the bass is repetitive throughout, never changing, manipulating the space between darkness and light through evangelic phrases, featuring iconic lyrics that will forever be associated with this particular band, co-written by Brian Eno, (And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife, and you may ask yourself, ‘Well, how did I get here?’), sung by a perpetually confused Byrne in glasses as the personification of a working stiff’s midlife crisis, described by The Guardian as the most perfect song of all time (David Bridie: Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads is ...).  It’s a pained yet intoxicating vision of middle class malaise, told from the point of view of a poor schmuck living in the suburbs, one of millions of people who felt disconnected from their materially comfortable lives, filled with spiraling debt and disenchantment, drowning under the weight of stress and uncertainty, suddenly waking to an existential nightmare, where this feeling of alienation stretches across time, “same as it ever was.” 

Certainly part of Demme’s masterful direction is revealing the interactions between various performers, a collective of individual artists in sync with each other, or even with a lamp, where there is sheer wonderment, as viewers are treated to the shock of surprise from what happens next, as seemingly ordinary camera shots turn into creative angles that only enhance the intensity of the performance overall, with visual consultant Sandy McLeod communicating the best shots to use via headphones during the shooting.  There are subtle shifts in the setting to keep viewers offguard, but only slightly, as Byrne brings out the big, oversized suit in Talking Heads - Girlfriend Is Better (Stop Making Sense 84) [4k] YouTube (5:08), with his tiny head sticking out, which has a comical effect, as if suddenly immersed in a cartoon.  While he is the frontman, attracting all the attention, what’s irrefutable is that every member contributes to the whole, each one recognizable from the other, with Byrne seemingly bringing out their best with his wiggly arms, spontaneously interacting with the lighting and camera guys who help out with the chorus of “Stop Making Sense.” while plenty of rap and funk makes their way into this song.  Audiences are inevitably comparing studio versions against concert performances, where this film makes the case that the concert footage is better in every respect.  Rarely has a live performance surpassed the studio version of this many songs, as the added visuals literally revitalize every moment with newfound discoveries which simply weren’t there before.  A perfect example is the cover version of Al Green’s Take Me to the River, the only cover the band recorded over its entire career, a song that merges gospel with more earthly interests, played as slow as possible before adding their own special twists, Talking Heads - Take Me To The River-1984 [HD] YouTube (8:08), flooded in a green and blue light, becoming a baptismal by fire, a call and response hymn, where Byrne has stripped off the big suit jacket but still has on the puffy pants, looking even weirder when he puts on the red cap.  Nonetheless, this song has a hypnotic quality to it, where the baseline and backup vocals really carry the song, with a minimalist yet glorious synthesizer adding a scorching effect.  The crowd isn’t even shown until the last song of the show, Crosseyed and Painless (HD) - Talking Heads Live from Stop Making Sense YouTube (7:14), a rhythmic rant of abstract ideas with plenty of percussion and a Frank Zappa-like jazz-infused melodic theme.  Unfortunately, in a sign of the ephemeral nature of things, though the Talking Heads never officially announced a breakup, by 1989 the group had essentially split.  The inevitable conclusion to draw is that this is not just a concert film, but an experience, where even decades later there has never been anything like this.  A fusing of the minds of both Demme and Byrne, both venerated artists in their own right, but brought together to achieve a common goal, the artistic aesthetic is off the charts.  Understanding that the stage is more than something to perform on, what stands out is the innovative storytelling approach and meticulous attention to detail, where the proof is in the small decisions that were collectively made to produce such an enthralling, one-of-a-kind experience that has become a time capsule for concert films, removing all distance between viewer and performer, effortlessly inspiring audience interaction, evoking a spirit of community and celebration, while transcending all cultural boundaries.