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)

By the Stream (Suyoocheon)

 

Writer/director Hong Sang-soo

Kim Min-hee with the director

The director shooting on location

BY THE STREAM (Suyoocheon)     B                                                                                     South Korea  (111 mi)  2024  d: Hong Sang-soo

Are you a commie?                                                                                                                       —Professor Jeong (Cho Yun-hee)

Proving that he’s something of a one-man band, Hong Sang-soo writes, directs, films, edits, produces, and composes the few frames of music for this film, all but confirming that perhaps as much as he is a filmmaker, Hong Sang-soo is also a prolific playwright, creating a cinema that constantly relies on the power of conversation, like variations on similar themes, often linked to each other in near subliminal fashion, becoming theatrical compositions of his own internal expression.  An astonishingly prolific filmmaker, with forty film credits since the late 90’s, his films are largely inaccessible, with no screening or streaming options available to most persons, seemingly existing in their own universe, yet he’s an extremely conscientious artist, working with such regularity, churning out a variety of small-scale chamber dramas that are immediately recognizable, yet despite the similarities, somehow each new film is a revelation, like new chapters of an infinite novel, as he’s exploring territory that no one else working anywhere in the world today is making films about.  Told in a barebones, naturalistic style, ignored by the commercial masses, where you wouldn’t think any of this would matter to an ever-changing world that spits out such grandiose mega-hits designed for the Cineplex, apparently to take our minds off of the cruel realities that exist all around us, yet somehow Hong Sang-soo finds a way to articulate the small details that continue to matter, like opening up cracks in our existence.  For the last four years, Hong has presented two films each year at major film festivals, registering somewhere between comedy and tragedy, exploring themes of infidelity, artistic aspirations, and communication breakdowns, this latest film reunites Hong with actress Kim Min-hee for their fifteenth film together, while this is the eleventh film working with actor Kwon Hae-hyo.  These familiar faces provide a level of comfort in Hong films, like a reunion of old friends, as if we know what to expect, where they provide a sense of reassurance to viewers with their intelligence, curiosity, and emotional restraint.  Hong typically avoids heavy planning and pre-production, scouting locations just a week or so ahead of time, preferring to withhold handing his actors a full script, instead writing the dialogue for each day’s shoot in the morning, allowing his actors only an hour or so before shooting begins, freeing up his actors to make more spontaneous choices in the moment, using an editing process that rarely takes more than a day, where Hong’s directional style relies upon authenticity and observation, accentuated by his use of long single takes, where this film, notable for its autumnal color, may have the shortest end-credits in memory. 

Like all of Hong’s works, the film is stripped of all artifice and is largely character-driven, where the performances are always elevated, as the director is never afraid to examine the small, often overlooked details of daily living, like hidden detours along the way, where he finds a way to delve into the complexities of life through loneliness, isolation, and fleeting connections.  Finding inspiration in nature, the reclusive Jeon-im (Kim Min-hee), an arts professor at Duksung University, a small private women’s college in Seoul, spends her free time on the banks of a local stream of the Han River sketching the changing patterns in her notebook, as she captures the changing colors of a pastoral autumn landscape of a stream running toward a bridge, and then weaves those patterns into tapestries on her loom later, creating larger works of art.  When she’s not creating her own textile art, she’s teaching a small group of performance art students, where the sleepy rhythms of this university campus are rocked by the startling revelations of a budding sex scandal, as a male student director from another university has been accused of an abuse of power by sleeping with three of the seven actors (who all dropped out simultaneously) just ten days before a play is scheduled to be performed at the university’s annual skit contest, leaving them in emergency mode trying to find a replacement director.  Desperate to find a solution, Jeon-im turns to her Uncle Chu Si-eon (Kwon Hae-hyo) to step in, a bookstore owner leading a quiet yet comfortable life by the sea, a man she hasn’t spoken to in ten years, but he was also a widely celebrated stage actor and theater director, hoping he can write a new script and finish directing the project.  Much to her surprise, he accepts the challenge, bringing him into the fold, where he arrives with ideas already in mind, hoping to provide the last-minute saving grace.  Jeon-im’s boss, Professor Jeong (Cho Yun-hee), has been extremely supportive and is largely responsible for securing her position at the university, yet she’s also intrigued by the presence of Chu, as she followed his career on television and in the theater, and has always wondered what happened to him, as he simply disappeared from having any public presence.  As it turns out, Chu’s bookstore is largely an excuse for him to appear busy when, in reality, there are very few customers who frequent the store, so the idea of resuscitating his creative juices is like a needed jolt of adrenaline.  The academic setting is a return to the director’s early films, where he was such a subtle and distinctly original force in the industry, making quiet, low-budget cinema, often featuring the inappropriate actions of brooding, self-absorbed men who tend to drown their sorrows in alcohol, social awkwardness, and meaningless sex, shining a light on human fallibility and the everyday idiosyncrasies of personal relationships.      

While there’s plenty of eating and drinking, always the centerpiece of Hong’s dramas, as these interactions drive the central questions of the film, where pauses for smoking cigarettes overlooking a picturesque stream offer Zen moments of melancholic reflection, perhaps the biggest surprise is Jeong’s infatuation and sudden interest in Chu, which is a startling development, especially as it leads to a romantic affair, with Jeon-im utterly dismayed at watching it blossom before her eyes, discovering her uncle is not the man she believed him to be.  Autobiographical elements are interspersed throughout, with Chu, a stand-in for the director, acknowledging at one point that he’s no longer with his wife of many years, that she finally agreed to a divorce after a decade of separation (Hong’s own wife refuses to divorce him so that he could marry Kim, where the scandalous public revelation of their affair all but killed Kim’s career outside of Hong’s work), and that he hasn’t spoken to his own sister (Jeon-im’s mother) since she accused him of being a “commie,” so this new romance is like a fresh start in life, but it leaves Jeon-im more than a little perplexed at finding herself in such a precarious position, relying upon her uncle not to spoil the good thing she has going at this university.  Making matters worse, she runs into the guy she fired (Ha Seong-guk), only to learn he hasn’t left the university grounds and shows no remorse for his actions, believing he did nothing wrong, but his presence alone is like a stalker in their midst, adding a creepy element that lies under the surface at an otherwise safe haven.  Where it all leads is to an understated dramatic skit that includes the women eating the last of their dwindling ramen supply, vowing to conserve their goods in a nod to socialism, overshadowed by a blaring industrial roar, which is poorly received while also creating some controversy, where this snippet of a live performance is not like anything in Hong’s films that we’ve seen before.  Celebrating with his cast afterwards in a restaurant, apparently fascinated by this youth generation, Chu asks “What kind of person do you want to be?,” turning into a somewhat improvised poetry session performed by the students speaking their inner thoughts, voicing their hopes and fears about the future, which are tinged in sadness, as they’re not particularly optimistic, while remaining very ambiguous about what the skit is actually about, yet the four women (Kang So-yi, Park Han-bit-na-ra, Oh Yoon-soo, and Park Mi-so) are like a Greek chorus standing in unison against an established male patriarchy, as the disgraced director’s actions mirror an incident in Chu’s youth where his shameful treatment of a female student at this same school still haunts him to this day.  We also learn that Chu made some rude comments about a famous actor he worked with that got him blacklisted from the business, and that 40 years ago he staged a radical theater piece at this same university that caused a scandal, perhaps an allusion to Kwon’s offscreen leftist activism ([Feature] An actor turned activist, later in life).  The unspoken theme is that art requires taking risks, potentially alienating one’s audience, as Hong is an artist who has faced his own public condemnation for his extramarital affair with Kim, and is viewed as a fiercely independent, minimalist artist standing outside traditional avenues, where the haiku-like simplicity of his work is something many critics just don’t get.