I should know the names of the books I read. It feels weird to spend hours with a book either in audio, digital, or physical form and not at least know the name of the book you've read and the author. But that's the predicament that I often find myself in these days. Right now the book I don't know the name of is the biography of Francis Ford Coppola (I've since found the name of the book. It is: The Path to Paradise: A Francis Ford Coppola Story, by Sam Wasson). At one time I would say that he was my favorite director, but I'm not sure why other than he directed what may be the movies that I find to be perfect (The Godfathers I and II) and he somehow found a way to fit The Conversation and Apocalypse Now in the mix as well.
Reading and learning about who he is and what drove him as an artist was nothing that I would call revelatory. Read enough biographies and you realize that great people are often characterized by their drive, their desire to do what they are doing. I suppose there's an irony that Coppola achieved his greatest heights working on projects that weren't "for him." His true sensibility, from what I learned, lies more in a film that I've never seen One from the Heart and even then he wasn't able to create in the way that he wanted, but I think that was probably for the best; at least as a fan of his "for hire" works. Even Apocalypse Now wasn't a project that he "wanted" to helm, it just sort of happened (and we're all the better for it).
What does it mean to be better received when you're doing something you're not quite as passionate about? Is this the push and pull between art and commerce? I wonder who he feels knowing that, but I sort of doubt that he cares all that much. At the end of the day, he's has had a career in film for going on 60 years now. The people he collaborated with, mentored, crossed paths with, and inspired reads like an Film History syllabus. George Burns, Jean-Luc Godard, George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, honestly if you name them, and they were alive at the time, that person probably crossed paths with FFC.
I'm struggling with what to write here mostly because I don't want to negatively associate myself with this book. Yes, I haven't had the filmmaking career of FFC but FFS the list of people that have had that good of a career could be counted on one hand and I don't think you're running out of fingers. There's something truly absurd of measuring yourself with a giant of an industry, but I guess that's why they say comparison is the thief of joy.
Anyhow, in the middle of finishing this book and listening to a podcast about the book, I think I've come to a common conclusion about it. It's good, but it sometimes feels too laudatory and I'm saying that about a person I have called the greatest American film director of all time. I've since come to realize that that just can't be true. He's got too many bad films and not enough good films. But I'll never stop believing that he had something not too many artists ever have, especially commercial artists, and that's such a strong belief in a way that things should be done. He also had the juice, balls, and momentum to actually try to implement those beliefs. The failure isn't quite a tragedy, but it may end up being the thing he is most remembered for.
Comments
Post a Comment