Paul Had Vision And The Rest Of The World Wears Bifocals

I miss Paul Newman.

Long before I developed a serious interest in film, Paul Newman was a tangible presence in my childhood, occupying the special place of celebrity-about-town.   In the early ‘90s he had befriended a local philanthropist in the Lake George area and set up a camp for children with life threatening illnesses.  He continued to visit my hometown throughout that decade and into the next, staying on as Honorary Chairman long after our philanthropist had passed away.  Our newspaper would often report special events at the camp, and when I’d asked who Paul Newman was my parents had told me that he was a Very Famous Actor and reportedly a Very Nice Person. 

I miss the summer that I first “discovered” Paul Newman in his iconic on-screen pairing with Robert Redford.  I was seventeen, about to start my first semester of college, terrified of the changes pressing in from all sides and desperately needing an escape.  That escape came in two forms: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and The Sting.  If those films—still my favorites today — taught me anything, it was that solutions could be found in the stickiest situations if you had laughter and friendship.  (And train robbing and con artistry too, of course.)


But I really miss Paul Newman when I’m at Walmart buying groceries for my dorm room.  His perfect features are always watching me as I push my cart up the aisle, the legendary blue eyes looking down from the illustration on his salad dressing bottles.  I’ll admit to favoring Newman’s Own over other brands whenever I have the option.  When I’m home on break my parents will purposely buy the most diverse products available: Paul Newman pizza, Paul Newman lemonade, Paul Newman K-Cups for the Keurig. 

I miss the perfect romantic chemistry between Paul Newman and his real-life wife, the amazing actress Joanne Woodward.  Their ten films together cover a wide range of topics and time periods, but they’re all marked by the pair’s ability to bring out the best in each another.  Personally, I don’t think summer is summer without at least one viewing of The Long, Hot Summer, and my grandmother agrees.  And for sillier fare that’s almost sinfully ‘60s, there’s always A New Kind of Love.  It’s Paris, outrageous costumes, Paul, and Joanne.  Though I’ll admit, I’d watch anything with the two of them, good, bad, or indifferent.



In a way, I miss the silly conversations I had with a former boyfriend about Paul Newman.  He’d seen Paul at a community theater event in Glens Falls several years back, and I was incredibly jealous.  What was it like? I’d gushed.  He’d shrugged.  He was really old.  I’d felt an odd kind of emptiness, because Paul Newman was so much more than just an actor, or the guy from the salad dressing, or old.   And I’d really felt like I missed him, though of course we’d never met.

I might miss Paul Newman, but I don’t think he’ll ever be forgotten.

Paul Newman Movies That Will Make You Miss Him

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958) – While the movie glosses over parts of Tennessee Williams’ original play, Paul is incredible opposite Elizabeth Taylor.  Personally I love the ancient house, the tension, everything: it’s hard to look away.

Cool Hand Luke (1967) – This rough prison drama can be disturbing to digest, but it’s classic Paul in one of his (many) iconic roles as an antihero.  There are some light moments, too, including a hardboiled egg eating contest.  Plus, “What we got here is failure to communicate.”

Slap Shot (1977) – The quintessential crude hockey movie.  I like to pretend I’m above humor this raunchy, yet I laugh anyway.  If you’re a hockey fan like me you’ll cringe at the lack of helmets but you’ll love the antics of the Hanson brothers.  The bottom line: Paul Newman on skates is always a good thing.

The Verdict (1982) – Maybe what’s most endearing about Paul is that he hardly ever portrayed “perfection,” and this film’s story of a lawyer aiming to redeem himself by doing the right thing is universal in scope.  And he plays it brilliantly, of course.

And if you never watch a single Paul Newman movie, do yourself a favor and at least watch the bicycle scene from Butch Cassidy:

Yes, he did his own stunts!
 
Read more about the Double H camp here.
For all of Paul’s movies plus some lovely personal quotes, visit Paul's IMDB page here. 

The Hunt for the Perfect Adaptation

Going to the movies with my sister, Grace, is something I treasure.  Our schedules constantly conflict, yet we both value the kind of quality time that can only be had with overpriced popcorn.  Two summers ago, Grace wanted to see The Help: she’d devoured Kathryn Stockett’s novel and was psyched to see Emma Stone in the role of Skeeter.  I didn’t know much about the story, only that the film itself was drawing rave reviews across the critical spectrum.  I loved it: great performances, powerful message, and just the right mix of humor and drama.  When the lights came on, I turned to see Grace’s reaction.  She was sitting with her arms crossed, neither frowning or smiling.  Grace is never very vocal on things that displease her, and she offered only one critique of the film.

The book was better.

Nothing ruins an adaptation more than when something isn’t right.  It can be anything: a missing scene, an altered bit of backstory, a minor character edited out.  Once that something becomes apparent, everything else feels tarnished.  (It was good, but…) If I read the novel before seeing the film, I press play on the defense.  Adaptations are messy business, and something’s bound to be lost in the fray. 

There are exceptions to the rule, of course: those rare films that capture books just as we imagine them, right down to the passionate staring.  For me, that film is the 1995 version of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.  (From start to finish it’s a six hour watch, so if you’re going to attempt it, plan breaks and bring plenty of snacks.)  The experience is like jumping into the pages of the novel: much of the dialogue is word-for-word, real English estates serve as backdrops for the settings, and the performances are flawless.  It is a universally acknowledged truth that no one can stare passionately quite like Colin Firth’s Mr. Darcy. 



The fine print on all of this is that Pride and Prejudice was originally adapted for television and released as a miniseries.  Any focus group assembled would conclude that modern audiences can’t sit through a six hour long epic, even if we’d all love that perfect adaptation.  Maybe there’s a beauty in the messiness, and we can take some kind of comfort in the fact that no two imaginations are the same.  Or, we can critique books-to-movies like the would-be directors we all are at heart.

The Good, The Bad, and The Puzzling: Adaptations That Stick

To Kill A Mockingbird (1962) – As cliché as it sounds, Harper Lee’s novel is one of my favorite books, and Gregory Peck’s Atticus is deserving of all his awards.  While some of the details were lost in translation, this film is a great example of a timeless novel well adapted to the screen. (Though the scene with the mad dog was bizarrely edited, we’ll forgive them.)  

The Great Gatsby (1974) – I’m not sure what it is, but this film is missing something important.  The plotline is mostly intact, Mia Farrow is a great Daisy, the parties had a generous budget—what is it?  I’m not entirely sure, though I do hate to criticize anything with Robert Redford.  I can’t wait to see Baz Luhrman’s take on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic in theaters this May. 

The English Patient (1996) – I’ll be honest: I watched the movie before I read the book.  That being said, Michael Ondaatje’s novel and Anthony Mingella’s film almost have to be enjoyed as separate entities.  Yet, in both, two themes shine through: loss and the strange beauty of the desert.  Multiple storylines exist in each, and it’s a matter of opinion which threads are the strongest.  (Personally, I’m in love with anything that involves Ralph Fiennes in a romantic lead.)

The Careful Art of Comfort Movies

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I kept hearing it in whispers, until one friend was bold enough to say it to my face:

You like boring movies.

At first, I was mildly irked.  I tend to take things personally, especially insults flung in the general direction of my DVD shelf.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized my friends were correct in their assessment.  I do like boring movies.  Not all the time—car chases and espionage have their place—but after a grueling day of classes or sweater folding work, I like to curl up with blanket and remote, press play, and indulge in run-of-the-mill films with slow, predictable plots. 

There’s probably some kind of psychological explanation for this, I’m sure.  We crave the certainty of what we already know, that kind of thing.  But for me, a true “boring” movie is more than just expected cause and effect.  There’s a level of trust with a boring movie: no one will be grievously injured, catastrophic world events will cease to exist, and the unlikely couple will get together because it’s meant to be.  For me, these movies cease to be boring and turn into something else entirely: they’re comforting.  Comfort movies.  It’s an entire genre ignored by advertisers and critics alike. 

I didn’t develop a real need for comfort movies until my first semester of college.  Over orientation weekend I snuck away from the forced group activities, taking refuge in my dorm with The Electric Horseman, a 1979 romantic comedy starring Jane Fonda and Robert Redford.  (I’m madly in love with Robert Redford, but more on that later.)  Chronicling a former rodeo star’s attempt to release an abused thoroughbred racehorse into the wilds of Utah, the film was a perfect diversion from the fact that my new roommate had no intentions of coexisting.  Everything about the movie was comparatively delightful: Jane Fonda’s attempts to get an interview with the runaway cowboy, the quirky side characters of small-town Nevada, Redford’s  shaggy blond hair.  I’d watch The Electric Horseman repeatedly over the new few months, and it’s still the first movie I reach for after having a long day.



 I’m not sure how The Electric Horseman is remembered by the collective American pop culture consciousness, or if it’s even remembered at all.  The film is gloriously dated, from its contemporary references to Fonda’s impractical high-heeled boots.  The storyline walks the fine line between comic and completely unbelievable, and as its critics pointed out almost all of the action takes place in the beginning of the film.  Personally, I wonder if any of that really matters. 

My Other Go-To Comfort Movies In Times of Need:

Brigadoon (1954) - There’s probably nothing more comforting than watching Gene Kelly tap dance his way through a soundstage posing as Scotland.  If the Technicolor costumes aren’t enough to cheer you up, “Go Home With Bonnie Jean” will be stuck in your head for the next few weeks, and that should do the trick.

Seems Like Old Times (1980) – This light comedy is filled with witty Neil Simon dialogue and the kinds of ridiculous situations only Chevy Chase and Goldie Hawn could find themselves in.  Add in the scenery of the California coast, half a dozen stray dogs, and a forced bank robbery: comfort movie gold.

Heart and Souls (1993) – Before he was Iron Man or Sherlock Holmes, Robert Downey Jr. was Thomas Reilly, a young man with the misfortunate (or pleasure) of having four ghost companions to accompany him through life.  There’s plenty of slapstick and even a couple small musical numbers to keep things interesting.

Lost in Translation (2003) – This slow-moving film follows the ambiguous relationship of two emotionally struggling Americans who find themselves in Tokyo.  The soundtrack alone is the perfect companion for a rainy day, and Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson have the kind of chemistry that can be watched repeatedly.