I am so impressed with Peter Bogdanovich. For the last few weeks I have been reading his book Who The Hell’s In It? Bogdanovich writes with passion, amazing sensitivity, and absolute respect for every person discussed, with genuine regret for those who have passed, and wholly celebrates their achievements. It has been so good to read, even about those stars whom I was not familiar with at all- the way in which he writes makes me wish to be familiar, to access their cinema.
A sample paragraph, which elicit much feeling in me:
Barely a week goes by that I don’t think of River Pheonix, usually wishing I could just call him up and tell him what was happening, or hear his enthusiasm as we planned another movie or he wrote another song. He was an old soul, of course, so he’ll never really be gone, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss him an awful lot in this life: a lovely boy, a loyal friend, a poet at heart, a true artist.
– 2004: 481
And another, because in all my research I have never hear anyone speak of Marilyn in such a respectful manner. Not S. Paige Baty, not even Richard Dyer.
What I saw so briefly in my flimpse of Marilyn at the very peak of her stardom (and the start of my career) – that fervent, still remarkably naive look of all-consuming passion for learning about her craft and art – haunts me still. She is the most touching, strangely innocent – despite all the emphasis on sex – sacrifice to the twentieth-century art of cinematic mythology, with real people as gods and goddesses […] The minute she was gone, we started to miss her and that sense of loss has grown, never to be replaced. In death, of course, she triumphed at last, her spirit being imperishable, and keenly to be felt in the images she left behind to mark her brief visit among us.