ADAPTING SPIKE AND CHARLIE by Jamie Berger
(Recently, I interviewed Spike Jonze and Charlie Kaufman of "Being
John Malkovich" fame for 7x7 Magazine [A San Francisco-focused
glossy] and found myself writing much more than my allotted couple-
hundred-word preview of their new film, "Adaptation."
Directly below is the item as it appears in the magazine, after
which you'll find my own super-extended bonus track musings on
Spike, Charlie, "Adaptation," the nature of existence as an artist
in the 21st Century, etcetera, etcetera. Below that, are highlights of the interview.
As always, feel free to pass this on, but please keep my name and email address attached.
Thanks.
- Jamie Berger
jamieb9@ix.netcom.com)
* * *
ADAPTING SPIKE AND CHARLIE
Jamie Berger
Page 36, 7x7 Magazine, December 2002:
"Adaptation" is the second collaborative effort from
wunderkind director Spike Jonze and screenwriter Charlie Kaufman
(who gave us 1999's scattershot, hilarious, "Being John Malkovich."
Based on a nonfiction book, "The Orchid Thief," by New Yorker writer
Susan Orlean about eccentric horticulturist John Laroche, the
film also addresses Kaufman's struggle with the material. In his
desperation, the screenwriter wrote himself into the script,
intertwining the tales of Orlean, Laroche, and his own neurotic,
seemingly hopeless persona. As Kaufman (and his fictional, doltish
twin brother Donald), Nicolas Cage offers up his best performance
since "Leaving Las Vegas"; Meryl Streep absolutely glows as the sad-
souled (and highly fictionalized) Orlean; and Chris Cooper crackles
with palpable energy as Laroche. Confounding expectations at every
turn (like in the film's terrifically self-contradictory final
act), "Adaptation" is a wild, thought-provoking ride.
* * *
One Friday in late-October, my editor at 7x7 calls, tells me
she's got something fun for me if I've got time: a screening of a new
film and interview with Spike Jonze and Charlie Kaufman. I yawn
loudly and tell my editor that, sure, I think I can squeeze it in.
I hang up the phone and jump up and down shouting "Yessss!"
and pumping my fist for a moment before rushing to my computer for
some 411 on mssrs. Jonze and Kaufman and their new
film, "Adaptation." Since I started at 7x7, this is my first chance
for me to A.) interview someone that really interests me and B.)
write about something firsthand rather than from phone interviews
and press releases.
I learn from an obsessive fan website
(beingcharliekaufman.tripod.com) that Kaufman hates the press, and
especially abhors having his picture taken. Great. I find out that
Spike's about five years younger than me (33) and Charlie's six
older (44), that Spike got his start working with the Beastie Boys
and with skater-turned-artist Mark Gonzalez, and that he's married
to Sophia Coppola. I start working the phone. A friend who's just
two degrees of kevinbacon from Spike tells me he's a good ping-pong
player and that he sometimes takes on zany, antagonistic personae
when dealing with the press. And now it dawns on me, I am
that "press" - not the fellow artist, not even a fan, I am
the press.
I'm invited to attend either a private screening of the film on
Tuesday or a larger word-of-mouth public screening on Thursday, and
then participate in a round table interview with Spike and Charlie
on Friday. By Tuesday morning, after reading half of "The Orchid
Thief" and stuffing my brain with Spike and Charlie trivia and re-
watching "Malkovich," I'm all atwitter. The whole thing
is starting to feel like a blind date; I mean, I've asked my friends
about Spike and Charlie, I've searched them on Google, you know -
the usual pre-first-meeting routine, and, baby, I like what I see.
I don't really begin to worry until I catch myself trying on outfits
and wondering whether I should get a haircut before Friday.
* * *
On Tuesday morning, I arrive at a snazzy screening room in downtown
San Francisco. The lobby's empty, so I wander into the dark
theater to find that, but for one other writer and two women who
work for the publicist, I'm here alone - Spike and Charlie are
screening their new movie for ME. The room is like one of those
small-screen rooms at an art house theater, only way more mod and
cushy. I disappear into a huge, soft seat, open my notebook and
settle in.
"Adaptation" starts with voiceover: Nicolas Cage as slouched,
anxious Charlie Kaufman sits hunched and brooding over a typewriter,
speaks in thoughtful voiceover: "To begin." Long pause. "I don't
have an original thought in my head." He continues, struggling to
put those tortured first words on a blank page, then drifts: "Coffee
would help me think . . . coffee and a muffin." He pushes on, the
creative mind at work, "Banana nut is a good muffin."
And, just like that, I'm hooked. I'm "Charlie" all over, only
without all that bothersome success of the real Charlie K. The
neuroses, the muffin, the blank page: all me me me. The film then
begins its often frenetic jumps back and forth between Charlie and
twin brother Donald's L.A. and Orlean's New York and
LaRoche's Florida swamp with millions of stops in between until the
three worlds inevitably collide. As the film progresses, I notice a
few problems with "Adaptaion" - inconsistencies, occasional odd
choices - but the film's so chock-full of amazing stuff (including
one incredible scene involving Meryl Streep, Chris Cooper, and a dial
tone) that when it's over I sit stunned. I leave the screening
in a thrall and emerge, dazed, into the shocking midday sunlight.
Perhaps I'm unduly influenced by the fact that I'm actually
being wooed by a publicist after years of begging for publicity as a
writer/performer. Perhaps, no definitely, I'm being too much a
fan, not enough a journalist. But fuck it: the movie is funny, it's
clever, it's moving, it's good art *and* a good flick,
and how often does that happen these days? They had me at "I don't
have an original thought in my head."
Two days later, there'll be that public screening in Berkeley and
a Q&A with Charlie and Spike afterwards. There's no reason for me
to go; I've already seen the film and I'll be interviewing them
on Friday. And I don't have time, anyway.
* * *
Thursday evening arrives and, sporting a spanky new haircut, I get
caught in heavy rush-hour traffic heading over to Berkeley and
barely make it to the grand, old California Theater before the
screening is scheduled to start. Word of mouth spreads fast in a
college town, and the cavernous venue is sold out. A long line of
18 to 26-year-olds waits outside anyway on the odd chance that
there'll be leftover seats. I'm way late by now but see the
PR guy, who ushers me in as if I'm Harvey Weinstein. The lobby is
buzzing with youngsters saying things to each other like "Dude, you
got in!! Did Rolf get in?!" And I realize that these kids have
been weaned on "Malkovich" the way my generation was on "Blue
Velvet" and "Repo Man" and "Stranger than Paradise."
After being shown to the cordoned-off press and VIP row, I get back
up to buy popcorn, maybe a Coke too. Should I be buying popcorn?
Will it seem unprofessional? There's no way Anthony Lane makes a
popcorn run. But I'm really hungry. I hold off on the soda,
though. Can't be seen sitting in press row with both hands full
of concessions.
Back at my seat, the huge theater bristles with excited murmurs. I
take notes about popcorn appropriateness. My mouth is dry. Popcorn
with no soda, what exactly was I thinking? A middle-aged (and by
middle-aged I mean 48-56, thankyouverymuch) woman leans over,
asks "Are you a critic?" I tell her that I write for a magazine,
but no, I'm not a critic. "So you *write* about films but don't
*criticize* them." I consider explaining the concept of the
preview/feature article, but then just say "Yes, precisely," and
turn back to my notes, where I write a version of this very
paragraph as she peers over my shoulder for a moment before zeroing
in on her next target.
After a few minutes, the lights dim, and Berkeley English prof
Kamilla Elliott gets on a mike and introduces the film to hoots and
whistles from the revved-up crowd.
The audience laughs hard all the way through the film and offers a
robust ovation when it's over. Then Spike and Charlie are
trotted out to the front of the theater for a horribly awkward and
ultimately out of control Q&A session. Kaufman and Jonze are
extremely uncomfortable. They seem want to show their appreciation
of their audience, but hate answering questions, often refusing to,
in fact. (At one point, Spike passes his mike to a guy in the front
row after a particularly convoluted query, saying, "Here, you
handle this one.") Soon, people in the crowd just start randomly
yelling questions and comments, and even yelling at each other to
the tune of, "Why don't you just watch the movie again, moron!" I
find myself worrying about Spike and Charlie and don't know how the
publicists can let this get so out of hand. A couple of them
finally jump in and end it, secreting Spike and Charlie out a side
door. Clearly, they'll just be dying to talk to me tomorrow.
During the Q&A in Berkeley, a man in the back stood up and
shouted, "I really loved your movie until it got to the last half
hour and then it was all full of clichés and crap." Some
people will indeed hate last act of "Adaptation" because of its self-
consciousness and seeming self-contradiction and an irony bordering
on cynicism. In the film, during his initial meeting with the
producer who wants him to adapt Orlean's book, Charlie says,
"I just don't want to ruin it by making it a Hollywood thing. I
don't want to cram in sex or guns or car chases or characters
overcoming obstacles to succeed in the end." In essence, the
quasi-fictional Charlie wants exactly what the heckler wanted, what
we all want: no "clichés and crap."
In "Adaptation's" early going, the fictive Charlie rails
against these very sins of Hollywood, and while we as audience laugh
at his pedantic extremity, we pretty much agree with Charlie because
it's a Spike Jonze movie we've come to see, after all - we're all
"indie" film fans here and we do bemoan how Tinseltown has ruined
cinema. But just when we've gotten comfy with "Adaptation," it
pulls the rug out from under us in a whirlwind, take-no-prisoners
last act by indulging in every single one of those clichés,
as characters do indeed overcome obstacles to succeed in the end.
We are repulsed by these Hollywood clichés, the real life Charlie
K. seems to be saying, but we also love them, or at least need them -
plots need them, and people, especially fictive people, do often
require trauma to change or grow, and for a movie to move us,
someone has to change or grow. (If this essay were comparable
to "Adaptation," I'd now write, "just as orchids grow
from inconsequential weeds into lush, miraculous objects of desire."
The movie takes just such risks and pulls them off quite
miraculously indeed.)
The man who shouted from the back of the theater just wasn't
getting it. "Adaptation" may be faulted for its ambition, for trying
to contain Whitmanesque multitudes of contradiction, but not for the
clichés themselves. The film's great achievement is to show
the necessity of just such contradiction - cynicism and romanticism
duking it out, flagrant insipidness and the subtlest originality
side by side, and Hollywood and Art hand in hand and toe to toe.
That said, I'll step off my soapbox. My wise and generous
editorial-minded friends have all agreed that I shouldn't bother
talking about the movie at all, that this essay is about me and my
experience, but I just couldn't resist. But let's get back on track.
* * *
By this point, I've spent a week immersed in Spike and Charlie
and Orlean and Laroche. I've seen the movie twice, I've watched
its writer and director squirm in front of a couple thousand fans.
I've envied them, I've felt like a fan, I've tried to feel like a
journalist, I've even felt vaguely like a peer (if on a different
scale - as they say, fame is just real life with a lot more
people watching). Tomorrow, I'll meet them, I'll sit in a room with
just a few other people and talk to them, listen to them. I'll ask
them professional and literate questions, and they will answer with
more or less interest, and that will be that.
I watch the last scene of "Malkovich" one more time, jot down
a few questions, lay out my favorite shirt, cords, shoes, and go to
bed.
* * *
After a very long and nerve-wracking Friday, it's finally 6 p.m.
and I arrive at the Clift, a four-star hotel in downtown SF, where
the interview is to take place. A bright-eyed young bellhop gets in
the elevator with me, asks me my floor and presses the button, both
with a certain verve, then says to me eagerly, "You look like
you're going to a meeting, you've got that going-to-a-big-meeting
look, are you going to a big meeting?!" I say no, an interview. He
looks at me quizzically. I tell him no, not a job interview, I'm
interviewing a movie director for a magazine. His eyes
widen: "That's great, man! You're a writer! That's great! It takes
a lot to get there man! Congratulations!" and he reaches out and
gives my hand a vigorous shake and says again "Congratulations!" as
the bell rings for my floor and I stumble off, frazzled. As it
turns out, there's no one in the room I've been directed to -
I rush back to the elevator and start to panic that I'm going to be
late or miss the whole damn thing altogether, what was that kid some
kind of a plant, some glitch in the matrix? But no sooner do I step
off the elevator than I'm met by the PR guy, who at this point is
beginning to seem like my own personal genie. He calmly escorts me
(and three other writers) back upstairs to await the artists.
The four of us sit in a darkish, cozy, wood-paneled conference
room. There's free Pellegrino and fancy bakery-style cookies. I
take a cookie *and* a Pellegrino without hesitation.
About my colleagues: one is older than me, maybe 47, ex-rocker type,
kind of grizzled, with tons of notes on a pad in front of him.
Another guy is maybe 33 and blond, kind of incongruously handsome
and hiply dressed for his geek/smarty-pants, fast-talking manner.
The last of my fellow scribes is a young woman from a local free
weekly. She's kind of collegiate indie-casual, seems at ease and
experienced despite her apparent youth.
We all find the perfect spots for and turn on our mini-cassette
recorders. I'm strangely unintimidated by any of them or the
situation. I eat my cookie with authority - heck, I eat it with
cockiness. It's a pretty good cookie.
In a few minutes, the PR guy brings in Spike and Charlie.
There's a brief introduction period. Spike is going out of his way
to be easygoing, friendly even, greeting each of us in turn, asking
polite questions about our publications (all of which makes me
nervous, he's being way too nice). Ex-Rocker works for a gamer
magazine, and he and Spike chat about their current favorite video
games for a minute. Spike seems to be compensating for Charlie's
reticence. Charlie doesn't make eye contact, and offers only
clipped hellos. He has the almost arrogant defensiveness of the
truly sensitive soul, of a nice guy who's not at all comfortable
with his growing fame. He answers questions curtly, often testily,
and smiles rarely. All the same, Charlie's not being mean or
nasty, just heavily guarded. Spike is playing "good cop" to
Charlie's "bad cop."
They are both dressed completely casually. Spike is skinny, has
long brown, unkempt hair and a lazy semi-beard, looks every bit the
skater he was back in the day. Charlie's clothes are nondescript
and I quickly forget them, something like jeans and a button down
shirt. His hair is curly and shortish and he is shortish and
pleasant looking almost in spite of his demeanor - not "fat,
ugly, bald, repulsive," as his Nick Cage likeness repeatedly calls
himself.
The actual interview goes well. Geek guy tries to get in every
single question, but he is only hurting himself as the rest of us
quickly gang up to get our licks in and Spike and Charlie become
more and more brief in their responses to his questions that seem to
simultaneously attempt incisive erudition and unabashed
bootlicking. I ask the questions I'd hoped to ask - one in
particular about whether the two of them were nervous to be working
with an icon like Streep, and a couple of others. My questions are
greeted for the most part warmly by S & C, whose answers in turn
interest me. (Highlights of the actual interview, as mentioned
earlier, are pasted below.)
After about 45 minutes of this bizarrely pleasant conversation (for
a situation that's, in essence, two detainees held captive by a
handler and four interrogators), the PR people come in to end the
session. I tell Spike about a big art opening and party later that
night for a show that his friend Mark Gonzalez has work in, and add
that a mutual acquaintance of ours will be there. He seems
interested, asks for the details, and says "Sounds great,
we'll be there!" like he really means it. Spike and Charlie and
Orlean are about to give a presentation and screening for the New
Yorker Festival over at SFMOMA and we are hurried out the door.
Spike passes me in the hall. "Here, man," he almost whispers,
"take these," and hands me a bunch of the hotel cookies wrapped in a
napkin: It's a lovely, kooky gesture and I want to slip him my
phone number in return.
That night, the art opening was packed and I never saw Spike, but
there were thousands of people there, so he may well have attended.
I left early, but one friend said he thought he saw him.
And that, as they say, was that. I had hoped to tell you that Spike
and Charlie and I met up later for drinks which became an all-night
brainstorming session for a project that will make "Citizen
Kane" look like "Billy Madison," but, alas, it was not in the
cards.
* * *
Epilogue:
One week later: I'm sitting at the café finishing my
"Adaptation" item for the magazine and struggling with a first draft
of this here that you're now reading. A lissome, raven-haired
beauty sits down at the table next to mine, sees my copy of "The
Orchid Thief" on the table, asks what it's about. I tell her, then
I tell her about the movie and can't help but mention that I'm
writing about it. She smiles. She has a lovely smile. She has the
café's dog-eared copy of 7x7 in her hand. I give her a fresh copy
that I just happen to have in my bag. We chat some more. Then her
lover - tall, Cali-handsome, rebel/surfer/architect - sits down, and
our conversation ends. When they get up to leave, she asks me my
name, I tell her. "I'm Laura," she says, "I look forward to
reading your article. Good to meet you, Jamie." And, suddenly, I
am a cartoon man, pink and pliable, head expanded to the size of the
entire café.
That Friday, I go into the 7x7 office and my editor tells me she
just talked to the press agent for Spike and Charlie who said
that "the guys" really liked me. This warms my heart way too
fucking much. It also contradicts the accidental brilliance of
Donald in the film, when, in a climactic moment, he finally explains
his wide-eyed innocence and obliviousness to his brother, "You
are what you love, not what loves you. I decided that a long time
ago." Donald just doesn't care about approval, acceptance;
he does what he does and loves what he loves, and if it doesn't love
him back, so what?
This is perhaps the masturbatoriest of all the masterbatoryish
writing I've ever shared with you, my forgiving public.
In "Adaptation," Charlie jerks off to fantasies of the movie
producer for whom he's writing the script (Tilda Swinton, by the
by); he jerks off to the jacket-flap photo of Susan Orlean and his
fantasy of her makes love to him, softly tells him it'll be
alright, just pare it down, just write the stuff that really matters,
it'll be alright. The next day, Kaufman wakes, thinks "I have no
understanding of anything but my own panic and self-loathing."
Suddenly, the proverbial light bulb goes off over his head and he
begins shouting maniacally into his tape recorder: "We open on
Charlie Kaufman: fat, bald, ugly!" Charlie has found his muse,
entered his own screenplay, and is on his way to
writing "Adaptation."
I want to hear voices from book jacket flaps. I want an oblivious
but ultimately wise and inspiring twin brother as my prod. Sadly, I
don't live in a movie. But then again, neither does Charlie
Kaufman, and he wrote "Adaptation." For now, I sit and
struggle to put first words on a blank screen. Maybe coffee will
help. And a bagel. Poppy's a good bagel . . . with cream cheese,
and maybe some tomato. . . .
* * *
INTERVIEW WITH SPIKE JONZE AND CHARLIE KAUFMAN (excerpted)
Friday, 10/25/02, 6 p.m., The Clift Hotel, San Francisco
(This is meant to accompany [and follow] the essay, "Adapting Spike
and Charlie" by Jamie Berger; it is not intended to stand alone. If
you've somehow received this by itself and find yourself a little
confused, I'll be glad to send the essay your way. Write me at:
jamieb9@ix.netcom.com. Thank you.)
From "Adapting Spike and Charlie," by way of intro:
About my colleagues: one is older than me, maybe 47, ex-rocker type,
kind of grizzled, with tons of notes on a pad in front of him.
Another guy is maybe 33 and blond, incongruously handsome and hiply
dressed for his geek/smarty-pants persona. The last of my fellow
scribes is a young woman from a local free weekly. She's kind of
collegiate indie-casual, seems at ease and experienced despite her
apparent youth.
The four of us sit in a darkish, cozy, wood-paneled conference room.
In a few minutes, the PR guy brings in Spike and Charlie. There's a
brief introduction period. Spike is going out of his way to be
easygoing, friendly even, greeting each of us in turn, asking polite
questions about our publications. Charlie doesn't make much eye
contact, and offers only clipped hellos. He has the almost arrogant
defensiveness of the truly sensitive soul, of a nice guy who's not
at all comfortable with his growing fame. He answers questions
curtly, often testily, and smiles rarely. All the same, he's not
being mean or nasty, exactly, just heavily guarded. Spike is "good
cop" to Charlie's "bad cop."
They are both dressed completely casually. Spike is skinny, with
long brown, unkempt hair and a lazy semi-beard, looks every bit the
skater he was back in the day . . . . Charlie's clothes are
nondescript and I quickly forget them, something like jeans and a
button down shirt. His hair is curly and shortish and he is
shortish and pleasant looking almost in spite of his demeanor -
not "fat, ugly, bald, repulsive," as his Nick Cage likeness
repeatedly calls himself in the film.
Participants:
Ex-Rocker
Geek
Indie
Charlie
Spike
Me
The interview begins abruptly as Geek interrupts a conversation that
Spike is having with Ex-Rocker about video games.
Geek:
Has the real Susan Orlean seen the film?
Spike:
She's seen it a few times. She likes it a lot. She saw the script,
she knew what she was getting into, we had to get her permission to
use her name.
Rocker:
Has Robert McKee seen the movie? (McKee is the screenwriting guru
whose workshop Donald takes to learn the "craft" of screenwriting,
and whom "Charlie" initially reviles and mocks.)
Spike:
He has and he loves it. He thinks it's funny. He can laugh at
himself.
Charlie:
He came up to me after the screening, said it was funny but fair.
Me:
What about Laroche?
Spike:
Laroche hasn't seen it yet.
Me:
I would think he'd be chomping at the bit.
Spike:
He was into being paid for his rights and that he received this
sixty page contract from Columbia Pictures, he thought that was cool.
Geek:
There's the quote in the movie and if I've paraphrased it wrong
forgive me but it was like "Adaptation is a profound process and a
way to survive in the world." How would you say that you two guys
have adapted to surviving in Hollywood?
Spike:
With "Being John Malkovich" we were able to make it the way we
wanted to make it - part willpower, part luck, but most importantly
John Malkovich himself, and that helped up making our second movie.
People who gave us money for this movie had liked our last movie.
Geek:
What kind of work did you do with Nicholas Cage to prepare for this
role and did you have any reservations about him playing the
screenwriter?
Spike:
NO reservations. He read the script and was really into the script
and just really gave himself over to us. The first day he said, "I
don't want to work the way I normally work. I want to work the way
you guys work." And he did, he really was up for whatever. He's up
for anything. He'll make himself look like an idiot, he's unguarded.
Geek:
He's really into German expressionism right? So he's just totally
all about weird looking things and weird looking things that are so
over the top that take things to another level.
Spike:
(not knowing what to make of that)
I watched "Raising Arizona" again last week and he's just so
heartfelt.
Geek:
There's definitely this amazing sense of absurdity going on
[in "Adaptation"] but it still feels like it's about people, not
just "I'm just being weird and wacky for wacky's sake". How do you
guys keep that balance?
Charlie:
Well, I think that's one of the most important things to us is being
true to the characters. It only works if it attaches itself to
something real.
Geek:
How much of the script was real?
Charlie:
Well I'm not saying that-- even in Malkovich, where none of it
is "real" I'm still trying to make real interactions between people,
so the reactions that "Charlie" is going through are real and they
reflect what I was going through when I was trying to write the
script even though specific things have been exaggerated or changed
for cinematic purposes.
Ex-Rocker:
Like all the masturbatory sequences, were those true to--
Charlie:
(laughing, which relieves the whole room)
Look, I'm not going to say that, but a lot of the things are pretty
close to the way they happened.
Ex-Rocker:
What did you think when you turned in the script?
Charlie:
I though I was never going to work again. I thought "I have to turn
something in, it's better to turn something in than nothing at this
point." They were expecting something else entirely.
Me:
The reaction [at the Berkeley screening] was pretty incredible. I
saw it on Tuesday pretty much by myself and then with the big crowd
yesterday and it was a very different experience.
Spike:
Was it really different?
Me:
Well on Tuesday I was more involved in the emotional life of the
film because there weren't people laughing all around me. On
Thursday I felt almost protective of the film, like in the swamp
scene, the audience was laughing and I'm thinking, "Hey, that's not
funny" when Donald is talking about love and "You are what you love."
Spike:
We're hoping that one reaction doesn't cancel out the other, that
any reaction to the movie is interesting and we don't want to
say "This is what the movie is about."
Charlie:
And you can have different reactions to the movie in different
circumstances.
Geek:
To paraphrase rapper Sadat X, he has a lyric that says "You keep one
foot in the street, the other in the studio." Would "Jackass"
["Jackass: the Movie" opened the previous week and was number one at
the box office - Spike's in the movie.] be kind of keeping your one
foot in the street?"
Spike:
I guess I don't think of it that way, it's just all stuff that I'm
interested in.
Me:
Charlie, you were talking about, and "Charlie" in the film talks
about the anxiety of presenting yourself and your screenplay to
Orlean. Was there any other, different pressure in presenting it to
Streep because she's such an icon. The audience just gasped [at the
screening] last night when Laroche says "What's come over you?" and
Streep/Orlean says "Well you just came all over me a minute ago."
Was there any anxiety at asking her to do any of that?
[Charlie starts to say something like "We don't want to answer that"
but] Spike [jumps in]:
Not specifically to that, but just in general, I think, uh, I think
she was interested in, she loved the script and from the beginning,
she committed to going with it, and was beyond fine with it, added
to it. It's a valid question, but--
Me:
(trying to clarify)
I'm not trying to find out if she was difficult to work with, I just
meant your own fear in making your first film with such a huge
Hollywood star, in asking her to say or do certain things that she's
not usually asked--
Charlie:
(interrupts in what I'm beginning to see is classic Charlie form)
She agreed to do the movie and she read the script, we were all on
the same page.
Geek:
Your character is kind of lurking around the set of "Malkovich"
["Adaptation" recreates a couple of sets and uses the actors
from "Malkovich," a really nice touch]. Was that true to life?
Were you really present day to day on this film? Were you like
telling Nick Cage, "No no, I don't do it that way, I don't sweat
like that."
Charlie:
No, Nick sweats in his own way. I met with Nick a bunch of times to
talk to him and he kind of interviewed me then they went off and did
it. I don't think he was trying to really do "me," just a character
that happened to have my name on it.
Geek:
Did he have any input in the writing?
Charlie:
No, in fact he was so faithful to the script, down to the comma, it
was really amazing, he'd come in and deliver the lines exactly as
written.
Spike:
. . . and torment himself about it.
Ex-Rocker:
It's the best thing I've seen from him, I mean he's kind of become a
caricature of himself in the last few years, and you guys , I was
like "Holy shit," the two of you , I don't know what got into him,
but it's the best thing he's done in years
Indie (to Charlie):
Were you involved in the casting at all?
Charlie:
We talk about everything but I don't have any veto power or anything.
Indie:
Did you have any say in who was going to play you?
Charlie:
I don't tend to think about actors when I'm writing.
Geek:
Can you definitely tell us whether Donald Kaufman really existed?
Spike:
What's real or not real isn't that important to us, it's part of the
experience of sitting there.
Geek:
So does he or doesn't he exist?
Spike:
You can decide that for yourself.
Geek:
(to Charlie)
So is he your alter ego?
Charlie:
No.
( . . . and then the publicists came and ended the session . . . .)
One high point of the Q&A after the screening in Berkeley.
Someone asks, "Did you two collaborate on the writing?"
Charlie: "I wrote the damn script."
Huge laugh.
* * *
Here are some links to published work of mine, mostly journalism, one piece of fiction. If you read and like, you may join a list to receive very sporadic (promise) email notifications of and links to future publications by going here and clicking on the entusiastic "join this group!" link:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/jamiewords/
A short story, "Close": warning, adult content:
http://webdelsol.com/InPosse/berger12.htm
An Article from the SF Chronicle about the changes in my neighborhood from before dotcom through boom and bust:
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2002/04/10/HO150106.DTL
A profile of high-stakes poker professional Annie Duke:
http://www.columbia.edu/cu/alumni/Magazine/Spring2002/Duke.html
A feature about the growing nightlife on San Francisco's Sixth Street, the skiddiest row in town:
http://www.surfmetro.com/pagegen.php?pagename=article&articleid=21588
(Recently, I interviewed Spike Jonze and Charlie Kaufman of "Being
John Malkovich" fame for 7x7 Magazine [A San Francisco-focused
glossy] and found myself writing much more than my allotted couple-
hundred-word preview of their new film, "Adaptation."
Directly below is the item as it appears in the magazine, after
which you'll find my own super-extended bonus track musings on
Spike, Charlie, "Adaptation," the nature of existence as an artist
in the 21st Century, etcetera, etcetera. Below that, are highlights of the interview.
As always, feel free to pass this on, but please keep my name and email address attached.
Thanks.
- Jamie Berger
jamieb9@ix.netcom.com)
* * *
ADAPTING SPIKE AND CHARLIE
Jamie Berger
Page 36, 7x7 Magazine, December 2002:
"Adaptation" is the second collaborative effort from
wunderkind director Spike Jonze and screenwriter Charlie Kaufman
(who gave us 1999's scattershot, hilarious, "Being John Malkovich."
Based on a nonfiction book, "The Orchid Thief," by New Yorker writer
Susan Orlean about eccentric horticulturist John Laroche, the
film also addresses Kaufman's struggle with the material. In his
desperation, the screenwriter wrote himself into the script,
intertwining the tales of Orlean, Laroche, and his own neurotic,
seemingly hopeless persona. As Kaufman (and his fictional, doltish
twin brother Donald), Nicolas Cage offers up his best performance
since "Leaving Las Vegas"; Meryl Streep absolutely glows as the sad-
souled (and highly fictionalized) Orlean; and Chris Cooper crackles
with palpable energy as Laroche. Confounding expectations at every
turn (like in the film's terrifically self-contradictory final
act), "Adaptation" is a wild, thought-provoking ride.
* * *
One Friday in late-October, my editor at 7x7 calls, tells me
she's got something fun for me if I've got time: a screening of a new
film and interview with Spike Jonze and Charlie Kaufman. I yawn
loudly and tell my editor that, sure, I think I can squeeze it in.
I hang up the phone and jump up and down shouting "Yessss!"
and pumping my fist for a moment before rushing to my computer for
some 411 on mssrs. Jonze and Kaufman and their new
film, "Adaptation." Since I started at 7x7, this is my first chance
for me to A.) interview someone that really interests me and B.)
write about something firsthand rather than from phone interviews
and press releases.
I learn from an obsessive fan website
(beingcharliekaufman.tripod.com) that Kaufman hates the press, and
especially abhors having his picture taken. Great. I find out that
Spike's about five years younger than me (33) and Charlie's six
older (44), that Spike got his start working with the Beastie Boys
and with skater-turned-artist Mark Gonzalez, and that he's married
to Sophia Coppola. I start working the phone. A friend who's just
two degrees of kevinbacon from Spike tells me he's a good ping-pong
player and that he sometimes takes on zany, antagonistic personae
when dealing with the press. And now it dawns on me, I am
that "press" - not the fellow artist, not even a fan, I am
the press.
I'm invited to attend either a private screening of the film on
Tuesday or a larger word-of-mouth public screening on Thursday, and
then participate in a round table interview with Spike and Charlie
on Friday. By Tuesday morning, after reading half of "The Orchid
Thief" and stuffing my brain with Spike and Charlie trivia and re-
watching "Malkovich," I'm all atwitter. The whole thing
is starting to feel like a blind date; I mean, I've asked my friends
about Spike and Charlie, I've searched them on Google, you know -
the usual pre-first-meeting routine, and, baby, I like what I see.
I don't really begin to worry until I catch myself trying on outfits
and wondering whether I should get a haircut before Friday.
* * *
On Tuesday morning, I arrive at a snazzy screening room in downtown
San Francisco. The lobby's empty, so I wander into the dark
theater to find that, but for one other writer and two women who
work for the publicist, I'm here alone - Spike and Charlie are
screening their new movie for ME. The room is like one of those
small-screen rooms at an art house theater, only way more mod and
cushy. I disappear into a huge, soft seat, open my notebook and
settle in.
"Adaptation" starts with voiceover: Nicolas Cage as slouched,
anxious Charlie Kaufman sits hunched and brooding over a typewriter,
speaks in thoughtful voiceover: "To begin." Long pause. "I don't
have an original thought in my head." He continues, struggling to
put those tortured first words on a blank page, then drifts: "Coffee
would help me think . . . coffee and a muffin." He pushes on, the
creative mind at work, "Banana nut is a good muffin."
And, just like that, I'm hooked. I'm "Charlie" all over, only
without all that bothersome success of the real Charlie K. The
neuroses, the muffin, the blank page: all me me me. The film then
begins its often frenetic jumps back and forth between Charlie and
twin brother Donald's L.A. and Orlean's New York and
LaRoche's Florida swamp with millions of stops in between until the
three worlds inevitably collide. As the film progresses, I notice a
few problems with "Adaptaion" - inconsistencies, occasional odd
choices - but the film's so chock-full of amazing stuff (including
one incredible scene involving Meryl Streep, Chris Cooper, and a dial
tone) that when it's over I sit stunned. I leave the screening
in a thrall and emerge, dazed, into the shocking midday sunlight.
Perhaps I'm unduly influenced by the fact that I'm actually
being wooed by a publicist after years of begging for publicity as a
writer/performer. Perhaps, no definitely, I'm being too much a
fan, not enough a journalist. But fuck it: the movie is funny, it's
clever, it's moving, it's good art *and* a good flick,
and how often does that happen these days? They had me at "I don't
have an original thought in my head."
Two days later, there'll be that public screening in Berkeley and
a Q&A with Charlie and Spike afterwards. There's no reason for me
to go; I've already seen the film and I'll be interviewing them
on Friday. And I don't have time, anyway.
* * *
Thursday evening arrives and, sporting a spanky new haircut, I get
caught in heavy rush-hour traffic heading over to Berkeley and
barely make it to the grand, old California Theater before the
screening is scheduled to start. Word of mouth spreads fast in a
college town, and the cavernous venue is sold out. A long line of
18 to 26-year-olds waits outside anyway on the odd chance that
there'll be leftover seats. I'm way late by now but see the
PR guy, who ushers me in as if I'm Harvey Weinstein. The lobby is
buzzing with youngsters saying things to each other like "Dude, you
got in!! Did Rolf get in?!" And I realize that these kids have
been weaned on "Malkovich" the way my generation was on "Blue
Velvet" and "Repo Man" and "Stranger than Paradise."
After being shown to the cordoned-off press and VIP row, I get back
up to buy popcorn, maybe a Coke too. Should I be buying popcorn?
Will it seem unprofessional? There's no way Anthony Lane makes a
popcorn run. But I'm really hungry. I hold off on the soda,
though. Can't be seen sitting in press row with both hands full
of concessions.
Back at my seat, the huge theater bristles with excited murmurs. I
take notes about popcorn appropriateness. My mouth is dry. Popcorn
with no soda, what exactly was I thinking? A middle-aged (and by
middle-aged I mean 48-56, thankyouverymuch) woman leans over,
asks "Are you a critic?" I tell her that I write for a magazine,
but no, I'm not a critic. "So you *write* about films but don't
*criticize* them." I consider explaining the concept of the
preview/feature article, but then just say "Yes, precisely," and
turn back to my notes, where I write a version of this very
paragraph as she peers over my shoulder for a moment before zeroing
in on her next target.
After a few minutes, the lights dim, and Berkeley English prof
Kamilla Elliott gets on a mike and introduces the film to hoots and
whistles from the revved-up crowd.
The audience laughs hard all the way through the film and offers a
robust ovation when it's over. Then Spike and Charlie are
trotted out to the front of the theater for a horribly awkward and
ultimately out of control Q&A session. Kaufman and Jonze are
extremely uncomfortable. They seem want to show their appreciation
of their audience, but hate answering questions, often refusing to,
in fact. (At one point, Spike passes his mike to a guy in the front
row after a particularly convoluted query, saying, "Here, you
handle this one.") Soon, people in the crowd just start randomly
yelling questions and comments, and even yelling at each other to
the tune of, "Why don't you just watch the movie again, moron!" I
find myself worrying about Spike and Charlie and don't know how the
publicists can let this get so out of hand. A couple of them
finally jump in and end it, secreting Spike and Charlie out a side
door. Clearly, they'll just be dying to talk to me tomorrow.
During the Q&A in Berkeley, a man in the back stood up and
shouted, "I really loved your movie until it got to the last half
hour and then it was all full of clichés and crap." Some
people will indeed hate last act of "Adaptation" because of its self-
consciousness and seeming self-contradiction and an irony bordering
on cynicism. In the film, during his initial meeting with the
producer who wants him to adapt Orlean's book, Charlie says,
"I just don't want to ruin it by making it a Hollywood thing. I
don't want to cram in sex or guns or car chases or characters
overcoming obstacles to succeed in the end." In essence, the
quasi-fictional Charlie wants exactly what the heckler wanted, what
we all want: no "clichés and crap."
In "Adaptation's" early going, the fictive Charlie rails
against these very sins of Hollywood, and while we as audience laugh
at his pedantic extremity, we pretty much agree with Charlie because
it's a Spike Jonze movie we've come to see, after all - we're all
"indie" film fans here and we do bemoan how Tinseltown has ruined
cinema. But just when we've gotten comfy with "Adaptation," it
pulls the rug out from under us in a whirlwind, take-no-prisoners
last act by indulging in every single one of those clichés,
as characters do indeed overcome obstacles to succeed in the end.
We are repulsed by these Hollywood clichés, the real life Charlie
K. seems to be saying, but we also love them, or at least need them -
plots need them, and people, especially fictive people, do often
require trauma to change or grow, and for a movie to move us,
someone has to change or grow. (If this essay were comparable
to "Adaptation," I'd now write, "just as orchids grow
from inconsequential weeds into lush, miraculous objects of desire."
The movie takes just such risks and pulls them off quite
miraculously indeed.)
The man who shouted from the back of the theater just wasn't
getting it. "Adaptation" may be faulted for its ambition, for trying
to contain Whitmanesque multitudes of contradiction, but not for the
clichés themselves. The film's great achievement is to show
the necessity of just such contradiction - cynicism and romanticism
duking it out, flagrant insipidness and the subtlest originality
side by side, and Hollywood and Art hand in hand and toe to toe.
That said, I'll step off my soapbox. My wise and generous
editorial-minded friends have all agreed that I shouldn't bother
talking about the movie at all, that this essay is about me and my
experience, but I just couldn't resist. But let's get back on track.
* * *
By this point, I've spent a week immersed in Spike and Charlie
and Orlean and Laroche. I've seen the movie twice, I've watched
its writer and director squirm in front of a couple thousand fans.
I've envied them, I've felt like a fan, I've tried to feel like a
journalist, I've even felt vaguely like a peer (if on a different
scale - as they say, fame is just real life with a lot more
people watching). Tomorrow, I'll meet them, I'll sit in a room with
just a few other people and talk to them, listen to them. I'll ask
them professional and literate questions, and they will answer with
more or less interest, and that will be that.
I watch the last scene of "Malkovich" one more time, jot down
a few questions, lay out my favorite shirt, cords, shoes, and go to
bed.
* * *
After a very long and nerve-wracking Friday, it's finally 6 p.m.
and I arrive at the Clift, a four-star hotel in downtown SF, where
the interview is to take place. A bright-eyed young bellhop gets in
the elevator with me, asks me my floor and presses the button, both
with a certain verve, then says to me eagerly, "You look like
you're going to a meeting, you've got that going-to-a-big-meeting
look, are you going to a big meeting?!" I say no, an interview. He
looks at me quizzically. I tell him no, not a job interview, I'm
interviewing a movie director for a magazine. His eyes
widen: "That's great, man! You're a writer! That's great! It takes
a lot to get there man! Congratulations!" and he reaches out and
gives my hand a vigorous shake and says again "Congratulations!" as
the bell rings for my floor and I stumble off, frazzled. As it
turns out, there's no one in the room I've been directed to -
I rush back to the elevator and start to panic that I'm going to be
late or miss the whole damn thing altogether, what was that kid some
kind of a plant, some glitch in the matrix? But no sooner do I step
off the elevator than I'm met by the PR guy, who at this point is
beginning to seem like my own personal genie. He calmly escorts me
(and three other writers) back upstairs to await the artists.
The four of us sit in a darkish, cozy, wood-paneled conference
room. There's free Pellegrino and fancy bakery-style cookies. I
take a cookie *and* a Pellegrino without hesitation.
About my colleagues: one is older than me, maybe 47, ex-rocker type,
kind of grizzled, with tons of notes on a pad in front of him.
Another guy is maybe 33 and blond, kind of incongruously handsome
and hiply dressed for his geek/smarty-pants, fast-talking manner.
The last of my fellow scribes is a young woman from a local free
weekly. She's kind of collegiate indie-casual, seems at ease and
experienced despite her apparent youth.
We all find the perfect spots for and turn on our mini-cassette
recorders. I'm strangely unintimidated by any of them or the
situation. I eat my cookie with authority - heck, I eat it with
cockiness. It's a pretty good cookie.
In a few minutes, the PR guy brings in Spike and Charlie.
There's a brief introduction period. Spike is going out of his way
to be easygoing, friendly even, greeting each of us in turn, asking
polite questions about our publications (all of which makes me
nervous, he's being way too nice). Ex-Rocker works for a gamer
magazine, and he and Spike chat about their current favorite video
games for a minute. Spike seems to be compensating for Charlie's
reticence. Charlie doesn't make eye contact, and offers only
clipped hellos. He has the almost arrogant defensiveness of the
truly sensitive soul, of a nice guy who's not at all comfortable
with his growing fame. He answers questions curtly, often testily,
and smiles rarely. All the same, Charlie's not being mean or
nasty, just heavily guarded. Spike is playing "good cop" to
Charlie's "bad cop."
They are both dressed completely casually. Spike is skinny, has
long brown, unkempt hair and a lazy semi-beard, looks every bit the
skater he was back in the day. Charlie's clothes are nondescript
and I quickly forget them, something like jeans and a button down
shirt. His hair is curly and shortish and he is shortish and
pleasant looking almost in spite of his demeanor - not "fat,
ugly, bald, repulsive," as his Nick Cage likeness repeatedly calls
himself.
The actual interview goes well. Geek guy tries to get in every
single question, but he is only hurting himself as the rest of us
quickly gang up to get our licks in and Spike and Charlie become
more and more brief in their responses to his questions that seem to
simultaneously attempt incisive erudition and unabashed
bootlicking. I ask the questions I'd hoped to ask - one in
particular about whether the two of them were nervous to be working
with an icon like Streep, and a couple of others. My questions are
greeted for the most part warmly by S & C, whose answers in turn
interest me. (Highlights of the actual interview, as mentioned
earlier, are pasted below.)
After about 45 minutes of this bizarrely pleasant conversation (for
a situation that's, in essence, two detainees held captive by a
handler and four interrogators), the PR people come in to end the
session. I tell Spike about a big art opening and party later that
night for a show that his friend Mark Gonzalez has work in, and add
that a mutual acquaintance of ours will be there. He seems
interested, asks for the details, and says "Sounds great,
we'll be there!" like he really means it. Spike and Charlie and
Orlean are about to give a presentation and screening for the New
Yorker Festival over at SFMOMA and we are hurried out the door.
Spike passes me in the hall. "Here, man," he almost whispers,
"take these," and hands me a bunch of the hotel cookies wrapped in a
napkin: It's a lovely, kooky gesture and I want to slip him my
phone number in return.
That night, the art opening was packed and I never saw Spike, but
there were thousands of people there, so he may well have attended.
I left early, but one friend said he thought he saw him.
And that, as they say, was that. I had hoped to tell you that Spike
and Charlie and I met up later for drinks which became an all-night
brainstorming session for a project that will make "Citizen
Kane" look like "Billy Madison," but, alas, it was not in the
cards.
* * *
Epilogue:
One week later: I'm sitting at the café finishing my
"Adaptation" item for the magazine and struggling with a first draft
of this here that you're now reading. A lissome, raven-haired
beauty sits down at the table next to mine, sees my copy of "The
Orchid Thief" on the table, asks what it's about. I tell her, then
I tell her about the movie and can't help but mention that I'm
writing about it. She smiles. She has a lovely smile. She has the
café's dog-eared copy of 7x7 in her hand. I give her a fresh copy
that I just happen to have in my bag. We chat some more. Then her
lover - tall, Cali-handsome, rebel/surfer/architect - sits down, and
our conversation ends. When they get up to leave, she asks me my
name, I tell her. "I'm Laura," she says, "I look forward to
reading your article. Good to meet you, Jamie." And, suddenly, I
am a cartoon man, pink and pliable, head expanded to the size of the
entire café.
That Friday, I go into the 7x7 office and my editor tells me she
just talked to the press agent for Spike and Charlie who said
that "the guys" really liked me. This warms my heart way too
fucking much. It also contradicts the accidental brilliance of
Donald in the film, when, in a climactic moment, he finally explains
his wide-eyed innocence and obliviousness to his brother, "You
are what you love, not what loves you. I decided that a long time
ago." Donald just doesn't care about approval, acceptance;
he does what he does and loves what he loves, and if it doesn't love
him back, so what?
This is perhaps the masturbatoriest of all the masterbatoryish
writing I've ever shared with you, my forgiving public.
In "Adaptation," Charlie jerks off to fantasies of the movie
producer for whom he's writing the script (Tilda Swinton, by the
by); he jerks off to the jacket-flap photo of Susan Orlean and his
fantasy of her makes love to him, softly tells him it'll be
alright, just pare it down, just write the stuff that really matters,
it'll be alright. The next day, Kaufman wakes, thinks "I have no
understanding of anything but my own panic and self-loathing."
Suddenly, the proverbial light bulb goes off over his head and he
begins shouting maniacally into his tape recorder: "We open on
Charlie Kaufman: fat, bald, ugly!" Charlie has found his muse,
entered his own screenplay, and is on his way to
writing "Adaptation."
I want to hear voices from book jacket flaps. I want an oblivious
but ultimately wise and inspiring twin brother as my prod. Sadly, I
don't live in a movie. But then again, neither does Charlie
Kaufman, and he wrote "Adaptation." For now, I sit and
struggle to put first words on a blank screen. Maybe coffee will
help. And a bagel. Poppy's a good bagel . . . with cream cheese,
and maybe some tomato. . . .
* * *
INTERVIEW WITH SPIKE JONZE AND CHARLIE KAUFMAN (excerpted)
Friday, 10/25/02, 6 p.m., The Clift Hotel, San Francisco
(This is meant to accompany [and follow] the essay, "Adapting Spike
and Charlie" by Jamie Berger; it is not intended to stand alone. If
you've somehow received this by itself and find yourself a little
confused, I'll be glad to send the essay your way. Write me at:
jamieb9@ix.netcom.com. Thank you.)
From "Adapting Spike and Charlie," by way of intro:
About my colleagues: one is older than me, maybe 47, ex-rocker type,
kind of grizzled, with tons of notes on a pad in front of him.
Another guy is maybe 33 and blond, incongruously handsome and hiply
dressed for his geek/smarty-pants persona. The last of my fellow
scribes is a young woman from a local free weekly. She's kind of
collegiate indie-casual, seems at ease and experienced despite her
apparent youth.
The four of us sit in a darkish, cozy, wood-paneled conference room.
In a few minutes, the PR guy brings in Spike and Charlie. There's a
brief introduction period. Spike is going out of his way to be
easygoing, friendly even, greeting each of us in turn, asking polite
questions about our publications. Charlie doesn't make much eye
contact, and offers only clipped hellos. He has the almost arrogant
defensiveness of the truly sensitive soul, of a nice guy who's not
at all comfortable with his growing fame. He answers questions
curtly, often testily, and smiles rarely. All the same, he's not
being mean or nasty, exactly, just heavily guarded. Spike is "good
cop" to Charlie's "bad cop."
They are both dressed completely casually. Spike is skinny, with
long brown, unkempt hair and a lazy semi-beard, looks every bit the
skater he was back in the day . . . . Charlie's clothes are
nondescript and I quickly forget them, something like jeans and a
button down shirt. His hair is curly and shortish and he is
shortish and pleasant looking almost in spite of his demeanor -
not "fat, ugly, bald, repulsive," as his Nick Cage likeness
repeatedly calls himself in the film.
Participants:
Ex-Rocker
Geek
Indie
Charlie
Spike
Me
The interview begins abruptly as Geek interrupts a conversation that
Spike is having with Ex-Rocker about video games.
Geek:
Has the real Susan Orlean seen the film?
Spike:
She's seen it a few times. She likes it a lot. She saw the script,
she knew what she was getting into, we had to get her permission to
use her name.
Rocker:
Has Robert McKee seen the movie? (McKee is the screenwriting guru
whose workshop Donald takes to learn the "craft" of screenwriting,
and whom "Charlie" initially reviles and mocks.)
Spike:
He has and he loves it. He thinks it's funny. He can laugh at
himself.
Charlie:
He came up to me after the screening, said it was funny but fair.
Me:
What about Laroche?
Spike:
Laroche hasn't seen it yet.
Me:
I would think he'd be chomping at the bit.
Spike:
He was into being paid for his rights and that he received this
sixty page contract from Columbia Pictures, he thought that was cool.
Geek:
There's the quote in the movie and if I've paraphrased it wrong
forgive me but it was like "Adaptation is a profound process and a
way to survive in the world." How would you say that you two guys
have adapted to surviving in Hollywood?
Spike:
With "Being John Malkovich" we were able to make it the way we
wanted to make it - part willpower, part luck, but most importantly
John Malkovich himself, and that helped up making our second movie.
People who gave us money for this movie had liked our last movie.
Geek:
What kind of work did you do with Nicholas Cage to prepare for this
role and did you have any reservations about him playing the
screenwriter?
Spike:
NO reservations. He read the script and was really into the script
and just really gave himself over to us. The first day he said, "I
don't want to work the way I normally work. I want to work the way
you guys work." And he did, he really was up for whatever. He's up
for anything. He'll make himself look like an idiot, he's unguarded.
Geek:
He's really into German expressionism right? So he's just totally
all about weird looking things and weird looking things that are so
over the top that take things to another level.
Spike:
(not knowing what to make of that)
I watched "Raising Arizona" again last week and he's just so
heartfelt.
Geek:
There's definitely this amazing sense of absurdity going on
[in "Adaptation"] but it still feels like it's about people, not
just "I'm just being weird and wacky for wacky's sake". How do you
guys keep that balance?
Charlie:
Well, I think that's one of the most important things to us is being
true to the characters. It only works if it attaches itself to
something real.
Geek:
How much of the script was real?
Charlie:
Well I'm not saying that-- even in Malkovich, where none of it
is "real" I'm still trying to make real interactions between people,
so the reactions that "Charlie" is going through are real and they
reflect what I was going through when I was trying to write the
script even though specific things have been exaggerated or changed
for cinematic purposes.
Ex-Rocker:
Like all the masturbatory sequences, were those true to--
Charlie:
(laughing, which relieves the whole room)
Look, I'm not going to say that, but a lot of the things are pretty
close to the way they happened.
Ex-Rocker:
What did you think when you turned in the script?
Charlie:
I though I was never going to work again. I thought "I have to turn
something in, it's better to turn something in than nothing at this
point." They were expecting something else entirely.
Me:
The reaction [at the Berkeley screening] was pretty incredible. I
saw it on Tuesday pretty much by myself and then with the big crowd
yesterday and it was a very different experience.
Spike:
Was it really different?
Me:
Well on Tuesday I was more involved in the emotional life of the
film because there weren't people laughing all around me. On
Thursday I felt almost protective of the film, like in the swamp
scene, the audience was laughing and I'm thinking, "Hey, that's not
funny" when Donald is talking about love and "You are what you love."
Spike:
We're hoping that one reaction doesn't cancel out the other, that
any reaction to the movie is interesting and we don't want to
say "This is what the movie is about."
Charlie:
And you can have different reactions to the movie in different
circumstances.
Geek:
To paraphrase rapper Sadat X, he has a lyric that says "You keep one
foot in the street, the other in the studio." Would "Jackass"
["Jackass: the Movie" opened the previous week and was number one at
the box office - Spike's in the movie.] be kind of keeping your one
foot in the street?"
Spike:
I guess I don't think of it that way, it's just all stuff that I'm
interested in.
Me:
Charlie, you were talking about, and "Charlie" in the film talks
about the anxiety of presenting yourself and your screenplay to
Orlean. Was there any other, different pressure in presenting it to
Streep because she's such an icon. The audience just gasped [at the
screening] last night when Laroche says "What's come over you?" and
Streep/Orlean says "Well you just came all over me a minute ago."
Was there any anxiety at asking her to do any of that?
[Charlie starts to say something like "We don't want to answer that"
but] Spike [jumps in]:
Not specifically to that, but just in general, I think, uh, I think
she was interested in, she loved the script and from the beginning,
she committed to going with it, and was beyond fine with it, added
to it. It's a valid question, but--
Me:
(trying to clarify)
I'm not trying to find out if she was difficult to work with, I just
meant your own fear in making your first film with such a huge
Hollywood star, in asking her to say or do certain things that she's
not usually asked--
Charlie:
(interrupts in what I'm beginning to see is classic Charlie form)
She agreed to do the movie and she read the script, we were all on
the same page.
Geek:
Your character is kind of lurking around the set of "Malkovich"
["Adaptation" recreates a couple of sets and uses the actors
from "Malkovich," a really nice touch]. Was that true to life?
Were you really present day to day on this film? Were you like
telling Nick Cage, "No no, I don't do it that way, I don't sweat
like that."
Charlie:
No, Nick sweats in his own way. I met with Nick a bunch of times to
talk to him and he kind of interviewed me then they went off and did
it. I don't think he was trying to really do "me," just a character
that happened to have my name on it.
Geek:
Did he have any input in the writing?
Charlie:
No, in fact he was so faithful to the script, down to the comma, it
was really amazing, he'd come in and deliver the lines exactly as
written.
Spike:
. . . and torment himself about it.
Ex-Rocker:
It's the best thing I've seen from him, I mean he's kind of become a
caricature of himself in the last few years, and you guys , I was
like "Holy shit," the two of you , I don't know what got into him,
but it's the best thing he's done in years
Indie (to Charlie):
Were you involved in the casting at all?
Charlie:
We talk about everything but I don't have any veto power or anything.
Indie:
Did you have any say in who was going to play you?
Charlie:
I don't tend to think about actors when I'm writing.
Geek:
Can you definitely tell us whether Donald Kaufman really existed?
Spike:
What's real or not real isn't that important to us, it's part of the
experience of sitting there.
Geek:
So does he or doesn't he exist?
Spike:
You can decide that for yourself.
Geek:
(to Charlie)
So is he your alter ego?
Charlie:
No.
( . . . and then the publicists came and ended the session . . . .)
One high point of the Q&A after the screening in Berkeley.
Someone asks, "Did you two collaborate on the writing?"
Charlie: "I wrote the damn script."
Huge laugh.
* * *
Here are some links to published work of mine, mostly journalism, one piece of fiction. If you read and like, you may join a list to receive very sporadic (promise) email notifications of and links to future publications by going here and clicking on the entusiastic "join this group!" link:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/jamiewords/
A short story, "Close": warning, adult content:
http://webdelsol.com/InPosse/berger12.htm
An Article from the SF Chronicle about the changes in my neighborhood from before dotcom through boom and bust:
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2002/04/10/HO150106.DTL
A profile of high-stakes poker professional Annie Duke:
http://www.columbia.edu/cu/alumni/Magazine/Spring2002/Duke.html
A feature about the growing nightlife on San Francisco's Sixth Street, the skiddiest row in town:
http://www.surfmetro.com/pagegen.php?pagename=article&articleid=21588
posted by jamie at
2:21 AM
