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July-August 1987

Interviews with Norman Mailer, Joe Strummer, Charles Bukowski, Robert Frank, Rudy Wurlitzer, and Nestor Almendros

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Eeny Meeny Miney Mailer-Mot, Catch a Tough Guy by His Toe. For Tough Guys Don’t Dance. Karen Jaehne watched Mailer’s launch on the Cape and his lynching in Cannes. A comedy!, he claims.

Coming up for air from the cultural underground, self-exiled searchers re-invent themselves for ambivalent encounters with Eighties cinema. Taking on a system that would eat them without thinking twice, four subversives might just cut through to the mainstream to launch their critiques. Marlaine Glicksman listens to Robert Frank’s thoughts along the back roads of art and film. Mike Golden ponders the loneliness of the long-distance screenwriter with Rudy Wurlitzer on the occasion of Frank’s Candy Mountain. Graham Fuller meets up with punk rocker Joe Strummer, who doubts the Career Opportunities in Nicaragua and Alex Cox’s Walker. And Chris Hodenfeld opens a bottle (or two) with novelist-poet Charles Bukowski, who considers Barfly and his “I drink therefore I am” philosophy.

It’s more than a festival, it’s a theme park, and it just turned 40. The French threw themselves a bash, survived Princess Di, gave themselves the top prize, and exited to more boos (and booze) than banners. Who fights like this over movies? Mary Corliss scopes out the best 15 or 20 minute segments from three score films, and Harlan Jacobson hears it from jury president Yves Montand: “We wanted to give the Palme d’Or to ...” Hint: First you drink, then you Pialat.

Unaccustomed As We Are to the inside of the hoosegow, Dan Kimmel sent himself to the joint to report on a Laurel & Hardy tent that went el foldo. Well, Pardon Us. Bev Walker trekked into the Mojave to watch German director Percy Adlon at work on Brenda’s Palace, and Elliott Stein went to Miami and saw La Gran Fiesta.

Ace cinematographer Nestor Almendros looks through his lens and doesn’t see an immortal. He sees the moonscapes of famous faces—Streep, Gere, Deneuve, Nicholson, Basinger—and here writes about what he did for light.

Ever since Edward G. Robinson did Little Caesar, the only Italian-American characters on screen have packed machine guns, molls, cigars, and offers... you know the rest. George De Stefano says “Ciao, baby” to that.

Eh amigo, don't ju know anything? Mexican wrestling films came and went while ju were en siesta. Well, hombre, Andrew Coe knows bueno from malo.

Which came first-movies or movie music? That’s the question Michael Walsh ponders, on his return from Radio City Music Hall, where four classic silents played to live orchestral accompaniment. Score one for movie music.

Which came first-movies or movie music? Michael Walsh keeps score.

Gavin Smith dopes out why it ain’t kids who are hand-wringing over Tim Hunter’s River’s Edge. Nada pretty picture.

Armond White runs into a Nike ad set to the Beatles “Revolution.” And Marc Mancini views vintage Woody Allen playing L.A.

Storming the Magic Kingdom spans the not-so-wonderful world of Disney, post-Walt. Richard Natale reviews.

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