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David Poland

By David Poland poland@moviecitynews.com

Bogdanovich Epilogue: A Word About Biskind and Cher


Because everybody loves a nice, incestuous film blog reach-around (especially on Valentine’s Day), allow me to direct you to my good friend Looker, who follows up my Peter Bogdanovich/Targets dispatch from last week with perhaps an even more rewarding batch of comments smuggled out of Film Forum’s post-screening Q&A.
And once again, Peter Biskind absorbs the brunt of a filmmaker’s hot auteur wrath:

On Peter Biskind’s Easy Riders, Raging Bulls:

That book is so full of shit. It’s not to be believed. I leafed through three pages of it—I thought I was going to be sick to my stomach, and I never opened it again. Coppola wanted to put a hit out on him. I’m not kidding. I spent seven hours with that guy over a period of days, and he got it all wrong. He believed everything my ex-wife (Polly Platt), who at that time was a drunk, said.

Cher gets a little lighter love tap in Bogdanovich’s assessment of Mask (except for that part explaining, “She liked Sonny after he died.” I mean, go ahead–shudder. Take as long as you need), which you will need to click through to browse in its entirety. Now, if you do not mind, I think it is time Looker and I had a cigarette.

One Response to “Bogdanovich Epilogue: A Word About Biskind and Cher”

  1. Looker says:

    Mmm, that felt good.

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“I was 15 when I first watched Sally Hardesty escape into the back of a pickup truck, covered in blood and cackling like a goddamn witch. All of her friends were dead. She had been kidnapped, tortured and even forced to feed her own blood to her cannibalistic captors’ impossibly shriveled patriarch. Being new to the horror genre, I was sure she was going to die. It had been a few months since I survived a violent sexual assault, where I subsequently ran from my assailant, tripped, fell and fought like hell. I crawled home with bloody knees, makeup-stained cheeks and a new void in both my mind and heart. My sense of safety, my ability to trust others, my willingness to form new relationships and my love of spending time with people I cared about were all taken from me. It wasn’t until I found the original The Texas Chain Saw Massacre that something clicked. It was Sally’s strength, and her resilience. It was watching her survive blows to the head from a hammer. It was watching her break free from her bonds and burst through a glass window. It was watching her get back up after she’d been stabbed. It was watching her crawl into the back of a truck, laughing as it drove away from Leatherface. She was the last one to confront the killer, and live. I remember sitting in front of the TV and thinking, There I am. That’s me.”
~ Lauren Milici On “The Final Girl”

“‘Thriller’ enforced its own reality principle; it was there, part of the every commute, a serenade to every errand, a referent to every purchase, a fact of every life. You didn’t have to like it, you only had to acknowledge it. By July 6, 1984, when the Jacksons played the first show of their ‘Victory’ tour, in Kansas City, Missouri, Jacksonism had produced a system of commodification so complete that whatever and whoever was admitted to it instantly became a new commodity. People were no longer comsuming commodities as such things are conventionally understood (records, videos, posters, books, magazines, key rings, earrings necklaces pins buttons wigs voice-altering devices Pepsis t-shirts underwear hats scarves gloves jackets – and why were there no jeans called Bille Jeans?); they were consuming their own gestures of consumption. That is, they were consuming not a Tayloristic Michael Jackson, or any licensed facsimile, but themselves. Riding a Mobius strip of pure capitalism, that was the transubstantiation.”
~ Greil Marcus On Michael Jackson