On Sunday, December 13, 2015 at 10:48:15 PM UTC-6,
wlah...@gmail.com wrote:
> I find that often with critics and one could easily accuse Andrew Sarris of the same thing and I only need to point to John Huston or William Wellman to make my case. Could make a case for Ebert as well. Frankly, I find much of your responses as questionable. So what? You have Kael down as some kind of criminal and that is typical of the old boy regime. She had an independent voice and let's face it, you hate that.
Unfair to say Tom hates Kael because she was an "independent voice" when conniving maverick would be a more loaded description. Like most of us, he has probably enjoyed her as a spectacular entertainer providing superstar excitement that remains unparalleled in the art of opinion. But he's right to reference Scott's bull's eye perception that often the movies she sees differ from the movies in her head. "Casualties of War" is a perfect example. While not by legal definition a criminal, Kael was a repeated ethics violator -- not just in the uncredited lift of someone else's material for her "Raising Kane" essay, but taking undisclosed payments for script and editing advice and then writing raves about what she was involved with. She claimed to never have an appetite for gossip, yet she was persistently "in the know" for years about what Beatty, as just one example, was up to through scripter Robert Towne (who benefited by her rave for "Tequila Sunrise" and then dumped her once she retired and was no longer of use to him). She had an ever-flowing pipeline from New Yorker staffers who kept her apprised of Penelope Gilliatt's descent into alcoholism. That was both a lucky and ethically despicable break: when Kael's contract ran out in Hollywood, she had nowhere to go and wanted to return to The New Yorker. Shawn didn't want her back -- he deemed her "corrupt." For years Kael wanted Shawn to give her the movie critic chair exclusively, badmouthing Penelope as out of touch and unable to connect to readers. He refused, and when Kael set sail for GaGaLand, he thought he was done with her. As Penelope's boozing increased and was accused of lifting another writer's published words for her article about Graham Greene, Kael used her editor Bill Whitworth to go in for the kill. He did, with a series of pleadings that amounted to this: "You want an unreliable boozer or a celebrated bitch?" Shawn capitulated, only to get stabbed in the back when Kael refused to sign a New Yorker staff letter protesting his dismissal when the magazine was sold.
It's no accident that Kael didn't have a whole lot to say about her personal experiences in Hollywood with Warren and Toback, and while I can't speak for others, it's my belief that almost nothing she ever openly said about that period or was reported to have said by her to close friends who later repeated it for the press has much if any core honesty to it. Except for this: when she returned to The New Yorker, she told the Village Voice's Arthur Bell why she lost it out there: "I didn't realize how long it takes to make movies." Those were the most recoiling ten words she could never retrieve. It has to mean something that Gilliatt's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" is the best of its kind, that Lumet's working career lasted 55 years and that Kael was bounced from Beatty's production company in less than a month on the job and then tossed to savage beast Don Simpson who gleefully sentenced her to some ragging. Peter Biskind might be right after all -- she done got set up. Only those like Brian Kellow who have a penchant for kissing dead ass would ever suggest she fully recovered.