The other day, I was at an airport (one that may possibly not allow photography, so I won’t name it) preparing to catch a flight. The following events happened in the space of a few seconds: Standing in the food court, I look down at my ticket. My ticket says I need to go to Gate 41. I look up and immediately see this…
As if airports weren’t nightmares of dystopian existentialism already.
Stories of long-lost films have always fascinated me. From the 1921 Marx Bros film Humor Risk (which Groucho, reportedly, personally destroyed), to Jerry Lewis’s 1971 Holocaust movie The Day the Clown Cried (the only copy of which exists in Jerry Lewis’s house), these films are the stuff of legend. I’ve often dreamed about finding a copy of Lon Chaney Snr’s London After Midnight (1927) or owning Woody Allen’s Men of Crisis: The Harvey Wallbanger Story (1971) on DVD, but deep down I know this is never going to happen.
What’s unusual is when a modern film joins the ranks of The Missing. It’s practically impossible these days for entire films to go missing, so if they’re unavailable for the general public, there’s usually a very good, very specific, very deliberate reason.
STC’s Tot Mom
In 2010, Steven Soderbergh directed the play Tot Mom for the Sydney Theatre company, about the recent Casey Anthony trial in the US. As the play came together, an exciting piece of news emerged: during rehearsals, Soderbergh was shooting an improvised film with the play’s cast.
Here’s the thing: Steven Soderbergh is my favourite working director, so the idea of another film from him always excites me. I waited patiently for news of the film’s release, keeping an eye on movie news sites and occasionally looking it up on IMDb. Then I discovered the truth: the film, titled The Last Time I Saw Michael Gregg, was never coming out. It was only ever intended to be seen by the cast.
I was a little crushed, but also a bit thrilled, because it’s this sort of thing that makes me love Soderbergh. Sure, there may have been various other contributing factors (such as release forms or music rights or all sorts of things that meant a public release was never feasible), but I liked the idea that it was an exercise for him. A bit of fun. This is, after all, a man who, rumour has it, edited Hitchcock’s Psycho and van Sant’s Psycho together into one supercut, just because the idea tickled him.
It was disappointing, but I resigned myself to the fact that I would never see it.
Then, something happened to snap me out of my stupor of acceptance. For the past two-and-a-half years, I’ve been recording a monthly film podcast with my filmmaker friend Paul Nelson, called Hell Is For Hyphenates. Each month, we have a different guest on to talk about recent film releases, debate a hot-button cinematic topic, and explore the career of a filmmaker as chosen by the guest.
In the past, we’ve talked about everyone from Mike Leigh to Pier Paolo Pasolini. From Michael Bay to Jan Svankmajer. David Fincher to Andrei Tarkovsky.
When our August guest, film critic Alice Tynan, told us that she’d chosen Steven Soderbergh, I decided to throw caution to the wind and attempt track down a copy of The Last Time I Saw Michael Gregg. I knew the task would be close-to-impossible, but I also knew that if I failed, the result would be the same as if I never tried. And if I succeeded…
I wish I could tell you the story of how I got it. I really do. It sure as hell wasn’t easy. It’s a story filled with the most extraordinary twists and turns, joys and disappointments, and about six instances in which it became clear if failed, that even the screenwriter of Wild Things would find it a bit far-fetched. Unfortunately, I have to protect my sources, so I can never tell it. But trust me: it’s a good one.
I’ve done some searching, and, as far as I can tell, nobody else in the world has reviewed or discussed The Last Time I Saw Michael Gregg, publicly and so Hell Is For Hypehantes can proudly lay claim to this exclusive.
You’ll have to listen to it to find out what I thought, but I will say this: I wish more people could see it. (It goes without saying that I won’t be the one to facilitate this. Honestly, don’t ask me for a copy or an upload to the web. It’s not going to happen.) But I do hope that, at some point in the future, it eventually gets a release. Soderbergh fans who, like me, revel in his more handmade films like Schizopolis or Full Frontal will absolutely eat this up.
There aren’t many filmmakers who can successfully throw together a film like this, but Soderbergh is one. And I say that with all due credit to the actors, who clearly improvise much of the material, and are, without exception, hilarious.
So, in the meantime you can hear me surprise the hell out of Paul and Alice with my revelation in the August 2012 edition of Hell Is For Hyphenates. Download it from the website, or subscribe via iTunes. And do feel free to check out previous episodes whilst you’re there. They have fewer world-first exclusives, but they’re packed full of moxie.
If you read my open letter to St Michael’s a few months ago – a letter that was, in its intent, far more sincere than I discovered some people assumed – you’ll know that Melbourne’s Astor Theatre, a cinematic emporium whose cultural importance cannot be overstated, was under threat of closure.
By virtue of circumstance, St Michael’s Grammar School, the owners of the extraordinary art deco building that houses the Astor, was cornered into the role of the villain. It was clear that they were only acting in the best interests of their students, but those interests were working in direct opposition to the survival of a unique cultural institution, and one many of feel very, very passionate about. To use a cliché that I trust St Michael’s advises its students against using in their own writing, they were damned if they did, and damned if they didn’t. I did not envy them.
The community rallied, and turned out in force for the massive Save The Astor rally this past June, but what followed was a worrying silence. There was a sense that something was going on behind the scenes, but nobody on the outside of the bubble knew what that was. Last week, we found out.
Lionel Barrymore: not Ralph Taranto.
St Michael’s Grammar has relented, and sold the building to businessman Ralph Taranto.
Who is this man? A ruthless corporate figure, one who’d no doubt be played by Lionel Barrymore in the film, who would tear the building asunder and sell it off, molecule by molecule?
Thankfully – gloriously – no!
Ralph Taranto loves his cinema, and having spoken to some people who have had dealings with him, it sounds like this love is genuine and sincere. Taranto clearly has a passion for keeping the Astor going, and he’s already committed to extending the business’s lease, as well as giving the building some much-needed refurbishments.
Right now, you probably want to give him a bear hug. Get in line.
Mr Taranto is definitely a hero in this situation, but he’s not the only one. (Although, as my Hell Is For Hyphenates co-host Paul Nelson pointed out to me, the saving of the Astor Theatre has a strikingly-similar narrative to the saving of its spiritual sister, the New Beverly Cinema in Los Angeles. Not least because the Astor was saved by Ralph Taranto, and the New Beverly was saved by the nominatively-similar Quentin Tarantino!)
It strikes me that we should also be thanking some of the higher-ups at St Michael’s Grammar. They deserve a significant amount of the credit for this result, because they were under no obligation to sell the building. Zero. It seems apparent that they did so because they recognise that they are themselves part of the community, and the community had made its feelings very clear. If you’re wanting to give Ralph that hug, St Michael’s deserves, at minimum, a high five.
It goes without saying, but none of this would have happened without the incredibly tireless efforts of both the Astor Theatre itself and the Friends of the Astor organisation. I know at least one of the key figures prefers not to be singled out for credit, so we’ll simply credit the larger entities.
So, what next? A suggestion that you, the reader, support the Astor?
No. Definitely not. To ask you to ‘support’ the Astor is to suggest that it’s some sort of responsibility, a task you do out of duty*. And if it was such a thing, it would never have survived the past eighty years.
Tomorrow night, the theatre will play a double featuring two of my favourite films of the year: The King of Devil’s Island and Declaration of War. Great films on their own, but the pairing is inspired.
There’s a David Lean retrospective starting on Saturday, featuring Brief Encounter, Blithe Spirit, Great Expectations, Oliver Twist, Doctor Zhivago, The Bridge Over the River Kwai, and the brand new restoration of Lawrence of Arabia. (The first time I saw Lawrence was in 70mm at the Astor. The second time was in 35mm at the Astor. I can’t wait to see their 4K digital print looks like.)
Then there’s the amazing four-hour Woody Allen: A Documentary, a Wes Anderson retrospective, a Russ Meyer ‘Vixen-Fest’, the George Romero Night/Dawn/Day trilogy on the one night, the Back to the Future trilogy on the one night, the extended version of Kenneth Lonergen’s Margaret, 2001: A Space Odyssey in 70mm, Kenneth Branagh’s Hamlet in 70mm, a Jodorowsky double of Holy Mountain and El Topo, the Lord of the Rings extended edition trilogy on the one day, a double of Cabin in the Woods and Drag Me To Hell… and all of that within the space of only three months. Not only is the above just business-as-usual for the Astor, but I actually left out a whole lot of incredible stuff. Go take a look if you don’t believe me.
This is one of those rare instances when everybody wins. St Michael’s still gets to use the Astor for school events. We get to keep our beloved cinema. And much like the classic films it so frequently plays, the building itself will be subject to a gorgeous restoration. The only way this could be better is if I was allowed to live there.
So don’t feel obliged to ‘support’ the Astor; just visit it every night for completely selfish reasons. When I’m back in Melbourne, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing.
* That said, you should definitely join Friends of the Astor.
Spider-man 2. Premium Rush. Which filmmaker will be brave enough to conclude the Aasif Mandvi Sends a Young Man Out To Deliver Something In New York On Bicycle trilogy?
Steven Spielberg wasted no time in rushing the Julian Assange story to the big screen.
