| Reviewed by Stacey Kalish (May 2007)
Book by David Mamet
250 pages; Pantheon Books; $22 David Mamet doesn't just want to bite the hand that feeds him. He wants to tear it off, grind it up and spit the remains back in its face. In his latest book, Bambi vs. Godzilla: On the Nature, Purpose, and Practice of the Movie Business, he may have bitten off more than he can chew. This award-winning playwright-turned-screenwriter and director, who's churned out scripts such as The Untouchables, The Postman Always Rings Twice and Wag the Dog, has words with Hollywood. The book is a collection of brief and caustic essays about the film industry, which, for Mamet, has become much like the government as that entity is seen through its approach on defense spending: a "repressive mechanism" that repeatedly outpours waste, increases its expenditure and has become "the laugh track to our national experiment." It's not exactly Watergate news to hear Hollywood operates on a "show me the money" mentality, or that producers are overpaid and lowly crew overworked. But Mamet does include some subversive and honest glimpses into the industry from an insider's perspective. Like a Bosnian Muslim testifying against Milosovic, Mamet decries the injustice of the innocent, creative and helpless writer (Bambi) crushed by the bestial, money-hungry suit (Godzilla). "No wonder all writers want to direct: One still has to put up with a load of nonsense, but even if wearing two hats (writer and director), there is one under which one is not called a thief and then raped." It's entertaining to read Mamet's account of the creative politics ("Manners in Hollywood, in short, stink on ice"), the demeaning nature of auditioning, the impotence of focus groups and, of course, the unbelievable social hierarchy on set. But there is a point where one must take a breath from the tirade and wonder what's more depressing: the state of the filmmaking business or Mamet's overbearing cynicism. "I've seen, as we all have, theft, fraud, intimidation, malversation, and seen it with such regularity that its absence provoked not comment but wonder." Mamet is known as a stylist, and his signature penmanship permeates these essays. His voice swings, however, from the cogent and straightforward advisor to the abstruse and self-conscious authority that addresses one as "gentle reader" and prepares you for when he thinks he may offend - like when he discourses on why Jews run Hollywood. Mamet posits that Asperger's syndrome, a form of autism, helped make the movies because its symptoms make for great movie directors: "a lack of ability to mix with groups in age-appropriate way," "an indifference to social norms" and "high intelligence." And seeing that Semitic culture is genetically predisposed to this disease, it makes sense to Mamet that Jews should constitute the bulk of America's movie directors and studio heads. It's this kind of willingness to make ballsy assertions that yields the best part of the book - the hard-nosed, pragmatic shoptalk aimed at aspiring screenwriters. And, while he's not afraid to tell you what he doesn't like, he does include plenty of kudos to those he thinks have done it right. This book reads like your very own Netflix-suggested guide to the classics. Mamet has earned his respect within the film world and as a writer from the outset of these essays. So it's somewhat puzzling that he insists on challenging the industry with a Jerry Springer-inspired attack - impulsive, messy and looking for a reaction. The book, at its best, feels like a procrastination project that Mamet started while stuck on an idea for the next screenplay. Perhaps now he's had his vent, we can look forward to his future unfettered work. |
