Entertainment
How the men of ‘Task’ see the show’s troubled fathers and the damage they’ve caused
Brad Ingelsby knew after the breakout success of HBO’s “Mare of Easttown” — a crime drama about a police detective (Kate Winslet) investigating the murder of a teenage girl in a fictional working-class town — he didn’t want his next series to be another whodunit.
“That’s Mare’s thing,” he says on a recent late afternoon. “So, you start to go, if you’re going to write another story in the crime genre, what would get the audience to keep clicking to the next episode? I just thought, ‘Well, maybe a collision course show, where [in] every episode, we get a little closer, a little closer, a little closer, until things collide.’ ”
In “Task,” which concluded Sunday on HBO, Mark Ruffalo stars as Tom Brandis, a priest-turned-FBI agent leading a task force investigating a series of robberies in Delaware County, Pa., an area commonly referred to as Delco that was also the setting for “Mare of Easttown.” (And with references to Wawa and Scrapple, along with visits to Rita’s Water Ice, it slips into its role of expanding the universe.) It leads Tom to Robbie Prendergast (Tom Pelphrey), a sanitation worker who robs drug houses at night to provide for his family. Both men are emotionally tortured by life events — Tom’s wife was murdered by their adopted son, who is incarcerated; Robbie’s brother was killed by a member of a motorcycle gang — that have set them each on different, but destructive paths.
In “Task,” Mark Ruffalo, left, Alison Oliver, Thuso Mbedu and Fabein Frankel portray law enforcement officers who are part of an FBI task force investigating a string of robberies.
(Peter Kramer / HBO)
“ ‘Mare’ was about the moms — the damage that all the guys have caused and the women are kind of having to pick up the pieces of that,” Ingelsby says. “This [show] is all about the fathers and being left behind, seeing the damage they’ve done to their kids, how they’re going to fix that in their lives — or not be able to fix it. The guys who are actually doing the damage without knowing.”
Ingelsby says his uncle, who was an Augustinian priest, helped inspire the throughline of the series.
“I’ve always been very intrigued by his idea of faith in God over the years, and how it’s changed over time, and what he believed once and what he believes now,” he says. “I was intrigued by the idea of a guy who, everything he held as truth, all the pillars of his life, have come crumbling down. And Robbie has a much different faith. And it’s through the gauntlet of the story, how their lives intersect, that they both get to navigate their own journeys of faith.”
Over dinner at a West Hollywood hotel, The Times sat down with Ingelsby, Ruffalo and Pelphrey to discuss their faith journeys, economic inequality, fatherhood — and Wawa, too. Here are edited excerpts from the conversation, which contains spoilers about the finale.
After the success of “Mare of Easttown,” creator Brad Ingelsby wanted his follow-up, “Task,” to feel connected, but not repetitive: “ ‘Mare’ was about the moms,” he says. “This [show] is all about the fathers and being left behind, seeing the damage they’ve done to their kids, how they’re going to fix that in their lives — or not be able to fix it.”
(Bexx Francois/For The Times)
The themes of the show involve forgiveness and faith. Every person has experienced something in life that has tested those ideas. How has your own relationship to faith and forgiveness evolved as you’ve lived more life or taken on roles that ask you to live different experiences?
Pelphrey: My faith, to me, is when I got sober. God willing, Oct. 1, which is three days from now, it’ll be 12 years. That’s truly by the grace of God — you hear that phrase, but I genuinely, I mean that. That’s how I’ve experienced faith, through my sobriety. I was raised Catholic, but the experience I had at 31 was like in a different dimension to what I thought of religion or ideas. It’s one thing to have an idea, it’s another thing to have your heart opened. It’s definitely an important part of my life. And I think Brad did such a beautiful job conveying that. My grandma used to have one of these things when I was a kid — not a real gem, but like a glass cut thing so if you put it in the window, the sun shines through a million different ways, and the color goes everywhere. I feel like you [Brad] did that with some themes in the show where you’re like, “Let me just hold it up, and we’ll just look at it a few different ways.”
Ruffalo: My journey with faith is probably very similar to Tom’s. When you get a job or something, it can take you on a journey that you’re ripe to take. It touches your life at a very moment where you need it. I’d say, after my brother died, the whole notion of faith just went out the window for me. But oddly enough, I have a lot of addiction, alcoholism in my family. I say, either you are one or you love one. When you love somebody who’s struggling with that, it takes a lot of faith to let them go and to trust it will be OK. My friend says to me, “They got a God and you ain’t it.”
My faith has been renewed, actually, through Tom [the character] — he is an alcoholic. It’s touched my life in so many ways, even with my brother, that it’s like where I lost my faith and where I gained my faith again has been through this journey with alcoholism and drug addiction. And I waver. You look at the world and you’re like, “Where is God in this? Please show yourself. ” But the thing about faith is it requires you to believe without any evidence of its existence. I’d rather believe in that than nothing. Although, I fought him [Brad] all the time. I was like, “He’s [Tom] not really praying here. He’s trying to pray. He’s going through the actions of praying, but he can’t quite get to the opening sentence, which is “ … God …” He does pray, eventually, but it’s a journey.
There’s the powerful moment in that car when Tom and Robbie finally meet in Episode 5. Robbie says, “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced God in my life.” This is a man that hasn’t felt hope, and he has this glimmer of it with this goal of escaping to Canada. Tom, how was it getting into the mindset of this guy just trying to get out of this life?
Pelphrey: It’s heartbreaking. We’re articulating an American dream that far too many people don’t get to experience, and maybe are starting to lose the hope of ever experiencing it. That’s a very real thing — unfortunately, way too real and increasingly way too common. It was just constantly reminding myself: What does this character want? And at the end of the day, regardless of how extreme some of the things Robbie’s doing, he just wants a decent life for his kids. And the fact that he’s having a hard time getting it is heartbreaking.
That scene and in the car, the first time I read it, I was like, “Oh, he’s [Brad] got some balls.” You have so much s— boiling over — the plot lines, the violence, the stakes are through the roof for everyone now in the show, and we are going to sit in a car for half an episode? And two dudes are gonna talk?
In Episode 5, Robbie Prendergast (Tom Pelphrey), left, and Tom Brandis (Mark Ruffalo) finally meet.
(HBO)
Ruffalo: There’s no chase! And when they finally face each other, they’re not even [actually] facing each other! They’re both pushed to the edge and you don’t know where it could go. Tom certainly doesn’t know where it will go. Tom’s kind of at that point, like, “F— it. Go ahead.” We talked about it a lot, I was like, “I think Tom should die.”
[They break into laughter]
Ingelsby: Every single day he was pitching it.
Ruffalo: I was pitching Tom should have a heart attack at the end and he literally sees God and he says to God, “I’m ready.” He finally finds his faith. It’s finally paid off and he says [gasping], “I’m … reaaady.”
Ingelsby: Enough people die here. But that particular episode has always been very special to me. That’s when the show is operating at the peak of its powers. It just felt like, how do we subvert the expectations of the audience and do that in a way that still feels true to who these characters are? I remember talking to you [Tom] about this. You were like, “As soon as I know Cliff’s done, I’m on a one-way street. I have a plan.” But with you [Mark], once they get out of the car and you feel like you’re going to die, you’re like, “I want to call my family.” That’s when you get activated in a way. You’ve been going through the motions in life, but that’s when it gets very real.
Ruffalo: It’s like being reborn. It opens his heart. He sees how life can be taken away.
We’re in a political and cultural moment where the mood of the country is simmering — there’s anger and rage on all sides, and a lot of it stems from class and systemic issues that are in place that put people in certain positions. There’s that layer, but there’s also the grief element both these men are facing.
Ingelsby: With Robbie in particular, I was interested in a guy that felt really stuck. What I liked about Robbie was, if he didn’t take action, what would happen to Robbie? He’d be a trash man in too deep his whole life. Who cares about Robbie and his family? Nobody. He was left behind. In early versions of the script, I very explicitly said, “He wants his bite of the apple.” There are lots of people like that now. I loved writing Robbie because it felt like he was raging against being left behind and and I felt, in many cases, in the script, why wouldn’t you do something? Whether you agree with the actions or not —
Pelphrey: He had his f— life stolen from him. What he’s going after is a very specific thing. He’s not lashing out blindly against anybody to get any money at any cost. He’s like: “I’m gonna take it from these mother f—, who are bad dudes.” Even within that, he has principles. No one’s gonna die — obviously, the rules all go out the window Episode 2, but we’re not going to take the drugs, we’re not going to sell the drug. We’re going to destroy the drugs. We’re going to take the cash. Even within his brand of lashing out, he actually has a set of principles that he’s operating by.
Mark Ruffalo, left, and Tom Pelphrey star as two troubled men on a collision course in “Task.” Ruffalo portrays an FBI agent recovering from a family tragedy, while Pelphrey plays a garbage collector and criminal involved in a series of robberies. (Bexx Francois/For The Times)
Mark and Tom, as sons and fathers, how did you think about the father-child relationships of these two men and the collateral damage of their choices?
Ruffalo: It’s so hard to be a father, especially now because this generation is like, “We’re not going to do it the way our parents, our fathers did. We see that there’s another way to do it. We’re actually talking about it.” At the same time, we don’t exactly know what it is that we should do differently, plus we have the responsibility of, financially, keeping it together. It’s obviously hard to be a mom too. These guys are doing the best they can.
Pelphrey: Becoming a dad two and a half years ago now, it’s just the most f— awesome, wild, intense, crazy s— I’ve ever experienced in my life. It’s like getting struck by lightning. I’m so in love and I feel so vulnerable and I feel so happy — it’s all the feelings. Then suddenly, when you’re thinking about how you feel, you go, “How do I balance this? How do I protect her, but make sure that she’s brave and experiencing things? And you quickly realize there is so much to this that I will have no power over and the realization of that, in the deepest sense — and I’ve already had moments of that and we’re just getting started here. You imagine what it’s like, when you don’t have kids, but you have no f— clue. One of the things I could say without blinking, ever, is, “I totally understand why he’s doing what he’s doing.”
Was there a version where Robbie lived?
Ingelsby: No, I felt like structurally what needed to happen was Tom had to witness Robbie’s kindness, then his sacrifice. It felt very necessary to be like, “Oh, wait. Robbie — he went up to the woods…” Because he’s always like, “What’s the plan?” Tom realizes, “Oh, I know what the plan was. He went there to die.” Part of Tom’s journey to getting rid of the anger and to believing in something at the end, was to have witnessed the goodness in Robbie. He [Robbie] also gets in so deep eventually, he has pushed himself into such a corner and there’s no good way out of this. What’s an audience gonna think if he gets out of this unscathed? Even if he were to survive, he’s gonna be in jail for the rest of his life. The idea of sacrifice would speak to Tom as a character and get him to his ultimate decision to give the boy [Sam] up, but also forgive his own son and, quite literally, get the house ready for him.
Mark, how did you feel about the statement that Tom winds up giving at the hearing in the finale?
Ruffalo: He had to sit down and write that. I don’t think he really knew what he was going to be writing. He’s taking stock of his life and his son’s life and the story of the life. It’s connecting him to the whole story. It’s not just the loss of my wife, but also we raised that boy. We made this life together and, even in the hard part of it all, that’s where we learned what love is. Then when he gets in there, he doesn’t even know that he’s gonna say it. He doesn’t know he’s going to confront him with it and say [to his son], “Look at me.” But the whole journey, leads us there.
There’s something, too, about his composure in that moment.
Ingelsby: That’s the genius of Mark. That was the first or second take, what we used.
How many versions of it did you write? Was there an overly emotional or dramatic version?
Ingelsby: There was a longer version. But I think what was important about it was — and Mark does such a beautiful job — was that he had to be honest about how hard it was. I was always worried it would be a bit maudlin, if he just went in and said straight away, “I love you.” It was almost like he had to be really honest with everybody, like, “Hey, this was f— horrible.” And the shame of changing your name —
Ruffalo: Yes. To be that honest and to say that I pretended like I wasn’t his father. It’s so shameful. It’s so honest.
Ingelsby: I think because he’s so honest, it makes the forgiveness even more impactful. When he says, “I forgive you,” you believe because he’s earned the trust in the speech by admitting the things that were so shameful .
Ruffalo: It doesn’t just go one way — forgiveness. There’s a lot of shame on it on the other side, that’s where the anger comes from. There’s always this question: What could I have done? The backstory was I left, knowing that he was in an episode, but I had to go. I left her with him, thinking it would blow over. And it didn’t. He has to also be honest about his part in it. What dad says, “That’s not my kid. You’re in retreat already.”
Ingelsby: That’s what we want the ending to be. It’s not that everything’s going to be easy. I think the same for Mare — it wasn’t like Mare’s life was so great at the end of the show. There was a lot of going on.
Ruffalo: She’s going to an AA meeting. Tom and Mare can meet at an AA meeting.
Tom Pelphrey as Robbie Prendergrast, a garbage collector trying to avenge his brother’s death by hitting trap houses belonging to a local gang before getting caught in a deadly standoff. (HBO)
Mark Ruffalo, Silvia Dionicio and Phoebe Fox in “Task.” Ruffalo plays a priest-turned-FBI agent who hasn’t confronted his feelings about the murder of his wife at the hands of their adopted son. (HBO)
To that point, was there thought about whether to incorporate “Mare” characters in this show, if they’re in the same universe?
Ingelsby: It’s funny you say that. [In] one of the early scripts, we had a scene where Emily (Silvia Dionicio), at the end of the show, went to a concert with her boyfriend, Leo, the guy that’s a magician. And Mare’s daughter, Siobhan (Angourie Rice), was playing. And there was another connective piece I’m missing. I think Leo’s brother was in the band. And they had a moment together, because I felt like Emily and Siobhan were very, very similar. That they had the weight of the world on their shoulders in some way, Emily especially —
Ruffalo: They’re well suited for each other. They could just sink to the bottom of the lake together.
He’s got a crossover season mapped out for you.
Pelphrey: If we hold hands, we can sink faster.
Ingelsby: But we did have something connecting them. But I’m glad HBO read it and were like, “Is it a bit much?” It felt like maybe we were reaching to do something that the story didn’t require. And when we took it out, I felt like this story exists on its own, and we didn’t need that. If we had threaded it through the story in a more interesting way, maybe it would have worked, but it would have felt really tacked on and kind of just fan service for the sake of fan service, which I didn’t want.
Can we talk about the Phillies cup? It’s seems like such an obscure detail, but that cup triggered me. I know it well. A father trying to hide his vice.
Ingelsby: That’s another detail of my own life that I can repurpose, steal. That’s my dad. He drinks out of that. He watches every Phillies game. There’s 162 games. And if he can’t watch, he’s listening to it in a radio in the car. I feel like we always talk about in the specific, is the universal. And Mark did the swirly thing.
Ruffalo: That’s what made me want to do the show. That he was drinking out of that. And then he swirled his hand. I said, “This guy is writing character like nobody is doing that I’ve seen in television.” I only read the first episode and I was like, “I want to go. I trust this journey with him.” And it was from that nuance thing. I know that guy. He’s a priest who swirls his vodka and tonic with his finger. In a Phillies cup. And he thinks he’s pulling it over. That’s my family. It’s so honest.
The accent was such a feature of “Mare of Easttown.” I imagine that had its own expectations or pressure for this show.
Ingelsby: “Mare” was more a community — very, very specific community. I felt like, in that show, we had to go all in and Kate did. A lot of Mark’s character was driven by my uncle, who has no accent at all. Because he went to the seminary, then he went to Merrimack College, he was a teacher — he bounced around. And even me, there’s a couple words I’ll say that you can’t pick up a heavy accent. There’s a couple words, where maybe you could pick it up.
Ruffalo: We tried. I tried it. I kept kicking it out, it just didn’t feel right. He does hit some of those words. He does say wooder — cheery wooder ice. We kept some of it in, but we didn’t go as hard at it because he goes another way. I feel like he might have ended up in South America at some point. I was thinking he traveled the world.
Did you pay many visits to Wawa? I remember Kate telling me about her Wawa experiences.
Pelphrey: I grew up going to Wawa. I was Wawa all the time because I was living out in the suburbs.
Ingelsby: I think Kate ate hoagies or something.
Pelphrey: They make a good sandwich.
Ruffalo: Oh, bro. I started with a fat suit and then I had to take it off. I just kept getting fatter. My wife saw me and she’s like [to the kids], “huh, your father’s eating his way through Philly.” But, man, I’d be like, “How about a sandwich for the scene?” [Mimics scarfing down a sandwich.] Like a troll.
Ingelsby: He is an amazing sandwich eater. We were talking about it.
Pelphrey: We were.
Ruffalo: Oh, I knew I was going to be eating a sandwich that day [in a scene], so I starved myself so I could just plow that thing.
Are you interested in a Season 2, Brad?
Ruffalo: No one wants a Season 2. [the trio laughs] No, I’m kidding. That would be amazing.
Ingelsby: It would be amazing. If people respond and we get a chance to do it.
Could we get that “Task”-”Mare” crossover?
Ingelsby: A lot could happen.
Ruffalo: Some “Mare” people could show up. There could be a love affair.
Movie Reviews
Hollywood Pariah Kevin Spacey Opens in a Straight to Video Movie with 25 Producers, 1 Review, No Theaters, No Press – Showbiz411
As we know, Kevin Spacey is a pariah in Hollywood.
He’s in a rare club with Mel Gibson, Armie Hammer, Nate Parker, Jonathan Majors, and James Franco.
Spacey has managed to avoid jail time by reaching settlements with various accusers of sexual malfeasance, all men.
His film career — which included two Oscars and a Tony Award — has been destroyed.
Spacey has been reduced to appearing in straight to video films, made for whatever reason the various producers involved know only to themselves.
On Friday, a new Spacey movie surfaced against its will, but not in theaters. It also went straight to video. “1780” is a period piece set during the Revolutionary War. Spacey plays a toothless Pennsylvania country trapper.
There is no rating on Rotten Tomatoes, largely because there is only one review. The review by Alan Ng of Film Threat is positive. Ng recently reviewed “World War Bigfoot,” which he also liked. He seems to specialize in reviewing films no one has heard of.
“1780” does boast 25 producers who will probably not see a return on their investment. But they can say they made a movie with Kevin Spacey.
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Entertainment
Peter Asher has heard it all
When David Jacks published a biography of Peter Asher in 2022, the veteran record producer and manager expressed surprise that anyone would have deemed his life worthy of the treatment. Four years later, he’s no less baffled to have become the subject of a new documentary, “Peter Asher: Everywhere Man,” directed by the filmmakers Dan Geller and Dayna Goldfine.
“It just seemed to me,” he says, “that I wouldn’t be that fascinating.”
The movie, in theaters now, argues otherwise: A child actor alongside his two younger sisters, the bespectacled Asher became an unlikely pop star during the British invasion as half of the duo Peter & Gordon, whose debut single, “A World Without Love” — written by Paul McCartney — hit No. 1 on Billboard’s Hot 100 in 1964. (McCartney offered the song to Asher while the Beatle was dating Asher’s sister Jane.) In 1968, the Beatles made Asher head of A&R at Apple Records, where he signed James Taylor; the two soon moved to Los Angeles and turned Taylor into music’s biggest heartthrob folkie.
Asher went on to shepherd Linda Ronstadt to stardom and to produce records by Diana Ross, Cher, Bonnie Raitt, Randy Newman, Neil Diamond and 10,000 Maniacs, among many others. And at 82 he’s still at it: Last year he produced Barbra Streisand’s latest duets album — they’re due to start work on a new Streisand solo LP, he says — and he’ll perform a show of his own July 19 at the Grammy Museum. Asher, who broke his leg in a recent fall, spoke about it all the other morning at his home in Malibu, where he walked into the kitchen using a cane before sitting down at a table set with pastries and several of the day’s newspapers.
What unites the jobs of musician, producer, executive, manager? What’s the through line?
Love of music and admiration for the people who do it. They’re very different jobs, and I came at them from very different perspectives. Record production was something I set out to do once I understood what a record producer did. Hire musicians much better than yourself and tell them what to do? That’s a cool job — how do I get in on that racket? Whereas I never had any ambitions to be a manager. It’s just that when James and I decided to go out on our own and try to put a career together, we didn’t know who we trusted to do it, so I kind of went, I’ll do it.
What’d you discover about the job of management?
The ingredients are common sense, not being a crook and having a great client.
Which is the hardest of those three?
The last one. I got to induct the first managers inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame: Brian Epstein and Andrew Loog Oldham — the Beatles and the Stones. That’s the hard part. The only thing that would tempt me back into management would be lightning striking for a third time — to see James, to see Linda, then to see somebody comparably brilliant, which I occasionally do. But usually they have a manager already.
What’s the last new act that knocked you out?
Ed Sheeran.
Was that just because he looks like he could be your grandson?
That certainly crossed my mind.
As a producer, your records helped define the sound of rock in the ’70s.
The so-called California sound.
Then the zeitgeist shifted.
One became aware of that. Pop music got very electronic, which I loved.
Was there a place for you in that style?
I didn’t consciously try to make records in that style because I don’t think I could have — not as well as they were being made anyway.
What’s a record from the early ’80s that made you think that?
“Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This).” I couldn’t do that.
Back to the ’70s: The doc is filled with pictures of James looking —
Like a movie star. With the cover of “JT,” I finally went all the way and said, “We’re doing the the glamour shot.” Then we did “Flag,” which everyone hated.
With the maritime flag. A truly perverse album cover.
I loved it. James loved it. Everyone thought we were crazy.
How crucial do you think James’ good looks were to his whole proposition?
I don’t know.
Oh, come on.
I really don’t. I mean, how would you gauge that? There’s probably girls who fell in love with him without listening to the record.
I think you just gauged it.
If he was ugly, would he be as big a star? Probably not.
(Evan Mulling / For The Times)
Same applies to Linda, right?
When I first saw Linda, it was stages of realization. Someone said to me, “You’ve got to go down and see this girl at the Bitter End.” I walk in and she’s singing so well — unspeakably good. Then she looks incredibly great — barefoot, short-shorts. Oh, my God, my heart. Then you meet her, and it turns out she’s a remarkably brilliant woman — extremely well read. You just kind of go, “All these things together — how can it be?” It’s the same thing talking about the Beatles: If you cast it like the Spice Girls, you still couldn’t have gotten four to fit together so perfectly.
Did you like the Spice Girls?
Terrific. “Tell me what you want / What you really, really want” — it’s a smash. And yet none of them are particularly good singers, which is kind of the point.
I went to an event not long ago where Paul McCartney played his new album for a small group of fans. It was fascinating to see the spell McCartney casts over people.
He’s had to get used to it — to admit to himself that he can’t meet people who aren’t amazed that they’re meeting him. Even as someone who’s known him off and on for a long time, you still get the wave of: Holy s—.
You’re still amazed to be around him?
Of course. I get it less — I’m ready for it. But you can’t pretend he’s not Paul McCartney. And he’s gotta live with that his whole life.
You grew up a member of the upper crust, I think it’s fair to say.
I don’t think we were that crusty. But upper, probably, yes.
I wondered how that situated you to live and work among artistic types.
If anything, the upper crust have more time to be artistic — less preoccupied with getting a job and making a living. But my parents worked incredibly hard — we weren’t upper crust in the sense of inherited wealth. My father was a doctor, my mother was a professor of music. But I never struggled, to be honest. I had a comfortable allowance, and then I went to school and worked hard. Everyone talks about sharing a flat with a million people, living on borrowed sandwiches — I skipped that phase.
Did that shape you in any meaningful way?
I don’t know. But I think when people do struggle, it becomes a meaningful part of their lives to get away from it. With someone like James, the struggle was a struggle with drugs. Now he says the worst thing about drugs is they’re a complete waste of time — you waste time doing nothing except looking for drugs. And I think that made him anxious to succeed and to be taken seriously.
I’m sure you saw the New York Times’ list of the 30 greatest living American songwriters.
You knew it was gonna be silly. Randy Newman, for God’s sake — you just cannot not include him.
No Neil Diamond either.
Insane.
And no Billy Joel.
[Shrugs].
How’s your health?
High blood pressure, high cholesterol, need to work out more — old man stuff. Other than that and a broken leg, great.
You’re OK with the cane?
It’s a considerable upgrade from the wheelchair. I like the cane — it’s kind of elegant.
What seems scarier: the body going or the mind going?
The mind going. And it is, slightly. I had a stroke, and bits of my brain aren’t quite working right. But compared to other people I know, I’m fine.
We’re at a moment when a lot of foundational rock ’n’ roll figures —
Are dying. It’s all the rage.
What’s it feel like to see your friends and colleagues go?
Better them than me.
Couple more for you: You managed Courtney Love for a spell.
I met her here in Malibu. I also managed Pamela Anderson for a while because she was a neighbor and asked me to help.
What, you put a shingle out?
“Manager for hire.” I’m trying to remember how I first met Courtney — I think Merck Mercuriadis was talking to her about publishing and Kurt stuff. I liked her. Very smart. I like smart women.
She’s easy to work with? Hard to work with?
Impossible to work with.
What’s James Taylor’s best album?
“JT,” maybe.
What’s Linda Ronstadt’s best album?
“Heart Like a Wheel.” With Linda, it’s unfair because they’re so radically different. How do you compare that to a mariachi record and then to Nelson Riddle?
Working with Riddle on those albums must have been a thrill.
He told us all these incredible stories about Frank Sinatra, who he didn’t like although he admired him enormously. It was John David Souther who originally suggested Nelson. Linda had tried doing the album a different way — did some versions with Jerry Wexler and it didn’t work out. So we had a meeting with Nelson: Would he consider doing a couple of arrangements for us? He went, “No.” We said, “What?” He said, “I’ll do an album, though.”
“A World Without Love” was one of eight songs to top the chart in 1964 with “love” in the title. What’s that say about pop music in the mid-’60s?
Same thing it says about pop music of all time: It’s either “I love you” or “She loves you” or “Why don’t you love me?” Weird Al pointed out to me that when you’re looking for a parody of a song, any song that has “love” in the title, substitute “lunch” and it’s funny. “A World Without Lunch” — I mean, who would want to live in such a place?
Movie Reviews
‘House of Criticism’ Review: A Pensive and Touching Portrait of Married Art Critics Jerry Saltz and Roberta Smith (It Is Only, at Moments, a True-Life Christopher Guest Movie)
If you wanted to be funny about it, you could say that Jerry Saltz and Roberta Smith, who occupy the center of the documentary “House of Criticism,” are like characters out of a Christopher Guest movie. Both are venerable New York art critics — but the thing is, they’re married New York art critics, whose lives revolve entirely around art and art criticism and talking about art and art criticism. They eat, breathe, sleep and dream it. In the Guest mockumentary of my imagination, the two would be played by Bob Balaban and Parker Posey, and they would be blissfully cracked egghead eccentrics who think that art is the most important thing in the world because it’s the most important thing in the world to them.
At moments, “House of Criticism” does throw off unintentional comic sparks of art-world insularity. But I’m kidding, ultimately, since underneath that it’s a pensive and touching documentary, and it happens to be about two writers I greatly admire. Roberta Smith, the co-chief art critic of the New York Times, and Jerry Saltz, the art critic of New York magazine, are writers of sway, elegance, legend. They’re two of the last powerful legacy critics in America, and both are fantastic writers. For them, the love of art is a mission, at once sophisticated and childlike. Roberta calls art “the most advanced operating system that our species has devised to explore consciousness, the seen and the unseeable.” The way art connects (and saves) these two on a daily basis is its own rarefied story, and it speaks to a certain vanishing culture of passionate New York literary brainiacs that used to be thought of as almost the essence of the city.
Early on, Jerry stands before Picasso’s epochal Les Demoiselles d’Avignon at the Museum of Modern Art and does a head-spinning riff on it, describing how 500 years of art history collapsed in the late 19th century (through Manet, the Impressionists, Van Gogh, Cezanne), leaving the blank slate for Picasso to fill. He compares the way the painting remade the world to the cataclysm of 9/11 (“When we believed in one course of history, and obviously there was another course of history, and they shattered”). Now that’s criticism.
As “House of Criticism” shows us, Jerry Saltz and Roberta Smith are luminaries and survivors who enjoy an idealized life together. Roberta is something of a contradiction, both the haughtier and more vulnerable of the two. She can be imperious in that Timesian way, but there’s a tremulous insecurity about her. Beneath a certain Midwestern patrician rigor, she’s full of self-doubt about her writing and is in constant need of encouragement, which Jerry is more than happy to provide. He’s blustery and big picture-oriented, while her insights are more delicate and intimate, blooming out of her holy communion with the work.
Jerry is a contradiction as well, a man who writes like a demon and looks like a dentist. But don’t let his fubsy aura fool you — he’s the social butterfly and loose cannon, plugged into social media (which he plays like a violin), and the audacious thoughts pour out of him. The most telling aspect of their relationship is that as writers they should be competitors, but instead they’re spiritual collaborators; they turn what could be a competition into a romance. They help each other on word choices, and even when they’re reviewing the same show, they’re really competing with themselves, with their own cultivated and highly different ideas of perfectionism.
Their relationship is built, to a large degree, around Jerry’s belief that Roberta is the superior critic — but this, for Jerry, is a form of chivalry, the flower of their love story. “Your writing is so condensed, right on the object, focused,” he says. He’s intensely supportive, but Jerry, who won the Pulitzer Prize for criticism in 2018, is arguably the greater writer (his poetic showmanship flies higher), and it’s my reading that deep down he knows it. It’s his perpetual self-deprecation and devotion that keeps the marriage balanced.
The two have no children and no apparent hobbies outside of their unrelenting obsession with art. They slip in and out of gallery openings, where they’re treated like royalty, and they attend 20 to 30 shows a week. By all rights, they should have a social calendar that rivals Andy Warhol’s in the ’70s. But here’s the joke: They adore their life together but are so devoted to their work, so monastic about it, that they never go out. Jerry calls them “happy losers” and describes their spacious apartment off Fifth Avenue in Greenwich Village as “the house that criticism built.”
In the morning, he pours deli coffee over ice into a 7-11 Big Gulp cup, and he’ll consume three of those a day. It’s fuel, as is the food he eats. When his friend Adam Platt, the New York magazine restaurant critic, asks Jerry what his favorite food is, Jerry replies: the grilled chicken at Gristede’s (a slightly downscale New York supermarket). “That’s the life of the mind!” says Platt. “You’re as happy with prison food.” He’s not kidding. I live in the same neighborhood and use Gristede’s as a convenience store, and I would never consider buying the grilled chicken there. But as Jerry explains, popping a bag of spinach into the microwave, he and Roberta are so consumed with work that they subsist on this drone food. The two barely go to restaurants (though we see them having breakfast at their favorite diner). Do they drink? If I was them, I’d need a cocktail by the end of the day, but the movie never says.
“House of Criticism,” directed by Alison Chernick, has a sketchy but rather controlled vantage. There’s a lot you don’t learn (I would have liked to see more about the politics of the New York art world), and plenty you do — like the fact that Lena Dunham is their goddaughter. Late in the movie, she comes over to visit them and provokes a penetrating exchange on the subject of why they never had kids.
People don’t often think of critics in humanistic terms, but these two invest criticism with soul, and there’s something disarming about how they were both damaged people who came together by seeing, in each other, a mirror image. She was born in New York and raised in Kansas, moving back to Manhattan in her early twenties to be part of the art scene (her mentor was the artist and critic Donald Judd). She found her way to criticism as a role in life, yet there was something metaphysically lonely about her.
It’s Jerry who comes from trauma. His mother, who committed suicide when he was 10, was erased out of his life (she was never spoken of again). He tells a haunting story about how she dropped him off for a solo visit to the Art Institute of Chicago just two weeks before her death, and it was there, on that visit, that the art lightbulb went off: He realized that every painting is a story. He wanted to be a painter, and tried (he had some talent), but thought that he lacked the proper schooling. What he really lacked was confidence. In photographs from the time, Jerry looks like he could be Richard Dreyfuss’s sad-sack brother. He wound up becoming a long-distance trucker, driving 10-wheelers full of paintings (he did this for 10 years), and he confesses that at moments he would go back into the truck and stomp on paintings and damage them. That is seriously sick behavior (his self-hatred was off the charts), and it’s amazing that he became the menschy person he did.
These two have thrived as critics by evolving. Jerry says of critics, “We have to adapt to the times, or we’re bullies and geezers.” He’s right. The film culminates in Roberta’s ultimate evolution — her decision to retire from the New York Times. The time feels right, but the question hovers: Without that job, what will her identity be? In a moving moment, she tells Jerry, “You’re my infrastructure.” “You’re mine,” he says. (That’s the critic version of “You complete me.”) And seeing each other through the prism of art is both of their infrastructure. These two are standard-bearers for the glory of a culture that once was. It’s a culture where criticism is about judging things, but more than that it’s about exploring things — experiencing things, bringing you closer to life.
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