Two months ago we discussed Ethan Hawke’s absorbing interview in the spring issue of Cineaste in which the actor elaborated on the influence of the New Hollywood on his career choices; part two of that conversation appears in the magazine’s summer issue, and is again of great interest to fans of the seventies film. “If the point of making a movie is to make a million bucks and have it play at the mall, then you might as well be selling insurance,” Hawke explains. In contrast, “the Seventies ethos” held that “the point of making movies was to tell stories, to be a part of the consciousness of a culture alleviating its shame and living in honesty.” The four components packed into that second sentence are worth quickly revisiting—they concisely capture some fundamental tenets of the New Hollywood: storytelling, which, rightly, comes first; “consciousness” and “shame” are each suggestive of the seventies emphasis on asking hard, introspective social questions (in contrast to cheerleading) and of seeking wisdom in the interrogation of failures, rather than looking the other way or sweeping them under the rug. Finally, “honesty” is a touchstone, representing both the search for a more genuine representation of reality—this a direct influence of the French New Wave—and, always, the preference for challenging truths over beautiful lies.
Over the course of the interview, Hawke namechecks, among others, Robert Altman, Hal Ashby, Sidney Lumet and John Cassavetes, often thoughtfully (“if you ever watch Faces, you can see Cassavetes was thinking a lot about alcoholism”). He also sings the praises of All the President’s Men, Dog Day Afternoon, The French Connection, and Three Days of the Condor. Another seventies film Hawke singles out for considerable admiration is the relatively obscure Scarecrow (“totally performance driven and authentic”). Scarecrow, an episodic, thoughtful road picture starring Gene Hackman and Al Pacino was directed by Jerry Schatzberg (who had previously directed a then-unknown Pacino in the very fine The Panic in Needle Park), and shot by the great Vilmos Zsigmond. Eminently watchable, and, not surprisingly given the talent attached, dripping with Seventies sensibility, it shared the grand prize at Cannes—but I would not place it in the same rank as the other films mentioned here. Nevertheless, double bonus points for going beyond the usual suspects.
Hawke is in an excellent place professionally and describes himself as optimistic about the future of American film. But he is nevertheless keenly attentive to the limitations of contemporary commercial Hollywood cinema. “What qualifies as an art film now is Chris Nolan making a Batman movie, and I’m not saying it’s not good, but it’s not Apocalypse Now,” he observes. “Nolan is the best . . . but it’s so hard for directors who really want to break the rules. Breaking the rules was in fashion in the 1970s period we’re talking about.”