The Critic On Stage

"...he knew that whatever his talent was--some combination of drives, feelings, ways of seeing, and ways of saying--it must be not simply worn, but used; that if he remained sober, the problem would become one of seeing the universe as truly as seeing himself--and working, digging, grappling, sweating to discover his own role." --Jacob Brackman '65,   in The Art of Fine Words, 1965

When Jacob Brackman pecked out those words 13 years ago, he was already displaying the kind of talent as a writer that would carry him... well, wherever he wanted to go. And since he gave up his position as The Crimson's Features Editor and all-round star reviewer, he has done just that.

Credentials don't always describe a man, particularly a writer, but in Brackman's case they are, indeed, impressive, and should be listed early in a profile both to point out his impressive and varied career and to get them out of the way. So here they are: upon graduation, Brackman went to work for Newsweek. That lasted about six months, after which New Yorker magazine hired him as an all-purpose writer-reviewer. He stayed until 1969, when he became Esquire's film critic. After four years of seeing more than 30 films a month--too much, even for the most dedicated cineaste--Brackman quit, in search of an entry to show business. He already had some credentials there, too; he wrote the script for Bob Rafelsons King of Marvin Gardens, and, as if all of the above wasn't enough, he also wrote the lyrics for several of Carly Simon's bigger hits.

Now Brackman is back in Boston--for the first time since 1969, when Life sent him here to cover the Harvard strike of that spring--and he is, as he desires, back into show business. He wrote the lyrics for King of Hearts, the musical version of Phillipe de Broca's Cambridge cult film which opens this week in Boston, moving to New York in the middle of October. When we met for an interview at Bartley's Burger Cottage last week, he was relaxed--although he did chain-smoke--open, friendly, and above all, interesting. Not to mention funny.

Brackman seems to have enjoyed his undergraduate career, although academics do not figure prominently in his recollections: "I played a great deal of pool... between the time I spent in the Adams House pool room and The Crimson, I could account for ten hours a day. But it got dangerous at times. There were guys in that room who, without any warning, could shoot two or three racks at any given time."

He sees the assassination of John F. Kennedy as a turning point in his personal orientation, in the prevailing attitude at Harvard, and in the nation as a whole. "I identified more--much more--with the kind of political and social chaos after the assassination than with the kind of smugness that characterized the Classes one or two years before me."

Brackman admits that his undergraduate career was not exactly typical of the "Best and Brightest" atmosphere of Harvard in the early '60s. "I mean, I got turned on to psychedelics while I was an undergraduate. While people were going after that whole Leary-Alpert connection, I was doing the same thing they were. My values became much more in the late '60s mode," he says.

He still identifies more with the '60s than the '70s: "Everything is getting more strict It's the end of the '70s, and the feelings from the '60s are really ending now... I myself do not repudiate the '60s; I think in many ways the repudiation of the '60s on the part of a lot of the people who were shaped by it is just going with artificiality."

We sat in Bartley's Burger Cottage, drinking endless cups of coffee and talking about his new play, his views of show business, and how he got where he is today.

His reasoning for being in the theater now, as opposed to journalism, with which he is certainly more familiar, seems simple: "It's a kind of high you don't get in journalism... and ultimately it's some kind of high you're after."

"I started with Esquire in 1969 with the intent of doing it for a year... I ended up doing it for three years. After that I didn't see a movie for a few years. I really didn't want to be a critic. Most people who are artists are kind of hacks; I was a hack trying to become an artist. All the while [at Esquire] I was fishing around for a new way to write about films. I had a kind of prejudice about being a critic even while I was one." Accordingly, he does not plan to return to journalism in the near future.

For now, Brackman is wrapped up in King of Hearts and a film called Days of Heaven, of which he is the executive producer--another new venture for him. Days of Heaven, directed by Terrence Malik (Badlands), will open early in October. In the meantime, Brackman finds himself in the rather odd position of waiting for the critics--many of them his former associates--to give the verdict on his works.

"I'm turning a chapter now... I'm 35 and there are those two major projects wrapping up now. I don't know what's next. The choice is to go off by myself and write or stay in show biz, try to get into some sort of team project. It would be hard for me to write something long and serious while staying in that New York-Los Angeles axis," he says.

What about songwriting? Brackman laughs and says the answer depends on how well the songs in King of Hearts are received. He talks about the beginning of his songwriting career: "I met Carly Simon teaching creative writing at a camp called Indian Hill. Carly was the folksinging/campfire counselor... so I just started writing songs for her." Those songs are among her biggest and certainly her most serious--including "Haven't Got Time for the Pain," "That's the Way I've Always Heard It Should Be," and, on her latest album, "Let's Make Love for Old Time's Sake."

Brackman seems to have to ability to walk into major projects. He must be a lucky man, evidenced by his version of how he got involved with King of Marvin Gardens: "I knew Rafelson and I met his wife in New York, who told me he was going to Big Sur to think about his new film. This was just after Five Easy Pieces. I called him and convinced him to hire me to come out and talk about what his new film should be. It was very much writtern-to-order, incorporating elements I really wanted to deal with, like penny arcades, blacks in periwinkle shoes...." Periwinkle shoes? "Yeah," he smiles, grinning wolfishly, trying to gauge the shock value.

King of Marvin Gardens, for the uninitiated (and there are many), is a wonderful and very bizarre film about two brothers--Jack Nicholson and Bruce Dern, here originating the psycho role Dern has used for the past six years--who spend a weekend in Atlantic City during the winter. Anyone who has ever been to Atlantic City in the winter knows that it's the most desolate, depressing place on the East Coast (not that it's all that great in summer). Brackman lived there for five years as a child, staying with a grandfather in the hotel business. The film is eerie, filled with grotesque scenes and odd vistas. It is also beautifully written. Brackman strikes again.

The King of Hearts project started three years ago, Brackman says. He takes a rather unconventional view of the theater; or rather he says what so few people inside the business are really willing to say: "It's far too political. A lot of the talent that's called for is not so much creative as forensic."

With King of Hearts, Brackman and his cohorts face not only the usual problems inherent in a Broadway-bound show (last week the truck carrying some of the sets up to Boston was fire-bombed by Molotov-happy kids, delaying the opening by a full week), but the special problem of transferring a beloved movie--a cult film, particularly in Cambridge, where it ran for five and a half years--into a popular musical. DeBroca's fable of lovable loonies running rampant in an abandoned French town during World War I has a dedicated following, may of whom aren't going to like the jazzed-up musical version, complete with German and America (not British) trenches rising from the orchestra pit, no matter how good it is.

"I'm sort of dreading reading the reviews that will talk mostly about the film," Brackman says. "King of Hearts is completely confection--King of Marvin Gardens is like a nightmare cartoon, and by comparison, this is like a Disney cartoon."

King of Hearts' secret may have been its genteel anti-war message, as well as the superb performances by Genevieve Bujold and Alan Bates. Brackman notes that the message may not be quite so forceful in the post-Vietnam musical version. "It's certainly not, as is, a Vietnam statement, but it is kind of a war statement, within the parameters of a musical. We did, for a while, try to inject a harder edge into it, but really, all of that has fallen by the wayside. It's a fairy tale."

"The musical is really a kind of razzle-dazzle--that kind of gossamer, pastel quality in the film isn't there... there's no point in doing something from another medium in the same way," he says, noting that he has written over 100 songs for the show--about 15 of which made it to the final product.

Curiously, Brackman is not one of the film version's devotees. "I never liked the film that much, but when it was suggested as a musical, I knew it was a great idea. The obstacle was to persuade deBroca, but he was persuaded that it was the young people of America who had made the film." Hmm. Forensic skill, eh?

He remains rather impassive about the prospects for his new baby. "If it's a hit, I'll feel great; if it isn't, I'll feel like a fool... but I'll come away with a few good songs," he says.

Brackman's future depends, in part, on the success of his current ventures. But even if they all fail, he will be able to bounce back. Witty personable, and clearly facile with a typewriter, he will be able to bounce into almost any kind of new project. And it is not until the end of the interview that he.unloads the precious secret of his avocation: "I became a writer so I could wear a sweater."