Customer Reviews

Easy Riders, Raging Bulls: How the Sex-Drugs-and-Rock 'N' Roll Generation Saved Hollywood

5 star:		(54)
4 star:		(25)
3 star:		(10)
2 star:		(8)
1 star:		(7)

 

 

This book is a terrific read: an amazingly revealing insight into the workings of the Hollywood machine and a convincing explanation of why the film industry is the way it is today. Fascinating for any film fan but truly essential for those particularly interested in Coppola, Scorcese, Altman and the other enfants terribles of the 70s. I learned more than I ever thought I would about the strange habits, curious peccadilloes and psychological frailties of these legendary directors and producers. Seminal figures such as Dennis Hopper, William Friedkin, Peter Bogdanovich and Scorsese all come across as frighteningly deranged, emphasising the fine line that separates genius from insanity - and many of these characters clearly ended up on the wrong side of the divide. One of Biskind's great strengths is that he seeks to portray all sides of the story, and it's hard not to believe the majority of what is reported simply for the fact that if wasn't true you can bet your life that lawsuits would have stopped publication in its tracks.

The spirit of the times engendered by the rise of the anti-Vietnam, hippy counterculture, generated a climate where a new form of creativity was allowed to enter the mainstream for the first time. This produced a fabulous glut of films - Bonnie and Clyde, The Godfather, The Exorcist, Taxi Driver, The Deerhunter, Star Wars, MASH and dozens of others. Biskind's belief is that the rise of the super director destroyed this astounding period in Hollywood history - egos and pay checks became so over inflated that eventually the studios realised that they had to seize back control. As a result the industry more or less stopped producing original pictures and opted for the safe bet of formulaic blockbusters which were more likely to draw big crowds - through excessive marketing and merchandising campaigns and extravagant special effects.

Biskind's style is compelling and the anectdotal evidence at times hilarious, at others horrific (Peter Bogdanovich's fall from grace is particularly gruesome). `Easy Riders Raging Bulls' must be one of the best books yet written about Hollywood and one of the best non-fiction books I have read in many years.

While quite a readable page-turner, in the final analysis this is a book more for a Access Hollywood type fan than cinema lovers. Surprisingly few reviewers have called Biskind on the carpet for what is essentially a cut and paste job cobbled together from past articles he published in Premiere magazine. It goes a long way in explaining the rather pell-mell, Pulp Fiction-esque chronology (although I did like the breather one gets from the biography for each major player not appearing until he was upon their first significant foray into filmmaking). But in trying desperately for this middle ground he fails on each front. Gossip and tabloid fans will find the scrawny photo section leaves much to be desired with many oft-cited figures without any pics, others too many. The more serious cinemaphile would be at a loss to explain many of the figures' appeal without actually knowing their work or habits. He might tell you , in the case of Hal Ashby, "actors killed to wo! rk with him" but I'd be damned if I could tell you why from reading Easy Riders, Raging Bulls. And the structure must have baffled even the author as dramatic tension is lost as he introduces facts too early. In a prime example, Biskind first introduces us to Melissa Mathison as "[the person] who would go on to marry Harrison Ford and be nominated for an Oscar.." instead showing her "arc" that went from babysitter, to assistant, to writer, to chief mistress before she took up with Harrison Ford which he fails to point out happened on Apocalypse Now. He also entirely skips the drama and the chance to draw meaning out of the release of E.T. The Extraterrestrial (the critical and commercial success, the Oscar race - not to mention Mathison's huge settlement over merchandising rights), possibly due to the fact that would undercut his whole Spielberg-the-destroyer-of-all-things-art theme. Which brings me to what probably what is the book's biggest stumble! , Biskind's muddle-headed attempt to affix blame for the en! d of his beloved New Hollywood. As several other reviews have pointed out, Biskind's roots are showing in his pretty naked adoration for this period. "...rock and roll generation saved Hollywood..." only works if you toss out these inconvenient and rather typical top grossing studio pictures from '68 to '75: Bullitt, Funny Girl, the Odd Couple, Romeo and Juliet, Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid, Hello, Dolly! The Love Bug, Airport, Love Story, Patton (while written by Coppola, way too straightforward and patriotic. Hell, it even has a neo-upbeat ending), Diamonds Are Forever, Fiddler on the Roof, Summer of '42, The Poseidon Adventure, Papillon, The Way We Were, Blazing Saddles, Earthquake, The Towering Inferno, and Young Frankenstein. He also downplays the fact that while they were made by his New Hollywood group some are not what one would call typical 70's fare like The Sting, What's Up Doc? He undercuts his own arguments by showcasing the out-of-control na! ture he seems to want to blame away on mountains of cocaine, while turning the Studios into the Empire each with a Darth Vader at the helm. If these directors had wanted to remain in positions of power, they should have taken the responsibility they had to the execs that supported them seriously. Also is ignored is the fact that collapse of this generation created a vacuum for films of a serious nature that was supplied by new centers of filmmaking, most notably New York Independent and Great Britain. Think about the significance of 1981's Academy Awards when Beatty won best director for Reds, while best picture went home with the producers of Chariots of Fire which started four straight years of UK nominations or wins for Picture or Director. Considering the dismal output from Hollywood over the last couple of years, those blockbusters and irresponsibility have reached their nadir with the present corporate owners so incapable of producing even decent summer popcorn flicks! that they have snapped up every former independent like cr! eative transplant operations. Instead of establishing a way in once they got their foot in the door so other young American up and comers could get in, they saw to it that way was sealed up but good. Biskind follows the same trajectory, starting off with great promise before losing his way after the decade ends and finds he has only sputtering moments of merit. I found myself rooting for the phlebitis to finish off Ashby, as I had little sympathy for someone who'd rather indulge his passion for drugs than that other bringer of euphoria: art. An editor in fact is what Biskind needed the most, who most certainly would have told him to bring it to a close with Raging Bull and put the rest into an epilogue. "We blew it." Boy, did they ever.

This appropriately titled expose`places both the praise and blame for the glorious Hollywood renaissance on the brilliant, creative and fearless but ultimately selfish, self absorbed, debauched and decadent 60's generation that burned themselves out before they really could build a lasting empire. To quote Peter Fonda's drug addled psuedo-anti-hero in the beautifully misshapen but stunningly and ironically prophetic "Easy Rider": "We blew it Billy".

Biskind does much to certainly promote the cult of the most overrated generation in history. But he does so by articulating and defending his point in a fast paced entertaining manner. Filling his pages with gleefully geeky tidbits of juicy bad behavior, Biskind edifys his position by balancing praise with vicious criticism. He calls the players all on the carpet and takes them to task for burning out in their own pathetic yet arrogant fires of ego-centric excess while managing to celebrate their true works of ground breaking film art.

Biskind appropriately bookends his journey with the equally self centered and no less destructive Jake LaMotta in Scorsese's brilliant film "Raging Bull". Biskind makes a fascinating point that Wyatt and Jake form a symbollic summation of a decade that could have been.

"Easy Riders and Ragin Bulls" pulls few punches and makes for an excellent summer read for anyone interested in Hollywood History.

In Easy Riders, Raging Bulls, Peter Biskind puts the filmmaking of the 1970s in perspective in a way that wouldn't have been possible in the 1980s (or even early-'90s). Aside from the fascinating stories behind the most significant films of the era, like The Last Picture Show or The Exorcist, he sheds light on the state of filmmaking today. The current movie landscape--for better or worse--wouldn't look the way it does if not for those award-winning blockbusters or for the high profile flops like Daisy Miller and Sorcerer...which just happened to have been made by the same people. Peter Bogdanovich (The Cat's Meow) and William Friedkin (Rules of Engagement) are only just starting to recover from the turbulent era in which they experienced their greatest triumphs and most resounding defeats. Biskind gives lesser known filmmakers, like the late, great Hal Ashby (Harold and Maude), their due, as well.

Those looking for the definitive book on the filmmaking of the 1970s should be forewarned that this is mostly an overview of an era and doesn't cover every picture or every director, but it's a compulsively readable account of a time we aren't likely to see again. At his worst--and as many have already noted--Biskind can be more gossipy than necessary, but that may just draw in those movie fans who've never actually picked up a book about filmmaking before. Maybe it could even lead them to pick up Andrew Sarris' classic American Cinema next (or the other side of the coin: Kenneth Anger's Hollywood Babylon series).

One way or the other, Easy Riders, Raging Bulls is a worthy addition to Stephen Bach's Final Cut (about the making of Heaven's Gate...and unmaking of United Artists) and David McClintick's Indecent Exposure (about former Columbia prexy David Begelman's fall from Hollywood grace) in revealing the human beings--and the human cost--that helped to shape what is now seen as a high water mark in cinema history. Just ask Quentin Tarantino or P.T. Anderson.

"...But it should have been perfect [but] in the end, we f***ed it all up. It should have been so sweet too, but it turned out to be the last time that street guys like us were ever given something that f***in' valuable again".

-Nicky Santoro in the film, "Casino".

A common thread in some of Martin Scorsese's films is the "loss of paradise" theme. How cool was the gangster world of "Goodfellas" before Henry Hill screwed it up by dealing with drugs? Or how cool was Saul Rothstein's world in Vegas before he screwed it up by marrying a scam artist?

In both of these films the chararacters were given the world and in the end the messed it all up. Have you ever wondered why Mr. Scorsese might have gravitated towards these themes? Well, after reading Peter Biskind's "Easy Riders, Raging Bull", I think you might find the answer.

It's a fascinating read about how, for a brief moment, Hollywood went loopy and handed over it's power to the street guys, the directors. Scorsese, Hopper, Beatty, Lucas, Spielberg, Coppola, Friedkin, etc. They became the town's "White Knights" and saved Hollywood from literally going senile.

Now, I don't know how many of the book's stories are actually true, but what the hell! It's a fun - lurid read! The only drawback is the depressing ending, which, of course, is how the young innovative directors scewed up and were never given something so valuable, as running Hollywood, again.

I just picked up Biskind's book to read again. I remember being so enthralled, invigorated by ever individual page that first time. It feels so distant now, but I still remember the descriptive portraits; it was certainly as alive as the best work of his subjects.

The actual writing in the book is so clean and well-written, so...orderly, that even sour information would have been instantly forgotten thanks to the consistantly exciting prose.

Fortunately for the reader however, the information is beyond interesting, beyond fun. The stories and portraits stand as the best reflections towards the era, the best chronicles of the age of decadence on celluloid. Giving it a bit of thought, this decade was the first time where the chronicles of the times were on film as much as on screen. Because real people were making these movies, and they were permitted to show and say anything they wished to, there became a kind of id factor. It existed with the novels of the lost generation, or the writings of the beat generation, or French Impressionism in painting, but now you could see the work...the age of information could present it in as intimate detail as the physical world would allow. That being said, this is a better chronicle of those times than the filmed documentaries (A Decade Under the Influence, the BBC doc based off of this book) because it pulls back from the times - feeling like a recently written book - to aim for an objective look at the tumultuous time. The people who step into becoming major figures in this book: Jack Nicholson, Robert Altman, Robert Towne, Hal Ashby, Julie Christie, Warren Beatty, Francis Ford Coppola, Bert Schneider, Peter Bogdanovich, Marty Scorsese, then later Spielberg, Lucas, Harrison Ford, etc, all come into their own as massive cultural characters making massive cultural statements. Revealed quickly is the depths and shallows of these people and their movies. Without actually providing real text, this little write-up is more of a tribute than a review, but that's my point: once you hit just a single paragraph of this, it'll only be a matter of time before the book receives another five-star review on this website.

Six years and 80-some reviews later, there's no need to repeat many of the points made previously. Two important aspects, however, have been generally overlooked. Personalities aside, the book presents an excellent insight into the shifting power relations between film producers, both independent and studio-based, and film directors, craftsmen traditionally subservient to the producers and money end of production. For a brief period, as Biskind's book shows, these relations were totally muddied or in some cases reversed. Thus, a degree of artistic freedom opened up for a number of aspiring auteurs (Hopper, Altman, Friedkin, Coppola, et.al.), beyond the imagination of such illustrious predecessors as Hawks, Welles, Ford, et. al. In that sense, the book should be of special interest to movie historians, especially those interested in the business side of the industry. Moreover, this shift reflects larger dynamics working their way through the culture as a whole from roughly 1966 to 1975, the insurgent period triggered by the Vietnam war. This alone should be of interest to the broader category of cultural historians. Though the cross-cutting between personalities does get confusing, the interplay among producers like Bert Schneider and directors like Dennis Hopper or between Bob Evans and Francis Ford Coppola provides a real feel of what it was like to be part of the shift and of the New Hollywood.

The book also raises the interesting question of how wisdom relates to art. One respected definition of wisdom associates the idea with knowing one's limits and respecting them. Folly occurs when this sense of limits is ignored, resulting in either individual or collective excess and eventual destruction. On the other hand, art often demands that limits be challenged in pursuit of inspiration, personal muse, or some such artistic vision. Drugs, including alcohol, are often looked at as a way of breaking down personal limits. Thus, in simplified form, a basic tension exists between the requirements of wisdom and those of art. Biskind's book offers some pretty clear object lessons on what happens to artistic ambition once all notion of personal limitation is cast aside. Dennis Hopper is merely the clearest, but not the only example. Towne, Bogdanovich, Coppola, and others face a loss of perspective either temporarily or permanently. Egoism takes over, and it becomes no longer possible to separate the demands of vision from those of rampant self-importance. Our culture tends to romanticize the "crazy" artist, but not the "wise" one who is usually much less colorful but understands the value of intelligent restraint. In this respect, "Easy Riders, Raging Bulls" presents a cautionary tale to those who would blindly follow the former.

Biskind's book may not be a perfect document of the time, but it does remain a highly suggestive one.

This book is amazing. Biskind did a great job of writing about what has to be the most innovative and decadent era in American filmmaking. For someone who came to an understanding of great cinema because of people like Scorsese, Ashby, and Coppola, it was fascinating to read about how these guys began and, with the exception of Scorsese, destroyed their own careers. People often think of these guys as icons, yet they fail to realize that these men were just as screwed up as everyone else was. I think this book is not only a great representation of 70's cinema, but it is also a very vivid portrayal of an entire decade of drugs, sex, and excess of both. It also made me think twice of pursuing a career in the film industry. Two questions: Could Margot Kidder and Amy Irving come off any worse than they do in this book? And, is there anyone Warren Beatty did not conquer?

Apparently, it is good to be a major Hollywood player. What else could explain the incredibly long tenure of the executive corps that reigned over the pictures from just after their founding until the early sixties? For fifty years in some cases, the founders of Hollywood stayed on, and they, with their lieutenants, chose which movies got made, which stars glittered and which fell from the heavens.

Yet, even though the old hands stayed on, the audience for movies began to shrink after reaching a high water mark in 1946. Once TV launched, movie attendance began to fall. While ticket sales dropped, the cost of making movies did not, so consequently, the early sixties brought the studios to a crossroads.

But, the geriatrics of Tinseltown who continued to make films like "The Sound of Music" and "Oliver" were not the folks to find a new formula. These men, some in the eighties, had no idea what the burgeoning hordes of young people born after the war were looking for.

What happened next is the subject of Peter Biskind's ribald book "Easy Riders, Raging Bulls." At the moment when the studios were looking for new filmmaking talent, an unwashed group of rebels waded ashore and began the process of taking the movies in a new direction. These young people, quickly dubbed the New Hollywood, included those that form the aging mainstream of movies today.

First through the gate was a drug addled Dennis Hopper, who made "Easy Rider" with the son of Henry Fonda. Jack Nicholson tagged along and rode the chopper of the new wave to a level of fame he was surely not slated for otherwise. This tiny film delivered a staggering return on investment and showed the old order what kind of riches the new kids could deliver if they connected with their own generation. As Peter Fonda stated afterwards, the elderly executives at Columbia Pictures went from shaking their heads in incomprehension to nodding their heads in incomprehension.

Many landmark films followed in quick succession, including classics like "Bonnie and Clyde," "The Last Picture Show," and "The Godfather." These decidedly downbeat films did well without any of the old Hollywood formulas. The filmmakers who made them took their inspiration from an older generation of European filmmakers whom they admired.

And, there is seems, was the problem that played itself out over the following decade. The European film tradition held that the director was a sort of demigod of the set who exercised total power over all. While such power surely led to the corruption of the Europeans, they lacked the youth and sheer spending power of the Americans to take the crazy behavior to a new level.

Once the ball was rolling, the film brats wallowed in each excess, which Biskind relates in tabloid like detail. If it is to be believed, directors like Francis Coppola, Martin Scorsese, Peter Bogdanovich and others scored as many girls and as much drugs as they could stand. Even the older guys like Robert Altman and Robert Towne did well in the debauchery department. This all male Corp slept and snorted their way to a few hits like "The Exorcist" but also turned out some completely forgettable films like Dennis Hopper's aptly titled "The Last Movie."

The two more conservative of the new breed set the stage for what happened next.

Steven Spielberg was not considered the star of the new generation, but he had demonstrated considerable talent with his television projects. So, he was put in charge of a monster genre picture titled "Jaws." The shoot didn't go well and went horribly over budget. To make matters worse, the mechanical shark looked completely fake. In order to save the film, shots of the shark were postponed as long as possible. Yet, such postponement had the effect of heightening the tension, which made the film into a hit the likes of which Hollywood had never seen. The pattern for the summer blockbuster was laid.

George Lucas was an acolyte of Coppola, but he lacked the sheer excessive appetite of his older artistic brother. Instead of focusing on counter culture subjects, he made what he considered to be a kid movie about heroes in outer space. "Star Wars" confirmed the power of the blockbuster, laid the groundwork for the special effects feature, and lifted the gritty reality based films of New Hollywood right out of their preferred urban settings and into the land of fantasy where they remain to this day.

At present, the New Hollywood is the aging mainstream of the industry. Martin Scorsese will release "The Aviator" this Christmas while George Lucas prepares yet another Star Wars sequel. Spielberg is now so mainstream as to be the owner of his own studio. Francis Coppola, once the darling of the new breed, continues to fish for new projects. He has, meanwhile, launched a daughter into the business in a way that would make Louis B. Mayer proud.

The business will never again allow such power to collect in the hands of the director. The younger directors, men such as Steven Soderburg and Wes Anderson, are noted for their reserve. The independent film director generally lacks the resources for the kind of excess Biskind reports. If his stories are to be believed, the movie of the New Hollywood was an action sex comedy with a raucous first act. The credits have yet to roll on this generation of Hollywood players.

Whether it be scathing or scandalous, Peter Biskind's book is a definitive chronocling of the wild 70's decade, when the importance of the blockbuster finally hit an all time high, and cinema was undergoing a new kind of creativity. Beginning with the culture breaking "Easy Riders" and the power destroying "Heaven's Gate", "Easy Riders, Raging Bulls" is a book that documents the sex, drugs, and rock n roll generation under the guise of such famous directors as Spielberg, Coppola, Lucas, and Altman amongst the likes of screenwriters and movie stars equally among them. From William Friedken's notoriously bad temper to Peter Bogdanovich's ego defining quote, "Easy Riders, Raging Bulls" is a look at the Watergate era in the midst of Hollywood handing over the power to it's star directors. Interviewing executives, crew members, writers, actors, call girls, scorned spouses, and the subjects themselves, Biskind's book is something of pure kitsch non-fiction, that will leave you reading from beginning to end. Very much an interesting read that portrays those behind the Hollywood dream machine, like the characters in their own films for the world to see, but with fair treatment by Biskind who gets testimonies from all sides.