Who the Devil Made It: Conversations with Legendary Film Directors

Who the Devil Made It: Conversations with Legendary Film Directors

Language: English

Pages: 864

ISBN: 0345404572

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


In this fascinating chronicle of Hollywood and the grand art of making movies, Peter Bogdanovich--director, screenwriter, actor, and critic--interviews sixteen legendary directors of the first hundred years of film:

Robert Aldrich  George Cukor  Allan Dwan  Howard Hawks  Alfred Hitchcock  Chuck Jones  Fritz Lang  Joseph H. Lewis  Sidney Lumet  Leo McCartey  Otto Preminger  Don Siegel  Josef von Sternberg  Frank Tashlin  Edgar G. Ulmer  Raoul Walsh

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killed that son of a bitch! That’s why I made The Last Will of Dr. Mabuse. It’s finished.” But he insisted, so it became a kind of challenge to me—and I had an idea that it might be interesting to show a similar criminal almost thirty years later and again say certain things about our time: the danger that our civilization can be blown up and that on its rubble some new realm of crime could be built up. But, you see, I didn’t make these pictures because I thought they were important, but because

fortunately married the best scenario-writer in Germany, Thea von Harbou. I also worked later with him on M for [producer] Seymour Nebenzal. Were you working as a designer? No, I was really Production Designer. At that time, up to the coming of sound, there were two directors on each picture: a director for the dramatic action and for the actors, and then the director for the picture itself, who established the camera angles, camera movements, et cetera; there had to be teamwork. And you were

the deceptively simple Budd Boetticher’s; also Joseph H. Lewis’ and Edgar G. Ulmer’s (see this page–this page and this page–this page). Never taken very seriously by critics, and even less so by studio heads, the “B” movie director often worked in a freer atmosphere than some of his high-budgeted contemporaries. TV production is so closely supervised by networks, sponsors and producers that any sort of really personal expression is difficult. The only relation between television films and the

went back and laboriously put the sound in—screaming tires and all that sort of thing—and I didn’t change one cut. I went back and ran it for him. Afterward, he shook hands with me and his palm was wet and he said, “Absolutely marvelous!” He thought I’d made a lot of changes and I hadn’t made any. Were you in any way influenced by Orson Welles and his Lady from Shanghai [1948]—the quest for a secret—or the imagery in the aquarium scene? No. It’s funny, because I tried to figure out some place

swooshes down and sticks him in the rumbleseat. He turns, sees the arrow and immediately he knows he’s being attacked by those fearful Redskins he’s read about. Howling, he runs down onto Third Avenue and into the arms of a cop—who sees the arrow and takes him to Bellevue Hospital. That evening the papers are emblazoned with Doug’s picture pulling a bow, and next to it the story of a little fellow shot in the rear by an arrow. It cost Doug five thousand dollars to square it—and the fellow put

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