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Film Features Film/TV

Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain

It’s weird to talk about “the mystery” of Anthony Bourdain. The truth is, the chef-turned-author-turned-travel show star was one of the most visible and open people on the planet. At one point in Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain, director Morgan Neville uses clips from a 2016 episode of the CNN travelogue show Parts Unknown in which Bourdain talks to a therapist while visiting Argentina. “I should be happy,” he says. “I have incredible luck.” 

Do you ever feel happy, the therapist asks? “No,” replies Bourdain. 

It’s true, Bourdain did have good luck. His 2000 book Kitchen Confidential defined the seedy glamour of restaurant work for a generation—more importantly, it was an inspiration to millions of talented, smart people stuck in dead end jobs. He successfully parlayed his second book, A Cook’s Tour, into a third career as a travel writer and TV host. When he died of suicide in 2018 while on a shoot in France, his friends and fans were devastated. How could a former cocaine and heroin addict who had survived 25 years in an industrial kitchen to become the voice and conscience of Americans abroad decide to check out so suddenly? 

When someone kills themselves, those of us left behind want answers. As his friend, graffiti artist David Choe says late in the film, “Tony let me down.” 

But the truth about suicide is much more mundane. Cases like Cleopatra, who killed herself because she lost the Battle of Alexandria and was about to be deposed from her throne by the Romans, are exceedingly rare. The answer to “Why did they do it?” almost never has a clear cut answer beyond lifelong mental illness. One day, things just caught up with them. 

Neville, to his credit, understands that the big risk in making this film is to focus too much on the end. This is a biography, like Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, his 2018 film on Fred Rogers. It benefits greatly from the hundreds of hours of video shot by the crews following him on his trips around the world, thanks to longtime producer and creative partner Lydia Tenaglia. Bourdain’s career arc is measured visually by the progression from blurry millennial digital video to sharp 4K. His own words, of which there are volumes, explain his growth from a rather insular New Yorker to a world traveler. “I don’t trust anything that happens out there,” he says early in the picture, gesturing to the world outside the kitchen.

But an incident in 2006, when he and his crew were trapped in a Beirut hotel while a war between Israel and Hezbollah destroyed the vibrant city around him, fundamentally changed his perspective. Later, when a Laotian man who lost limbs in an American bombing attack during the Vietnam War asks him why he used what was ostensibly a cooking show to highlight the abuses of American imperialism, he replies, “It’s the least I can do.” 

That’s the Bourdain that his audience trusted and loved: Empathetic, honest, and open about the lucky breaks he received. Yes, he was a talented writer with a magnetic persona, but he was also in the right place at the right time, and he never forgot it. Neville and editor Eileen Meyer balance potential hero worship by interviewing people who worked with him, and knew how difficult he could be to get along with in real life. Thanks to Neville’s decision not to interview actress Asia Argento, the girlfriend whose public breakup happened days before his suicide, Bourdain superfans might not find much new to learn in Roadrunner. But it was the right choice. This movie is not about “who killed Anthony Bourdain?” It is “who was Anthony Bourdain?” As the title, taken from a Jonathan Richman song, implies, he was a guy who ran all his life, until he couldn’t any more. 

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Film Features Film/TV

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

I’ve started to become suspicious when someone points and says “This is what America is all about” or “this is not America.” America is many things. Americans wrote: “We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal and endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” Americans also owned slaves — and later, freed slaves. America is a nation of immigrants that erected a statue welcoming the tired, poor, and hungry masses yearning to breathe free. Americans have also looked down on, at various times, Irish, Italian, Chinese, Japanese, Cuban, and Hispanic immigrants. America is, as the bad term paper cliche goes, a land of contrasts. Because America is made up of humans, who are themselves a mixture of good and bad, the American identity is always a tug of war between extremes.

From 1968 to 2002, one of our perpetual tug of war’s strongest pullers for good was Fred Rogers. He was a Presbyterian minister from Pennsylvania who fell in love with television, and saw in it a potential to do good on a vast scale. His TV show, Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, started on a Pittsburgh area educational television station in 1968 and became PBS’ first hit. As one producer puts it early in the documentary Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, Mr. Rogers’ show was the exact opposite of everything conventional wisdom held was “good TV.” The sets were cheap, the puppets nowhere near Muppet levels of sophistication, and there were often long stretches of silence. And yet it became a cultural touchstone, thanks to the steady magnetism and stalwart humanity of its host.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor? is helmed by Morgan Neville, one of the finest documentary directors working today. He won the Best Documentary Oscar in 2013 with his film about backup singers, 20 Feet From Stardom, and last year he shared an Emmy with Memphian Robert Gordon for Best of Enemies, the story of the epic political debates between William F. Buckley and Gore Vidal during the 1968 election season. (Neville’s new film also boasts a Memphis connection: composer Jonathan Kirkscey provides the score.)

Daniel Tiger (left) and Fred Rogers, star of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood

Documentaries are always judged first by their subject, and Neville has a knack for choosing exactly the right ones. A master of documentary structure, he makes the case for Rogers’ continued relevance right out of the gate. Launched in 1968, during the most violent period of the Vietnam War and the rash of political assassinations in America, Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood never shied away from wrestling with tough questions. During its very first week, there was a storyline where King Friday XIII wanted to build a wall around the Neighborhood of Make Believe because he was frightened of change. After Robert Kennedy was killed, Rogers did a week of shows teaching children how to deal with death.

The most electrifying moment in the film comes when Rogers is asked to testify before a Congressional committee hearing debating the future of PBS. His unpretentious eloquence brings everyone in the room to tears, including the senator who is there to grill him for wasting $20 million of taxpayer money on kid’s shows. Through it all, Rogers’ uncanny talent for connecting onscreen shines through as he makes friends with everyone from cellist Yo Yo Ma to KoKo the gorilla, who signs “friend” and “love” at the TV host.

You can tell a lot about a person by the quality of his enemies. Rogers was a lifelong Republican who advocated for an “open, accepting Christianity.” During the early years of Fox News, Rogers was routinely attacked as a decadent influence whose doctrine of radical compassion had raised a generation of soft liberals. When he died, his funeral was picketed by the notorious hate group Westboro Baptist Church. Won’t You Be My Neighbor? is what you would call a warts and all documentary — or at least, you would call it that if its subject had any real warts to expose. At various points during the film, the people who knew and worked with Rogers say that he was exactly the same person offscreen as onscreen, thoroughly kind and empathetic to a fault. The worst thing Neville can come up with in the interest of balance is that, toward the end of his TV career, he started to identify more with the grumpy King Friday XIII than with the meek Daniel Tiger. I guess power really does get to everyone eventually.

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Cover Feature News

Best Of Enemies

It was 1968. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated in Memphis, giving the civil rights era a tragic coda. In June, Bobby Kennedy, the front-runner for the Democratic presidential nomination, fell to an assassin’s bullet. The Republican and Democratic conventions were to be held in August, and the three television networks were planning the same gavel-to-gavel coverage they had been doing since 1948.

But ABC had a problem. As the perpetual third-place network, they couldn’t afford to send a horde of reporters scurrying over the convention floor. So they settled on a cheaper alternative: They would invite two intellectuals, one conservative and one liberal, to a no-holds-barred political debate live on the air. The choice to represent the conservative side was easy: William F. Buckley Jr., founding editor of the political magazine National Review. His writings had formed the foundation of what we now call the conservative movement, and two years earlier he had started his own political television program called Firing Line.

Buckley immediately accepted the invitation. Who would you like to debate, ABC asked? Anyone but Gore Vidal, he replied. The unabashedly liberal, sexually ambiguous author of Myra Breckinridge was the antithesis of everything Buckley stood for. He hated that guy.

Naturally, ABC called Gore Vidal.

Fundamental Issues

Memphis director Robert Gordon’s new documentary, Best of Enemies, tells a story that has been lost amid the greater drama of a country tearing itself apart. The televised debates between Vidal and Buckley reverberate across the years, setting the stage for the political and media landscape where we find ourselves as we gird for another political battle for the future of the nation. “It — 1968 — was such a volatile year,” Gordon says. “It was when the frame that held America together came undone.”

Gordon co-directed Best of Enemies with Morgan Neville, whose Twenty Feet from Stardom won Best Documentary at last year’s Academy Awards. The pair have previously collaborated on films about Johnny Cash, Muddy Waters, and Cowboy Jack Clement. Since their work (as well as Gordon’s other books and films, such as the Stax Records history Respect Yourself) has dealt primarily with musical subjects, a political documentary seems like a big departure. But Gordon says it wasn’t a stretch. “Morgan and I both liked using the subject of the film to explore deeper, wider territory. So the documentary on Stax is a lot about the civil rights movement in America. Johnny Cash’s America is about the fundamental issues of democracy in America.”

Prize Fighters

The 1968 Republican convention in Miami was a well-oiled political machine, with Buckley acolytes Ronald Reagan and Nelson Rockefeller lining up behind nominee Richard Nixon. The ABC coverage of the convention was a comedy of errors. The only thing that went right was the 15 minutes every night when the cameras were trained on Buckley and Vidal. The pair circled each other like prize fighters, unleashing flurry after flurry of verbal attacks, with neither seeming to lay a glove on the other. It was riveting television.

“You just don’t ever get to see fully completed thoughts on TV any more,” Best of Enemies editor Eileen Meyer says. “You don’t get to see people like Buckley. His sentences were two or three minutes long. You can barely comprehend what he’s talking about. I had to watch the debates over and over and over again before I fully comprehended everything that was in there, and I still don’t get maybe a third of it. They were just so far above anyone’s intellect, and yet they were entertaining and fun to watch.”

Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures

Gore Vidal in Best of Enemies.

A Long Memory

Best of Enemies took five years to make, but its roots go back to the early 1970s when writer and publisher Tom Graves was a Memphis State student interested in politics. “I knew of Vidal as a novelist and Buckley as a conservative spokesman who was on TV,” Graves recalls.

His interest was piqued when he came across their dueling articles in Esquire that were published in the aftermath of the 1968 debates. “I was absolutely amazed by what I had read. These two guys going head to head was better than Muhammad Ali’s ‘Thrilla in Manila.’ This is incredible word-slinging. What a mass of rhetoric! It was verbal fencing,” he says.

Graves wanted to see the debates for himself, but in the pre-VCR era, it proved impossible. “I never lost interest in this, ever,” he says.

He wasn’t the only one. Years later, Graves discovered Vidal had copies of eight of the debates, but in an obsolete video format. Graves arranged with the writer’s camp to have the tapes professionally transferred to DVD. “I thought maybe I could turn this into some kind of Frost/Nixon kind of play. But I’m not a playwright.”

In 2010, he arranged a screening of the debates at the Memphis Brooks Museum of Art. He didn’t expect much interest, but “it was not only sold out, they had to turn quite a few people away.”

Among those in the audience was Gordon. He saw the potential in the footage and contacted Graves, who recalls him saying, “My partner’s Morgan Neville, and if I were to do this as a solo project, he would never forgive me.”

Blood in the Streets

Three weeks after the Republican convention, the Democratic Party gathered in Chicago. The death of Kennedy had thrown the Democratic race into chaos, and the convention devolved into a fiasco of historic proportions. The floor fight between Eugene McCarthy and George McGovern was soon overshadowed by the events outside the hall, where Mayor Richard Daley’s heavy-handed police force helped escalate anti-war demonstrations into all-out riots.

On the air, Buckley and Vidal went at it again. Word had spread of the verbal fisticuffs, and the nation tuned in. They were not disappointed. Buckley was smug, confident he could exploit Democratic divisions. Vidal, the radical, was incandescent, railing against Buckley’s brand of conservatism and the Democratic pro-Vietnam war faction, led by President Lyndon Johnson, whose back-room dealings secured the nomination of Vice President Hubert Humphrey.

By the penultimate night of the convention, with blood flowing in the Chicago streets, the gloves had come off in the ABC studios. Vidal baited Buckley relentlessly, and when he equated Buckley’s conservatism with outright fascism, Buckley’s carefully constructed patrician demeanor slipped. He called Vidal a “goddamn queer,” and the debate was on the verge of physical violence when moderator Howard K. Smith stepped in. Backstage, Buckley flew into a rage while Vidal declared victory and partied with Paul Newman.

But the real winner was ABC, which, over the course of August, went from last to first in the ratings.

Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures

Gore Vidal and Paul Newman in Best of Enemies.

Digging Into the Past

“ABC was supportive from the beginning,” Gordon says. “They didn’t understand immediately, but I won their trust. Then I called Morgan and told him I had this great idea, and could I send him a DVD?”

Unexpectedly, Neville had a connection with the material. “His first job out of college was fact-checker at The Nation, and he was Vidal’s fact-checker,” Gordon says. “It was the worst job he ever had. Gore did not like being told he made mistakes. Morgan saw the same thing I did — that these debates represented the culture wars in America today and that they were articulating both sides so well, yet it was 45 years old. We both saw this as a very contemporary project.”

Gordon, Neville, and Graves set up interviews with political and media figures, including talk-show host Dick Cavett, columnist Frank Rich, and Vanity Fair editor James Wolcott. “They saw what we saw, that they could talk about all kinds of contemporary issues by talking about the enmity between these two guys,” Gordon says. “When we finished the first interview with Wolcott, I knew we had a great movie.”

They managed to secure one of the last interviews with the late writer Christopher Hitchens. “I was so nervous going in there,” Gordon says. “It was two weeks before he was diagnosed with cancer. He wasn’t ill yet. It was a delightful evening of cocktails and talk.”

“We had so much fun. I hope it comes across,” Graves says.

Hollow Victory

In August 1968, the consensus was that Vidal had won the debates. But it was a hollow victory. With the Democratic Party in disarray, Nixon handily defeated Humphrey. “In the immediate days and weeks after the convention, Buckley’s ideas won out,” Gordon says. “They reached their epitome with Reagan, who is still the icon of the Republican Party. Though people no longer know who Buckley is, they know Buckley’s ideas, because they know Reagan. But it’s been interesting to see, in the past half-dozen years or so, the turn to where Vidal’s ideas are having their moment: Gay rights, marijuana legalization, these ideas that seemed so far out back then are finding their way into the American mainstream.”

Although it was not obvious at the time, the Buckley-Vidal debates marked the beginning of the modern age of political punditry. By the time the 1972 conventions rolled around, all three networks had teams of ideologically opposed commentators debating the issues of the day. Gavel-to-gavel convention coverage was a thing of the past.

Greenlit

“It was one of those stories that we had to find it as we went along,” Neville says. “And it was one of these rare experiences on a film where every stone we turned yielded some nugget that just made it richer and richer. Oftentimes, in a documentary, you’re searching for the characters or for dramatic tension. This film had all that in spades.”

Work on Best of Enemies was on and off. The team struggled to secure funding, get interviews, and uncover new archival footage. “Morgan probably made five documentaries in the interim, and he was piggybacking shoots for this onto those.”

Memphian David Leonard shot many of the interviews, and Meyer edited scenes and trailers together, which were used to try to secure funding from investors and grants from Independent Television Service (ITVS).

“When Robert came to me to talk about the project five years ago, I said, ‘Who?,’ and he said ‘Cool!'” Meyer says. “I hadn’t really thought about the fact that people under 40 don’t know who these guys are. In making the film, it was a fun exercise to try and make it accessible to people who were alive during the events and who knew everything about these guys, and then also to introduce a whole new generation to these two amazing characters and this event.”

Finally, after three years, a grant from ITVS greenlit the project. The final budget was approximately $750,000. “It’s a 90-minute film, and 80 minutes of screen time is archival [footage],” Gordon says. “Hundreds of thousands of dollars went into licensing.”

The money opened up new sources of material. “Everything changed when we got into the ABC archive. They had so much we didn’t know they had, like convention coverage. These films hadn’t been seen in decades. Every time we would hit a splice, it would turn to dust,” Gordon says.

For Neville, the biggest discovery was that the debates were a Hail Mary by ABC. “The real character that emerged while we were making the film was ABC. As the film became more and more the story of ABC, everybody got a little nervous about how they would react. But I have to say, at the end of the day, when we finished the film and showed it to their business affairs, they wrote back and said, ‘It’s a film of quality. We’re a news organization. We don’t believe in censorship. You can use anything you want.’ That’s the kind of thing you want to believe a news organization would say, but I guarantee not every news organization would say that.”

Two Things You Should Never Turn Down

After 1968, Buckley and Vidal both went on to greater successes. For the next three decades, Buckley would take on all comers on Firing Line. National Review became the blueprint for the conservative movement that swept America. Vidal found himself in demand, famously quipping that there were two things one should never turn down: sex and appearing on television. His career as a writer flourished with a series of historical novels, such as Lincoln, Burr, and The Golden Age, earning him the sobriquet “America’s biographer.”

As political TV shouters proliferated, the Buckley-Vidal debates were largely forgotten. But the combatants didn’t forget. Their deepening hatred for each other is echoed in the widening divide between the two forces in American politics, the right and the left. Buckley died in 2008. His son, Christopher, refused to be interviewed. “This was a festering wound in the Buckley family. I understood why he didn’t want to talk,” Gordon says.

Vidal died in 2012, while the film was in production. “We interviewed Vidal, which we did not use in the film,” Graves says. “He was real cranky, and he didn’t give us any sound bites we could use. But without Bill in the film, it just seemed off-balance.”

Uncivil Discourse

Gordon and Neville’s masterful storytelling help the lessons of Best of Enemies go down easy. “I think the role of the documentary filmmaker is to be a filmmaker,” Neville says. “Remember that movies, whether scripted or unscripted, are about character and story.”

Scenes from the debates alternate with biographical details and contemporary interviews. “We came up with that idea pretty early in the process,” Neville says. “As much as it’s about political debate, it’s also about a championship fight. We knew we had 10 rounds, with a knockdown in the ninth. We wanted that to be the structure of the film.”

But Best of Enemies is about more than a spectacular clash of ideologies and egos. “We wanted to step back and talk about how we argue,” Neville says. “We’re not choosing sides, and not being objective for the sake of being objective. We’re not choosing sides, because we want to make the bigger point.”

That point is simple. “When did civil discourse become uncivil?” Gordon says. “Where are the adults?”

The contrast between Buckley’s and Vidal’s carefully constructed arguments and today’s button-pushing political discourse couldn’t be clearer. “You see a dumb person on television, and you say, ‘They’re dumb like me! That’s cool!'” Meyer says. “I wish people would say, ‘Wow, that dude is so smart. I want to sit and listen to him all day long.'”

Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures

Morgan Neville

Neville agrees. “The dumbing down of our media has led to the dumbing down of our politics. That’s something that’s mutually beneficial to the companies who make money off of news and the companies that make money off of politicians.”

The message has resonated with critics and audiences. The film was snapped up by Magnolia Pictures the night of its premiere. “When we sold the film at Sundance, the night we were negotiating with our distributor, Robert said, ‘As long as you open the film in Memphis. That’s a term of selling it to you.’ And they said okay!”

On Friday, August 14th, Best of Enemies goes into wide distribution after earning rave reviews from critics and early Oscar buzz in limited release.

Indie Memphis will host the Memphis premiere on Friday at 7:15 p.m. It will feature a Q&A with Gordon and the sale of Buckley vs. Vidal (The Devault-Graves Agency) by Graves, a transcript of the debates with an introduction by Gordon. There will be another Q&A with Gordon after Saturday’s 7:15 p.m. screening.

Gordon says making the film helped him appreciate how increasing political polarization threatens the very fabric of civil society. “We don’t listen to each other, because we don’t have to. But at some point, we’re going to have to.”

Editor’s note: Our thanks to Malco Theatres for allowing us to use the lobby and projection room of the Ridgeway Cinema Grill for Justin Fox Burks’ photographs.

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Film/TV Film/TV/Etc. Blog

Robert Gordon Strikes Gold At Sundance

Memphis writer/director/producer Robert Gordon’s new project Best Of Enemies was sold to Magnolia Pictures and Participant Media today for a “high six-figure sum”. The documentary film, which was co-directed with Morgan Neville, whose last film 20 Feet From Stardom, won last year’s Academy Award for Best Documentary, premiered last Friday at the Sundance Film Festival. 

William F. Buckley and Gore Vidal square off in this still image from Best Of Enemies.

Best Of Enemies chronicles the series of debates between Gore Vidal and William F. Buckley staged by ABC during the 1968 Republican and Democratic conventions, which the film credits as kicking off the contemporary cable news shoutfest style of political programming. 

Reviews for the film by the cadre of industry professionals who descend on Park City, Utah every January have been nothing short of rapturous. The Hollywood Reporter‘s Todd McCarthy wrote “For American viewers of an intellectual/historical persuasion, there could scarcely be any documentary more enticing, scintillating and downright fascinating than Best of Enemies.” Writing for Variety, Joe Leydon says “Best of Enemies never gets heavy-handed while attempting to illustrate the true historical importance of what might still be viewed by many as nothing more than an obscure and eccentric bit of prime-time misadventure.” The Guardian‘s four-star review, written by Jordan Hoffman, says  “Directors Morgan Neville (20 Feet from Stardom) and Robert Gordon (Respect Yourself: The Stax Records Story) have unearthed outstanding footage and interviewed many of today’s best thinkers for a juicy and thrilling documentary about two intellectual titans who truly loathed one another.” 

In addition to Gordon, who directed and produced, the film’s strong Memphis roots include editor Eileen Meyer, composer Jonathan Kirkscey, director of photography David Leonard, consulting producer Tom Graves, and production assistant Andrew Paisley. 

Magnolia Pictures and Participant Media will reportedly give Best Of Enemies a theatrical release sometime this year, with home video, television, and streaming deals to follow. You can watch a short interview with directors Gordon and Neville at CraveOnline. 

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Film Features Film/TV

Doc in Black

Johnny Cash’s America grew out of a politically tinged discussion between the documentary’s directors, author Robert Gordon and producer/director Morgan Neville. The presidential primary races were just getting started, and both men were worried. They wondered how much longer a house divided against itself might stand.

“We were discussing how divided the nation was,” Gordon says. “[That] led us to discussing figures around whom the nation could unify … [and that] led us to Johnny Cash.” The idea for a documentary was born.

“What interested us most was that people who could agree on little else could agree on their respect for Johnny Cash,” Gordon says. “So we set out in this show not to profile Cash and tell his life story but to use Cash as a lens through which we could examine America and leadership in America.”

Gordon was looking for someone to finance a film based on Can’t Be Satisfied, his biography of Muddy Waters, when he first encountered Neville, who had come to Memphis to develop a documentary about Sun Studio founder Sam Phillips for A&E’s popular Biography series. They hit it off right away, and Can’t Be Satisfied aired on PBS in 2003. The creative duo have since collaborated on a variety of projects, including Respect Yourself: The Stax Records Story and Shakespeare Was a Big George Jones Fan, an off-the-wall documentary about Cowboy Jack Clement.

Cash lived his life in the public eye, and the years following his death have witnessed numerous biographies, anthologies, and tributes, including the Academy Award-winning feature film Walk the Line. Gordon says he wanted to do something completely different.

“We found ourselves having to constantly fight the pull toward biography,” Gordon says of his struggle to create an essay rather than a biography. “We consciously fought the questions about Cash’s life and coaxed ourselves and our subjects and our film toward a more philosophical, meditative place.”

As an example of what to expect, Gordon describes a scene in which members of the Cash clan gathered in Dyess, Arkansas, to celebrate Cash’s life and achievements. The group met around the grave of Jack Cash, Johnny’s brother, whose premature death haunted and inspired the artist throughout his life and career. After a prayer and a moment of silence the family spontaneously began to sing “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.”

“It just happened,” Gordon says. “And it was incredibly moving.”

In addition to family members, Gordon and Neville talked to liberal politicians, conservative politicians, musicians, and ordinary folks in order to get some sense of why Cash’s appeal is so universal.

“Lamar Alexander told us that Cash wore black so we could project ourselves onto him and see whatever we wanted to see,” Gordon says. “Snoop Dogg talked about how gangsta [Cash] was.”

It’s no spoiler to pre-announce Gordon’s personal conclusion, which is intriguing but unsurprising: America loves Cash because he never hid his flaws or tried to be somebody he wasn’t.

Johnny Cash’s America was produced by A&E and features commentary by Merle Haggard, Loretta Lynn, Bob Dylan, Sheryl Crow, Tim Robbins, and Kris Kristofferson.

Johnny Cash’s America screens at 7 p.m. Wednesday, October 15th.

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Music Music Features

Soul You Can See

In this year dedicated to celebrating the 50th anniversary of Stax Records, the hits just keep on coming, with the latest batch of Stax product: independently packaged DVDs, two released this week, one released in late September.

Co-directed by local filmmaker/writer Robert Gordon and his partner Morgan Neville, the two-hour documentary Respect Yourself was broadcast this summer as part of PBS’ Great Performances series, but an expanded version was released on DVD October 2nd.

Consisting of interviews — both new and archival — with most of the key players, including a rare contribution from Stax founder Jim Stewart, Respect Yourself gives a chronological telling of the Stax story that mostly hits the obvious high (and low) points.

For those who know the music and the story behind it, much of Respect Yourself may feel like rehash. It is a primer, but with so much attention given to Stax locally this year, it’s easy to forget that most people — most music fans, even most Memphians — still aren’t that familiar with the details of Stax. And Respect Yourself reinforces what an amazing story it is: an artistic entity whose very success was rooted in racial partnership and shared/mixed culture in the middle of the civil-rights-era South; a record label whose thrilling music embodied — like perhaps no other cultural product of the time — the hope and ultimately broken promise of racial integration in the ’60s and ’70s. This story can’t be told enough, and Respect Yourself tells it well.

Early on, tireless label booster Deanie Parker allows that “Stax Records was an accident,” pointing out that siblings Jim Stewart and Estelle Axton never intended to start an R&B record label when they opened a recording studio in a converted theater on McLemore Avenue. The implication is that Stax was ultimately the product of the neighborhood it became a part of.

In terms of reviewing the basic spine of the Stax story, Respect Yourself offers a neat, multi-viewpoint retelling of the Otis Redding origin story — that day Redding showed up as another artist’s “valet” and pestered his way to the microphone — with Booker T. Jones speaking eloquently about knowing he was part of something special and staying in the moment.

There’s also a great segment on the Stax family’s visit to the 1967 Monterey Pop Festival, with Memphis Horn Wayne Jackson talking about the culture clash between the long-haired, unkempt hippie crowd and the relatively clean-cut Stax crew, who showed up with matching suits and dance steps: “We must have looked like a lounge act or something. But it killed ’em. And when Otis walked out onstage, it was over for everybody.”

Those good times wouldn’t last, and Respect Yourself deftly shows how the tragic four-month stretch between December 1967 (when Redding died in a plane crash) and April 1968 (when Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in Memphis) transformed the label.

There are also less obvious pleasures and insights in the film. During one interview segment, Jones sits at his organ and replicates the sax riff that, as a teenager, he played on the early Stax hit “Cause I Love You,” a duet between Rufus Thomas and his daughter Carla. Similarly, there’s a graceful moment when, during a newly filmed segment, William Bell stands in front of a piano manned by Marvell Thomas and sings his Stax standard “You Don’t Miss Your Water.” These dynamic segments are so good, you wonder why there aren’t more like it.

And even those who think they’re pretty familiar with the Stax story may learn a few things: the extent to which the Lorraine Motel was used as a second home — for both work and play — for Stax artists (reflected, in part, by a vibrant color photo of Carla Thomas emerging from the Lorraine pool); the revelation that the label’s iconic finger-snap logo was the brainchild of later-period executive Al Bell and thus post-dates most of the classic music it’s associated with; the level of violence that infected the label in the aftermath of the King assassination.

But as fine as Respect Yourself is, most established Stax fans will crave more depth, and the two other recent label-specific DVD releases provide it. Released concurrently with Respect Yourself is The Stax/Volt Revue Live in Norway, 1967, which captures one set on the fabled Stax European tour. Filmed in black and white, this 75-minute concert features performances from Booker T. & the MGs, the Mar-Keys, non-Stax performer Arthur Conley, Eddie Floyd, Sam & Dave, and Otis Redding.

This is a more subdued affair than you might expect, with an extended Conley performance of his hit “Sweet Soul Music,” in particular, coming across as filler. But just having sustained footage of Sam & Dave performing is a revelation, even if the material here isn’t as exciting as the concert footage featured on Respect Yourself. Certainly, the footage reinforces the degree to which Sam Moore outshines Dave Prater vocally. And Redding, closing the show with “Try a Little Tenderness,” towers over them all.

For more Redding, check out the hour-and-a-half-long documentary Dreams To Remember: The Legacy of Otis Redding, which was released on September 18th and, for serious Stax fans, is the most interesting DVD in this current batch.

Though the interview subjects are oddly limited — Steve Cropper, Wayne Jackson, Jim Stewart, and Redding’s widow, Zelma, mainly — Dreams To Remember offers the depth that Respect Yourself — charged with covering an entire label rather than just one artist — can’t match.

Because Cropper co-wrote so many songs with Redding (in addition to working on the recording sessions themselves) and because Jackson, as a trumpet player, was uniquely attuned to Redding’s musical instincts, these men are positioned to offer considerable insight into Redding’s music. And they do not disappoint.

Cropper talks about coming up with the idea for “Mr. Pitiful” after hearing WDIA disc jockey Moohah Williams tab Redding with that moniker for his begging, pleading vocal phrasing. Cropper tells of how Redding took Cropper’s song concept and immediately worked out the song’s chorus.

For “I Can’t Turn You Loose,” Cropper reveals that there wasn’t time before the session to write multiple verses, so Redding kept repeating himself to keep up with the energy of the song, resulting in a recording that functions like the classic Stax instrumentals.

Cropper also talks about how his guitar playing for Redding, in particular, was rooted in country music and how Stax liked to try and reinvent songs they covered, turning ballads into fast songs and fast songs into ballads, or writing new intros and outros unconnected to the original songs.

The most famous example of this was Redding’s take on the standard “Try a Little Tenderness,” which Stewart dubs the best record Stax ever made. Cropper talks about how drummer Al Jackson’s double-click beat with his drum sticks and Cropper’s own Latin-style guitar lick create a “Drifters kind of groove” before Redding carries the song away into something else altogether.

“Nobody will ever sing ‘Try a Little Tenderness’ the way Otis Redding sang it,” Cropper says.

The most interesting area of this technical talk comes in a discussion on the horn work on Redding’s records. Jackson gives a colorful explanation of how Redding would gather his horn players together and instruct them on what to play by singing the various horn parts.

This dynamic was made explicit on “Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa,” which Cropper says he and Redding wrote at a Memphis Holiday Inn on Third Street. (Because of Redding’s touring schedule and because he didn’t live in Memphis, he was only available to Stax two to three days out of a three-month period, according to Cropper, which made for some intense, prolific writing and recording sessions.) The nonsense syllables that make up the song’s title (and chorus) were Cropper’s interpretation of the saxophone sound Redding would make when arranging horn parts.

“When I wrote with Otis, I wrote about Otis,” Cropper says, before launching into song himself: “I keep singing these sad, sad songs/Sad songs is all I know.”

The relationship between Redding and his horn section that “Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa” takes as its subject is given visual accompaniment here in a splendid bit of black-and-white footage (also seen on Respect Yourself ) where Redding sings the song, sitting down, with his horn section around him. This performance literalizes the call-and-response quality between Redding and the horn section, Redding turning to Jackson or one of the other players after the chorus with a generous offer of “your turn.”

Stewart ties this all together with an insight about the absence of back-up singers on Redding’s recordings. Stewart points out that Redding used his horn sections as a stand-in for what back-up vocalists would be for other artists.

This performance footage isn’t exactly real, however. It seems to be lip-synched, which is the case with many of the television performances shown on Dreams To Remember. Zelma Redding talks about how much her husband struggled with these lip-synched performances, because he rarely sang his songs the same way and often forgot the exact lyrics on the recordings. “I look at some of the footage and say, Lord have mercy,” Zelma says.

In addition to this insight, Dreams To Remember is packed with plenty of standout footage, including a goofy promotional video for the duet single “Tramp,” with Redding wearing overalls and riding a donkey around a farm to play up the “country” character he plays on the song.

Concert footage includes an awesome rendition of Sam Cooke’s “Shake” at Monterey and, most poignantly, a performance of “Try a Little Tenderness” on Cleveland television the day before Redding’s death. Unlike the other television appearances, this one is live, as is clear when Redding ad-libs the phrase “mini-skirt dress” in the opening lines.