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This past year, Schraders biography was on the minds of a lot of movie lovers I know. To his evident displeasure, he had inadvertently become a featured player in Biskinds compulsively readable exposé on 70s Hollywood, Easy Riders, Raging Bulls. Among the books many weird tales is the occasionally humiliating and deeply strange story of the Schrader boys. Born in Grand Rapids, Michigan, Leonard and his younger brother, Paul, were raised in the Christian Reformed Church, a small, fanatical branch of Dutch Calvinism, by religious parents who rarely spared the rod. Leonard told Biskind he was whipped "six, seven days a week." More than once, Paul has volunteered how their mother jabbed a needle in his thumb, then asked, "Do you remember what it felt like the moment it hit your thumb? Well, thats what hell is like, all the time." By the time they were adults, the brothers had developed a fascination with suicide and a thing for guns. Leonard would stick one in his mouth in order to fall asleep "like some infants pacifier," he told Biskind. Paul kept a loaded gun under his pillow.
Schrader didnt see his first movie until he was in high school, but made up for it in college by becoming a ravenous lover of film. He got into the production department at UCLA on the recommendation of Kael, whom hed met while a student at Columbia. He got kicked out of the department and snared a job as a critic for the L.A. Free Press; he was fired from the paper after giving Easy Rider a bad review. ("The characters of Easy Rider will become a joke too because [director Dennis] Hopper has not taken the first step to protect them from the ravages of time, he has not withdrawn them from the puppet world of propaganda and made them real human beings.") Like a shark, he rarely stopped moving: He hung out with Jean Renoir, struck up a friendship with Charles Eames, became an AFI fellow, edited a well-respected film magazine and wrote his first script. In 1971, he penned a landmark monograph on film noir for Filmex, and broke with Kael that same year. She wanted him to take a critics position in Seattle; he wanted to stay in L.A. and write movies. He did, and in the process made lots of money. He was profiled in magazines, owned a blue Alfa Romeo with an "OZU" license plate (in dubious honor of the legendary Japanese director) and, if you believe the Biskind book, endured some very bad times.
Schrader doesnt think much of Easy Riders, Raging Bulls. "Its the revenge of the gossip culture on the counterculture. I said to Peter, You know, the book is disappointing in many ways, but its most disappointing for you, because you had a wonderful theme, you had original material, you had unprecedented access, and you wrote a trivial book." Schrader insists that Biskind, a former editor at American Film and Premiere, published off-the-record stories. "He would do interviews, and you would dish your dirt and promote your film, then that would be over and you would move into a kind of generalized Hollywood conversation. That would never turn up in the article, but he saved all that material. It was all off the record at the time it was said, and a lot of it is unsubstantiated, third-party hearsay."
"None of it was off the record," counters Biskind. "Everything I used was on the record or unattributed. Nothing was off the record with Paul, because he always shoots from the hip. As far as revenge of the gossip culture, thats just a lot of nonsense. One persons gossip is another persons texture. The reason that theres so much personal material in the book is because this was an era of personal filmmaking, and it was impossible to understand these movies without understanding peoples personal lives. And it was certainly impossible to understand what happened to these people without understanding their personal lives, because their personal lives, in many cases, essentially destroyed them at the end of the decade. That was certainly true of Schrader, or nearly true of Schrader.
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