Paul Auster: Blue in the Face

Commentary

Rightafter paying a tribute to Brooklyn in Smoke, Paul Austerdecided to honor his beloved place of residence with another hommage.First let us quote him: „It has to be one the most democratic andtolerant places on the planet. Everyone lives there, every race andreligion and economic class, and everyone pretty much gets along.Given the climate in the country today, I would say that qualifies asa miracle. I also know that terrible things go on in Brooklyn, not tospeak of New York as a whole. The rest of the country perceives NewYork as a hellhole, but that’s only one part of the story. I wantedto explore the other side of things in Smoke, to work againstsome of the stereotypes that people carry around about this place.“And in the Blue in the Face he struck the same note. „Thecrazy project“, as he says, filmed in a total of six days, startedduring the rehearsals for Smoke. When Harvey Keitel as AuggieWren came to work on some of the cigar store scenes with the OTB Men– Giancarlo Esposito, José Zuniga and Steve Gevedon –, asa way of warming up and getting to know one another, they launched ina few short improvisations. Amused by their funny performance, WayneWang, the director, got excited by the idea of reliving theexperience of the current film-making. After finishing Smokesome of the crew and of the cast, enlarged by the star team of LilyTomlin, Michael J. Fox, Roseanne, Lou Reed, Jim Jarmusch, MiraSorvino, Keith David and Madonna, got back to the cigar store. Thefilm was shot in two stages – three days in mid-July and three daysin late October –, with no script and no rehearsals; Paul Austerjust wrote out notes for all the scenes and situations, so each actorhad a rough idea of what had to be done. He calls the resulting hourand a half of singing, dancing and loopy shenanigans a hymn to thegreat People’s Republic of Brooklyn. As for its relation to Smoke,he says: „They’re the opposite sides of the same coin, I guess,and the two films seem to complement each other in mysterious ways.Blue in the Face is not a sequel to Smoke. Although itdraws on settings and characters from that film, it sprints off in anentirely new direction. Its spirit is comic; its engine is words; itsguiding principle is spontaneity. As producer Peter Newman aptly putit when first presented with the idea: it’s a project in which theinmates take over the asylum. The premise was to go back into thecigar store that appears at the beginning and end of Smoke andcreate a little portrait of Auggie Wren’s world. Minor charactersfrom the first film would become major characters in the second.Besides Auggie, just on other major character from Smoke wouldparticipate – but only in a minor role.“

Thesimple plot revolves around Auggie Wren’s wish to close his cigarshop and rent the space to a vegetarian restaurant. Thedocumentary-style line includes interviews with Brooklyn residents,archival footage of the demolition of Ebbets Field, and otherpassages which show the life in Brooklyn. Besides the star cameoappearances – Lily Tomlin plays a stranger looking for Belgianwaffles, Michael J. Fox appears as an equally odd man conducting abizarre survey, Madonna delivers a singing telegram, and Roseanneperforms a dramatic scene as the wife of the shop’s owner – thereare nonactors, natural-born improvisers: a man with unusual glasses(Lou Reed), looking right into the camera, explains why he lovesBrooklyn and feels nervous in Stockholm; Bob (Jim Jarmusch) comes into smoke his last cigarette with Auggie Wren; he then demonstrateshow one can always tell who the bad guys are in the movies becausethey invariably hold their cigarettes in a strange manner. Thecelebration of life goes hand in hand with the celabration of thepleasure and beauty of film-making, immensely enjoyable both for thecreators and the consumers.

Script

8. SWEET FAREWELL

Cast: Bob, Auggie, Jimmy Rose

Bob enters the store. Auggie asks him where he's been: he hasn't seen him in a couple of months. In Japan, Bob says: there was an exhibition of his photographs in Tokyo. Auggie asks Bob if he wants a pack of Luckies (Bob's usual brand). No, Bob says. What's the matter, Auggie answers, you switch to something else after all these years? No, Bob says, he's trying to quit. In fact, he's down to his last cigarette—and that's why he's come into the store: to smoke his last cigarette with Auggie.

Bob sits down, takes the cigarette out of the pack, and holds it in his hand. For the rest of the scene, he alternately addresses Auggie, Jimmy, and the cigarette.

A monologue follows. Memories of smoking. From the first ciga­rette as a kid to the final puff as an adult. Smoking and sex. Smoking and food. Smoking and work. As Schoenberg once said when asked why he kept a cigarette burning on his desk while he worked: "Composition is a lonely business, and I like it there for the com­panionship." Smoking and tension. Smoking and relaxation. There's never a bad time for a smoke: you celebrate with a smoke, you mourn with a smoke. Smoke as thought, as contemplation, as ac­tion. Smoking as danger: sneaking smokes in the school bathroom, smoking as a constant reminder of your own mortality. Smoking as comaraderie, as love: sharing a cigarette with your woman in bed. Smoking as the last act: the last puff before they blindfold the man about to be executed by the firing squad. Each puff is a human breath. Each puff is a thought. Each puff is another reminder that to live is also to die.

Bob strikes a match and lights the cigarette.

The part of the man who comes into the store to smoke his last cigarette was originally conceived for William Hurt. Unfortunately, he wasn't available on the day we needed him, so Paul the novelist exited the scene, and Bob the photographer (Jim Jarmusch) stepped into his shoes.

Jim and I went out for dinner one night in a restaurant near the Smoke production office on Lafayette Street, and in a couple of hours we came up with dozens of addi­tional ideas for his part. The fact that Jim is a dyed-in-the-wool cigarette smoker lent an unforced authenticity and conviction to his performance. Not only is he a fine director, he is a complete natural in front of the camera.

I had always thought of this scene as a pure mono­logue, but Jim and Harvey played it more as a conver­sation. This led to a number of interesting digressions, particularly Harvey's memory of A Walk in the Sun, which in turn led us to find a clip from the old Richard Conte movie and weave it into the film. . . .


14. INTERVIEW WITH LOU REED

I had met Lou Reed the previous year, and in the mean­time we had struck up the beginnings of a friendship. When Wayne and I started preparing Blue in the Face, it occurred to me to ask Lou to participate. I don't know exactly why. Something to do with his caustic sensibility, perhaps, his appreciation of the ironies of life, or perhaps simply because of his marvelous New York-accented voice. Whatever the reason, Wayne liked the idea as well.

We decided to use Lou as himself, not as an actor: just sit him behind the counter of the cigar store and get him to talk on various subjects. He was to be the resident philosopher of the Brooklyn Cigar Company, a man who just happened to be there, for no particular reason, ex­pounding on this and that. We looked on his presence as a possible way to break up the dramatic scenes and give some variety to the film, but we had no clear idea as to how that might happen.

The interview was shot at the end of the second day, directly after the tumultuous and draining experience of filming Blackjack with Roseanne, Harvey, and Vic. I was so tired by then that I could barely open my mouth to ask Lou the questions. We shot twenty-five or thirty minutes of footage, and all during that time I remember thinking that Lou was flat, not at all in good form, and that none of it would make the final cut of the film. Lou was of exactly the same opinion. We walked back to my house together for a drink after the day's work was done, and we both felt disappointed, shaking our heads and trying to shrug it off. "Well, that's show business," we said, and then went on to talk about other things.

As everyone who has seen the film now knows, show business proved us both wrong. At every Blue in the Face screening I have attended, Lou's performance provokes the most laughter and the most comments. He steals the movie.


5. EXT: DAY. IN FRONT OF THE BROOKLYN CIGAR CO.

AUGGIE is standing in front of the door, smoking a cigarette and surveying the street.

A YOUNG WOMAN dressed in a skimpy Las Vegas showgirl outfit and wearing a little bellhop's cap on her head approaches the store. She is holding a yellow envelope in her hand. AUGGIE studies her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

YOUNG WOMAN
Is this the Brooklyn Cigar Company?

AUGGIE
In the flesh. What can I do for you?

YOUNG WOMAN
(Studying the envelope) I'm looking for Mr. Augustus Wren.

AUGGIE
You've found him, beautiful

YOUNG WOMAN
(Relieved) Great. I've never been to Brooklyn be­fore. I wasn't sure I'd be able to find you.

AUGGIE
Well, Brooklyn's on the map. We even have streets out here. And electricity, too.

YOUNG WOMAN
(Sarcastic) You don't say. (Pause) Well?

AUGGIE
Well what?

YOUNG WOMAN
I have a telegram for you.

AUGGIE
Nobody's dead, I hope. (Extending his hand) Let's see it.

YOUNG WOMAN
A singing telegram.

AUGGIE
(Grinning) This gets better and better.

YOUNG WOMAN
(Gearing up for her performance) Ready?

AUGGIE
Whenever you are.

YOUNG WOMAN (Dancing as she sings. In a throaty, nightclub singer's voice).

The deal is off. . . stop.
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-boom.
Not selling the store . . . stop.
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-boom.
See you next week . . . stop.
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-boom.
I'm sending you love . . . love . . . love
From Las Vegas!
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-boom.
AUGGIE (Claps in appreciation) Dynamite.

THE YOUNG WOMAN gives a polite curtsy (in stark contrast to her raunchy performance) and smiles.

AUGGIE (cont'd)
I'd say that's worth at least a five-dollar tip, wouldn't you? (Removes his wallet from his pocket)

YOUNG WOMAN
(Quietly miffed by the small amount) Five dollars?

AUGGIE
hands her a five-dollar bill; she gives him the yellow envelope.

AUGGIE
Any time you want to deliver some more good news, you know where to find me.

YOUNG WOMAN
(Looking at the money) Thanks, mister. Now I'll be able to buy that hearing aid my mother's always wanted.

THE YOUNG WOMAN walks off. AUGGIE opens the envelope and begins reading the telegram, humming under his breath: Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-boom.

This was the first time I had ever written anything to be sung. Admittedly, the lyrics of the telegram message aren't much to write home about, but still, I had a defi­nite melody in mind when I wrote the words. To my amazement, Madonna sang it precisely as I imagined she would. Beat for beat, phrase for phrase, she delivered the same little tune I had been carrying around in my head. The only difference: there were five ba's before each of my booms, and she used seven.