Post by auntym on Jun 11, 2015 12:51:04 GMT -6
www.huffingtonpost.com/alex-simon/great-conversations-patri_b_7556774.html
Great Conversations: Patrick Swayze
by Alex Simon
Co-editor, The Hollywood Interview.com
Posted: 06/10/2015
All films buffs have guilty pleasures. You know, those movies that high-minded cineastes love to turn their noses up at, especially critics for The New York Times, people with MFAs in some sort of film-related field, or just plain snobs who refuse to acknowledge anything released on celluloid that doesn't have English subtitles and at least one reference to death, either as a character or a metaphor (and oftentimes both). Patrick Swayze was the undisputed King of the Guilty Pleasure. From his screen debut in Skatetown, USA in 1979, to his final appearance on television's "The Beast" as a take-no-prisoners cop, Swayze was an unapologetic good ol' boy who happened to be a classically-trained dancer, student of martial arts and Eastern philosophy, and possessor of an IQ that was nothing to sneeze at. In fact, he closely resembled Dalton, his character in this writer's all-time guilty pleasure, Rowdy Herrington's Road House (1989), as a bar bouncer with a Master's in Philosophy from NYU, who could quote Confucius and snap necks in near-perfect synchronicity.
In June 2004, when I was asked by Venice Magazine to interview Swayze for his turn as pulp fiction icon Allan Quartermain in the Hallmark television production of "King Solomon's Mines," his star might have waned a bit since his mid-'80s heyday, but his stature as a reluctant pop cultural icon had only increased with each passing year, and his refusal to be anything but himself. Renowned for fighting against being typecast as a typical pretty-boy star/leading man, Swayze's rep indicated not only that he marched to the beat of his own drummer, but was also known for not suffering fools. That said, I didn't quite know what to expect when I went to meet Swayze at photographer Greg Gorman's studio for our sit-down. I'd met more than my share of egomaniacs and narcissists in my ten years of entertainment journalism, living embodiments of "never meet your idols." From the minute Patrick Swayze shook my hand, and for the next six hours we spent together, I was completely disarmed by his charm, honesty and just plain normalcy. After a half hour or so, I felt as though I was hanging out with a buddy from the old neighborhood (his Texas to my Arizona made us cultural cousins). Swayze was reflective, yet totally un-self-indulgent. He was engaging, but usually more interested in your opinion than expressing his own. He was close to the earth as a rancher and man who loved the outdoors, yet also a man of letters who could put most PhDs to shame with his knowledge of, from what I could tell, almost everything.
The only bad thing I can say about Patrick Swayze: *bleep*, did he smoke a lot. Patrick must have gone through at least a pack and-a-half (a conservative estimate) of American Spirits during our talk. The only time he wasn't smoking was when we were eating a magnificent sushi dinner. The minute those chopsticks went down, a lit nail was back in his hand. I knew he'd gotten sober after an ongoing battle with the bottle, one that had claimed his father and sister, but cigarettes continued to be a demon he wrestled with. When I asked him about the irony of such a fine athlete destroying his lungs with tobacco smoke, he smiled gently, looked at the cigarette in his hand and said "Yeah, I know, but I'll beat this thing eventually. I've beaten worse, man." He had, and for a while, he nearly did: Swayze's self-described "peaceful warrior" attitude allowed him to survive nearly two years longer than doctors predicted he would, after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer eighteen months ago. He lost the battle on Monday, September 14, 2009. He was 57.
At the end of our talk, Swayze took my hand in his, and said "Alex, I'd really like you to stay in my life." Over the next few years, we shared some nice chats over the phone, a few emails, and almost worked together, when Patrick read the script for my AFI graduate thesis film, a Hollywood satire, and loved the part of an arrogant movie star. Scheduling conflicts dictated that collaboration was not to be, however, and eventually we lost touch, as people tend to do in Los Angeles. As Raymond Chandler wrote in The Long Goodbye, "To say goodbye is to die a little."
Goodbye, Patrick. Thank you for always staying down to Earth, even when Hollywood tried to cast you out among the stars.
SO MUCH MORE: CONTINUE READING: www.huffingtonpost.com/alex-simon/great-conversations-patri_b_7556774.html
Great Conversations: Patrick Swayze
by Alex Simon
Co-editor, The Hollywood Interview.com
Posted: 06/10/2015
All films buffs have guilty pleasures. You know, those movies that high-minded cineastes love to turn their noses up at, especially critics for The New York Times, people with MFAs in some sort of film-related field, or just plain snobs who refuse to acknowledge anything released on celluloid that doesn't have English subtitles and at least one reference to death, either as a character or a metaphor (and oftentimes both). Patrick Swayze was the undisputed King of the Guilty Pleasure. From his screen debut in Skatetown, USA in 1979, to his final appearance on television's "The Beast" as a take-no-prisoners cop, Swayze was an unapologetic good ol' boy who happened to be a classically-trained dancer, student of martial arts and Eastern philosophy, and possessor of an IQ that was nothing to sneeze at. In fact, he closely resembled Dalton, his character in this writer's all-time guilty pleasure, Rowdy Herrington's Road House (1989), as a bar bouncer with a Master's in Philosophy from NYU, who could quote Confucius and snap necks in near-perfect synchronicity.
In June 2004, when I was asked by Venice Magazine to interview Swayze for his turn as pulp fiction icon Allan Quartermain in the Hallmark television production of "King Solomon's Mines," his star might have waned a bit since his mid-'80s heyday, but his stature as a reluctant pop cultural icon had only increased with each passing year, and his refusal to be anything but himself. Renowned for fighting against being typecast as a typical pretty-boy star/leading man, Swayze's rep indicated not only that he marched to the beat of his own drummer, but was also known for not suffering fools. That said, I didn't quite know what to expect when I went to meet Swayze at photographer Greg Gorman's studio for our sit-down. I'd met more than my share of egomaniacs and narcissists in my ten years of entertainment journalism, living embodiments of "never meet your idols." From the minute Patrick Swayze shook my hand, and for the next six hours we spent together, I was completely disarmed by his charm, honesty and just plain normalcy. After a half hour or so, I felt as though I was hanging out with a buddy from the old neighborhood (his Texas to my Arizona made us cultural cousins). Swayze was reflective, yet totally un-self-indulgent. He was engaging, but usually more interested in your opinion than expressing his own. He was close to the earth as a rancher and man who loved the outdoors, yet also a man of letters who could put most PhDs to shame with his knowledge of, from what I could tell, almost everything.
The only bad thing I can say about Patrick Swayze: *bleep*, did he smoke a lot. Patrick must have gone through at least a pack and-a-half (a conservative estimate) of American Spirits during our talk. The only time he wasn't smoking was when we were eating a magnificent sushi dinner. The minute those chopsticks went down, a lit nail was back in his hand. I knew he'd gotten sober after an ongoing battle with the bottle, one that had claimed his father and sister, but cigarettes continued to be a demon he wrestled with. When I asked him about the irony of such a fine athlete destroying his lungs with tobacco smoke, he smiled gently, looked at the cigarette in his hand and said "Yeah, I know, but I'll beat this thing eventually. I've beaten worse, man." He had, and for a while, he nearly did: Swayze's self-described "peaceful warrior" attitude allowed him to survive nearly two years longer than doctors predicted he would, after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer eighteen months ago. He lost the battle on Monday, September 14, 2009. He was 57.
At the end of our talk, Swayze took my hand in his, and said "Alex, I'd really like you to stay in my life." Over the next few years, we shared some nice chats over the phone, a few emails, and almost worked together, when Patrick read the script for my AFI graduate thesis film, a Hollywood satire, and loved the part of an arrogant movie star. Scheduling conflicts dictated that collaboration was not to be, however, and eventually we lost touch, as people tend to do in Los Angeles. As Raymond Chandler wrote in The Long Goodbye, "To say goodbye is to die a little."
Goodbye, Patrick. Thank you for always staying down to Earth, even when Hollywood tried to cast you out among the stars.
SO MUCH MORE: CONTINUE READING: www.huffingtonpost.com/alex-simon/great-conversations-patri_b_7556774.html