As someone who’s occasionally been tempted to retreat from the professional life I’ve built, I’m pretty curious about what’s happened with the director Martin Brest. He went from churning out a solid-to-great film every few years, including one of my all-time favorites, to being a non-entity in the movie business: Nearly two decades have elapsed since his last gig. The easy explanation for his disappearance is that he was scarred by the reception to his last film, Gigli, for which the knives were out from the get-go. But how can someone who flourished in such a competitive field be so delicate? This 2013 Playboy story (SFW) doesn’t answer all the questions I have, but it does include a few revealing snippets about the neuroses that drove Brest’s creativity:
Everyone considers Brest a perfectionist. Maybe he was even a little obsessive-compulsive. The descriptor is never laced with insult. Reinhold has a memory for Brest’s Brestisms. During a particularly wide crane shot in Beverly Hills Cop, Reinhold says Brest cut camera, descended from the rig, walked over to him, straightened his tie, and jumped back on the crane for another take. A scene involving a falling cinder block became a strenuous stunt for the production, Brest wanting it to drop and crack in two with just the right split. Eventually, the director decided it would be easier for him to just drop the block himself. “As I evolved as an actor, worked with more directors, I realized if you’re not OCD, you’re not first rate,” Reinhold says. “The details are so crucial. For Marty, that’s it.”
I hope Brest works up the gumption to make another movie someday. But more than that, I wish him the far more elusive prize of being at peace with imperfection.
Like gas stations in rural Texas after 10 pm, comments are closed.