I only met Charles Bukowski once. I wrote a play about his life which was produced in Chicago and New York. It was later presented on National Public Radio.

For the NPR reading in Los Angeles, Bukowski came down with his wonderful wife Linda Lee. This was ’93, about a year before his death. I am not into Hero Worship, but if there ever was one, Bukowski was it. And there he was, walking in the door, coming right up to me…

At 73, he was still a large-framed man, but frail. There was time before the performance and we moved immediately to the bar. It didn’t take long for the actors to find out Bukowski was there. They joined us and within the hour, suffice it to say, the actors were well lubed for their National Public Radio performance. Bukowski held court for this gang of LA actors, telling stories and toasting (drinking red wine) and paying for every drink on the table with his gold AMEX card.


When the actors cleared off, I finally had a chance to talk one-on-one with one the greatest poet of our time. I was curious: For all the volumes of prose and poetry, I had never read very much about Hank and the movies of his life. Oh sure, he’d written the screenplay Barfly, and the even better behind-the-scenes account of the making of that movie (Hollywood).

He had other movies of his life made from his poetry and short stories (Tales Of Ordinary Madness) and a documentary (Bukowski, Born Into This). But for all his dozens of books, very little movies that mattered to him. What movies did he admire? Did he prefer the arty stuff–subtitled French films? Truffaut? Renoir? Maybe the gutty German stuff–Fassbinder? Herzog?

Nope.

Sci-Fi! Bukowski told me his favorite movie was…Alien!

Go figure.

 

 

 

One Response to Bukowski On Film
  1. Fuck all that “arty” bullshit. Alien rules. Now we know Bukowski had good taste in movies.


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