One day in May 2003, I came across a very strange phone call and request in the New Yorker archives. "I'm calling on behalf of director Wes Anderson," said a woman behind the line. "They want to buy your archive." It took me a few seconds to digest his words. Buy the archive? (At that time, it was not yet possible to subscribe to all editions of the magazine.) I did not know what to say. So I just told him that our archive was not for sale, and I regretted not being able to work with Mr. Anderson.
"I don't think I even had the budget to buy the archive," he said dryly. Instead, he bought a series of copies of the magazine from the University of California, Berkeley, and now has the New Yorker Collection, owned by Lillian Ross, a longtime co-author of the magazine, who died in 2017. Because Anderson has always been interested in the New Yorker, its writers, and what goes on in it.
For example, when Arthur Howitzer, the series' editor, played by Bill Murray, instructed the staff Let the fixed cover of the magazine be removed to make room for a long article to be published, I coughed; The New Yorker has never had a fixed headline in its ninety-six years. Howitzer's character is something between Harold Ross, the magazine's first editor who ran the magazine from 1926 to the end of his life in 1951, and the magazine's second editor, William Sean, who held that position until 1987, when he was thirty-five.Howitzer, with his insensitive and quick-witted writing style, guides his writers artistically in the process of producing their claims. Ross, who started The New Yorker after a period of editing military newspapers, was just as blunt about writers. He constantly wrote notes on staff work and jokingly and exaggeratedly reminded them of their shortcomings (and, of course, good points). Sean, who joined the magazine in 1933 and became editor-in-chief a few years later, took a more modern, smoother, and wiser approach to motivating writers as editor. Anderson told me, "Bill Murray's character is a little bit on top and he's emotionally like them, and overall he's very much like his writers." 12726-3.jpg ">
The corridors of the magazine office office in Time Square
One of the covers in Anderson's film, inspired by its original source, March 29, 1976, The New Yorker, According to David Brendel, who co-authored "The Editor's Burial," a collection of New Yorker articles, and a series of other articles that inspired the "French Report," he co-authored Anderson. In the post-production phase, the filmmaker was talking about the importance of the film's vivid visual language. "In the world of film, all the out-of-the-ordinary features have remained the same, and it seems as if the office and culture of the magazine were as colorful as its covers at the time."
He carefully examines and the image formed in his mind of the magazine office, although he has never seen it up close, is very similar to the original, although it is naturally exaggerated. Anderson, with its colorful rooms and brown-themed background full of mysterious objects and trivial details, is an ideal version of the magazine office; A bit like the second magazine office, near Time Square, where the long corridors seemed to go beyond the horizon. The New Yorker's office was very quiet and quiet, but occasionally with subcutaneous humor and a series of funny cross-sectional paintings and gadgets. The physical atmosphere of the time may not be as colorful as the film's magazine, but it certainly is its characters.
-sur-Blas), the imaginary city of the magazine's base, revolves around the culture and history of the city. Sazrak is almost taken from Joseph Mitchell, a New Yorker writer whom Anderson is very interested in. , Initiated a new approach in literary narrative journalism. "I read 'Thirty-Two Mice from Casablanca' at the suggestion of a friend," Anderson says of him. I had not read Josette Mitchell before. He wrote about rats in New York and the story of people about rats, where rats' heads are found, how they move, their behavior. And this is a story about the city, not its wildlife. Mitchell, who began his career in the press with newspapers such as the New York World-Telegram, moved to The New Yorker in 1938, when St. Clare McClough was the editor-in-chief, he was hired. The image that Mitchell narrates of the city and its inhabitants, whether the table (the table of Golden Phillip, the owner of the homeless bar in New York and known as the "Queen of Bore") or the Manhattan Mouse population, the literary essay as we know it today "New York mice are smarter than farm mice, and they can think better than anyone who has not studied their behavior," he describes the animals in the Casablanca story. "Nevertheless, these mice spend most of their lives in severe anxiety." (He seems to be writing about the human inhabitants of the Upper West Side.) In a post-Casablanca memo, Ross suggests to the mischievous Mitchell that he write his next article on New York pigeons. (Ironically, one of Mitchell's most famous characters was Joe Gould, a rover who fed pigeons.) And relatives, matched the progressive style of the magazine. There was a hint of joyful nostalgia in many of his reports, including those in Wilson's chapter in The French Report and many of Anderson's early works.
Steinberg's World View from Ninth Street, March 29, 1967
In another chapter of the film, Francis McDormand is a journalist between Lillian Ross and co-author Mavis Gallant. MacDormand character Lucinda Crements joins a group of student activists led by Zephyrley (played by Timothy Shalami) in a street protest against the separation of girls and boys in dormitories. Galant was a journalist in the 1940s, before turning to literature; He published his first short story in a magazine in 1951, and soon developed a close relationship with William Maxwell, a novelist and literary editor.
In the 1960s, Gallant wrote several reports on French politics and culture. The most famous of which was the recording of street protests in the spring of 1968 in Paris. In The May Events, he provided a concise account of the changing landscape of the protests. What started with just a local student demonstration quickly turned into a popular uprising against the situation in France. "I like to think it's the result of teenage mischief, or like a kid breaking his own dolls when he actually wants to throw away the dining table," he wrote, referring to a young activist who set fire to the Paris Stock Exchange during a riot. Slow towards his mother. "Do they really think they can destroy capitalism by burning the stock market?" Galant's biting look at the revolutionary students is still as alive as it was yesterday, and now it has taken on a cinematic form in a cunning and shalamic relationship.
Gallant's writings have played an important role in shaping the story of the film. When Anderson discovered the magazine in high school in Texas, he read Gallant first and then other writers such as John Updike and Wood Meta.
His gaze focuses the lens on different points. We wanted to refer to the youth movement in the film in some way, and I really like Gallant's voice in those articles, because he is from another place and another generation, and yet, with an interest beyond the interest of a journalist, the activities of those young people Follows. He takes a sarcastic look at the flow and sees its absurdity, combining all of these and finally admiring them. "I love the words he uses to describe this admiration, and I stole and brought them into the film." , Which revealed greater truths about the lives of its subjects. His account of the student demonstrations evokes a bold sense of excitement and joy as the curtains are drawn and the sun shines. He works to instill this feeling like all the writers and journalists of his time and those who came before him.
Folders containing the works of New Yorker writers who inspired the characters in The French Report.
One of my favorite scenes in the film starring Jeffrey Wright In the role, which is a combination of the features of AJ Leibling and James Baldwin. Jeffrey Wright displays a deliberate performance of the role of Robak Wright, adding a calm and thoughtful feeling to the character. Leibling also wrote for the New York World Telegram before joining the New Yorker in the 1930s. (As a war correspondent in Europe, he once wrote to Ross in a letter about how long he would stay across the border; Ross replied something that suited every impatient journalist: "If he comes, be prepared." Leibling, who was with the magazine until his death in 1963, wrote about almost everything in the world; From boxing matches to the media to the art of decorating food. His collection of short stories, Memoirs of a Feeder in France, which dates back to 1959, has been the inspiration for this season of the film; The season in which Wright is supposed to write the story of a police chief's personal chef and his mission deviates from his path. "Memories of One" tells the countless adventures of LeBling's memorable meals in his journalistic, overseas years. Leibling's work as a journalist was both appetizing and an emotionally motivated approach to reporting. "He's one of my favorite New Yorker writers," Anderson says of him. "Everything we say in the film about the food comes from him." "Abomination." "There's a note from Janet Flanner that she wrote after Ross's death, in which she describes her relationship with the editor: 'We hunted for words together in the magazine office,'" Brendel said. "And Wes told me we would do the same." (Eventually they chose "belly worshiper".)
Somewhere in the film, Wright skillfully constructed a monologue about the joy of being an observer during his waiting periods abroad, watching and analyzing another culture, another form It speaks of life. Set in one of the film's saddest moments, the monologue is sadly reminiscent of James Baldwin, who, like Leibling, produced some of his best work in France, but his understanding of foreign culture added a wider dimension to his work. For Baldwin [American], and possibly for Robbock Wright, France was not just a danger and a culture, it was a refuge from the racism and fear of LGBT people he faced at home.
Towards the end of the film, the immigrant chef, Lieutenant Nescafe (played by Stephen Park), says of being foreign or alien:" It is as if you are looking for the lost, the lost who "You have let him go." The work of the writer and filmmaker is to show the neglected, to discover what is lost and to interpret it. The French Report shows us fictional versions of that view, depicting the transcendental endeavors and characteristics of writers and editors who create new opportunities for their art. It's like looking at a cinematic telescope, which instead of planets or stars, shows super-colorful magazines and a changing literary culture.