The Lost Picture Show

By Jeffrey Ressner/Los Angeles

Nothing succeeds like excess" goes the famous Hollywood maxim, and nowhere is that more true than offscreen. We're talking about those ego-driven dictators of Panavision dreams who consume truckloads of drugs, frolic with call girls and go millions over budget as carelessly as if they were writing a bad check for groceries. Take Francis Coppola, who drank from Lalique crystal and cavorted with bimbos on the set of Apocalypse Now while his crew suffered from hookworm and rabies. How about Martin Scorsese, who was so wired at Cannes in 1978 that he sent a plane to Paris just to score cocaine? Or Top Gun producer Don Simpson, whose idea of a fun date was dressing up as an animal trainer while prostitutes humiliated themselves in S&M games?

These were some of the luminaries in what was once known as the "New Hollywood," a community of radical directors, snarky executives and gonzo producers who emerged in the 1970s unfettered by the tight controls of the old studio system. Two wild new books by veteran entertainment journalists, Charles Fleming's High Concept (Doubleday; 294 pages; $23.95) and Peter Biskind's Easy Riders, Raging Bulls (Simon & Schuster; 506 pages; $25), chronicle the decadence surrounding these creative eccentrics, offering a rare glimpse at the grime that covers the tinsel.

In Fleming's work the extreme close-up is on Simpson, who, along with his partner, the more stable Jerry Bruckheimer, produced the hits Flashdance, Beverly Hills Cop and Crimson Tide before his 1996 death from an overdose. Aside from his obvious pop-culture smarts, Simpson's main contribution to cinema was his dictum that a blockbuster must have an easily described plot with three acts: explosive incident, impending crisis, triumphant resolution. His own story, however, was far more complex. Though colorful tales of Simpson's trollops and narcotics abuse have been documented in the past, Fleming cleverly uses Simpson's life to explore Hollywood's entire dark side, which has spawned such troubled figures as Heidi Fleiss, O.J. Simpson and River Phoenix. The book reaches its nadir in a chapter where readers learn more than they want to about the producer's unsuccessful timed-release testosterone implants in his buttocks.

If Don Simpson's infamous life-style serves as an apt metaphor for the overindulgent '80s and '90s, Biskind's book delivers what's known in screenwriting jargon as the backstory--the preamble sparked when Bonnie and Clyde and Easy Rider caught fire. Those avant-garde youth movies emboldened a whole new pack of hip filmmakers to make their own iconoclastic films during the '70s: M*A*S*H, Taxi Driver, Five Easy Pieces and Paper Moon, among others. Biskind's history lesson also has its fair share of tantalizing dope and sex lore--at times the horrible stories from former spouses get so intense that the book might have been subtitled Revenge of the Ex-Wives.

But the real revelation is finding out that these directors are often just as insecure and bizarre as the characters in their movies. Steven Spielberg was so nervous on the set of Jaws that he put celery in his pillow at night because he found the smell soothing. When he initially screened Star Wars, a disheartened George Lucas felt it would be considered just another kiddie flick. And The Exorcist's director, William Friedkin, became almost demonically possessed himself, foaming at the mouth and throwing objects.

Anybody who loves big American popcorn movies should find High Concept and Easy Riders, Raging Bulls thoroughly engrossing. Ultimately, though, both also seem as depressing as a Swedish art-house film. Simpson's fate reflects the shame heaped on his whores: his heart failed while he sat on the toilet reading a biography of Oliver Stone. Biskind's book ends with a death too: the 1988 demise of brilliant but burned-out director Hal Ashby, whose Coming Home, The Last Detail and Shampoo were touchstone films of the '70s. Other directors fared only a little better, ushering in the '80s and '90s with divorces, addictions and bankruptcy. Indeed, the last chapter's title is the final line of dialogue from Easy Rider: "We blew it."

How fitting. Look at any recent film by the Former Artist Known as Coppola. Check your local theater marquee, where endless variations of the same $100 million jokey-action movie are displayed. Or consider that the company making the most maverick pictures today, Miramax, is a wholly owned subsidiary of Disney. It's enough to make you want to stay home and read a book.