Interestingly, the main slate of the New York Film Festival this year features two very different movies that both concern matters of art and creative process, as well as a very specific point in the space-time continuum: New York in the 1970s, the time when everyone was a poet or an artist, and everyone was young and poor.
Ira Sachs, the director of Peter Hujar’s Day, uses these words to describe his intention behind making the film. In Kent Jones’s Late Fame, which previously enjoyed its premiere in the Orrizonti section at the Venice Film Festival, it’s Willem Dafoe’s Ed Saxberger who says something similar, reminiscing about the time when everything was both more complicated and easier, and the cost of cigarettes was definitely lower.
Ed moved to Soho in 1977, when it was still untouched by civilization and expensive boutiques, published a book of poems, and then spent several decades working at a post office and living the so-called simple life. He seems absolutely content with all that until he is ambushed by a young man in a sable hat (Edmund Donovan), who informs him that he and his friends, all aspiring artists, have read his book, and that he, Ed Saxberger, is a great American writer.
At first, Ed is merely pleasantly surprised and touched, but the more he hangs out with his new young friends, including Gloria (Greta Lee), an actress, the more the idea of being tragically undervalued shapes his everyday routine and interactions.
Late Fame, which serves as the second feature (after Diane in 2018) of Kent Jones, who previously specialized in documentaries about cinema, is an observational film of sorts. Not so much in the sense of the cinema verité techniques (even though, at times, those apply as well), but in terms of many details that appear on screen clearly having been seen, heard, and, most importantly, felt in real life.
Jones’ film will be relatable to anyone who has ever attempted any sort of creative work, as it poses, without much fanfare, all the classic painful questions that come with it. Does an artist always stay an artist, even when they stop creating? After a certain point, do we continue making art because we cannot fathom not to, or because we are told we should?
Jones’ film and Samy Burch’s script are also keenly observant of the variety of creative types that inhabit the contemporary artistic world. The young hipster guys of the self-proclaimed Enthusiasm Society are the sort to have high artistic ambitions but significantly low stakes in realizing them: even before they are revealed to be Manhattan-lofts rich, the audience easily catches on that vibe.
That said, while poking light fun, the film never turns any of them into insufferable cliches. As a working actor without a safety net of any privilege, Gloria represents a different kind of artist – the one who tends to rip her heart open at any chance to deliver someone else’s words, however insignificant they might seem.
For the majority of the time, though, Late Fame sticks with Dafoe’s Ed, and therefore remains a bittersweet and at times painfully funny film about the horrors of desperately needing validation after receiving a small dose of it. At the same time, Late Fame is a very quiet movie that studiously avoids boisterous narrative stereotypes.
Therefore, the big blowout one might expect at some point isn’t all that big and mostly leaves Ed on the fringes. And the unanswered phone calls from Ed's sister informing him of their brother’s declining health never turn into the source of inspiration for him.
When the final call comes, it’s actually the quietest moment in an already melancholic movie, where we get privy to one final hard-earned artistic lesson – some things are better off not being put into words, but simply felt.