William Richert's Third Party Vendor Outfit

I ordered a movie called Aren’t You Even Gonna Kiss Me Goodbye from an Amazon third party vendor assuming it would arrive in a sanitized package with a printed receipt. The movie stars River Phoenix and is directed by the author of the book on which the movie is based: William Richert. My doorman handed me a padded manila envelope. Inside was a handwritten note, a copy of another Richert movie, and a DVD that was as homemade as anything I’ve ever seen. The printed DVD cover that sits between the plastic case and the transparent sleeve was a pixelated photo printed on non-glossy printer paper. Richert, or his assistant, must burn the DVDs and print the sleeves individually as orders trickle in.

The manila envelope had a return address in the top left corner--Richert's home or office address. The idea that this copy of the movie has been burned for me personally, and not mass produced in some Chinese factory, was so quaint as to be touching. When I opened the DVD case and saw that Richert had inscribed a message to me, I had a visceral reaction I can't explain. 

Having not yet watched the movie I ordered, the only association I had with Richert when I saw his note to me was his character in My Own Private Idaho, Bob Pigeon. Pigeon is an updated version of Shakespeare's Falstaff in Henry IV. Richert's Google search result confirms that his role in the Gus Van Sant movie is what he is best known for in the entertainment world. My Own Private Idaho is an excellent movie, but it has not reached a large audience and Richert is a relative unknown. My reaction to Richert's acknowledging my existence was not about celebrity or remote star stricken-ness. This was no brush with fame. 

Did you ever have a physical piece of something you could only love in the abstract?

Richert’s handwriting was a letter from Bob Pigeon. It was a note from Falstaff himself. Receiving the note was sort of like when you’re a kid and you go to Disneyland and seek out Mickey’s autograph. It’s not that you believe the guy in the costume is really Mickey—it’s that you have a personal and tangible connection to the character.  It’s the reification of something fictional. And what was a one way relationship previously now has a lane running back toward you.

I love My Own Private Idaho in the way that you only love a few movies ever. I read every review, essay, and interview that was even remotely related to the film. I watched James Franco's alternate version of movie in which he compiled unused footage into a sort of elegy to the late River Phoenix My Own Private River. It is the sort of movie that makes you feel you must watch more movies--to discover more things that make you feel this way. But it's a futile search and an inevitable disappointment because there are very few movies that will have the impact--and a number of factors have to align for the impact to be felt. You have to be at the right stage in your life, watch it with the right company, and be in the right frame of mind. My post-life-changing movie, movie watching binges have never produced the intended result (otherwise I would be constantly watching movies and having revelations).

For me, movie obsessions die hard. I've watched countless bad movies because they involved an actor or director whose work elsewhere inspired me. I watched Gone Baby Gone, starring Casey Affleck, because he was a supporting character in Good Will Hunting. I hunted down a used copy of Full Metal Jacket Diary to see what Matthew Modine had to say. Every single Vietnam War book I've read is because of Apocalypse Now. I wrote a term paper on the parallels between the Odyssey and Coppola's The Godfather. I watched Stand By Me on repeat one for a week then I watched the entire River Phoenix canon, which led me to order Richert's Aren’t You Even Gonna Kiss Me Goodbye.

So you can see how William Richert's knowing who I am could inspire an unidentifiable feeling. He knew my name, even if just for a second, and that made my world smaller. He sent me his other movie, Winter Kills, and that means he appreciated that I sought out his work. Right? Because Winter Kills is available on Amazon for $24.88 if you want the DVD (Amazon itself, not a third party vendor) or cheaper if you stream through Prime. This is a guy who just wants to share his work. 

It's hard to remain emotionally uninvolved with objects of affection--whether they be fictional characters or whatever it is we refer to by the name 'film'. I don't imagine I would have had the same reaction if I had never seen Richert play Pigeon. Had I not, I would have found his personal note a nice gesture and nothing more. I've been to book signings and the inscriptions are a nice souvenir. But really those signed flyleaves are the cultured equivalent of a Disneyland tee shirt, a high brow Hard Rock Cafe tumbler. 

The note from Richert wasn't an interesting piece of trivia, or a funny outtake, or a deleted scene. It didn't illuminate my understanding of My Own Private Idaho or make me love it any more (I couldn't possibly). What the note gifted me was a tiny piece of history that mattered to me. It was no different than taking a pebble from the beach after one of those days you know you'll remember your whole lifetime.