R.I.P.: Christopher Jones (1941-2014)

This is kinda-sorta embarrassing for me to admit, but the death of actor Christopher Jones at age 72 last Friday slipped right under my radar. Maybe it was because his passing was overshadowed by the weekend deaths of Maximilian Schell and Philip Seymour Hoffman. Or maybe his demise simply didn't get much publicity because, unfortunately, it had been a long time since many people gave much thought to what Jones did while he was alive.

For the benefit of those who tuned in late: Jones was one of several broodingly handsome hunks who were hyped as likely heirs to the late James Dean during the two decades or so following that legendary screen icon's death at age 24 in a 1955 auto crash. After attracting attention in The Legend of Jesse James, a 1965-66 TV Western, the Tennessee-born Jones graduated to motion pictures with starring roles in Chubasco (1967), opposite Susan Strasberg (to whom he was married briefly); Three in the Attic (1968), a wink-wink, nudge-nudge comedy in which he played a faithless stud who's captured and, ahem, erotically exploited by three vengeful lovers; and The Looking Glass War (1969), a John le Carre-inspired spy thriller best remembered (by those who remember it at all) as an early showcase for supporting player Anthony Hopkins.

Three in the Attic was a minor box-office hit -- successful enough for its distributor, American International Pictures, to follow up with the totally unrelated Up in the Cellar (1970) -- but none of these films generated nearly as much critical and audience interest as Wild in the Streets, the 1968 cult-fave political satire in which Jones quite impressively played Max Frost, a megalomaniacal rock star who contrives to become President of the United States -- and then ships everyone over 30 into reeducation camps. The frankly absurd but arrestingly outlandish dramedy has always had a special place in my heart -- it was the first movie I ever reviewed for a professional publication, while I was still in high school -- but it's also fondly remembered by many other folks my age and younger, primary for Jones' moody-menacing lead performance, an early appearance by Richard Pryor in a supporting role, and a soundtrack that includes the defiant youth-rebellion anthem "Shape of Things to Come" (which, believe it or not, was co-opted for use in a Target TV commercial a few years ago).




After the surprise success of Wild in the Streets, Jones started to be taken seriously as, if not the Second Coming of James Dean, an actor of considerable promise. So seriously, in fact, that no less an auteur than David Lean cast him as a shell-shocked British solider who has a tempestuous affair with the neglected young wife (Sarah Miles) of a middle-aged Irish schoolmaster (Robert Mitchum) in the epic 1970 romantic drama Ryan's Daughter. Unfortunately, the movie was trashed by critics -- even though, as I recall, it was much better than its reputation indicated -- and ignored by audiences. Lean didn't get another movie off the ground (A Passage to India) for 14 years.

As for Jones, whose performance was not viewed as one of the film's saving graces -- well, depending on which story you want to believe, he was traumatized by the violent 1969 death of actress Sharon Tate (with whom he had an affair), or he realized he really hated acting, or he couldn't get arrested after Ryan's Daughter, or all of the above. In any event, he walked away from show business, and retreated into obscurity. Quentin Tarantino tried to lure him of retirement with the role of Zed in Pulp Fiction, but Jones passed on the offer. He resurfaced briefly in 1996, when he played a minor role in the little-seen Mad Dog Time. But that, as they say, was that.

Because sometimes the magic happens, and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes you aim to be -- or other people groom you to be -- the next James Dean. And sometimes, when you pass away, even people who half-remember your best work will instinctively think: "Wow. I thought he died years ago." Such is life.

R.I.P.: Maurice Jarre (1924-2009)

Seventeen years ago, while dining with movie score composer Maurice Jarre at the Montreal World Film Festival, I told him that he should be proud that so many couples have fallen in love while listening to his "Laura's Theme" (from David Lean's Doctor Zhivago), even if few of them ever knew his name. Jarre laughed, and agreed. But then I told him how I had come to dread hearing the song during my childhood, because my father insisted on playing it again and again and again and again while stewing in an alcohol-fueled melancholy funk over his (temporary) break-up with my soon-to-be-stepmother. Jarre laughed again -- and apologized.

Jarre was at the Montreal festival for the world premiere of Maurice Jarre: A Tribute to David Lean, a filmed concert tribute to the great British filmmaker with whom he had collaborated so memorably and successfully. (The composer earned Academy Awards for scoring Lean's Lawrence of Arabia, A Passage to India -- and, of course, Zhivago.) The funny thing is, to paraphrase the final line from Spike Lee's 25th Hour, this collaboration came very close to never happening.

During an interview the morning after that world premiere, Jarre recalled that he made his first major breakthrough as a composer of film music with his score for the French classic Sundays and Cybele. ''For that film,'' Jarre said, ''I wrote a simple score for three instruments. And there were only about 10 minutes of music in the entire film.'' But that was enough to attract the attention of producer Sam Spiegel, who was looking for composers for his upcoming epic, Lawrence of Arabia.

Jarre recalled that, initially, Spiegel wanted three different composers from three different countries for the film. (''And I thought, 'Wow! That is an American production!''') When that plan fell through, Spiegel decided to split the scoring duties between Jarre and Broadway great Richard Rodgers.

''The first time I met David [Lean],'' Jarre said, ''was when he and I and Sam Spiegel were in a London studio, listening to a pianist play the music that Rodgers had written (in America) . . . The pianist began by playing the main theme, and then something called, if you can believe it, 'Love Theme for Lawrence of Arabia.'''

Lean was not amused. ''Sam,'' the director snapped at his producer, ''what is this rubbish?'' Anxious, and not a little embarrassed, Spiegel turned to Jarre and demanded that Jarre perform some of his own music. So Jarre sat at the piano, and began with ''what we now know as the theme for Lawrence of Arabia,'' the composer said.

''I had my back to them, so I could not see how they were reacting. But right in the middle of my playing, I felt a hand on my shoulder. And I could hear David saying, 'Sam, this young chap has exactly what I want.'''

So Jarre wound up writing all the music for the Oscar-winning epic. After that, he enjoyed international success with many other directors on such diverse projects as The Collector, The Longest Day, The Damned, The Man Who Would Be King, The Tin Drum, Witness, Dead Poet's Society, Ghost and Jacob's Ladder.

''But I still have the print of David's hand on my shoulder,'' Jarre said in 1992. ''You keep that all your life.''