There’s no doubt about it. Polly Platt and Peter Bogdanovich were a great team. They were a cinephile partnership who dashed around New York in the early 1960s, going from cinema to cinema, hoping to catch some Howard Hawks’ film for the third time. Then, when they decided to risk it all and cross the country, they managed to land on their feet.
There’s no denying that Peter Bogdanovich’s career highs were done with his wife & (ex-wife) Platt. Those films they made together, from Targets to Paper Moon, were the pinnacle of Bogdanovich’s filmography. And it’s hard not to be critical of his latter films and speculate why he seemed unable to reach the same heights.
In recent times, there has been a growing consensus that Platt was the true driving force behind much of Bogdanovich’s success. Some even suggest that without her, he may have never reached the heights he did. This perspective has gained traction in film circles, with many critics and historians now emphasising Platt’s contributions over Bogdanovich’s.
However, it’s worth asking whether this narrative is entirely accurate or if it has become a form of revisionism. While there is no question that Platt played a crucial role in their collaborations, it’s important not to diminish Bogdanovich’s talents and vision in the process. After all, he was the one in the director’s chair, ultimately responsible for bringing these films to life.
Platt & Bogdanovich: Better Together
When Polly Platt and Peter Bogdanovich first met, they were two young, nerdy cinephiles with a shared passion for classic Hollywood cinema. They would spend hours in theatres, absorbing the works of directors like Howard Hawks, John Ford, and Alfred Hitchcock. After a brave jump from the New York art scene to the B-movie universe of Roger Corman, they found themselves no longer fans of the film industry.
Their first film was Targets, which saw both revelling in the opportunity, showing their budding talents and everything they’d learned from their heroes. Platt’s production design brought a gritty realism to the film’s portrayal of a mass shooter, while Bogdanovich’s direction built a sense of slow-burning dread. The film’s success gave them the confidence to take on more ambitious projects, and they soon set their sights on a script that would become The Last Picture Show.
Adapted from Larry McMurtry’s novel of the same name, The Last Picture Show was a deeply personal project for both Platt and Bogdanovich. Platt’s black-and-white production design captured the stark beauty and desolation of small-town Texas, while her input on the script helped to shape the film’s themes of disillusionment and the passage of time. Bogdanovich’s direction, meanwhile, was a masterclass in restraint and subtlety. He coaxed naturalistic performances from his cast, letting the film’s emotional truths emerge organically.
The success of The Last Picture Show meant they were suddenly wining and dining with Old Hollywood elites, and they soon set about crafting a series of films that would showcase the breadth of their talents. What’s Up, Doc? A loving homage to the screwball comedies of the 1930s and 40s, saw Platt’s production design explode with colour and energy. At the same time, Bogdanovich’s direction kept the laughs coming at a furious pace.
Paper Moon, perhaps their most critically acclaimed collaboration, saw Platt and Bogdanovich working in perfect harmony. Platt’s sepia-toned production design and period-accurate costumes brought the Depression-era setting to vivid life, while her script (co-written with Alvin Sargent) balanced humour and heartbreak with a deft touch. Bogdanovich’s direction, meanwhile, elicited career-best performances from Ryan and Tatum O’Neal, capturing the complex bond between a con man and the young girl who may or may not be his daughter.
Throughout their collaborations, Platt and Bogdanovich challenged and inspired each other. Platt pushed Bogdanovich to dig deeper emotionally, to find the human truth at the heart of each story. Bogdanovich, in turn, brought a cinematic eye and a deep understanding of film history to their projects.
Of course, their partnership was not without its challenges. As Bogdanovich’s profile rose, Platt’s contributions were overshadowed. This was the nature of New Hollywood’s auteur-centric world. It would take decades before she’d ever get the credit she deserved.
Better Apart?
Ironically, Platt’s success really sunk their partnership, as she was too good at casting a certain coy ingenue – Cybil Shepherd. Platt had a keen eye for talent and a knack for discovering new faces, but little did she know that her choice of Shepherd for The Last Picture Show would have such far-reaching consequences.
For Platt, the post-Bogdanovich years of the 1970s were a time of reinvention. She transitioned from production design to screenwriting and producing, bringing her keen understanding of character and story to bear on a new set of projects. She worked on projects like Pretty Baby, A Star is Born and The Bad News Bears.
Bogdanovich, meanwhile, struggled to recapture the magic of his earlier films. His 1975 film At Long Last Love, a musical starring Shepherd and Burt Reynolds, was a critical and commercial flop. Daisy Miller and Nickelodeon also failed to live up to the promise of his earlier work; it’s not hard to see why people claim he lost his way without Platt’s guiding influence.
That’s not to say that Bogdanovich’s output in the 1970s was without merit. Saint Jack, a gritty drama about an American pimp in Singapore, showed that he could still craft a compelling story and elicit strong performances from his cast. But there was a sense that something was missing, that the special alchemy that had defined his collaborations with Platt was no longer present.
Of course, it’s impossible to say for certain what might have happened had Platt and Bogdanovich stayed together. Perhaps they would have continued to produce masterpieces, or perhaps the strains that pulled them apart would have taken their toll even if Shepherd had never entered the picture.
It feels like even in the post-New Hollywood world, they both seem to have struggled to make the most of it all. Platt continued to work steadily, from work like The Man with Two Brains to The Witches of Eastwick, and she helped launch the careers of Reese Witherspoon and Owen Wilson. But none of the projects she worked on reached anywhere near the four she made with Bogdanovich. She was talented and clearly had an eye for talent, but she didn’t particularly stand out.
Bogdanovich, meanwhile, continued to struggle to find his footing. Unlike Platt, who seemed to be at least consistent post-partnership, his films seemed to either be good films which almost live up to their potential (They All Laughed, Mask, Noises Off) or disappointing tripe (Illegally Yours).
There were moments when Bogdanovich seemed to recapture some of the old magic, particularly when he was working with strong collaborators. His work with Cher on Mask, for example. And his adaptation of The Cat’s Meow, a period piece about a scandalous Hollywood murder, showed that he could still craft a stylish and engaging film. But both of these still feel like they could have been better if Bogdanovich was at his peak.
There was a sense that Bogdanovich was increasingly out of step with the times. His reverence for classic Hollywood, which had once seemed so fresh and vital, began to feel like nostalgia in an era of fast-paced, high-concept filmmaking. And without Platt’s grounding influence, his films often felt uneven and unfocused.
Looking at their respective bodies of work in the decades after their split, it’s hard to escape the conclusion that both Platt and Bogdanovich were in some ways diminished by their separation. Platt continued to do strong work, but she never quite found another collaborator who could match Bogdanovich’s cinematic vision. And Bogdanovich, while still capable of moments of brilliance, struggled to recapture the consistency and critical acclaim of his earlier career.
But there was a sense of missed opportunity, of a partnership that had ended too soon. One can’t help but wonder what Platt and Bogdanovich might have achieved had they been able to work through their differences and continue their collaboration. Would they have been able to adapt to the changing times, to bring their unique sensibilities to bear on a new era of filmmaking? Or would the strains that pulled them apart have eventually taken their toll, regardless of the circumstances?
Polly vs Peter – So What’s the Truth?
In recent years, a narrative has emerged suggesting that Polly Platt was the true creative force behind Peter Bogdanovich’s early successes. This idea has gained traction in film circles, with many critics and historians now crediting Platt with the lion’s share of the artistic vision and execution that made films like The Last Picture Show and Paper Moon so enduring.
There are several reasons why this narrative has taken hold. For one, Platt’s contributions to these films were undeniably significant. Her production design, her input on scripts, and her eye for talent all played a crucial role in shaping the look, feel, and emotional resonance of Bogdanovich’s early work. As more attention has been paid to the often-unsung contributions of women in film history, it’s natural that Platt’s role has come into sharper focus.
There’s also the fact that a string of disappointments and misfires marked Bogdanovich’s later career. As his star waned in the 1980s and 1990s, it became easier to attribute his early successes to Platt’s influence – while Platt’s weaker latter career can be easily excused as she wasn’t the director. If Bogdanovich struggled to recapture the magic of his 1970s films, the reasoning went, perhaps it was because he no longer had Platt’s guiding hand.
But while there’s no denying Platt’s immense contributions, the idea that she was the sole creative force behind Bogdanovich’s films is an oversimplification. Bogdanovich was a talented director in his own right, with a deep knowledge of film history and a keen understanding of the medium. His ability to work with actors, compose striking visual images, and bring a script to life on screen were all phenomenal.
There’s also evidence to suggest that the “Platt behind Bogdanovich” narrative has been overstated. In interviews and memoirs, many of the key collaborators on these films have stressed the importance of both Platt and Bogdanovich’s contributions. Cinematographer László Kovács, for example, has spoken about the close working relationship between the two and how their unique skills and perspectives complemented each other.
So why has the revisionist perspective taken hold? There are a few possible motives. For some, it may be an attempt to right the wrongs of film history, to give credit where it’s long been due. For others, it may be a way of making sense of Bogdanovich’s later struggles – if Platt was the true genius behind his early films, then his subsequent failures can be more easily explained.
It’s also worth considering the other side of the equation: Was Bogdanovich behind Platt’s success? The argument in favour of Platt can be cut the other way. Platt’s post-separation career was similarly filled with a mixture of successes and disappointments, just like Peter’s. While she continued to work steadily in the industry, her projects never quite reached the same heights as their collaborations. If Bogdanovich’s later struggles are seen as proof of Platt’s importance, then her own uneven track record could just as easily be used against her.
Or It Had Nothing To Do With It
Or, and bear with me, it’s all a load of bullshit. It’s a case of connecting the dots gone wrong. It’s an oversimplification that suggests Platt-Bogdanovich was the greatest working partnership of all time. When there isn’t that much evidence to suggest that, in fact, it may be more accurate to suggest that their creative partnership had simply run its course.
It’s worth noting that Platt and Bogdanovich’s most successful collaborations – The Last Picture Show, What’s Up, Doc? and Paper Moon – were all made within a relatively short period. This burst of creative energy and critical acclaim is not uncommon among filmmakers, and it’s possible that Platt and Bogdanovich simply had a finite number of truly great films in them.
When we look at the broader context of the New Hollywood era, it becomes clear that it’s more likely than not simply a matter of wavering fortunes. Look at William Friedkin – he had a post-Sorcerer career that wasn’t too dissimilar to Peter’s. A filmography of almost great films never quite matches up to past glories.
Why suggest it is Bogdanovich’s fault that he was unable to make it in a different Hollywood? By the time he seemed to have got over his ego issues and creative funk in the late 1970s, the old studio system was crumbling, and a new generation of executives and producers were taking over. These new power players were less interested in the auteur-driven, deeply personal films that had characterised the New Hollywood era and more focused on creating blockbuster hits with mass appeal.
In other words, Bogdanovich and the New Hollywood auteurs were out. Even Scorsese, Coppola, and Altman were unable to sustain their commercial successes into the 80s; Scorsese’s great films, like The King of Comedy or After Hours, didn’t get a good reputation until decades after release.
In this context, it’s perhaps not surprising that Bogdanovich struggled to maintain his earlier success. His films, with their reverence for classic Hollywood and their focus on character and story over spectacle, were increasingly out of step with the changing tastes of the industry.
There’s also the question of Bogdanovich’s ego and behaviour during this time. After the success of his early films, Bogdanovich became known for his lavish lifestyle and his high-profile romance with Cybill Shepherd. He attributed his downfall to this relationship, that he irritated people by playing up the ‘true love’ of it all, and that his personality resulted in his every failure celebrated in Hollywood. He seemed lost in the mythos of Hollywood, schmoozing & namedropping, the shadow of Orson Welles and the idea that he was an icon he wasn’t.
In my mind, the simple answer for Bogdanovich’s latter career is that it wasn’t meant to last. Platt had a good career. She was a trailblazer as a production designer, she helped kickstart careers like Cameron Crowe and Wes Anderson, and she helped James L. Brooks make his best films. Still, I think prescribing Bogdanovich’s successes to her is insulting to a man who was a talented filmmaker. I don’t think there’s enough evidence to suggest that the run from Targets to Paper Moon could have been sustainable even with both people’s talents.
Read More If You Want
https://www.criterion.com/current/posts/6961-credit-where-credit-s-due-polly-platt
https://jacobin.com/2022/01/peter-bogdanovich-cinema-film-hollywood-obituary
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