The Kid Stays In the Picture

According to successful Paramount producer Robert Evans, the man behind such 70’s gems as Marathon Man and Chinatown, there are three perspectives in every story: “Your side, my side, and the truth”. Assuming that’s the case, listening to Evans narrate gossipy anecdotes of how an untalented actor was promoted president of a semi-prestigious Hollywood studio, in his groggily masculine voice, understand that the man recounting such events is obviously spilling the goods objectively; especially when sounding like he’s the sole reason Love Story rejuvenated Paramount’s low-rank among other studios. Nanette Burstein and Brett Morgen’s innovative documentary, The Kid Stays In the Picture, is thoroughly dedicated to waxing their subject’s ego (which needed none to begin with). It’s a grandiosely self-centered ode to the cigar-puffing Evans as much as Julia St. Vincent’s unreliable documentary, Exhausted, was a love-letter praising porn legend Johnny Wadd.

Kid, adapted from Evans’ autobiography of the same title, guides us through the ups and downs of being a cherished playboy (or: raking in millions while bedding numerous supermodels) as lived through a man who makes success seem easier than grade-school. It’s unimportant that most of what is said onscreen is misleading, because who in show biz is a credible source? What matters are the ignored grizzly details, like why wife Ali McGraw left him for Steve McQueen while filming The Getaway? Or why did he fiercely object, and fight, Francis Ford Coppola’s decision to cast Marlon Brando and Al Pacino in The Godfather. You can learn more about Evans’ seedy side by reading Steve Biskind’s revealing novel Easy Riders, Raging Bulls, about how the 70’s movie brats (De Palma, Lucas, Scorsese) gave Hollywood a swift kick in the caboose, and he’s only part of the book’s large cast of characters.

Told through interactive images, this isn’t a standard documentary where people slowly drone over stale images. What makes Kid peak our interest for most of its running time is the reenacted conversations over pictures depicting said moments. Having it relayed in this form, like a supposed phone conversation between Evans and Frank Sinatra regarding then-wife Mia Farrow’s role in Rosemary’s Baby (Sinatra gave Farrow an ultimatum, either she leave the film and star alongside him in The Detective or divorce papers would be in her mailbox pronto), lend it a cinematic feel, which is capped-off with musical montages. And when the narration bears relevancy to a film Evans produced, an applicable clip plays over the monotone.

There are many nostalgic and hysterical highlights to keep us entertained throughout, like a corny anti-drug promo, produced by Evans after he was busted buying primo coke from an undercover DEA agent, that stars everyone from Paul Newman to Donny Osmand chanting “Get High On Yourself”. Unsurprisingly, little time is spent discussing the wunderkid’s downward slope, which seemed to have started when he left Paramount to become an independent producer. Less is mentioned about his string of 80’s flops that began with The Cotton Club, in which Coppola and Evans’ bickering became so intense both men went to court, where Coppola tried to have Evans permanently banned from ever visiting the set.

It’s obviously Kid’s point to present Evans as an unappreciated survivor who managed to claw his way up from numerous scandals, which cost him his beloved Beverly Hills mansion (not to mention industry respect), and yet still be alive and working; occasionally producing $100-million dollar grossing hits like 1997’s The Saint. His life is impressive, but empathizing with a multimillionaire who climbed to the top through good looks and lots of ambition isn’t easy. Evans’ rambles are always fun listening to, though. He’s what Phillip Marlowe would be like after snorting heavy cocaine for over a decade. -Shaun Sages

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