Letter to Films in Review, June/July 1990
From: Philip Leibfried
To many, Michael Powell was a fine director, a true cinematic artist of
an original stripe. To me he was also a friend, and for a while, mentor.
It was his boundless broad-mindedness which sealed our friendship.
I first met him at the Greenwich Village shop where I worked as a salesman.
It was just after Thanksgiving, 1984. He ambled in, wearing his yellow
Inverness coat, and walked up to the counter where I was standing. I liked
him immediately. He proved to be an amiable customer; he knew what he
wanted (a walking stick) and was easily pleased. Though I didn't know
whom I was dealing with at the time, I found out some months later, after
he had paid several more visits to the shop.
Emboldened by his friendliness, I asked Britain's premiere film director
if he would care to look at a screenplay I had written a couple of years
previously. He not only agreed, but invited me to his apartment for a drink
two days later.
There I met his wife, Thelma, and cinematographer Michael Ballhaus
(who was the actual tenant of the apartment), among others.
[Bellhaus was cinematographer for Scorsese on After Hours, The Color of
Money, The Last Temptation of Christ, Goodfellas, Guilty by Suspicion, The
Age of Innocence, Quiz Show and The Gangs of New York. So I think we can
assume he's a good friend of Thelma & Marty]
I presented Michael with a copy of my screenplay. That was the last I saw
or heard from him until ten days later, when a letter was delivered to the
shop. The gist of it was that Michael Powell, director of The Red
Shoes and other masterworks, was interested in directing my
screenplay! He was leaving for England that day, hence the letter. From
then on, our relationship became a series of letters and visits, when he
was in New York. The most memorable occurred in June, 1986, at an apartment
in East 10th Street. Well into writing his autobiography, A Life in
Movies, Michael invited me for lunch and generously spent four hours
of his valuable time discussing the presentation he had written based on
my screenplay. I found out that his menu was as interesting as his films.
He was a gourmet in both a gastronomic and cinematic sense.
Michael's sense of humour was also front rank. When I told him that I had
signed up for a screenwriting course, he informed me that I could learn
more from him, and that it would also be cheaper!
[And Michael probably needed the money in '86]
His autobiography was published in this country in April, 1987. A celebration
was held at the Museum of Modern art. I was included among the friends and
associates invited by Michael.
A few months later, I moved to California for a vacation. letters were still
exchanged; Michael never lost touch. When I returned to New York near the
end of summer 1988, Michael and Thelma were in touch shortly thereafter
and immediately asked me out to dinner. I was given a progress report on
the search for a producer for our film.
The following month Michael treated me to an afternoon at a private club
in mid-town Manhatten. Our main topic of discussion was, of course, our
film. Michael was also busily engaged in writing volume two of his
autobiography. When I saw him in April, 1989, it was for the last time,
though I didn't know it. (How could I?) The occasion was a lecture on film
history given at the main branch of the New York Public Library. I received
a letter from Michael in October stating that the first draft of volume
two
was being edited for publication in 1990. Two phone calls in the following
months to his hotel revealed that he was very ill. Then a letter from Thelma
just days before his death informed me that he was not expected to live.
Fortunately, she had taken him back to his beloved England.
Filmdom has lost another of its great ones, one who gave most of his long
life to the medium he loved so well. Filmdom should be grateful for the
time Michael Powell spent with us; I know I am.
Philip Leibfried
New York NY
Back to index
