Despite Wood's lack of connections, despite his limitations as a film director, still amazingly he managed to find financial backers to produce his films. In one case, he even finds a group of Baptists to fund his film, as long as he agrees to star one of their members in his film, change its title, and join the church for good measure. It was Wood’s vision, his belief in himself—delusional and misguided, to be sure--his indefatigable effort in the face of rejection, criticism, and flat out failure, which allowed him to succeed—if by that we mean—make a film, no matter how shoddy and disjointed.
That quality makes Wood into a likable rogue, but he is more than that. For while he misled or simply deceived his financial backers, he also cared about other people: he gathers together a group of cast off and misfit actors and characters, who he befriends and discovers, to make his films, most notable of all, the aged and forgotten Bela Lugosi. In fact, the film’s most touching relation is Wood’s concern for the Lugosi. Martin Landau, who played the part of Lugosi, received an Oscar for best supporting actor.
To be yourself in the face of disapproval and rejection—that’s the most moving impression I took away from this film. After all, it’s a universally shared sense of sympathy we all have for the underdog and misfit. Surprising was just how Wood dealt with his crossdressing, in particular his predilection for wearing women’s angora sweaters—he made a film about it in 1953! Predictably, the film wasn’t screened, and its producer shocked and angered by just what Wood had done with his purported take on the Christine Jorgenson story of the first recorded sex change by an American from male to female, which was what the film was supposed to be about. But personally, I conjecture, Wood by making this film overcame his own nemesis, his own hidden, dark secret, his desire to crossdress, thus perhaps gained the confidence to believe in himself and not back down from any obstacles. And he didn’t. He continued making films and then writing books until he died, prematurely, from a new nemesis—alcohol, which unfortunately relegated him to the furthermost margins of B-film-making and hack writing.
Another moving aspect of
As in all of
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