The most notorious review of Michael Cimino's historical epic Heaven's Gate was one of the first. Vincent Canby, the renowned New York Times film critic who had just two years prior championed Cimino's The Deer Hunter as the work of "an original, major new filmmaker," was unsparing in his criticism of Heaven's Gate, calling it "a forced, four-hour walking tour of one's own living room," "a ship that slides straight to the bottom at its christening," and, most memorably and damningly, "an unqualified disaster." It is perhaps the most notorious bomb in the history of American cinema. Steven Bach was an executive at United Artists during the tortured creation of the film, and in Final Cut, he delivers an engrossing, all-encompassing timeline of the film that would near-singlehandedly kill the New Hollywood movement, permanently damage the career of its director, and bring United Artists, one of the most revered studios in the world, to its deathbed. It's an astonishing work, one of humor and insight and great candor - Bach never once downplays the role he had in enabling Cimino, nor does he gloss over the warning signs he ignored in bringing the picture to UA in the first place. More than once he draws parallels to another infamously troubled United Artists production, Apocalypse Now, and one of the lessons of the book may be that lightning never strikes twice; UA dodged a massive bullet when Apocalypse was a resounding success, after all. Perhaps some within the company thought the studio would get lucky a second time. That this book exists at all shows where that led them.
Final Cut manages to fulfill the needs of several possible audiences. For rubberneckers, it spares none of the gory (literally, in some cases) details of the film's production. Forty-plus years after it landed in theaters, many of the most eyepopping anecdotes - the woefully overrun budget, the glacial pace of the shoot itself, Cimino's insistence on getting everything just so and losing the forest for the trees - are well-known, but they can still shock looking back on them today. In fact, one of the most surprising quotes was from Bach himself, who told Cimino in Paris that Isabelle Huppert was so uninspiring as a leading lady that audiences would wonder why Kris Kristofferson and Christopher Walken "are fucking her instead of each other." Books like The Disaster Artist owe a spiritual debt to Final Cut in this sense, and here Bach sets a high bar. For cinephiles, it's an extensive inside look at a film's life cycle, from pre-production to post-release and everywhere in between, as well as a history of United Artists (one chapter, crucial to the context of what's to come, is devoted entirely to the origins of the studio) and a running log of its last few years in business. Indeed, some of the most impactful sections of the book have nothing to do with Heaven's Gate, instead focusing on Bach's first viewings of two of its most important latter-day releases: Manhattan and Raging Bull. The sense of wonder he conveys in describing both is heartfelt and sincere, a stark and necessary contrast to the slow death march of his current assignment. And for film historians, it's a crucial testament of a very specific moment in American filmmaking, one where auteurs like Cimino, Coppola, Allen and Scorsese held serve over the studios. In today's film landscape, what Bach describes throughout might as well be ancient history. In that sense, the book takes on an almost elegiac quality.
What was most moving to me was how Bach documented his own evolving relationship with the film as a work of art. From the moment he read the screenplay (much of which is reproduced at length about halfway through), he was a believer in Cimino's vision. Through the early days of the production, despite the mounting crisis the shoot was becoming, the actual product was something he never lost faith in; more than once he described the footage that returned from Kalispell to UA as "like David Lean decided to make a western" to any curious parties (including, amusingly enough, an anonymous director all but stated to be Lean himself). But by the time the film finally premiered, all Bach could see when watching (and watching, and watching again) was "the waste, the arrogance, the indulgence...the perfection money can buy, the caring that it can't." Fittingly, though, the last chapter focuses on the positive reevaluation Heaven's Gate would receive in the years following its disastrous initial reception, one which has only grown even more fervent since the publication of the revised edition of Final Cut in 1999. It has become, somewhat ironically, a repudiation of the film's tagline: "what one loves about life are the things that fade." Bach closes the book arguing exactly this, saying "what one loves about life are the things that last, because those who care see to it that they do." It's still something of a debate whether Heaven's Gate has become one of these "things"; there's no doubt in my mind that Final Cut is just that.