An Interview with Roger Corman
How did you begin as a filmmaker?
ROGER CORMAN: I started originally as a messenger at Fox. I came out of Stanford as an engineer, worked four days and quit. The only way I could get into the business was a messenger. I worked up—became a reader—quit—went to Europe—studied in Europe a while—came back, wrote-sold a story—took the money from the story I sold (I sold the picture to Allied Artists for somewhere around $4000-3500)—borrowed some more money—made a picture for $12,000 which I produced—took the money from that and made a second picture—made a couple of pictures with AIP and on the third picture simply told them (it was partially financed by me and partially financed by them) that I was going to direct as well as produce on the next picture. I started directing at that point.
GOLDMAN: Which film was that?
CORMAN: FIVE GUNS WEST—which was the first picture I directed.
GOLDMAN: What was your association with THE FAST AND THE FURIOUS?
CORMAN: I was the producer of that picture.
GOLDMAN: Did you have any hand in directing the film?
CORMAN: Not really. I set up a little of the racing car business because I was interested in that, and I did some of the second unit stuff. But I didn’t direct as such.
GOLDMAN: How much of THE TERROR did you direct?
CORMAN: I did most of the interiors. What happened was that all the interiors were shot in two days on the sound stage that had been used for THE RAVEN. I didn’t even have the script as a matter of fact. I had a previous deal with Jack Nicholson, Dick Miller and Sandra Knight. They were going to work two days on the film. Boris [Karloff] would work two days on the film, go back to England and then the film would be picked up later. I didn’t have the money to shoot the rest of the picture union, which meant I couldn’t direct myself because I was personally signed with the unions. So I would say that at one time half the young filmmakers in Hollywood did pieces on THE TERROR. Francis Coppola directed part of it; Monte Hellman directed part of it; Dennis Jacob; Jack Hill; Jack Nicholson finally directed himself when we ran out of directors; and I think a couple of other guys worked in there.
GOLDMAN: You might be called the papa of the jet-propelled film directors. What significance does the speed in which you direct a film have for you?
CORMAN: No significance that I’m conscious of, other than the fact that most of the films I’ve made were very, very low budget pictures. The only way to make a film on a low budget is to work quickly before the money runs out. I’ve made films for as low as $12,000. (I must admit that was $12,000 in cash.) With laboratory deferments, the final cost was somewhere between $20-30,000. But it’s still a very low budget picture.
GOLDMAN: Which film was that?
CORMAN: That was MONSTER FROM THE OCEAN FLOOR, the first picture I produced. I directed many films which cost $30-40,000. THE LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS cost, I think, $33-34,000. The majority of my films were done on schedules of five to ten days and budgets from $40-100,000. It simply was all the money there was available.
GOLDMAN: Can you comment on the collaborative relationship between you and your cameraman and scriptwriter? Do you modify much of the script?
CORMAN: Most of the scripts start with my ideas. I come up with the original ideas of what we’re going to do on the film—bring in a writer—work very closely with him on the treatment, the outline of it—develop what we’re going to have—then he’ll do the first draft on his own. We’ll work then on the modifications of the first draft. With the cameraman, it’s almost divided up. I almost always (95% of the time, sometimes 100%) pick the sets on the picture. I simply say, “The camera goes here. I want a 30mm lens. I’m going to dolly from here to here and the actors are going to do this.” The cameraman then has full charge of lighting. I won’t say anything about where he is going to set the lights. He will do that, although before the film starts I’ll have a meeting with him to tell him the mood I’m looking for, the type of lighting I want. Eventually he becomes what they refer to in England as a lighting cameraman. He sets the lights. I pick the shots.
GOLDMAN: Do you have a favorite camera man—one that contributes effectively to your style?
CORMAN: For a long time it was Floyd Crosby for a variety of reasons. One, I got along very well with Floyd. And two, he could work very rapidly and give above-par results. A lot of cameramen work rapidly, but you don’t want to see what they photograph. A lot of men give you quality, but you can’t sit around on a low budget and wait for them to do it. Floyd gave me good quality, worked rapidly and got along well with me. He was a good guy. He’s been retired a few years now, and I’ve worked with a variety of cameramen. But I’ve gotten along reasonably well with most of them and would use almost any of them again should the opportunity present itself.
GOLDMAN: Do you take an active part in the editing process?
CORMAN: Yes. Each day on the set the script girl makes notes on what I’m shooting, but at the same time makes notes on how I want the film assembled for a rough cut. The cutter is essentially assembling according to my notes during the time we’re shooting. When we’re finished, he shows me the rough cut. I then start working with him in the cutting room. I’ll go there in the morning and run one to two reels a day—generally two reels a day—in which I’ll make specific statements on how I want the cutting done. He then will work the rest of the day himself to make the actual physical splices. I’ll then come in the next day and we’ll repeat the process. We’ll go through the film until I feel the film is right or the release date arrives and we can’t spend any more time.
GOLDMAN: Are there any conscious elements you look for in a script? What type of script appeals to you?
CORMAN: It varies from time to time. One year or one day, I’m looking for something different. I have no specific plans to direct at this moment, for the reason that I am not positive what I want to do next. I want to do something that has personal meaning for me. At the same time, I’m looking to the market. So ideally what I would like to do is a film that has meaning for me, that may have meaning to other people and has a chance at commercial success as well. At the moment I am open as to what I am going to do.
GOLDMAN: Have the styles of any previous filmmakers influenced you heavily?
CORMAN: No one in particular. I’d say every film I’ve ever seen has influenced me in one way or another, including those in which I think I’m certainly not going to do anything like that. I was influenced very much by Eisenstein at one time. I like the work of Kurosawa and of Bergman and Fellini. At one time I was very much impressed with the work of Alain Resnais: HIROSHIMA MON AMOUR, LAST YEAR AT MARIENBAD. Recently I’m not as interested, possibly for reasons of my own. So that, in other words, I’m giving you the commonly accepted great directors. I can’t say that there was some obscure Czechoslovakian director whose work taught me a great deal.
GOLDMAN: Your films seem preoccupied with the dark side of life. Is this a personal vision of America? Or of society?
CORMAN: It probably is. I wouldn’t push that concept too heavily. But somebody once said something … well let me say it myself. I see man to a certain extent as being adrift in a partially hostile, partially indifferent universe. And I see a struggle there. In some of the fantasy films, I see an optimistic outlook for man’s attempts to come to grips with—call it a human situation. In realistic films, I see possibly a pessimistic outlook. In THE TRIP I was fairly optimistic. I had taken an LSD trip before the film and instead of seeing man in a hostile universe, I saw man in a loving universe. And I reflected that in the film. But AIP cut the film after I was finished to give it a negative look because they became worried about certain outcries against drugs. They changed the ending and took certain things out of the film to change it so that it wouldn’t be construed as a plug for LSD. I can understand their point of view but I think they hurt the film pretty badly.
GOLDMAN: You’ve been quoted as saying that the dark side of your films may represent a possible vision of the future. Is this more in the form of a prophecy or a warning?
CORMAN: I would think possibly as both. My newest film, GASSS, which is going to open at the end of the retrospective here is something in the nature of a warning and a prophecy. It’s a very interesting film. It was a very inexpensive film. It was shot with a skeleton crew, with a cast of almost entirely amateur actors. Only the leads were professionals. It opened at the Edinburgh Film Festival last year, and I got a cable from the organizers of the festival saying, “GASSS explodes. Five minutes standing ovation.” I thought, “Boy, I’ve really got one.” But AIP hates the picture. They dislike it intensely and they would not give it a New York opening. Since it’s a very inexpensive picture, they’ve been playing it around the country in drive-ins and small towns where it’s been doing only moderate business. The projection is that it will break even and possibly make a tiny profit. They don’t want to spend the money to open in New York because it’s very expensive to open right in New York. They feel it will not do well here and will turn a possibly slight loser into a slight failure. Because of the retrospective we have an essentially free opening here. However, I’m not quite as optimistic about the picture as I was after the news of the Edinburgh Festival. The fact that its been playing around to only moderate audiences may indicate some weaknesses in the film. On the other hand, it could mean that it’s been playing to the wrong audiences.
GOLDMAN: Many of the characters in your films are outsiders, people on the fringes of society. Does this indicate a personal concern tor the outcast? For his search for freedom?
CORMAN: It probably does. A lot of what an artist of craftsman does—I prefer the term craftsman—is partially conscious and heavily unconscious. And I couldn’t explain it totally, but I think it’s related to my feeling of the universe as being somewhat hostile. I would think in that way a society would stand for the universe and man’s relationship to the society around him would stand, to a certain extent, to man’s relationship to the universe.
GOLDMAN: In many of your films these outsiders band together to combat society. As you said before, in your more contemporary films they are defeated, while in your horror/fantasy films they sometimes overcome. Is there a functional relationship involved here?
CORMAN: It wasn’t conscious. It kind of grew out of itself. After I was aware of a little bit of this, I thought to myself—and this is somewhat Monday morning quarterback—that this (the outsider, the struggle against hostile forces) represented unconscious forces in myself. In a fantasy film these forces can be overcome and there will be as it were a happy ending. When I’m dealing with more realistic films, I probably look at it more realistically and say, “No! I don’t think we’re going to overcome this.” This is why—again getting back to GASSS—there is a little bit of this in GASSS. GASSS is an attempt to look at certain aspects of the youth movement and an attempt to move to a better way of life. I end there with something I probably believe, which is that there is a struggle and that it is possible to overcome but not necessarily probable. It’s not like some of the youth films that have come out in the last couple of years that have been an unquestioning acceptance of all the values of the youth culture. I’ve just been around too long to accept anything unquestioningly. This would be a kind of questioning acceptance of many of the values but not all of this culture. For that reason I’m not certain GASSS will be a success despite the initial reception at Edinburgh. Also the film is a little flawed in some areas.
GOLDMAN: Another theme that recurs frequently in your films is the impossibility of man’s returning to a state of innocence. Can you comment on this idea?
CORMAN: I would just give you the title of a Thomas Wolfe novel, You Can Never Go Home, if that was the title. I think there is a progression in all nature to greater and greater complexity. As we start from a one-celled animal and move up to man—and who knows where we’re going after this—and as the culture of man starts on a very simple basis of eating, sleeping, fucking, and staying alive, the culture becomes increasingly more complex. And I think there is always the desire to go back to a simpler mode of existence. But I do not think it can be done. I think you must gain in complexity and sophistication and make this work for you rather than yearn—as some elements of our society are doing today—yearn for an earlier and more simplistic and possibly nicer way of living.
GOLDMAN: Why are your films getting bloodier and bloodier?
CORMAN: The world is getting bloodier and bloodier. The violence in the streets of America is as great as it’s been in history. I know there has been violence continually, particularly the Civil War riots, but at least during my lifetime the concept of violence was not much thought of when I was young. We did not think of it. I remember Art Buchwald writing a column in Paris before he came back to write in Washington …. And it was a column about his coming back. And he would write about political violence in America the way it took place in France. And the whole point was that political violence didn’t take place in America. It was unknown here …. Whereas there were riots very often in France. A few years later Buchwald is here. And he’s writing about real violence in the streets. I think the country has become more overtly violent.
GOLDMAN: Do you find that you have less interference with your films now than previously?
CORMAN: No! More. It’s very strange, but as I find myself better known and more established, I find myself having more interference. A few years ago, when I was not well known, I was making less expensive pictures and I had much more freedom. The key there is the fact that the pictures were less expensive, and the companies didn’t really care that much. I had a good record—still have—for the majority of my films made money. Someone once wrote an article saying that every picture I ever made, made money. That’s not quite true. But almost all of them did make money. At one time I had a string of 27 consecutive successful pictures, all made for between $50-100,000. Well the people backing me, at that point, hardly cared what I did. They all made money. All they wanted to know was what is the film about? What is the budget? I had a great deal of freedom. Now I’m spending more money and I’m dealing possibly on slightly more controversial subjects. So the interference grows in proportion to that.
GOLDMAN: Onward to GASSS. GASSS seems relatively disorganized compared to most of your earlier films. It has a shoestring plot; many sequences merely linked together by blaring rock music; and some dialogue which escapes comprehension. Was this an experimental film on your part?
CORMAN: It was a partially experimental film. I didn’t have the completed script when I started shooting, but winter was coming and I wanted to do the film. I was going to be shooting in New Mexico. I actually shot in December and to wait one more month would have put me in January and I could not have made the film. To wait till next summer would have dated the material I was dealing with, so I wanted to bring the film out early. But it has no meaning now. It’s a year and a couple of months later and it’s still waiting to come out in the major cities. So there was some sense of disorganization and experimentation as we went along. I think one of the great problems is that the film is far too intellectual. Other people have told me that they think it’s a meaningless film. They may well be both right. It is the most intricate and the most organized intellectual film that I have ever made. I was so careful to keep each concept deep behind a humorous look at it. I didn’t want at any time to allow the preachings of what I was saying to come across too heavily and disturb the flow of the picture and its humor. In my desire to keep it in the background, I may have kept it so far in the background that I’m the only person who is going to know what is in every scene. A simple little scene that may be on the screen for a minute or two would be the result of hours and hours of agonizing work between the writer and myself and sometimes the actors—to work out the basic meanings of what we were saying. Everything stands for something in that picture. As far as I know there isn’t a wasted shot or a wasted character. Everything has some meaning or some comment. Frankly it is too big on civilization. It is too grandiose. Recognizing that the film could become pretentious, I pushed it way down. And as I say, it’s possibly faded someplace into the background and is lost somewhere.
GOLDMAN: What would you say GASSS is about?
CORMAN: I’ll just comment in a general way because what you start off to do in a film is not always what it ends up to be. What GASSS is about … ? It is about change and progress in the world. And it is about that the change for the better is not automatic and is not easy. It can only be gained, I believe, if one is fully aware of the mistakes of the past, of the problems of the past. To move forward, one must move carefully through the pitfalls and the traps and the ways one can fall back—until one arrives at an ending which may represent a better state but which may be illusory at that. In other words, it’s a somewhat cynical statement that progress is possible. Now whether any of that comes out, I am not at all positive.
GOLDMAN: In your role as artist/capitalist, which comes first?
CORMAN: It varies from time to time. I don’t know and therefore am not qualified to answer the question.
GOLDMAN: Although you are widely known to help young filmmakers get a start in the film business, some complain of being grossly overworked and underpayed. Is this your way of resolving the artist/capitalist paradox?
CORMAN: There is no particular paradox. Some people have misremembered what actually took place. On the other hand, I’m friends with practically all these guys. I got married in December and just about everybody who was in town who had worked with me was there: Francis Coppola, Monte Hellman, Danny Haller, Peter—no, Bogdanovich was out then—but a number of the directors who I had worked with were there. Jack Nicholson, who wrote and first produced with me but directed for somebody else, was there. They sometimes joke about that, but my feeling is this. I’m not a corporation. I’m not a public source of capital. The money I have, I made by going out. I inherited no money. The money I made, I made myself. And if I’m putting my earnings into a picture—if I’m going to back a young filmmaker—I’m going to pay him a small amount of money and give him an opportunity. He gets a living wage out of the project and the opportunity to make his film. And he can progress from there if he is good. What I get out of it are certain psychic satisfactions in helping somebody and possibly making a profit off the film. I think it’s a reasonable bargain. And nobody I’ve ever offered that bargain to has turned me down. It’s the other way around. I’m besieged by people who come to take this bargain. Many people have suggested to me that when I make this bargain, I should make multiple picture deals. What is the point of financing Monte Hellman, Francis Coppola or Peter Bogdanovich on one picture and when they get big I have no hold on them? That would be an unfair bargain. In other words, to me, it’s fair on one picture. The attempt to lock them up for the future on the basis of what I have done once, I do not do.
GOLDMAN: Do they know their wage and labor requirements in advance?
CORMAN: Oh yes. It’s always a firm deal in contract.
GOLDMAN: Do you have any unrealized projects?
CORMAN: A few. ROBERT E. LEE was a script I developed and THE GREAT PEACE SCARE was what I thought a great idea and developed two scripts on that and dropped it. But most of the scripts I’ve developed, I’ve shot.
GOLDMAN: What Corman projects are in the wings?
CORMAN: I’ve got a new distribution company called New World Pictures which is about six months old and in which we’re backing a number of young filmmakers. At the moment New World Pictures is the most active production company in the United States. We have four pictures shooting as of today and three pictures in the cutting room. So we have seven pictures actually being made at this time. And there is no other company in Hollywood—and I don’t think in New York—that’s sending that many films. I’m not actively producing any one of them but each has my supervision in a general way. A number of directors are doing their first film. Others are directors doing their second or third film.
GOLDMAN: How are you coming with VON RICHTHOFEN AND BROWN?
CORMAN: I finished. I finished cutting it last week as a matter of fact. It’s down now for sound and music cutting, and I’ll dub it around the end of March. I think its scheduled for release around the end of June.
GOLDMAN: Was this the most expensive picture you ever made?
CORMAN: Except for THE ST. VALENTINE’S DAY MASSACRE. This picture cost about $950,000 to make, plus some charges from a previous contract with United Artists which has nothing to do with this picture. But by contract they were able to apply them over. I think it’s a good action picture which says something about the changing face of warfare. My concept is that von Richthofen represents the last of the knights. When he was shot down, that was the end of Sir Galahad, Achilles, and whatever. Floyd Brown, the man who shot him down, was a wheat farmer from Saskatchewan who was so nervous about flying in wartime that he developed a stomach ulcer and had to drink a quart of milk before he took off. And I felt that symbolically this was the end of one concept of warfare and the beginning of another-that the last of the true knights were the pilots of the last World War. Again, possibly it doesn’t come off quite as well as I expected. I think one of the reasons for this is that I’m always careful and maybe too careful not to intrude these ideas too much. So VON RICHTHOFEN may be accepted—if it is accepted—primarily as flying action.
GOLDMAN: In recent interviews you’ve stated that you wished you could go back to the old days when a film could be made in two and a half days.
CORMAN: Right! They could still be made. Whether I could do it, I don’t know … That’s a kind of nostalgia, wishful-thinking thing on the basis that pressures mount up. I also think that maybe what I’ve given you is only part of the reason why. Maybe some people are distance runners and others are sprinters. I can key myself up emotionally to work very hard for a brief period of time. But when you get into a motion picture like THE ST. VALENTINE’S DAY MASSACRE—which was the longest picture I’ve ever shot (seven weeks and a couple of days)—by the end of the picture I was very weary.
GOLDMAN: Do you find yourself becoming more analytical, more critical with reference to your own films?
CORMAN: Probably. That’s one of the reasons films have become more difficult to make. It was more fun. You said I’d been quoted as saying that I’d like to go back to the quicker way of shooting. And that probably means going back to a more fun way of making motion pictures. When we did the little comedies—LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS in two days and one night of silent shooting, BUCKET OF BLOOD in five days, and CREATURE FROM THE HAUNTED SEA in six—everybody worked hard. We took the work seriously, but we weren’t overwhelmed by it, unless overwhelmed by the schedule. So there was an air of camaraderie and pleasantness on the set of those films. And I enjoyed that, and I think it showed in those films. I like the films. They’re unpretentious. They’re amusing. They’re nice films.
GOLDMAN: Which of your films are you most satisfied with?
CORMAN: I’m not completely satisfied with any film that I’ve made. And that’s one of the reasons why I will have a burst of activity, making a lot of films at one time and then stop. The reason I stop is that I simply become discouraged with the films. GASSS might be a case in point—an extremely intricate, thought-out film. A great deal of care went into what I was saying and how I was going to say it. The finished picture does not evidently make all these points. It discourages me and so for a little while I prefer to step away. And when I step away, I still stay active—I work as a producer. Directing is very hard and very painful. Producing is easy. I can do it without really thinking about it.
Charles Goldman is a freelance writer and critic. This interview was made in preparation for his forthcoming book on Roger Corman.
