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As I watched the clever "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel" on TV and polished off my lunch, I thought of Carole Kass, a friend who was the longtime movie critic at the Richmond Times-Dispatch. She died at the age of 73 in 2000. In the photo (by Gary Fisher), Alan Rubin (one of the Biograph’s owners from D.C.) is seen with Carole Kass in the theater's lobby at the second anniversary party, Feb. 11, 1974.
Part 1 of the remembrance piece that follows was written shortly after Carole's death in 2000 and published by Richmond.com. Part Two continues the story of paying tribute to a good friend. It's about a scene put together in 1998, hoping to lift her spirits.
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Part 1
"Freeze Frame" by F.T. Rea, Mar. 30, 2000
After enlivening this city with her presence and influence for nearly 40 years - 25 of which she served as the film critic at the Richmond Times-Dispatch - Carole Kass died Wednesday. She was 73.
Carole Kass brought a genuine enthusiasm and warmth to her work as a film critic and entertainment columnist that was uncommon. Those same traits were evidenced in everything she touched. Whether she was helping out a little independent movie theater with her printed words, or teaching cinema history to undergraduates at Virginia Commonwealth University, or teaching film production to inmates at the Virginia State Penitentiary, Carole always cared so much about the people she interacted with that it was startling at times.
I met Carole in 1971. Like so many others in love with movies, I began sitting in on her class at VCU. Of the sometimes hundreds in attendance at one of her screenings in those days, at least a third were probably not registered in the class. Carole didn't worry about that. When there were no more seats, we sat on the floor, or stood in the back.
From 1972 through 1983 (my stint as manager of the Biograph Theatre on W. Grace St), I talked with Carole every week; sometimes it was several times. Carole was different from most of the people who write about film, or who make their living in the motion picture industry. There was no hidden agenda with her. She was not jealous of the filmmakers or actors she wrote about. The snide attitude that so many critics affect was not a part of the Kass style.
Furthermore, if there was an unsung benefactor in the story of the Biograph's 15-year-run, it was most certainly Carole Kass. She tilted her coverage of the local cinema scene to the Biograph's advantage in so many ways I won't attempt to recount them.
Carole simply loved good movies. She understood the power that film has to lift people from their everyday pain and depression, if only for a few sweet moments.
My last show-biz encounter with Carole took place nearly two years ago. She was a part of the Jewish Community Center's presentation of a live Joan Rivers show at the Carpenter Center. My job was to record the performance on videotape for the sponsors.
Rivers' topic was surviving tragedy. And in spite of the serious subject, she was very funny. After her prepared remarks, Joan answered written questions submitted by the audience and asked by Carole. Their impromptu performance together was at least as funny as what had gone before.
At that time, I knew that Carole was battling cancer. She joked with me about her worry over whether she would live long enough to do the show for the JCC. Well, not only did she live up to her promise but she pulled it off with aplomb.
After that show I went out to her home in the West End for a visit. I wanted to tell her how much she had meant to the Biograph's survival and to the film community in Richmond. Typically, she was her modest self. In her view, she was only a background artist, helping out - we were the ones who had accomplished something.
I chose the title for this piece - "Freeze Frame" - for a reason I'd like to explain. When I searched my grieving consciousness for a cinematic phrase, "fade-to-black" came to mind. Then I immediately rejected it.
Instead I chose the now familiar device that ends the 1959 French New Wave classic "The 400 Blows." It was that movie that put the freeze frame on the map as a way to end a film. I know Carole was particularly fond of that early Truffaut picture, as am I.
And, with the French Film Festival in town this weekend, it is particularly appropriate to remember that for so many in Richmond, it was Carole Kass who taught them to look beyond their provincial tastes in movies.
There's a direct line that flows from that VCU French Film Festival at the Byrd Theater, back through many people, film societies, venues large and small, straight to Carole Kass - and a freeze frame of her warm smile.
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Part 2
A week or so later, [after my first visit] I delivered a video tape to her at her home. It
included Rivers’ talk to the audience and what followed. At the end of
the tape there was a tribute to Carole that I had staged, shot and
edited without her knowledge. While I was there, we chatted briefly, but I didn’t let on about the surprise.
Here’s what Carole didn’t know as she watched the tape: The R-TD’s
then-executive editor, Bill Millsaps, had helped me out by asking all
the writers to come outside for about 20 minutes to be the performers in
a tribute to Carole. Others from Richmond's film buff community,
including former staff members at the Biograph, were also asked to be on
hand to be in the main scene.
At the shoot the assembled cast was directed to walk around for a while, then stand
applauding in front of 333 W. Grace St., an entrance to the newspaper’s
building that no longer exists. I had help shooting the scene from Jerry
Williams and Ted Salins. They manned two of three cameras used.
Later I edited the footage from the three tapes into a short piece,
using music from the movie “8½” for sound; the imagery also imitated scenes in the movie,
somewhat. That particular Fellini flick was one of her favorites. In the time that had passed, no
one had told Carole a word about it; it had been beautiful teamwork.
When she saw the tribute footage, watching it with pain as her only
companion, Carole couldn’t fathom that all those people had actually
been assembled, just to give her a standing ovation. When she called,
she told me she had assumed I found the footage, somewhere, and spliced
it onto end of the tape.
Where had I found it? she asked.
With a measure of satisfaction I chuckled and informed her how the scene was actually set up. She didn’t buy it!
Carole thanked me warmly, but added a gentle, facetious scolding for my trying
to fool her about the mysterious last scene, shot in front of the old
entrance to 333. She reminded me of my reputation as a trickster.
Later Carole telephoned then-television critic Douglas Durden, only
to hear from her old friend (they sat at desks next to one another for
years) that it all had been just as I said.
After talking with others at the newspaper, to gather the whole story Carole called me back to
laugh, to cry and to apologize for not believing me. She went on to say
that what had started out as a rather “bad day” for her — coping with
the indignities of her medical situation — had been changed into a “good day.”
As my mother died of cancer in 1984, I could grasp what Carole might
have meant by “good days” and “bad days.” Carole thanked me for that
good day. I told her I’d had a lot of help.
It began with an idea for a gesture to lift an old
friend’s spirits and let her know how much her colleagues and the rest
of us appreciated her. The finished product, with Carole’s double-take
reaction actually turned out better than I had envisioned.
Which is
somewhat unusual for one of my stunts. Back in the summer of 1998, I also gave a print of the tape to Saps, to
say, “Thanks.” Naturally, the JCC got a tape.
And, dear reader, a good day is wished to you and yours.
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