Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

The park behind Independence Hall

On Friday morning, I met with experimental film director Robert Downey Sr. to do an interview for Wild Violet. He was in town to do a signing of his most recent film, the 2005 documentary, Rittenhouse Square. I had initially met him at a rare screening of his film Pound, during the Philadelphia Film Festival this spring.

In my years of experience in journalism, I've learned that if you see an opportunity you should grab it. So while he was greeting fans after the showing, I pitched the idea of an interview for Wild Violet and he expressed interest. We agreed to do the interview in time for the summer issue.

Over the past couple months, I managed to track down copies of quite a few of movies, few of which are currently available on DVD (I often had to buy used VHS tapes through Amazon.com and eBay), and do enough research to ask intelligent questions. It was pure providence that he happened to be coming to town the week after I called him to set up an exact time.

I met him in the lobby of the hotel where he was staying, which he suggested because it would be quiet and comfortable. It was one of the posher hotels, and the lobby was, just as he said, quiet save for an undercurrent of classical piano music. I took a seat at a small table tucked away in a corner and waited for him to arrive.

He seems a very laid back person, so I wasn't surprised when he strolled into the lobby wearing jeans, a black T-shirt and a button down shirt. I was struck, again, with how tall he is, as he towered above me at more than 6 feet.

I, on the other hand, had dressed as professionally as I could muster, in a knee-length silk white and turquoise patterned pleated skirt, a simple white top, brown fitted jacket, turquoise beads and pointy pale blue high heels. I carried the black briefcase I'd only recently purchased to replace my beat-up Otakon messenger bag.

Another word I'd use to describe Bob Downey would be humble. I'd had that impression at the screening of Pound, where he'd seemed almost reluctant to take the floor to talk about his film. He spent most of his time raving about the talents of the actors in his film, the composer who wrote the music, and the combined perseverance of his wife and his cinematographer, who had teamed up and insisted on restoring this rare film and rescuing it from oblivion.

As he walked across the lobby, I stood up to greet him, we shook hands and chatted briefly about his Rittenhouse Square signing before getting started. He told me that he'd been pleased and surprised by the crowd; it had been packed.

Then I started the tape recorder and we got into the interview. I'd been writing these questions in my head for weeks before actually finalizing them on paper, so I kept the interview very conversational, only glancing down every once in awhile to make certain that I didn't miss anything important.

We had a great conversation, and the interview took off in surprising directions so that, even with all the research I'd done, I learned quite a bit about him, especially about his upcoming projects and his attitudes towards film making inside and outside of Hollywood.

At one point in the interview, he asked me to tell him more about Wild Violet. I told him about our goals of making a place for the arts, or introducing the arts to the mainstream. That was, I said, why we were online.

"Of course, it doesn't make any money," I said, and shrugged.

He encouraged me to stick with it, to follow my dreams and do what I felt was important to me. He said one day it would all work out. He certainly would know!

I got a sense for how he must be as a director as well as the way he must be as a father. We spoke for a little while about both his creative and personal relationship with his actor son, Robert Downey Jr., and again, I learned some things I didn't know.

I don't want to tip my hand too much and steal thunder from the interview, so look for it on Wild Violet near the end of August. He told me to let him know when it came out.

As he waved good-bye and headed back to the elevator, I think he might have said, "Good-bye, Nancy." But when I think about the times that, back when I was a newspaper reporter, I even forgot the names of people I was interviewing, I understand how these sorts of slips happen.

After the interview, I was in great spirits, and I called The Gryphon's cell phone to let him know how well things had gone. Then, I had some free time. I'm not often in the city at that time of day, so in addition to picking up my Wild Violet mail, I got a spinach and tuna wrap and small low-fat smoothie from the Amazon Cafe. Then I walked over to one of my favorite haunts from the days when I worked at an Old City museum, and I sat on a bench behind Independence Hall and watched the tourists.

About this time the wind picked up. Since my silk skirt was light, it threatened to be embarrassing. I had to sit on it to keep it in place.

There was an amusing sign near some fallen tree branches.

I walked down to the vintage store Retrospect on South Street to check out the clothes. But after scouring the store and trying on a number of items, I only got one long-sleeved printed shirt and two beaded necklaces. Most of the things I tried were either too big or too small. I considered a purple velvet jacket that fit me, but I try not to buy out of season clothes, because they don't always fit properly by the time that season arrives. I've been having success lately, getting back on track with my weight loss, so that jacket could well be too big by the time it's cool enough to wear it.

By the time I started walking back to the parking garage, the wind was blustery. Walking was a bit challenging, and I felt like a sillier version of Marilyn Monroe in Seven Year Itch, trying to walk with one hand between my legs to keep my skirt down.

Fortunately, the rain didn't start until I was about halfway home, when it started coming down in sheets. I'd hate to imagine what that would have done to my white patterned silk skirt!

Copyright 2006 by Alyce Wilson

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