Time and Control: Kent Jones Discusses Performance Style, Creative Influence, and Late Recognition

      Kent Jones has profoundly shaped modern cinema in countless ways. Being a long-time partner of Martin Scorsese as co-director on several documentaries and a vital member of the Film Foundation is one aspect of his influence. Additionally, his role in programming for Film at Lincoln Center and directing the New York Film Festival for eight years is noteworthy. Moreover, while serving as Editor-at-Large for Film Comment and authoring the pivotal book Physical Evidence, he has maintained a critical voice that merges historical insight with strong aesthetic values. Although the years following his public retreat have presented challenges to film culture—ones that no individual could resolve—it's intriguing to ponder how Jones' ongoing involvement might have eased these difficulties.

      Seven years after his narrative film debut with Diane, Jones has returned with Late Fame, a star-studded (featuring Willem Dafoe and Greta Lee) and more romantic (thanks to its intricate New York settings) film that shifts its focus from gradual decline to abrupt and uneasy significance, hinting at a developing auteur framework. (It’s worth noting that May December’s screenwriter Samy Burch adapts a novella by Arthur Schnitzler.) We praised the film at its premiere last year, and Magnolia is now releasing it—possibly inadvertently, yet appreciatively—as unconventional summer fare. When I encountered Jones this spring (engaged in conversation with two esteemed filmmakers), he graciously offered to discuss the film “in a leisurely manner.” Our conversation spanned nearly an hour, allowing us to touch on various topics that, though seemingly tangential, illuminate the multifaceted nature of Late Fame.

      As we settled in at Magnolia’s New York offices, we noticed each other wearing Roxy Music and Bob Dylan shirts.

      Kent Jones: I remember when I first experienced them. It was incredibly liberating. Someone introduced me to David Bowie, whom I liked, but then they took me to Bryan Ferry and later to Roxy Music. I saw them a couple of times and saw Ferry once for Boys and Girls. He’s fantastic.

      The Film Stage: I listened to Ferry and Roxy almost daily for an entire year.

      Yes, yes.

      It's one of those catalogs that you can… “Mother of Pearl” especially is a track I’ve probably played a thousand times. I consider it a fundamental example of how to craft a romantic or love song.

      I’m not sure about the romantic aspect. Perhaps, maybe. [Laughs] Sort of. But yes: definitely a lesson in songwriting.

      Then you progress to the next track or two, and it’s a song you haven’t appreciated enough, and you’re left thinking, “How could I have overlooked this?” It’s really remarkable.

      Listening to an interview with him is intriguing. I’d love to create a documentary about him, but that doesn’t seem likely, and he effectively chronicles his own life and manages his image. However, I also believe he views the Roxy Music albums as a unified creative body. He made a statement that has resonated with me: he described his artistic goal as creating something greater than himself. I suspect Bob would concur.

      Having spoken with and interviewed many admired individuals, I find your impressive roster enviable. Regarding artists and their expressions: while each is unique, have you discerned any common thread among those you admire in how they discuss and think about their work?

      The common thread is that it all centers around the work and nothing else. It’s really that straightforward. Reviews, accolades, visibility, image, branding—none of it matters. It’s solely about the work. I really appreciate poetry for this reason. Recently, there has been much lamenting in cinema, which is understandable given the way “content” has been critiqued by many. Yet, witnessing films diminish from the status they once enjoyed to being mere content is quite disheartening. Conversely, when people discuss these shifts and devaluations, they’re often indicating that today, filmmakers who find success are less likely to become superstars as they might have in 1974. And that’s just the way it is, right?

      Ultimately, it’s irrelevant to the work itself. While it’s harder to earn a living now, poets have always faced that struggle. Find someone who lives off poetry, and I’ll gladly deplete my bank account to pay them. It’s nearly non-existent, unless by coincidence—like Rod McKuen or similar, though it’s not very good poetry. Many may complain about various issues, but in essence, it all comes back to: it doesn’t really matter. It’s all about the work. That’s the consistent thread.

      I feel like every excellent artist I know has another job to support themselves. I was struck by how the film visually situates the characters within their settings, with wide shots of him in the post office as people put letters away, on the street, or even in his apartment—where you can glean character insights just by observing their surroundings