By Regina Weinreich | Indiewire December 24, 2012 at 9:25AM
Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road” is a testosterone-laden work of writing, the mad adventures of literate but lusting men in search of women and the wider world alike. One famous inspiration was a breathless letter Neal Cassady, the model for Dean Moriarty, wrote to Kerouac about scoring with a girl he met on a Greyhound bus. As a turn-on that sparked the writing of his “true-life” novel, women are both central to Kerouac’s spontaneous telling and marginalized to a dismissive degree appropriate for the times.
But a strange thing happens in the new film adaptation written and directed by the “Motorcycle Diaries” team of Jose Rivera and Walter Salles, which IFC Films opened in theaters Friday. Though still secondary to the narrative, the women have gained in significance and impact in key ways that speak both to Salles’ cinematic approach to storytelling and to the expectations of today’s film audiences.
For just one example, Kristen Stewart, as the boys’ teenaged fellow-traveler Marylou, gyrates madly at a beat soiree to the sound of “Salt Peanuts” in the new movie. Sporting saddle shoes and anklets, she sweats as her clothes begin to drape off against an equally entranced dancing boy. In those frantic moments, you could easily think: the film is about her.
Kerouac’s book might have made the ultimate buddy movie, a mid-century hipster “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” featuring the cross-country antics of Kerouac’s autobiographically influenced Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty. When Brazilian filmmaker Walter Salles was tapped in 2004 to direct this elusive project after decades of misfires, you could feel the machine in motion: Salles did “Motorcycle Diaries,” so it’s a no-brainer — again, two guys take the open road!
Yet while Salles hews close to the episodic Kerouac novel, making a cohesive tableau of colorful set pieces, his Sal (Sam Riley) and Dean (Garrett Hedlund) are often overshadowed by the movie’s women characters in modes of undress and sexual play. But while some critics may protest — hey, this is Kerouac, not Henry Miller! — Salles, noted for his copious research, did his due diligence. In preparation, the filmmakers made their own cross-country journey to interview surviving female Beats, among them Joyce Johnson, Hettie Jones, Carolyn Cassady and Diane DiPrima, which may explain why so much of the script is girl-oriented.
No fewer than seven memoirs by women married to or connected with the central men informed Rivera’s script. Banking on the marketability of Kerouac’s name or with personal axes to grind, wives Edie Parker and Joan Haverty wrote books. At least one salacious study posits Kerouac as a cad, pushing the women into misguided behavior. The best and most evocative book, Johnson’s “Minor Characters,” set the high bar for a history of the women of the Beat era. Kerouac’s girlfriend at the time “On the Road” was published in 1957 to become an overnight bestseller, Johnson is his most recent biographer as well, with “The Voice is All: The Lonely Victory of Jack Kerouac.”
Not one to rely on Kerouac’s singular take on events, Salles used these other truth-tellers to start the process of teasing out the author’s fiction from fact. Digging deeper, he brought the key women to the set. At a luncheon in New York in 2010 for her film “All Good Things,” Kirsten Dunst, who plays Camille in “On the Road,” said she regretted leaving the production when her scenes were completed because Carolyn Cassady was coming to hang out with the actors. Dunst did not want to miss spending time with the Beat legend who authored “Off the Road” and “Heartbeat,” which focuses on Carolyn’s ménage a trois in San Francisco with her husband Neal and Jack. Yes, in the movie Camille plays the martyr, kicking Dean/Neal out in one breath and begging for his return in another. But Dunst said at the recent New York premiere for “On the Road” that she did not think this a period detail; women go through the same disappointments and dilemmas today.
In Kerouac’s text, the women are leitmotifs, markers for male adventure. Marylou is based on LuAnne Henderson, who at 15 became Neal’s first wife and who made the car trips with the boys. Some wags have suggested that the filmmakers cast Stewart as Marylou to capitalize on her status as one of the world’s most popular and bankable stars after the “Twilight” movies. But Salles cast her after seeing the young actress in Sean Penn’s “Into the Wild” in 2007, when Stewart was just 17 years old. “You have no idea how much this meant to me,” said Stewart recently, while promoting the Salles movie and “Breaking Dawn Part 2.” “I would have done anything on this film.”
Indeed, she does. Hot as Marylou, she’s often seen in bed with one or more of her co-stars. Viewers’ first look at her is when Dean opens the door for Sal and his friends in New York and steps aside to reveal her lounging in bed; he commands her to make some coffee, and she leaps up naked and damp, a sexed spirit who also rolls cigarettes for the boys. In a parallel scene later on, Camille reflects the more demure, conflicted woman of the times. She’s in bed, too, when guests arrive unannounced. Composed in a negligee, she pulls up the sheets and excuses herself for not getting up: “I wasn’t expecting company.”
One of the oddest moments in Salles’ movie is when, during a visit to Old Bull Lee (Viggo Mortensen in an inspired portrayal of William Burroughs) in New Orleans, Sal watches Burroughs’ common law wife Jane (a much disheveled Amy Adams) madly sweep trees with a broom to dislodge lizards. The detail for the scene comes from an interview with Henderson, not from Kerouac’s fiction.
At an early fall screening of “The Master,” Adams mentioned how hard it was to picture this Jane character based on Joan Vollmer, who was often high on Benzedrine inhalers and who was later shot to death by Burroughs in Mexico City in a drunken William Tell routine. “There are few pictures of her — we had to improvise,” Adams said.
Here, her scenes are memorable, but there’s no mention of Vollmer’s intelligence matching that of Burroughs’ before she took up with him. Rather, the focus is placed on the domesticity of her scrubbing the floor and showing Galatea Dunkel (Elisabeth Moss) how to pleasure a man: she rounds her mouth, wiggles her tongue and moves her hand around an imaginary shaft. Looking on, Marylou encourages the reluctant Galatea, giggling, “You’ll like it, you’ll see,” before asking if she can watch her try it out.
It is unlikely that the women would behave so conspiratorially around the men in the late ’40’s,-early ’50’s, Johnson said recently. But Parker’s book “You’ll Be Okay” mentions Vollmer providing such sex advice in their pre-road days at Columbia University.
Salles has said that his interview with Carolyn Cassady made him understand the heart of Neal/Dean; as a result, he depicts these self-canonized men through the women’s eyes. And the men disappoint them, leading to Jane’s madness, the tears in Marylou’s eyes and Camille’s masochistic anger. Wild as she seems giving simultaneous handjobs in a speeding car, Marylou ultimately goes back to Denver to marry one of her sailors.
Most telling of all is Memere, the mother Kerouac promised to care for at his father’s deathbed. For even as Kerouac claimed that what Sal and Dean were looking for was “the hearthside idea,” the girl next door, and home to write, Memere consistently took a backseat to Kerouac’s car trips — only to see him return to live with her to the very end.
Put another way, what Kerouac wanted, ultimately, was a return to “lost bliss” — the womb.
Regina Weinreich is the author of “Kerouac’s Spontaneous Poetics” (Thunder’s Mouth) and editor of his “Book of Haikus” (VikingPenguin). A professor at the School of Visual Arts, she co-produced/directed “Paul Bowles: The Complete Outsider” and co-wrote “The Beat Generation: An American Dream.”