My mother was a poet, although it’s unlikely any literary scholars would know it. When she died a little more than 10 years ago, I inherited dozens of legal pads, journals and spiral-bound notebooks secreted in her Long Bayou condo. These confessional works are a dialogue she had with herself, meant to be stashed in a desk drawer or left untouched on an out-of-the-way bookshelf.
Except — maybe that wasn’t always the case. I found amongst her belongings clippings from the early 1960s that suggested she had poetry published in inexpensive chapbooks and saddle-stitched booklets of that era, from small presses whose names have undoubtedly been lost to time. She may have belonged to the St. Petersburg Poetry Club. She may have been browsing the titles at Haslam’s when Jack Kerouac was there making sure customers could easily locate his books on the shelves. She may have even attended a poetry reading at Beaux Arts Gallery and Coffeehouse on 60th Street in Pinellas Park, sharing her words with the city’s own bohemian poets and folksingers. We never discussed the matter, so I don’t know why she suddenly stopped writing poetry (and listening to Simon & Garfunkel and The Kingston Trio) around the time she got married, only to pick it up again shortly after my father died.
In “Late Fame,” a forgotten New York poet is “rediscovered” by a group of wealthy, self-absorbed young writers. Directed by Kent Jones, the screenplay comes from Samy Burch and is based upon the novella Spätder Ruhm, written by Arthur Schnitzler in 1895 but not published until 2014. Schnitzler also wrote a novella that serves as the basis for another film you may recognize: Stanley Kubrick’s “Eyes Wide Shut.” Having debuted in select theaters on Aug. 7 through Magnolia Pictures, “Late Fame” was released on digital and VOD streaming platforms on Oct. 6. It is a bittersweet meditation on aging, creative stagnation, and the enticement of flattery and adulation.
The film revolves around Ed Saxberger (Willem Dafoe), an affable New York City postal worker who neither loves nor hates his job, and who lives a cozy, modest life. He has a nice apartment, and he spends his evenings in a neighborhood bar with his working-class friends. The only issue that seems to agitate his otherwise calm existence is his brother’s failing health, which is communicated to him sporadically through voicemails and phone conversations with his sister.
One day Ed arrives at his Manhattan apartment building to find Meyers (Edmund Donovan), a young man who seems unnaturally eager to make his acquaintance. Meyers, an NYU graduate from a wealthy family, explains that he has tracked down Ed after reading “Way Past Go,” a book of poetry Ed wrote almost 50 years earlier. Initially, Meyers curbs his enthusiasm, trying not to seem too much like a fawning fanboy. In complimenting Ed, he is respectful: fervent but not pushy. He floats overtures and invitations, which Ed appreciates but declines at the outset. After a few more “accidental” encounters, Meyers convinces Ed to meet his coffeehouse clique, the self-dubbed “Enthusiasm Society.”
All the members of this pretentious coterie, Meyers assures Ed, have become fans of his poetry. At their first meeting, the group expresses its contempt for social media, influencer culture, and negativity — all while occasionally glancing at their phones and bad-mouthing other patrons who aren’t good enough to sit at their table. They all treat Ed as if he is a distinguished luminary from a cherished past they never experienced. They woo him with vague praise and tempt him to regale them with stories of his youth. Ed falls into the trap, allowing himself to be swayed by their bounteous admiration. The more they stroke his ego, the more he is seduced by their disproportionate flattery.
Swept up in the illusion, Ed soon finds himself discussing the possibility of new work with a publisher who only meets with him because Meyers orchestrated it behind the scenes. Simultaneously, Meyers is planning a poetry reading, which is to be anchored by a new poem from Ed. Except, Ed hasn’t written a new poem since the 1970s.
Of all the members of the group, Ed is most captivated by Gloria (Greta Lee), a coquettish stage actress who serves as a would-be muse. She differs from the other entitled members of the Enthusiasm Society: She isn’t from a wealthy family, and she must earn a living. She hides the fact that her life is a struggle.
Lee is fantastic in the role. Gloria is an actress by trade, but also an actress by necessity. The viewer slowly recognizes that she inhabits a manufactured fantasy to escape her own unsatisfactory reality. Whenever she is in the presence of Ed or the group, she is performing for them.
Dafoe makes all this work through his relaxed, understated portrayal of Ed: falling for the allure of artistic distinction, which turns out to be hopelessly hollow; recognizing that Meyers and his affluent band of hipster sycophants are parasitic hypocrites romanticizing Ed’s bohemian background while enjoying lavish lifestyles; and finally liberating himself from his need for validation.
All of this is accomplished, incidentally, with extraordinary depth of character, charm, sarcasm and wry irony. It is a delicious, funny, heartbreaking tale that also offers intimate glimpses of New York City that are disarmingly exquisite.
Back in Pinellas County, Haslam’s Book Store closed its doors in the early days of COVID-19 and remains shuttered to this day, its storied past slowly receding into obscurity. Little by little, the ghost of Jack Kerouac disperses as those who knew him — and his work — shuffle off this mortal coil. The Beaux Arts Gallery and Coffeehouse fell victim to fire and code violations in the 1980s, leading to its demolition. My mother’s poetry sits on an out-of-the-way shelf collecting dust, waiting to be rediscovered.
Lee Clark Zumpe is entertainment editor at Tampa Bay Newspapers, a Tomatometer-Approved Critic, and an author of short fiction. He can be reached by email at lzumpe@TBNweekly.com.