David Mamet

He mows down b.s. with his satire, yet still sells popcorn.

By Paul A. Toth

Sept. 11, 2001 | Playwright and screenwriter David Mamet knows what Joe Six-Pack likes, but he also knows how Joe Six-Pack lives and talks and what he needs, so much so that motivational experts actually use Mamet's film "Glengarry Glen Ross" -- which does for selling what skewers do for cherry tomatoes -- as a motivational tool. He once wrote porn, and maybe that explains how he mows down bullshit with his satire, yet still sells popcorn.

Mamet's machine-gun dialogue, both an "Airplane"-style joke on noir and a pitch-perfect copy of every overconfident asshole you ever met, is so beautiful yet utilitarian it's like holding a well-made steak knife when there's nothing to cook. You just admire it. His dialogue is so singular that it's called Mamet-speak, and when someone tries on the style, you know the clothes are borrowed.

Mamet's career began in the theater, where he moved from directing and acting to writing, crafting some of the finest plays of the late 20th century, including "Sexual Perversity in Chicago," "Speed the Plow" and "American Buffalo."

In the 1990s, he began writing tough, hard-driven screenplays like "The Postman Always Rings Twice," "The Verdict" and "The Untouchables," as well as fluffier work like "About Last Night ..." (the movie version of "Sexual Perversity in Chicago"), the Rob Lowe-Demi Moore Saturday afternoon TV staple that still possesses a crafty charm.

That split between the hard and soft can be seen throughout Mamet's screenwriting career. He's the kind of writer who gets the job done, whether he's working on diamonds or zirconia. "Our job, as writers," Mamet once explained in an interview with Matthew Roudane, "is to do our jobs. I was thinking the other day, I have trouble sometimes finishing a lot of plays. But then I always try to remind myself it took Sophocles 18 years to write 'Oedipus Rex'; that's also because he wasn't trying to write 'Gigi.'"

Mamet needn't worry too much about output, since, besides the screenplays and scripts, he's produced novels, essay collections, articles and even books for children. He's a little like the baseball player who effectively plays every position on the team; his credits are as diverse as they come, ranging from "Hannibal" (writing) to "The Spanish Prisoner" (directing and writing), "We're No Angels" (writing) to "House of Games" (writing and directing). This versatility is explained by Mamet's belief that movies should entertain first. Shorn of mass audience concerns, he sinks even deeper into the audience, right into their subconscious, never succumbing to the kind of overindulgence that often mars "independent" films.

Born in Flossmoor, Ill., on Nov. 30, 1947, Mamet found only fresh turmoil when he left his mother and stepfather to try life with father. His sister and fellow writer Lynn Mamet once explained life with the tough-to-please parents: "Suffice it to say we are not the victims of a happy childhood. There was a lot of violence, but the greatest violence was emotional. It was emotional terrorism."

That emotional terrorism seemingly found its way into Mamet's grifting and scamming characters. They're always trying to trick and trade their way to success, respect or, at the very least, some crumb -- even if won by deceit -- of self-respect. In Mamet's best work, the American economy itself is a parent whose admiration can't be won, except by chicanery.

Next page: There's a trademark rhythm to Mamet talk. It comes, it goes, it comes back again