Courtesy of James B. HarrisIt’s a Sunday afternoon in Los Angeles and 89-year-old writer/director/producer James B. Harris (Some Call It Loving, 1973; Fast-Walking, 1982) has agreed to meet me for brunch at Coogie’s Cafe. Coogie’s is exactly the sort of unassuming American diner where girls in pink velvet jackets and shimmery silver skirts go to blend in with the Pepto-Bismol-colored booths. There are a pair of flat screen TVs on the wall, which are mercifully muted. A radio in some far-off corner of the kitchen can be heard playing inoffensive pop tunes of yesteryear. It is also the sort of quiet place where someone like Harris is well-known, well-liked, and referred to as “Mr. James” by the entire waitstaff. The impression is one of polite reverence and earned familiarity, built up over time and solidified through an appreciation of his impressive filmography, as well as his continued business.
- 11/13/2017
- MUBI
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