On Stage & Screen, Kris Kristofferson Remains as Much a Cult Figure as an Icon
By Andrew Clayman
Published in The Nashville Scene, September 2014
At roughly the halfway point of his half-century long career—sitting snugly between Big Top Pee Wee and the second Highwaymen record—Kris Kristofferson played the lead in a low budget 1989 sci-fi film called Millennium. In comparison to his legendary achievements as a Rhodes scholar, Army captain, Nashville renegade, and prolific songwriting genius, this minor cinematic misstep might seem like an odd moment to single out. But for an artist who earned his stripes largely by avoiding the safe commercial choice, Kristofferson’s failures often say as much about his unique persistence in American culture as his successes.
And indeed, Millennium was a failure both critically and commercially. The time traveling thriller was based on a book by John Varley and was helmed by veteran director Michael Anderson-- leaning more toward his work on Logan’s Run (1976) than his Oscar-nominated Around the World in 80 Days (1956). Paul Newman had initially been in talks to play the lead role of Bill Smith, but numerous production snarls saw the job fall to a then 53 year-old Kristofferson, who—like so many revered troubadours of the ‘60s and ‘70s—had fallen a bit out of step in the ‘80s. Not only were album sales down, but a once promising acting career had seemingly hit the wall, as well.
Back in 1971--corresponding with his emergence as Nashville’s new hit-making golden boy-- Kristofferson had appeared in his first movie, paradoxically called The Last Movie (Dennis Hopper’s ill-conceived follow-up to Easy Rider). From the beginning, the country star looked well suited to the big screen, with an icy blue-eyed glare that communicated both his Swedish ancestry and rough-and-tumble Texas roots. He did a few more post-Spaghetti westerns before expanding his horizons and audience with Martin Scorsese’s Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore (1974) and the blockbuster Barbra Streisand vehicle A Star Is Born (1976), for which Kristofferson earned a Golden Globe award. After the colossal bomb that was 1980’s Heaven’s Gate, however, any lasting momentum was merely the consequence of things going down hill. Kris was tagged with Golden Raspberry nominations for “Worst Actor” for both Heaven’s Gate and 1981’s Rollover. And within a few years, he’d be reduced to TV movies, Pee Wee Herman sequels, and doomed-to-fail genre films like Millennium.
And yet… the Kristofferson mythos persisted. Much like the futuristic beings he encounters in Millennium, Kris seemed to have a magic portal through which he could always travel back and reconnect with his past, maintaining the integrity of his earliest work while transporting fans into whatever seemingly disparate, often weird project he might be working on in the present. Even Millennium, for all its cheesy special effects and predictable plot twists, manages to succeed at making us hopeful for a world in which tough guy Bill Smith—softened by love and the friendship of a robot—is left to repopulate the Earth with Cheryl Ladd and her glam-rock pompadour. “If humanity has to depend on one man,” you think to yourself, “it might as well be the guy who wrote ‘Sunday Morning Comin’ Down.’”
Kristofferson’s unique versatility and invulnerability to backlash might also have a lot to do with the fact that his superstar status never really made him a pop star. While his 1972 album The Silver Tongued Devil and I did hit the #1 spot on the US Country charts, he’s never actually had a solo album reach higher than #21 on the mainstream Billboard 200 chart in his entire career. And for all his undeniable merits as a lyrical scribe, Kristofferson hasn’t notched his own Top 40 single since “Why Me” in 1973. Many of his most beloved songs—“Sunday Morning Comin’ Down,” “Me and Bobby McGee,” “For the Good Times”—achieved their greatest success when covered by other artists. The surprising truth is that-- unlike his fellow Highwaymen Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and Willie Nelson—Kristofferson is really as much a cult figure as he is an icon And in a way, this may grant him more freedom in all his artistic choices, be it a gritty acoustic album or a fluff piece family film (you can currently see him in Dolphin Tale 2).
As for the grizzled troubadour side of the equation, the 78 year-old Kristofferson has but one tour date in his performance calendar for the remainder of 2014—this Saturday at the Ryman Auditorium. His last studio album, 2013’s Feeling Mortal, was the third in a trilogy of Don Was-produced folk albums designed to bring the legend back to his heart-on-the-sleeve roots. Creatively, it seems to have worked, as Kristofferson’s analysis of his own remarkable life and inevitable demise result in some pretty astonishing original songs from someone who could have just as easily put out some Rick Rubin style covers records. Of course, the independently released Feeling Mortal failed to move many units, but Kristofferson doesn’t seem to care—as the final chapter of his career is fueling some new inspiration rather than tapping old reserves. It’s all remindful of those final words spoken by the wily Sherman the Robot in the dramatic conclusion of Millennium, a film with a 13% approval rating on RottenTomatoes.com. “This is not the end,” he says, channeling Winston Churchill. “This is not the beginning of the end. It is the end of the beginning.”
And indeed, Millennium was a failure both critically and commercially. The time traveling thriller was based on a book by John Varley and was helmed by veteran director Michael Anderson-- leaning more toward his work on Logan’s Run (1976) than his Oscar-nominated Around the World in 80 Days (1956). Paul Newman had initially been in talks to play the lead role of Bill Smith, but numerous production snarls saw the job fall to a then 53 year-old Kristofferson, who—like so many revered troubadours of the ‘60s and ‘70s—had fallen a bit out of step in the ‘80s. Not only were album sales down, but a once promising acting career had seemingly hit the wall, as well.
Back in 1971--corresponding with his emergence as Nashville’s new hit-making golden boy-- Kristofferson had appeared in his first movie, paradoxically called The Last Movie (Dennis Hopper’s ill-conceived follow-up to Easy Rider). From the beginning, the country star looked well suited to the big screen, with an icy blue-eyed glare that communicated both his Swedish ancestry and rough-and-tumble Texas roots. He did a few more post-Spaghetti westerns before expanding his horizons and audience with Martin Scorsese’s Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore (1974) and the blockbuster Barbra Streisand vehicle A Star Is Born (1976), for which Kristofferson earned a Golden Globe award. After the colossal bomb that was 1980’s Heaven’s Gate, however, any lasting momentum was merely the consequence of things going down hill. Kris was tagged with Golden Raspberry nominations for “Worst Actor” for both Heaven’s Gate and 1981’s Rollover. And within a few years, he’d be reduced to TV movies, Pee Wee Herman sequels, and doomed-to-fail genre films like Millennium.
And yet… the Kristofferson mythos persisted. Much like the futuristic beings he encounters in Millennium, Kris seemed to have a magic portal through which he could always travel back and reconnect with his past, maintaining the integrity of his earliest work while transporting fans into whatever seemingly disparate, often weird project he might be working on in the present. Even Millennium, for all its cheesy special effects and predictable plot twists, manages to succeed at making us hopeful for a world in which tough guy Bill Smith—softened by love and the friendship of a robot—is left to repopulate the Earth with Cheryl Ladd and her glam-rock pompadour. “If humanity has to depend on one man,” you think to yourself, “it might as well be the guy who wrote ‘Sunday Morning Comin’ Down.’”
Kristofferson’s unique versatility and invulnerability to backlash might also have a lot to do with the fact that his superstar status never really made him a pop star. While his 1972 album The Silver Tongued Devil and I did hit the #1 spot on the US Country charts, he’s never actually had a solo album reach higher than #21 on the mainstream Billboard 200 chart in his entire career. And for all his undeniable merits as a lyrical scribe, Kristofferson hasn’t notched his own Top 40 single since “Why Me” in 1973. Many of his most beloved songs—“Sunday Morning Comin’ Down,” “Me and Bobby McGee,” “For the Good Times”—achieved their greatest success when covered by other artists. The surprising truth is that-- unlike his fellow Highwaymen Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and Willie Nelson—Kristofferson is really as much a cult figure as he is an icon And in a way, this may grant him more freedom in all his artistic choices, be it a gritty acoustic album or a fluff piece family film (you can currently see him in Dolphin Tale 2).
As for the grizzled troubadour side of the equation, the 78 year-old Kristofferson has but one tour date in his performance calendar for the remainder of 2014—this Saturday at the Ryman Auditorium. His last studio album, 2013’s Feeling Mortal, was the third in a trilogy of Don Was-produced folk albums designed to bring the legend back to his heart-on-the-sleeve roots. Creatively, it seems to have worked, as Kristofferson’s analysis of his own remarkable life and inevitable demise result in some pretty astonishing original songs from someone who could have just as easily put out some Rick Rubin style covers records. Of course, the independently released Feeling Mortal failed to move many units, but Kristofferson doesn’t seem to care—as the final chapter of his career is fueling some new inspiration rather than tapping old reserves. It’s all remindful of those final words spoken by the wily Sherman the Robot in the dramatic conclusion of Millennium, a film with a 13% approval rating on RottenTomatoes.com. “This is not the end,” he says, channeling Winston Churchill. “This is not the beginning of the end. It is the end of the beginning.”
