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| Strategic sex |
You walked into the party like you were walking onto a
yacht
Your hat strategically dipped below one eye
Your scarf it was apricot
You had one eye in the mirror, as you watched yourself
gavotte
And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner
They'd be your partner and
You're so vain.
- - Carly Simon
Closer to Narcissus than Priapus, or perhaps neither, because Warren Beatty was strategically vain. He had a discipline matched by temerity and talent. Sexual conquests were guided by pragmatism. Like most enduring film stars, he was self-reverential with a charming detachment.
Beatty had little time for the 1960s zeitgeist. He was never
counterculture, always closer to the Rat Pack than Haight-Ashbury. But pure
Malibu, no Vegas. By the time of Bonnie and Clyde (1967), he had
perfected the character of an inchoate man, burdened by cultural confusion and
societal norms. He wanted to belong but lacked an invitation. Unsure, mumbling,
Beatty in Shampoo (1975) can’t be redeemed by his face alone—so alone he
must stay.
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| Know when to leave |
His personal narrative belongs to America for it’s grounded on the terra firma of independence. No other soil breeds those so hungry for freedom that they risk all to remain untethered. Beatty could act, write, direct and produce. His ambition was puzzling. Was he a new kind of movie star? Carey Grant never attended political conventions.
Then the films began to fail, and he just stopped. Didn’t matter—because
he was protected by instinct. He was never a dandy in aspic. You see, anybody
can show up; only the chosen know when to leave.