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The following is a brief, scattershot recollection of who Terry was and what became of him—perhaps where he is going now...in the stratosphere—coming down as acidic rain to fuel the wild dreams of future progressive writers and filmmakers—the ones who have yet to appear on the horizon. As the images load, take a moment to reflect upon what it means to be a 'writer' today. What is the writer's task? What is the purpose? In the face of 50s conservatism, and the rising entrenchment of a corporate-driven consumerism, Terry set out to "smash smugness". It is The Terry Southern Estate's purpose to carry-on that iconoclastic tradition, and bring it into the cinematic lexicon of the future * * * The Story so far... Terry Southern cuts a unique figure in the literary landscape.
From a Texas bumpkin with an interest in Poe,
to a world-traveller exploring the Existential/fiction beat, Terry Southern remains one of the least studied, yet most influential writers of the 20th century. Above 1956 photograph of Terry, Carol Southern and 1932 Bentley by the late, great Aram Avakian The author of hundreds of stories, essays, plays, and sketches, many of them upublished due to "extreme weirdness, or grossness, granted," Terry perfected a fiction, a "literature of astonishment" that departed from the Hemingway tradition, and veered away from what he called the 'Quality-Lit" of his peers; Gore Vidal, George Plimpton, Norman Mailer, etc. Along the way, he, according to Tom Wolfe, 'invented' New Journalism with his story "Twirling at Ole Miss", published in 1962 in Esquire.
The Magic Christian (1957) is a satirical novel about the 'corruption of American values'—purposefully carried out by an eccentric billionaire. Peter Sellers found the book so hilarious that he bought 100 copies to give to friends. The experience of working with Kubrick—writing most of the dialogue for Dr. Strangelove—had such a profound impact, that Terry abandoned his career as a 'traditional writer', pursuing instead the more socially relevant vision of a 'literature of cinema'—which Kubrick fatefully revealed to Terry in 1962:
As Columbia Pictures distanced itself from Strangelove because of the film's anti-military stance, Terry's sexual-satire Candy was a runaway hit. Originally banned in Paris, the send-up of Voltaire's Candide was imported illegally, gaining such underground cult-status that the mainstream could not resist publishing it—even if they got sued for 'porn'. By this time Strangelove was taking-off, and Terry was hot. During this time he developed an idea for an "erotic major motion picture" with Kubrick, which he later wrote as the novel Blue Movie—a satire on the film business. From '65-67 he was working with Tony Richardson, Norman Jewison, Dino D., and the great John "Black Jack" Calley (pictured in foreground with Terry below): As the 60s kicked-in, Terry traveled all over the world writing dialogue and scripts; Rome, London, Hollywood, New York. Terry hung with The Beatles and the Stones in swinging London, and was placed on the cover of Sgt. Pepper's by Lennon and the album cover's designer Michael Cooper. Terry and Cooper wrote the first screenplay adaptation of Clockwork Orange together. Terry sold the property to Kubrick. Photo above left by William Claxton; TS and Tuesday Weld, on-set; The Cincinatti Kid; used by permission)
Cover-photo by Robert Dudas (TS/Jane Fonda; at Elaines Restaurant, NYC) The Red Dirt Marijuana anthology of short TS writings, adorned with a cover-photo of he and Jane Fonda, came out in 1967. In 1968 Terry covered the National Democratic Convention for Esquire with William Burroughs, Jean Genet and others, and ended up testifying against the City of Chicago's brutal police-state at the Chicago 8 hearing for Dave Dellinger, Abbie Hoffman and Bobby Seale. * * * One day in New York City, Peter Fonda came to Terry with an idea for a story, which Terry later entitled "Easy Rider." As he was so well-known, he helped Peter and Dennis Hopper, in their struggle to get this, their first film off the ground. "They came to me with an idea for a story—a sort of hippie dope caper. Peter was to be actor/producer, Dennis the actor/director, and a certain yours truly, the writer...The first notion was that they not be bikers but a duo of daredevil car drivers barnstorming around the US. being exploited by a series of unscrupulous promoters until they were finally disgusted enough to quit. Then one day the dope smoke cleared long enough to remember that Peter's [AIP] committment was for a motorcycle flick, and we switched over pronto. It wasn't until the end that it took on a genuinely artistic dimension—suddenly evolved into an indictment of the American redneck., and his hatred and intolerance for anything that is remotely different from himself, somewhat to the surprise of Den Hopper [imitates Hopper in Apocalypse Now] 'You mean kill 'em both? Hey man, are you outta your gourd?!? I think for a minute he was still hoping they would somehow beat the system. Sail into the sunset with a lot of loot and freedom. But of course, he was hip enough to realize, a minute later, that [their death] was more or less mandatory." (Terry Southern, Reflex magazine) Terry in a sense launched Jack Nicholson's career by inventing the character he was to play—based on one of Faulkner's. Terry originally wrote the part for Rip Torn, who could not star in the film, as he had committments to appear in a play at the time. When Dennis embarked on his famous "this is my movie" tirades, Terry bowed out as producer. From here the story is convoluted at best—suffice it to say that Hopper and Fonda have made millions on the picture, whereas Terry did not have much on paper, so he was cut out of profit-sharing. But he would later stick up for his friends by convincing the Writers Guild to give them screenwriting credit so that they could raise money to make their next film—which was to become the rally-cry of the Independents for years to come. The film still holds up remarkably well during this, its 30th anniversary.
End of The Road, made in 1968, was even more 'outside' the Hollywood beltway than Easy Rider. Made for less money, with a non-union cast of Actors Studio players, it was the first feature film for James Earl Jones, Stacy Keach, Harris Yulin, and now-legendary cameraman Gordon Willis. Based on a John barth novel, the film was directed by Aram Avakian--hipster roommate of Terry's, and longtime buddy from the Paris/Greenwich Village days. The film received an 'X' rating for a particularly disturbing, albeit non-graphic abortion scene—in which the patient (played by Dorothy Tristan--Avakian's wife) dies.
"Tex"; drawing by Larry Rivers Terry's career took a monumental nosedive after completing these two renegade projects. Essentially, he never worked in Tinsel Town again. Being unfaithful to agents and coasts did not help him, and he had no patience for a crass commercialism that began to take hold in the early 70s. Around this time it was discovered that his accountant had neglected to pay his back taxes--and he now owed more than he had. Isolated in a National Register farmhouse in Canaan Connecticut--one of the most beautiful places to live on earth--his networks shriveled up, and the work didn't come. Satire was dead, and films with a political--or even a socially aware--edge were 'too dangerous' compared to the blockbusters of Jaws or the new social realism of films like Kramer vs. Kramer. He continued to write screenplays, essays, letters, sketches for Saturday Night Live, and plenty of spec-scripts, including one that was slated to get made for Peter Sellers and Hal Ashby (unfortunately they both died suddenly). By 1980 the glory days were long gone, and Reagan was about to happen. Terry's political will was rekindled by Reagan and the socially regressive era he ushered in, and countless skits were written in parody of Ron, Ollie, 'Dad Casey,' George Bush, and their operation GIDO—Guns-In-Drugs-Out—which Congress has recently exposed as a major influence on inner-city crime and the development of crack-cocaine. Terry taught at Columbia University, NYU and in private seminars, and is renown for the attention he gave to his students—employing the same approach to scripts as he had for years professionally—which often meant rewriting their entire screenplay for them—line by line. At the end of his life, money in the red, the IRS after him again, and his health failing, Terry joked about being in "flatliner mode." He never lost his sense of humor, the strength of his convictions, and his ability to transform the ordinary into the astonishing. —Nile Southern, 1999 |
In 1965 he made more money per month than he made during all his years writing novels literature and essays combined. He left his family, and began writing exclusively for films—doing dialogue for such projects as The Collector, The Cincinatti Kid, The Loved One, and Barbarella. 
