Through an exclusive agreement with the Richard Amsel estate,
CINEMALAD PRODUCTIONS is excited to announce a feature documentary
now in the final stages of production, and the development of a definitive
retrospective book on the late artist’s work.

As with much of illustration, entertainment art often faces a creative double standard: it has to be very good in order for people to take notice, while discerning art critics rarely, if ever, take it seriously. Artistic talent and skill were essential for a working illustrator to survive (much less thrive), but even the best of efforts were often dismissed as kitsch, impersonal – viewed as mere commercial products rather than creative enterprises. And, unlike every other painting or drawing deemed as “fine art”, most illustrators had to work anonymously – denied from even having their signatures visible on their creative work.

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Nowhere was this more apparent than with movie posters.

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An important clarification: when I say "movie poster", I'm not referring to the photo-touched, photoshopped, photodigital committee output that's become the norm these days, slick and stylish though some may be. I'm talking about real movie posters - the big, artful, sometimes cheesy, often delightful product of some poor soul who actually bothered to sit down behind a drafting table and put a sharpened pencil to paper.

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That's pencil, now. Not pixel.

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It's probably the toughest art to master for any illustrator. It's not just about getting the actors' likenesses right; it's about conveying the best and most enticing things a movie going experience can offer -- it's soul, if you will, even if that sounds a bit inflated when so many films out there are such soulless enterprises.

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Most poster artists rarely get the chance to see the very films they're slaving over prior to finishing their work. Commissions often come at the very last minute, with deadlines fast approaching. (A rather inexcusable crime on the studios' part, when one considers the inordinate amount of time they waste gestating their projects.) It's a tough job, and poster artists are a rare breed.

 

There are giants of this artform: Bob Peak, Saul Bass, Drew Struzan, John Alvin, Howard Terpning, Reynold Brown, Bill Gold, Heinz Schulz-Neudamm, Roger Kastel.

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Some are still with us – perhaps working, perhaps retired, perhaps having moved on to other creative, more personal ventures. But most, alas, are now gone.

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These talents deserve to be held in the same regard as classic illustrators like Norman Rockwell, Maxfield Parrish and N.C. Wyeth. Why? Because at their best, their work didn't just convey the highlights of a movie coming soon to a theater near you. Rather, they built upon the anticipation, the promise and excitement of what (hopefully) was in store…hinting just enough to whet our appetites, while not spoiling things by giving too much away.

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By Bob Peak’s death in 1992, the last “Golden Age” of movie poster illustration – thriving until the early 1980s – was already over. Commissions were harder to come by, limited to particular genres of films. They paid less. And for what work there was, the competition remained fierce. Until, that is, the age of the pixel effectively killed the artform.

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In many ways, this Golden Age died with a young artist named RICHARD AMSEL, and he is the subject of our film.

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An illustration in the Smithsonian. A cover for TIME. Thirty-seven celebrated TV Guide covers. Iconic album and concert illustrations. Portraits of such legendary personalities as Bette Midler, Lily Tomlin, and Barbra Streisand. Posters for Hello Dolly!, The Sting, Chinatown, McCabe & Mrs. Miller, Murder on the Orient Express, Flash Gordon, The Dark Crystal, Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, and, most famously, two posters for Raiders of the Lost Ark – the latter named "The Greatest Hand-Drawn Movie Poster of all time" by Total Film in 2011.

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RICHARD AMSEL accomplished these within just sixteen years. One of the most prolific and popular American illustrators of the 1970s and 1980s, he remains a titanic figure in the world of entertainment art – one whose work has inspired generations of illustrators, and continues to be enjoyed by millions of art and film lovers around the world.

 

Sadly, Amsel’s life and career were all too brief – cut short by AIDS in November, 1985, weeks before his thirty-eighth birthday. Yet while Amsel's death may have been tragic, his life assuredly was not.

 

AMSEL: ILLUSTRATOR OF THE LOST ART presents the first in-depth profile of this legendary illustrator, detailing the artist’s remarkable body of work, while chronicling an enigmatic life marked with heartbreak and hardships, celebrity friendships, and a creative genius that ended long before its time.

 

But this is not just a documentary about a movie poster artist. It is a human story of an artistic savant who achieved his first extraordinary success at the age of 21…while facing personal struggles because he was gay. It is a time capsule of New York’s gay culture in the seventies…and the onslaught of AIDS in the eighties. It is a reconstruction of a fractured life story, told through personal recollections of those who knew Amsel best…or thought they did.

 

Following more than fifteen years of extensive research into Richard Amsel's life and creative oeuvre, the aim of the documentary is to celebrate Amsel’s work, preserve his creative legacy, and shed light on a life that was every bit as colorful and wondrous as the art he created.

 

We want audiences to know about the great work that was, and the magnificent work that should have been.

 

When I first imagined undertaking this project, I naturally planned to focus most attention upon Amsel’s fanciful illustrations. Such are the things we all know; his movie poster artwork is legendary, his portraits iconic. The more research I made into Amsel himself, however, the more I shifted my focus toward what I learned was a remarkable, personal life story. The art was only the beginning.

 

Richard Amsel was something of an enigma. While his work is widely known, little has been made public about the artist himself.

 

Amsel was gifted and fascinating, eccentric and complex. Some even considered him odd. And despite his considerable success, he also had a great many hardships and unrealized dreams.

 

He lived his life as an openly gay man, relishing his friendships with such flamboyant personalities as Bette Midler and Lily Tomlin, yet he remained secretive about his own personal pains and deteriorating health.

 

I have spent over fifteen years researching Amsel’s life and work, and completed the first website retrospective of his art. While the site, in its present form, does contain some basic biographical information, most of what I’ve learned about Amsel has yet to be made public. I feel this would make a gripping, heartfelt, and important feature film documentary about an artist whose larger body of work could otherwise be lost forever, and a life story that has never been truthfully or fully revealed.

 

For those who were close to Richard Amsel, his death has, in many ways, remained an opened wound. That pain is compounded by the way much of his personal work has been lost – literally and figuratively – in the decades following his passing.

 

I’ve heard so many stories about Amsel and his work over the years, but I still feel a profound, indescribable void whenever I think of him. Perhaps emptiness is a better word. Amsel’s life was incomplete, and I doubt any film could give him – or us – fitting emotional closure.

 

It would be the highlight of arrogance for me to ever assume to know what Richard Amsel felt or thought; rather, let the testimonials of those who knew him speak in his staid. Yet there are other things that remain either enigmatic, or uncertain – particularly in light of contradictory viewpoints. It’s like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, where not all of the pieces fit.

 

So many people have their own personal spins on “The Richard Amsel Story,” and I suspect a number of them would insist on imbuing this project with only their own rosy perspectives at the expense of the truth. I strongly feel that Richard deserves better than that. He was not just a remarkably gifted artist, but a fascinating, eccentric, complex individual, with his own unique brand of peculiarities and attributes. And despite his considerable success, he also had a great many heartbreaks and unrealized dreams. I want audiences to know about the great work that was, and the magnificent work that should have been.

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It’s a challenging project, emotionally and creatively, as it is not my intention to make anything exploitative, nor besmirch anyone in the telling of his story. My aim has always been to help preserve Richard Amsel's creative legacy, not to own nor exploit it.

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Yet if we continue to address (or whitewash, or sidestep altogether) the circumstances of Richard Amsel’s life, illness and death in the same hushed tones and ashamed whispers as had been done thirty years ago, we are not only disrespecting and dishonoring the man’s life and legacy, but also the thousands of people of that time – and the millions of people of our time – who have been forced to die quiet deaths at the hands of AIDS.

 

Amsel was just one of millions, but even amidst a sky of shining stars, his still managed to burn particularly brightly.

 

Richard Amsel’s work has always been close to my heart. As a child with a shared love of movies and illustration, I poured over his fanciful movie posters and magazine cover illustrations. As a teenager, I often tried (however badly) to copy his style and learn his artistic technique. In many ways, he posthumously gave my childhood an informal art education – and it’s no wonder, for many other contemporary illustrators have similarly drawn inspiration from Amsel’s work.

 

I can never presume to know what Richard Amsel would have thought of my efforts, but I'm trying my best, and won't give up. There's a long journey ahead of me, and I shall make the most of every step.

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Adam McDaniel