Jason Schwartzman to play Philip Roth in upcoming movie - almost

Listen Up Philip concernes a self-involved Jewish writer, named Philip, who visits an older Jewish writer, named Ike Zimmerman, at his secluded country home.

You've read the canon, read the Roth Pierpont, read all the pieces about the Roth Pierpont (which, it should be remembered, isn't even a biography in the traditional sense - that is being worked on by Blake Bailey, and is due, sometime around 2022), seen the schmaltzy PBS documentary and untangled his great Paris Review interview. What next for the Philip Roth fanatic? Watch the movie, of course.

Listen Up Philip, a super-16mm project by Alex Ross Perry starring Jason Schwartzman, Krysten Ritter, Josephine de La Baume and Elizabeth Moss, premiered at the Sundance film festival on Monday 20 January. It concernes a self-involved Jewish writer, named Philip, who visits an older Jewish writer, Ike Zimmerman, at his secluded country home. The film also features a slew of women both admiring and aggreived, along with a Franco-esque (why not?) celebrity bromance.

The writer's name is Philip Lewis Friedman - not Philip Milton Roth - but the outline, if not the details, suggest the presence of the big macher. The same with the swinging vintage typology used, ala Wes Anderson, to introduce the film's cast:

Here are the production notes from the Sundance programme:

Anger rages in Philip as he awaits the publication of his second novel. He feels pushed out of his adopted home city by the constant crowds and noise, a deteriorating relationship with his photographer girlfriend Ashley, and his own indifference to promoting the novel. When Philip's idol Ike Zimmerman offers his isolated summer home as a refuge, he finally gets the peace and quiet to focus on his favorite subject: himself.

There is, as yet, no release date attached to the film.

Jason Schwartzman is Philip Lewis Friedman.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

Gettty
Show Hide image

The mizzly tones of Source FM

Drewzy (male, fortysomething) composedly, gently, talks of “time condensing like dew on a damp Cornish window”.

A mizzly Thursday in Falmouth and the community radio presenters Drewzy and the Robot are playing a Fat Larry’s Band single they picked up in a local charity shop. Drewzy (male, fortysomething) composedly, gently, talks of “time condensing like dew on a damp Cornish window”, and selects a Taiwanese folk song about muntjacs co-operating with the rifles of hunters. The robot (possibly the same person using an electronic voice-changer with a volume booster, but I wouldn’t swear to it) is particularly testy today about his co-host’s music choices (“I don’t like any of it”), the pair of them broadcasting from inside two converted shipping containers off the Tregenver Road.

I am told the Source can have an audience of up to 5,500 across Falmouth and Penryn, although when I fan-mail Drewzy about this he replies: “In my mind it is just me, the listener (singular), and the robot.” Which is doubtless why on air he achieves such epigrammatic fluency – a kind of democratic ease characteristic of a lot of the station’s 60-plus volunteer presenters, some regular, some spookily quiescent, only appearing now and again. There’s Pirate Pete, who recently bewailed the scarcity of pop songs written in celebration of Pancake Day (too true); there’s the Cornish Cream slot (“showcasing artists . . . who have gone to the trouble of recording their efforts”), on which a guest recently complained that her Brazilian lover made her a compilation CD, only to disappear before itemising the bloody tracks (we’ve all been there).

But even more mysterious than the identity of Drewzy’s sweetly sour robot is the Lazy Prophet, apparently diagnosed with PTSD and refusing medication. His presenter profile states, “I’ve spent the last year in almost total isolation and reclusion observing the way we do things as a species.”

That, and allowing his energies to ascend to a whole new plateau, constructing a two-hour Sunday-morning set – no speaking: just a mash-up of movie moments, music, animal and nature sounds – so expert that I wouldn’t be surprised if it was in fact someone like the La’s Salinger-esque Lee Mavers, escaped from Liverpool. I’m tempted to stake out the shipping containers.

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 11 February 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The legacy of Europe's worst battle