An Interview with Screenwriter Louisa Rose
Note: This interview originally appeared at The Chiseler in 2019.
In 1973, Brian De Palma released Sisters, his Siamese twin mystery thriller starring Margot Kidder and Charles Durning. After a string of social satires which, to be honest, haven’t aged very well, Sisters was De Palma’s breakthrough film, the one that would cement the form and style for which he’d come to be known. A year later he released the horror/comedy/glam rock opera Phantom of the Paradise starring the great Paul Williams. Hitting theaters more than a year before Rocky Horror, Phantom combined elements from Faust, Phantom of the Opera and about a dozen other sources into a bright, fast, wicked comic book satire of the music business. The film went on to become a cult favorite.
Both films were written by screenwriter Louisa Rose, though she is rarely credited for her work on Phantom. After some reputed and proverbial creative differences, De Palma removed her name from the film and rewrote the script, taking sole screenwriting credit. Although Rose disagrees with me, I think it can be argued it was her work on these two scripts, particularly Sisters, that drew attention to De Palma as a director.
After spending the first 20 years of her adult life in New York City, she and her husband relocated first to Spokane and then to Seattle about a decade back. Not long ago, I spoke with her via phone about her career as a playwright and Hollywood screenwriter.
Jim Knipfel: How did you get started in screenwriting?
Louisa Rose: {Laughs} By accident. I was one of those kids who wrote poetry in high school. I went to college thinking I wanted to be an actress. Theater was my primary interest. I found that I really enjoyed the rehearsal process, but really did not enjoy acting for an audience. That was not a recommendation for a career on stage, so part of my theater concentration (we called our majors “concentrations” at Sarah Lawrence) was writing for the theater. And that’s what I really loved. Brian De Palma was at Columbia, and though they had extra-curricular student theater, they did not have the intensive program as part of the curriculum that SLC did, and does.
At any rate, Brian and another Columbia student came to Sarah Lawrence to do theater and some film projects, because the head of the theater department, Wilford Leach, was interested in film as well. He was a mentor for Brian. The first film project, I believe, was a short piece called The Wedding Party. I don’t know if you’ve heard of that.
JK: Oh, yes, I’ve seen it.
LR: After that Brian made Murder a la Mod and Dionysus, I think it was.
JK: You mean Dionysus in ’69?
LR: Yes, Dionysus in ’69 started out as a theater piece. Scared the shit out of me when I went to see it. It was created by an interesting experimental director, Richard Schechner, as a mass quasi-orgy experience. The venue, The Performing Garage, had stadium seating, actually more like large long shelves almost to the ceiling – and you had to climb ladders to reach them. Then the actors would climb up and invite you to “join the dance.” And I saw one coming toward me… “No, I am not joining the dance. I am an observer” {laughs}.
Brian did his Masters at Sarah Lawrence, and one of his projects was to direct my senior play. That’s how I got to know him. I then went on to get my MFA in theater. So he knew me and he was looking for someone to write a script for Sisters. He felt his idea for the film would be marketable, but he needed a script. It sounded like fun, and actually became my Master’s thesis.
JK: Really?
LR: Yeah, so that’s how I got to work on Sisters.
JK: So he came to you with the story?
LR: He had kind of an outline. He had this idea that it would be twins, one evil and one good sister…You know, it’s just so long ago it’s hard for me to remember. There were certain points, certain visual things he wanted. We worked together on the story, and then I wrote the script.
As for Phantom of the Fillmore …
JK: Um, you mean Phantom of the Paradise?
LR: That’s it, Phantom of the Fillmore. It became Paradise.
{Note: After catching wind of the film’s original title, the owners of The Fillmore filed a lawsuit, forcing the change. Another lawsuit, this one filed by Led Zeppelin, forced the name of the films central record company, Swan Song, be changed to Death Records.}
LR: I took time off from working in NYC to go to LA and write scripts for Sisters and Phantom. At that point, I was a single mother, and my daughter Alissa was two and a half. I brought her with me and had her in day care. I had a contract for a total of $80,000 for the two scripts. But when it came to getting paid, Brian delayed and delayed, told me it was not a good time and that I needed to wait. As usual, actors, director, camera persons, etc. were paid. I needed the money, had to sue to be paid, and only received a quarter of the contract money. Brian had been a friend, and it felt like a betrayal.
But back to the movie, what is your take on Sisters? What are the things you notice about it?
JK: I went back just a couple days ago and watched it again. Just in terms of De Palma’s career, it was a big turning point for him. Discounting Murder A La Mod, he’d been doing all those goofy satires like Greetings and Hi Mom! And Get to Know your Rabbit. Sisters was the first of his thrillers and the first of his Hitchcock homages, the things he’d come to be known for.
LR: Right.
JK: Ignoring the Psycho model at play, one of the things that always struck me about Sisters was that in lesser hands the big Siamese twins reveal would have been saved until the last ten or fifteen pages of the script, but here we get it about forty minutes in. Even before that, they gave it away in the poster; they gave it away in the tagline. There was no secret the killer—or killers—were Siamese twins. But then of course there’s the later twist, which brings us back to Psycho.
LR: Mm-hmm.
JK: What really sticks with me, though, is the whole final sequence from Jennifer Salt’s hypnotism to that final shot of Charles Durning staring through the binoculars at the couch. It’s so good. I love that ending so much. Also, having come to know of her only later, I was amazed to see what a good actress Margot Kidder was.
LR: I thought she was very appealing and a really good choice for the part.
JK: In the end Sisters, more so than the thrillers that would follow—Dressed to Kill, Body Double, Blow Out—is the one I always go back to, because even the Hitchcock stuff is still fairly understated at that point. So I’m wondering, how much of that final script, what made it to the screen, was yours?
LR I think I have a copy of my original script here, if I could find it. It was much longer and needed to be cut. I really don’t know. It was a long time ago and I’d need to re-read it.
There is a Blu-Ray copy of Sisters put out by Arrow that has interviews of some people who worked on the film.
I’ve got it somewhere.]
My husband keeps saying I should show it to our teenage grandchildren, but it might destroy their image of me as nice old grandma. On the other hand, some years ago, our two nephews watched it as young teenagers and looked at me with new respect—or was it fear?
Now, what is funny is that Sisters is kind of a cult film, and so is Phantom. About ten years ago, shortly after we moved to Seattle, I got a call from a young woman originally from Winnipeg.
JK: The one city where Phantom was a big hit when it came out.
LR: Yes, it was a cult film there, with a festival and now possibly a documentary about the festival. We had a visit, and she mailed me – I believe it was a production copy of the script for Sisters.
JK: So what was it like for you, a young woman writing films in the Seventies?
LR: There are things funny and not funny that happened…Nothing about the movie business appealed to me, based on my very limited experience. The people were kind of awful. I have memories of someone from the studio, a married accountant. He said, “Oh, I have to go to San Francisco to scout locations, and you could come with me.” The whole approach was making me nervous, and I said, “Well, I have a two-year-old daughter with me, so, uh, no I can’t do that.” And he said, “Well, we could bring your daughter and get baby-sitting for her, and then we could have a Really Good Time.” I thought, oh, just leave me alone—I’m not a gorgeous actress, I’m a writer.
JK: Not that long ago I interviewed an actress from the late Fifties who up and left the movie business for twenty years because she wouldn’t put up with that.
LR: Women were treated horribly in Hollywood as elsewhere. When I went to look for a job in New York after college, there were separate job listings for men and women. Men could apply for management-track jobs and women could be a “Gal Fri” or a “Secy.”
I was very taken by a piece in Ms. Magazine about a woman who worked in a factory that made plutonium pellets and who became a whistle-blower. I thought it would make a good movie.
JK: You mean Karen Silkwood?
LR: That’s it. So I met a woman who worked at New Line Cinema, who got me an interview with a producer there. I came in and I was supposed to pitch my idea. It was almost like a parody of a scene in a Hollywood movie about a Hollywood movie. The guy is sitting there with his feet up on the desk and he has these three or four male cronies sitting around, and he’s cracking jokes and they’re all laughing heartily at his jokes. Eventually he said, “So you want to write a script,” and I said “Yeah.” I started telling him about it, and he kept interrupting me. He was horrified to learn that Karen Silkwood, a single mother, had left her children with their grandparents so she could take a well-paying job at the plant. “No one would ever go to see a movie about a woman who leaves her children,” he announced. Basically, the interview was over at that point. He looked at me and asked if I knew how to type. When I said yes, he said,
“Well, you could come and be a typist here.”
JK: My god.
LR: At that point, I said, “I think you’ve really got too much going on here to pay attention, so I think this isn’t working too well.” He sprang up from his desk and stalked off, bright red, furious. He came back and said, “I have never been so insulted in my life.” That was the end of that. {Laughs.}
{Note: For what it’s worth, Rose’s instincts were good. Director Mike Nichols’ take on the Silkwood story, starring Meryl Streep and written by Nora Ephron, was released in 1983.}
LR: Then, because I’d written a horror movie, I was offered other projects. One was to be a murder film involving Debbie Harry, the lead singer with Blondie, the rock group. The only requirement as far as the potential director was concerned was that it needed to have seven or eight murders. The rest was up to me. I met Debbie Harry and talked to her to get a sense of what she could do. You just get a sense of what people can do. She had no acting background.
JK: Would this have been her first picture?
LR: It would have been, I think, but it was never made. At one point, she said “Well, I just want to play the part of a housewife in the movie.” And I thought she’d be more believable as the person she actually was. So I made it about a rock group beset by a number of murders. I think it had seven murders. Then I came back for the next meeting. She’d read the script and said, “I can’t do this movie; it’s the story of my life.” And I thought, WHAT? {Laughs.}. I mean, WHAT? So that one didn’t happen.
JK: So that was, what, around 1980?
LR: I think so, late Seventies or early Eighties. Something like that.
JK: So that was after Monique was made?
LR; {pause} So you know about that.
JK: Yes.
LR: How did you find out about that?
JK: Well, it’s listed on your filmography online, and I’ve seen it.
LR: {Sighs heavily and laughs} It has very little to do with me. Believe me, I’ve seen it also. That’s the thing about screenwriting. Who knows? You sit at home and do your writing, but who knows what will emerge?
I was hired by a French would-be feature film director who had done film work for a famous French fashion house. He wanted a story about a woman who becomes psychotic when she learns her husband is gay and proceeds to murder a bunch of gay men.
I don’t recognize the script part of it and wish I didn’t have a credit on it. It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever seen, and I think you can agree with me.
JK: I was going to hold my tongue.
LR: Well, don’t.
JK: It was pretty bad. But I will tell you, it is extremely hard to find nowadays.
LR: Good.
And then there was the time an agent called and said she had a project for me, and that I didn’t have to do my best writing; I could do my second best writing.
JK: That sounds promising.
LR: Well as a writer if someone called and said they had a project but that you’d only have to do your second-best writing, what would you say?
JK: I think I’d ask how much it paid.
LR: But what would be you’re “second-best writing”? It’s like we have it in categories. It’s like, do I want Double A grade eggs? Should they be certified, “humanely raised”? Or do you just want ordinary eggs? How do you apply that to writing? Sure. I can write bad scenes, but I don’t have a special price category for them.
There was another project that I thought was extremely funny. Somebody, God, I can’t even remember who it was anymore; a producer had bought the rights to The Sensuous Woman. Have you heard of that one?
JK: Oh, sure, yes. It was a huge bestseller back then.
LR: It was written by someone only identified as “J” at the time and was supposed to be an advice book. I think one of the funniest suggestions was supposedly made by a woman who found she could have an orgasm by leaning against the dryer when it was running—or maybe it was the washing machine during the final spin cycle. {laughs}. My job was to take the book and think of some way to dramatize it and turn it into a movie. The producer, it turned out, had a history of hiring writers and refusing to pay them by claiming that they had not given him a satisfactory script. The previous writer had been a well-known playwright.
JK: So it was around that point you decided to walk away from films?
LR: I didn’t walk away in the sense that I said, “I’m not doing film-script writing anymore.” But, I wanted to do theater, and I was also trying to bring up a daughter. The head of my college theater department, Wil Leach, had gone to work as artistic director at Joe Papp’s Shakespeare Festival. Wil decided to do an all-black version of Mother Courage. It was to be set in America at the time of the Indian Wars. Post-Civil War. Everything was recast, and he didn’t use the Brecht score. He had a composer to do a new score, and he had a black lyricist, who said, “I’m not doing this, it doesn’t pay enough.” Will knew that I had done lyrics for a couple of theatre pieces I worked on in college. So he asked if I would like to do it. It was a really interesting project, taking the Brecht lyrics in German and finding an equivalent way to do them for this production. I don’t know German, so they gave me a German professor from Wesleyan, and we went over the lyrics word by word. We talked a lot about the connotations of the words. I had a Black English dictionary, and I had all kinds of materials. I just loved doing that.
JK: Now when was this, roughly?
LR: In 1980. Before that I also did a couple of plays at La MaMa, one of which went to Off Broadway. It seems when I look back at the things I’ve done, so many of them involve really painful experiences. I think I’m not well suited to keeping my eye on the ball. I keep getting sidetracked, thinking I don’t want to lose friends, don’t want to make anybody miserable and don’t want anyone to make me miserable. Some people have been able to somehow find a home, a theatrical home. I did not. My last production was in Seattle.
JK: What was the play?
LR: It was a play about Catherine the Great. I wanted to write a reflective two-character play based on Catherine’s own writing about her life before she became an Empress. She was a teenager when she went to Russia to marry the heir to the throne, an alcoholic teenage boy from Sweden. Somehow it morphed into a much bigger deal, a costume extravaganza. I had a wonderful director, Elizabeth Huddle, who was Intiman’s Artistic Director. But, I had horrible reviews in the Seattle papers, and so that was when I gave up.
I’ve written three non-fiction books with my husband, who is a physician.
JK: What were they?
LR: The first one was for consumers about how to use healthcare, how to talk to doctors, what to do when a hospital admission was necessary. The second book was called The Too-Precious Child, and it was about parents who become so involved with their own wishes and fears about their child that they are unable to experience his or her needs. They might be very loving or not but they are unable to take the child’s actual self into account. The book was published in 1989, and the problem we discussed seems to have gotten massively worse.
We wrote the third book for Consumer Reports to help people understand the basic types of health insurance, how to choose the best plan for one’s circumstance, and how to get the most out of its coverage. My husband was CEO of a health plan and understood the issues, but I could identify with consumers who were trying to figure out how things worked. It took me two weeks and tears of frustration to understand how a family benefit works. Insurance terminology was painful, but I figured if I could be made to understand it, I could explain it to people. Maybe I could turn that into a movie {laughs}. I’ll go pitch that one.
by Jim Knipfel