Decades from now, when people wonder what New York City was like in the late â60s, all theyâll have to do is watch âMidnight Cowboy.â Released 50 years ago, on May 25, 1969, it shows the city in its grđŻitty glory â particularly 42nd Street, the stomping ground of the filmâs desperate hustler, Joe Buck, played by Jon Voight.
And that street, says Bob Balaban, who played one of the Texas cowboyâs custđomers, was every bit as filthy ađ§nd dangerous as it looks in the movie. âIf you had to walk down that street with a book or a wallet, you grabbed it and ran,â he told The Post.
The filmâs cinematographeđŚr, Adam Holender, added, âYou couldnât create ࡴthat roughness by yourself. Life created it.â
James Leo Herlihyâs 1965 novel provided the story that British director John Schlesinger put on screen, making superstars of its leads, Voight and Dustin Hoffman. But even Schlesinger, who died in 2003, had doubts. Michael Childers, his partner ođ°f 37 years and the filmâs on-set photographer, remembers seeing him sitting outside his trailer, sobbing.
âWhđ ˇoâs going to see a movie about a cowboy who turns tricđ˛ks on 42nd Street?â Schlesinger cried.
Many did, đand loved it. Reviewing the film for The Post, Archer Winsten called it âan epic of the underside, a mastđˇerpiece of small lives and meager ambitions.â Schlesinger called it âa love story.â
âMidnight Cowboyâ is the only X-rated film to win an Oscar for Best Picture. (Its rating was later reviseđd to a less-daunting R.) And while Bob Dylan wrote a song for it and Andy Warhđ¤Ąol clamored for a cameo, fate got in their way.
Hereâs what cast and crew members told The Pđost about the making of a clâassic.
The search for Joe and Ratso
Producer Jerome Hellman was the first tŕźşo picture Hoffman as greasy, gimpy Ratso Rizzo. Heâd seen the actor in 1966 off-Broadwayâs play âEh?â and soon returned,đˇ with Schlesinger. As Childers recalled it, âThey went backstage and immediately offered him âMidnight Cowboy.â â
They probably got a bargain. âThe Graduateâ opened đ§¸a year after the play, and Hoffman became one of Hollywoodâs topđ leading men. Childers says âMidnight Cowboyâ hired bodyguards to keep âhundreds of teenage girlsâ from hounding him for autographs and breaking into his trailer.
Voight was a tougher sell. Schlesinger wanted Michael Sarrazin, the lanky star of âThđ§ey Shoot Horses, Donât They?â But Sarrazin was under contract to Universal, and that studio tripled the amount it wanted United Artistđs to pay to use him.
Casting director Marion Daugherty lobbied hard for ÂVoight, an unknown from Yonkers. Schlesinger, some recall, didnât like his looks: âđŚI think he said Jon looked like a slđightly sad little Dutch boy,â Childers said.
But Daugherty was adamant that they review Voightâs scrđeen test. When they did, they saw the angst, anger and charm theyâd been seeking.
âIf weâd gone with Sarrazin, Hoffman would have eaten him alive,â Childers says now. âHe and Voight were equal sparring partners. Theđy brought new things to the script during rehearsals, and Waldo [Salt, the screenwriter] used them all.â
That may have included Ratsoâs legendary, taxi-thumping âIâm walkinâ here!â Although Hoffman claimed credit for it, Schlesinger said the line was in Saltâs script. âIt doesnât matter,â Childers said, âę§because Dustinâs so brilliant when he hits that cab!â
âCome now, darling!â
Brenda Vaccaro says she auditioned six times before being cast as Joeâs first paying customer, a well-heeled exec in a red fox coat. Schlesinger insisted she play a scene in the nude, and it was costumeęŚ designer Ann Rothâs stroke of genius to drape Vaccaro in fur.
âF–ked in fox!â Schlesinger cried when he saw her. âI love it!â
Filming that sex scene was grueliđng, Vaccaro recalls: âWe had our clothes off and we sat in bed all day long waiting for John Schlesinger to get in the room with the camera . . . At around 4:30 or 5, he came [upstairs] and said, âWell, my dears, Iâm terribly sorry, but I didnât get tđŚŠhe shot I wanted, so weâll just have to come back tomorrow.â â
âMidnight Cowboyâ was a tough film to publicize. Not onę§ly was it rated X, Berlin says,đş but its subject matter was rough â prostitution, drugs, gay sex, violence â and many of its actors were unknown.
When they finally did shoođt the scene, Vaccaro said, âI remember slipping off the bed and onto the floor with Jon on top of me, pumping away . . . All of a sudden, Schlesinger leaned down and said, âComeđ now, darling!â He just wanted to end the scene.â
Sylvia Miles played the hardened Upper East Side matron who picks up Buck and, after their rompđŽ, hustles him into paying her. The performance earned her an Oscar nomination, which a âMidnight Cowboyâ publicist says was an ordeal in itsâelf.
âSylvia had horđrible clothes,â recalled Kathie Berlin, who had a designer make Miles âa fabulous dressâ to wear to the awards ceremony. Watching the Oscars on TV that night, Berlin screamed when the camera fixed on Miles. âThere she was, in some fringed, suede cowgirl outfit! ęŚI remember saying, âPlease, God, donât let her win, because then sheâll have to stand up!â (Berlinâs prayers were answered.)
No one The Post spoke to knew what became of Joe Buckâs fringed jacket. âI heard someone stole it,â said Childers. âI had thđe hat! I auctioned it for an AIDS [benefit] and got $8,000 for it.â
âEverybodyâs talkinâ at meâ
A Florida folk singer named Fred Neඣil wrote the song Harry Nilsson seemed destined to sing. The filmmakers couldnât afford the rights to âEverybodyâs Talkinâ â at first, Childers says, so Schlesinger asked Nilsson to write something.
But âI Guess the LđĄord Must Be in New York Cityâ wasnât quite up to snuff. Luckily, Childers says, after United Artists saw the film, the studio upped the budget â and Nilsson sang the song everyone loved.
Dylan wrote a ditty, too, Childers says. âHe was our neighbor in Malibu, and he said, âYeah, let me write a sonđg for yourâ movie.â â
The song was âLay Lady Lay.â Childers says they got it two months after theyâd locked in the souđndtrack. The song later made it onto Dylanâs 1969 album, âNashville Skđ§yline.â
Andyâs party
Warhol suggested the filmmakers cast his friends â Viva, Ultra Violet, Patti DâArbanville and Taylor Meade â in the druggy party scene, for which Schlesinger recruited some âreally crazđ¤Şyâ others, Vaccaro says. âOne girl came in with green nails, green hair and a stuffed monkey on her shoulder. She said, âIâm a tree, and this is my monkey.â â Vaccaro remembers walking into her dressing room at Harlemâs Filmways Studio and finding two strangers there, having sex: âI said, âWhoa!â and got the hell out of there.âđâMidnight Cowboyâ is the only X-rated film to win an Oscar for Best Picture. (Its rating was later revised to a less-daunting R.) And while Bob Dylan wrote a song for it and Andy Warhol clamored for a cameođ, fate got in their way.
Holender, the cinematographer, sđ ays the party sequence was so outrageous that one crew member quit: âHe felt hâis sensibility and religious beliefs were compromised.â
Warhol had no such scruples. He planned to put in an appearance himself, but when Viva called his studio, Childers says, âWe đŹheard âPop, pop, pop. âAndyâs been shot!â she started screaming.â
Warhol never fully recovered from the wounds infđ¸licted that day by a crazed Valerie Solanas. When Childers saw the artist about a year and a half later, Warhol told him, â âI wanted to be in the movie! Itꌍ won three Oscars, and I couldâve been in it!â â
âThere was kind of this shocked silenceâ
âMidnight Cowboyâ was a tough film to publicize. Not only was it rated X, Berlin says, but its subject matter was ârough â prostitution, drugs, âgay sex, violence â and many of its actors were unknown.
âWe couldnât get any television,â Berlin recalled. âThe âToday Showâ didnât want âem, âThe Merv Griffin Showâ and âThe Mike Douglas Showâ didnât want âem. I couldnât get Jon and Brenda and Sylvia on anything until the movie became a hit.â
The only star the film had was Hoffmđ¨an, and he, Berlin says, didnâtÜŤ volunteer to do anything.
Things changed once critics and theater owners had a look at the film. Berlin remembers the first time âMidnight Cowboyâ screened in New York and how, after the credits rolled, ânobody left their seats â there was this kind of shocked silence.â Then, she says, they went into the lobby and started talking: about how âextraordinaryâ tâhe performances were, and how theyâd never seen an American film like it, one that sawę§ their city â maybe because it was through a British directorâs eyes â in all its glamour and grime, so clearly.
After that, Berlin says, âwe never had trouble filling tđhe theaters.â
In the end, âMidnight Cowboyâ lassoed three Oscars, for Best Picture, Best Director and Bâ¨est Adapted Screenplay. Hoffman and Voight were nominated for Best Actor, only to lose to John Wayne for âTrue Grit,â𦩠the sentimental favorite.
Still, some marvel that the film was made at all.
âNo major movie studio would ever do that movie again,â Balaban said. âIt would have been released as an independent, little picture by a subdivision of a studio. This wđas a major production.â
Half a century later, âMidnight Cowboyâ is that and more: a moving portrait of two souls who, adrift in a harsh ciđty, fiânally find someone who cares.