Jack Nicholson

Jack Nicholson appears across the diaries less as the subject of a continuous biography than as a figure repeatedly approached through film, gossip, and social encounters. He is imagined as a star who might bring a Jackson Pollock story to the screen, encountered in the orbit of Goin’ South, and remembered as so compelling in performance and conversation that other people’s descriptions seem inadequate. The record’s significance lies in this recurrence: Nicholson’s public magnetism becomes a practical force in other people’s plans and a recurring measure of celebrity’s allure.

The Pollock film proposal

An early entry records the diarist reading Ruth Kligman’s book about her relationship with Jackson Pollock and judging it too weak to adapt straightforwardly. Kligman, the diarist reports, wanted him to produce a film based on it, with Nicholson in the starring role. The idea immediately joined the book to a recognizable screen presence: Nicholson was not merely a name attached to a possible production, but the actor whose participation might make the project imaginable.

The proposal returned in a later conversation. Kligman called while the diarist was expecting to see Nicholson, and the diarist said he would discuss the possibility of Nicholson starring. Kligman asked to be taken along to meet him; the diarist declined, explaining that reading the book had turned him against doing so. His account went further, blaming Kligman for driving Pollock to distraction. That is the diarist’s hostile judgment, not an independently established account of Pollock’s life, and it reveals how thoroughly his response to the proposed film had become entangled with his opinion of its author.

When Nicholson stopped by the diarist’s table, the book was mentioned again. The diarist said he would send it to him, only to learn that Kligman had already called Nicholson herself. That small reversal shows the project moving through overlapping personal approaches rather than a settled production process: the intended producer, proposed star, and author were already in contact, but no completed arrangement is reported. Years later, the possibility resurfaced when the diarist approached Nicholson about the story at a gathering. The diarist and Pat Hackett were then considering buying the book rights. Fred Hughes objected that it was a bad idea, and Nicholson answered by leaving the two would-be film producers to argue among themselves. His response kept him in the conversation without committing him to the film.

Hollywood roles and the Goin’ South screening

Nicholson’s place in the diaries also emerges through the roles and projects attached to him. A photograph caption identifies him with the diarist in New York in 1974, a compact record of their earlier acquaintance. Later, the diarist attended a screening of Goin’ South, the film Nicholson directed, at an event hosted by Ara Gallant. The same entry connects the movie to Barbara Allen, who had auditioned for a part but did not receive it; the diarist describes the eventual casting of Mary Steenburgen and compares her appearance with Anjelica’s. These are the diarist’s impressions of the casting and film, not evidence of Nicholson’s reasoning.

His assessment of Goin’ South is mixed. He found the opening promising, but felt the film did not develop into anything substantial; he described it as a light comedy, though with uncertainty. He considered Steenburgen acceptable in the role but not beautiful, and speculated that her resemblance to Anjelica explained the choice. He also situated the casting in the period of troubles involving Ryan O’Neal. The entry thus catches Nicholson both as director and as the center of an informal interpretation of the film’s casting, while leaving the supposed reason for his choice explicitly in the diarist’s conjecture.

Nicholson’s screen persona could also make a passing performance linger. Much later, the diarist singled out Nicholson singing “My Boy Bill” in a movie as its best scene, describing the performance as captivating and saying it made him seem easy to fall in love with despite his age. In the same account, Carl Bernstein said he had made the filmmakers change the movie, but the diarist still thought the result unsuccessful. Nicholson’s moment of appeal therefore stands apart from the broader verdict: a single performance can retain its force even when the surrounding film does not.

Social encounters and star presence

At parties and dinners, Nicholson is often introduced through the reactions he provokes or the people around him. Gossip about a night at Studio 54 placed him in the same room as Ryan O’Neal, with others trying to keep the two men apart. Barbara Allen thought she was the reason for the effort; the diarist reported instead that the situation concerned Anjelica, who had recently been seeing Ryan. The episode gives Nicholson a place in a social scene organized by romantic entanglements and strategic avoidance, although the account is secondhand gossip rather than a direct report from him.

A later party for Nicholson, hosted by Ara Gallant at an East Side address, was crowded with models. The diarist praised Nicholson’s work in The Postman Always Rings Twice and noted that people admired Jessica Lange. The evening also included a conversation with a crew member from Cocaine Cowboys, who relayed stories about Tom Sullivan’s past and circumstances. Those claims belong to the crew member’s account as recorded by the diarist; the entry does not make Nicholson their source. Nicholson’s own presence is part of the party’s attraction, while the surrounding talk ranges far beyond his films.

Another dinner, at Halston’s house, brought Nicholson and Anjelica together with Steve Rubell, Alana, and Bianca. The entry is occupied chiefly by a sharp exchange between Bianca and Alana over money and Alana’s Los Angeles home, which nearly became a physical fight. Nicholson’s inclusion in the guest list places him within this tightly observed circle of celebrity and fashion, but the diarist reports no particular action or opinion from him at the dinner. Elsewhere, the diarist remarked that Nicholson was absent that year because he was filming Prizzi’s Honor in Los Angeles: professional work is offered as the straightforward explanation for a missing face in the social calendar.

Aspen and the force of charisma

The most direct account of Nicholson’s personal effect comes from a trip to Aspen. After arriving at John and Kimiko’s house, the diarist and companions called Nicholson; the phone conversation itself felt, to the diarist, like talking in a movie. Nicholson agreed to meet them the next day, then arranged to meet them in Aspen, prompting the group to drive there. The diarist described the town as beautiful and toy-like, but the account’s excitement centers on the anticipated encounter.

At a restaurant, Nicholson met the group with Lou Adler. The diarist repeatedly called him adorable, extending the same affectionate description to the waitresses and the people around them. The repetition makes the scene less a report of business than a record of mood: Nicholson’s charm seems to enlarge the warmth of the whole encounter. Bob later complained that Chris Makos had been pushy, but the diarist defended the insistence as necessary to getting a good picture and told Bob not to worry. The photograph thus becomes a concrete stake in the meeting, and Nicholson’s presence helps explain why securing it mattered so much.

A recurring figure in the diarist’s world

Across these entries, Nicholson’s appearances connect artistic ambition with the everyday machinery of celebrity. A proposed adaptation depends on his possible casting; a film screening invites speculation about his casting decisions; a party becomes notable partly because he is there; a photograph is worth pursuing despite objections that the photographer is too pushy. Yet the record does not establish that he agreed to star in the Pollock project, nor does it document the final result of the rights discussions. His role is repeatedly significant without becoming a conventional plot arc.

The diary’s view of Nicholson is shaped by the diarist’s own selective attention. It records reported gossip, personal impressions, professional references, and brief encounters, sometimes with clear distinctions between what the diarist saw and what another person told him. Nicholson can be present without driving the scene, as at Halston’s dinner, or dominate it through a phone call and restaurant meeting that leave the diarist exhilarated. The portrait that emerges is therefore not a comprehensive account of the actor’s private character. It is a record of how his screen fame, availability, and apparent charm repeatedly reorganize the people and possibilities around him.