..Gary Dretzka
..Noah Forrest
..Leonard Klady
..R.J. Matson
..David Poland
..Douglas Pratt
..Ray Pride
..Michael Wilmington

It would difficult to calculate the odds in favor of a small, if universally acclaimed documentary – in this case, Be Here to Love Me: A Film About Townes Van Zandt– making a dent in the box-office tallies of such wildly hyped holiday releases as King Kong, The Chronicles of Narnia or, even, Fun With Dick and Jane. Most bookies would make it a prohibitive underdog, and refuse to take wagers on its inevitable overshadowing by the holiday biggies.

“It’s such a small movie, and we only had modest hopes for it,” admits director Margaret Brown. “But, so far, we’ve received a 100-percent-fresh rating from the critics at the Rotten Tomatoes website, which is pretty amazing.”

Granted, the number of critics cited is a relatively meager dozen-and-a-half, but they represent all the major publications in New York, Los Angeles and Austin, capital of alternative-music scene. By comparison, more than 180 critics gave “King Kong” a “fresh” rating of 83 percent, which also is impressive by the standards set by the site’s roster of newspaper, magazine and Internet pundits. And, it’s not doing all that hot, either.

“We’re doing pretty well in New York … not so well in L.A.,” she added. “Not much money was spent publicizing the film.”

As is the case with most low-budget indies, Be Here to Love Me is relying on residual buzz from its tour of film festivals, the blessing of critics in the alternative press and the handful of radio stations that embrace the format. (Brown, along with the singer-songwriter’s son, J.T., was interviewed Thursday on XM Satellite Radio’s X Country channel). This kind of guerrilla marketing could help it find traction along the arthouse and college circuit, in the 30 markets it’s currently booked to play. There, at least, the film won’t be forced to compete for viewers who had their pick of a half-dozen free “consideration” screenings every night, as it did in L.A.

There’s no question the music-filled documentary will do substantially better in its DVD run, which begins in March. The accompanying CD and other bonus features should be enough to attract the alt-country and folkie crowd that’s embraced Van Zandt’s music over the past 30 years. Even these fans, however, likely will be surprised by the dark secrets, intense emotions and contradictory impulses that informed his achingly evocative lyrics, and helped precipitate his death, at 52, nine years ago, come New Year’s Day.

For those who’ve been made aware of Van Zandt strictly through cover versions of “Pancho & Lefty” and “Tecumseh Valley,” Brown’s film also will reveal a repertoire that has few equals among American singer-songwriters (think Leonard Cohen in a Stetson). But, don’t take my word for it.

“Townes Van Zandt is the best songwriter in the whole world,” fellow Texan Steve Earle once famously declared. “And, I’ll stand on Bob Dylan’s coffee-table in my cowboy boots and say that.”

Be Here to Love Me is punctuated with similarly appreciative testimonials, from such kindred spirits as Guy Clark, Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, Emmylou Harris, Joe Ely, Jerry Jeff Walker, Kinky Friedman and Steve Shelley, of Sonic Youth. Their anecdotes add depth and texture to Van Zandt’s public persona, and hundreds of songs that were informed by his lifelong search for emotional shelter, the drugs and booze ingested to heal his wounds, and a fascination with the inevitability of death. Hearing these reminiscences, the clichéd notion of the struggling artist -- who sacrifices family, friends and financial security for the integrity of his art -- springs readily to mind, and, in this case, at least, would be wholly appropriate.

A different sort of picture emerges, however, when we’re introduced to his relatives, old friends, business partners, wives and children. Their recollections extend beyond the cramped stages and smoky living rooms, and reveal a more tragic dimension.

Clearly, Van Zandt wasn’t as much tempting fate with his famously nomadic lifestyle and copious appetite for drugs and booze, as he was anticipating the day when he’d run out of ideas for songs, and his gig on Earth would be finished. Like Hank Williams Sr., whose excesses also led to a New Year’s Day “heart attack,” Van Zandt lived as if he were under a contractual obligation to burn his candle from both ends.

“I don’t envision a very long life for myself,” we hear him tell a friend at the beginning of Be Here to Love Me. “(But) I don’t think my life will run out before my work does. I’ve designed it that way.”

Born into a prominent Texas family -- his great-grandfather drafted the state’s Constitution – Van Zandt was a handful almost from Day One. He came of age during the Kennedy presidency, and, even by the standards of the day, his bad habits were the stuff of local legend.

Although he participated in team sports and ROTC in high school, by his senior year he had developed a fondness for sniffing glue. In college, he would guzzle high-octane, wine-based concoctions and lock himself in his room for days at a time, listening to Lightning Hopkins and Bob Dylan. After briefly trying out fraternity life, he literally went off the deep end.

It occurred when Van Zandt allowed himself to fall backwards from a porch on the fourth floor of an apartment building, “just to see what it felt like.” His parents were concerned enough by such behavior to commit him to a Galveston mental hospital, where he was subjected to the electro-shock treatments that would permanently erase memories of his youth from his mind.

Soon after his release, Van Zandt married Fran Petters, and, boy, was she in for a surprise. In need of some kind of structure, he wavered between joining the military – his doctors deemed him too unstable for duty, even if it meant going to the craziest place on Earth, Vietnam – and embarking on “another life,” as a vagabond troubadour. As Earle puts it, he became a “migratory beast.”

“Townes converted one of our two small closets into a studio,” Petter recalled. “He would sit in there for hours picking on his guitar. Here I was 20 years old, a newlywed, and I was expecting to hear a love ballad come out of all that work. Instead, his first song was ‘Waiting Around to Die.’”

At one point in the film, Van Zandt mentions to a friend that his goal was “to write songs so good no one understands them, not even me.”

As enigmatic as that sentiment sounds – and it could describe Dylan’s early canon, just as easily – it helps explain the nearly perfect frontier ballad, “Pancho & Lefty,” which, in three minutes, conjures up more dramatic images of the American Southwest and Mexico than 90 percent of the oaters produced in Hollywood. When asked what this pair of desperadoes was doing in Mexico, however, the author preferred to leave it up to the listeners’ (and, possibly, his own) imagination.

“Guy told me that Townes’ songs work because of the negative space,” said Brown, who had interrupted her publicity tour to shoot a music video for Harmony Korine, in her hometown of Austin. “It’s the holes you leave, he said. I wanted this film to work in the same way … not by spelling out every detail of his life, but by presenting details that are often more telling than dates or facts … be analog, not digital.

“Guy wanted me to make clear that, despite the dark moods of many of his songs, Townes was a very good person … funny … a friend … and he wasn’t waiting around to die.”

Van Zandt’s many admirers were cognizant of his addictions, and, while saddened by them, felt as if they were part of the territory covered by artists yoked to the burdens of genius. Like Cohen, the intensity of his poetics could break every heart in an audience, and, then, in an instant, inspire crippled souls to dance a waltz.

What wasn’t widely known, even among friends, was the chapter in his unwritten autobiography that included his electro-shock treatments. Indeed, Brown wasn’t aware of them, until she was well into the project.

“I was living in New York in the ’90s, and was made aware of Towne’s music by my co-producer, Sam Brumbaugh, who has an encyclopedic knowledge of music,” said Brown, an Alabama native who entered film school, ostensibly to create more theatrical fare. “I decided that I would learn as much about this man as possible, but a LexisNexis search only produced an AP story that probably was the primary source for most of the others I saw. It wasn’t until I made contact with Bill Hedgepeth, who had written the only article of substance I’d found on Townes, that I was able to begin developing these layers of knowledge about him.

“Bill gave me access me to several hours of interviews he had taped with Townes, and that’s were I found out about the shock treatments. Those tapes were like a mainline to his brain … the more I learned, the more fascinating he became.”

For Brown, whose father wrote the songs "Every Which Way But Loose" and "Barroom Buddies" for a pair of Clint Eastwood movies, Van Zandt represented, “the male archetype of an artist. He was the poster child for the romantic notion that an artist has to give everything up for his work.”

Sadly, in Van Zandt’s case, this sacrifice would include his family and his health.

“Going into this project, I didn’t know how dark it would become,” Brown allowed. “I cried a lot.”

Those interested in learning more about Van Zandt and the early alt-country scene in Austin and Nashville should consider picking up a DVD of James Szalapski's Heartworn Highways, which serves as a perfect companion to Be Here to Love Me. Filmed in 1975, the little-seen documentary opens a window on the close-knit group of artists comprised of Van Zandt, Clark, Earle, Rodney Crowell, Steve Young, Charlie Daniels Band and David Allan Coe. Largely built around home movies and barroom interviews, it, too, is as melancholic as it is inspirational.

December 24, 2005
- Gary Dretzka

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