Leone's fatness, eating habit

[wind demon]

This is something kind of just known he was a chubby guy but there's really no explanation why he was that way. Aside from the Frayling bio all that was said about it was "he had Epicurean tastes" aaaand that's pretty much it but it goes without saying that a lot of physical knacks of people are mirrors of their psychology, glasses aside this is really like his trademark appearance. So why did he eat so much without a care ? Really look at the other contemporaries of his time, other directors, really only Hitchcock was fat, all those people in photos with him he basically is usually the only fat guy there.

1)was he simply eating to mask some insecurities? Frayling bio hints that he did have insecurity about trying to go to the goalpost for the greatness of his movies but also fearing it at the same time.

2)was it actually a reflection of his status as the ultimate guy when he reached his position of making movies he let it go so to speak after having to be the 'assistant' in the 50s?

3)was it in his indulgence in trying to have as much bodily pleasure as possible maybe because to offset the stress of being a workaholic in the movie industry?


4)Epicurean: he craved only pleasure?

5)Einstein affect, who thought so much he didnt think about his hair, Leone thought so much about movie making he didnt think about his weight.

[PowerRR]

Ummm....

1) Food tastes good, I'm sure he liked eating... everyone does
2) Most people don't like working out... clearly Sergio didn't
3) That's probably why he was fat

[wind demon]

Interesting

[dave jenkins]

This thread puts me in mind of a piece I once wrote.

It is a kind of dramatic monologue, although, as the speaker addresses another, non-speaking character, I guess the technical name for such a form is actually apostrophe.

“Dream Theory”
by Dave Jenkins

In my dream I met Leone.

PAUSE

Sergio Leone. The Italian film director. The Good, Bad, Ugly? Yeah, right, that Leone. Were you born an idiot, or do you spend your evenings working at it?

We were at the dinner table, Leone and I. I was trying to talk to him about his movies but all he cared about was the large bowl of pasta he was eating.  He told me that a single strand of pasta was a metaphor for itself. Or it would be, he said, if it were infinite in length.  I’ll admit right now I’m having trouble parsing this, but in the dream it made perfect sense.

PAUSE

No. But if you’ve got a beer, I’d be happy to take it off your hands.

Leone was really putting the pasta away.  And it was good stuff, I was having some myself. Every once in a while I’d stop to ask questions. Leone’s mouth was always full so he could never answer.

PAUSE

I dunno, it was a dream. Maybe he told me the metaphor thing before we started eating. Anyway, once he’d tucked in, he wasn’t talking.

I asked, “So, how much of My Name is Nobody did Valerii actually direct?” A light came on in his eyes, but his mouth just kept chewing.

PAUSE

Yeah, there was wine. Some kind of red.

I asked, “The dream theory with regards to Once Upon A Time in America—you were just humoring the dimwits, right?” The look he gave me was positively beneficent, but still, answer made he none.

PAUSE

Sure, it could have been an Amarone. Will it make you happy if I say it was? Okay, it was an Amarone.

After every question there was that look signaling understanding, even receptivity, but frustratingly, all I heard in reply were chewing sounds. And his eyes—so kind! As I talked I kept feeling he was telling me he’d like to answer but he just couldn’t. And it seemed I could ask him anything, not just about movies. Now that he was dead he had perfect understanding of everything, there was nothing he didn’t know. And he wanted to tell me, to answer all my questions, every one I’d ever had, about life, death, the cosmos. But he was in the middle of dinner and just couldn’t, you know?  I was willing to wait until he finished, of course, but before that could happen I woke up. Classic anxiety dream, a la Freud.
 
PAUSE

Sigmund Freud. Look, you keep pulling my chain we’re gonna get into it, big time. Wham, pow.

PAUSE

Yeah, some popcorn would be nice. Say, what happened to that beer?

THE END

You're welcome.

[titoli]

He won't talk to fork-and-spooners.

[Novecento]

Frayling bio hints that he did have insecurity about trying to go to the goalpost for the greatness of his movies but also fearing it at the same time.

I don't know about the whole eating thing, but I think the link between creativity and insecurity is an interesting one. It goes back to that question over what, if any, link there is between creativity and depression.

[dave jenkins]

The "Dream Theory" piece above was not an actual dream, of course. Interestingly, though, I had a real Leone-related dream last night . . .

In my dream I met Charles Bronson . . .

I am not an actor and do not aspire to be one, but in the dream I had a part in a production in spite of the fact that I have never worked in the industry, do not have an agent, have no experience, anything. We were waiting for the boat that was going to take us to the location (presumably an island). The film, I learned, was a remake of a previously unknown Leone movie (for some reason there was no script). It wasn’t exactly a remake, it was what they were calling an “enhanced version” that would use scenes from the original but add new footage, perhaps would even CGI some new things into the older material. The project was the brainchild of the director, an Asian fellow who I couldn’t place exactly. I was waiting for the chance to talk to him and explain how honored I was to be in a production linked to the great Leone. As I say, we, the cast and crew, were waiting in line for our transportation. Charles Bronson was there—everyone called him Charlie. Turns out, Charlie’s a regular guy. He was standing in line like the rest of us—no star treatment for him! I approached him and he had encouraging words for me. It seemed that it was a low-budget production: all the actors were wearing their regular clothes, and there weren’t any wardrobe people about. For some reason I wasn’t wearing any shoes. I was afraid that my ugly, damaged feet wouldn’t photograph well, but the make-up guys assured me everything was fine. I would be playing a baddie. They did, however, insist on ripping off all my scabs and allow my wounds to bleed until the blood re-coagulated. They did a good job of cleaning the floor afterward. I had a pair of aviator sunglasses with me. I put them on and several people standing near me told me I could be the new Kinski. I was greatly heartened by that. What I was most excited by though, was the prospect of having something really interesting to tell everyone on the fistful-of-Leone board . . . .

[LITTLE BIG MAN]

IMHO Most probably option 1. Insecurities
Most artistic geniuses have them

Take Bob Fosse for example -
Was a workaholic (Oscar, Tony, Emmy in the One Year)😳
drank like a fish, smoked like a chimney,
took uppers & downers, notorious womaniser etc.
 
Compared to him Sergio was a Lightweight 🤣

[dave jenkins]

The dreams keep on coming, but this one isn't about Leone.

Last night I had a dream in which I met Orson Welles. I guess it was all this reading I've been doing about Mank. In the dream I was living in the house that had belonged to my recently deceased grandmother. Welles had bought the house and was kicking me out. By way of consolation, he'd agreed to let me interview him. Also he wanted us to leave together on a road trip and he was in a hurry. I was worried that I wasn't going to be able to come up with questions to ask on short notice (I'm terrible at Q&As after films), but, as we travelled, questions kept pouring into my head unbidden. Of course we talked about Citizen Kane. I asked, probably as a kind of provocation, whether if he'd had it to do all over again he would bother making Kane at all. I expected a vigorous defense but instead he surprised me and said something to the effect that the project at this point would no longer interest him and, granted a return to RKO in 1939, he'd rather do something else.  I mentioned that I liked the film a lot and that it and Chimes at Midnight were my two favorite films of his. He really brightened at this, and I have to admit I may have been doing a bit of brown-nosing at that point (although, in the non-dream world, those really are my favorites). We spent some time talking about Shakespeare--at least, I tried to, but he was visibly bored by my ideas. Rather than let the whole interview come to a dead halt I cast about for something on another subject and hit upon this: What's the deal with all that dancing we see in movies of the 30s, 40s, 50s, and early 60s? Did men and women really like pushing each other around on the dance floor? Was it a kind of foreplay, or maybe a socially acceptable way for men and women to touch each other when more intimate forms of contact in public were then not acceptable? For some reason this seemed like a really important question, I was really anticipating a retort both witty and maybe even profound. There was a merry look in Orson's eyes as he opened his mouth to speak. And then I woke up.

Huh, Welles was fat, Leone was fat. Is there a connection?

[noodles_leone]

I like your dreams.