CarlCarlson One of the best and worst things going for this documentary is that Paul Williams is participating in the filming. The director didn't ask a lot of introspective questions; however, this really wasn't an interview as it was a film crew and director tagging along videotaping a busy Paul - during meetings, lunch and dinner, etc.. And when the director and Paul finally get around to conducting a really in-depth conversation, it was either cut short by Paul or the director. Having Paul Williams, somewhat at the director's disposal, I would have liked for him to have discussed The Phantom of the Paradise more, the conventions, his opinions on some of his contemporaries or music from the '70s through today, any clean road stories, but, as the director noted,"Paul doesn't look back". That being the case, the director might have done better in-depth interviewing others about Paul Williams and reduced his screen time to about 25% of the movie.Nonetheless, still a good movie about a fellow childhood hero.

plex It would seem despite Paul's erstwhile troubles with substance abuse, the undeniable being which is him, comes shining thru, but not with a spotlight but with a muted and profound glow. Just like Paul ( at least I feel this way) it took me a while to warm up to both Kessler's and his directorial approach to this documentary. At times, Kessler's approach seemed to mimic Michael Moore's stylized approach to documentary making which is to let the director's presence and his intentions/difficulties known. I agree with him that Paul Williams story is one needed to be told. Kessler lets it be known of his own neurosis and fears, and at times its a little unnerving and inappropriate as you also see this being reflected by Paul. But Paul seemingly stays cool, truncating Kessler's sometime obtrusive manner. One of the things I really liked seeing about Paul was his benevolence towards others who share the same affliction ( if thats the right word) and his very humble lifestyle; he does his own driving, books some of his own gigs, totes his own luggage, lives in a very modest home etc. He doesn't do those things out of financial necessity, yet he also does not play the martyr. He's a just a simple man who appears to acknowledge the gift of life and wants to be part of it, hands-on. On the darker side, maybe he behaves this way to distance himself from the life-style that accommodated the self-destructive behavior in the first place. Who knows? The thing that impressed me most about Paul is his ability to live in the now, and look forward, as he shuns his past and nostalgia; not an easy thing to do when you consider his height of celebrity was his past. But this also explains Paul's reservation of doing the documentary in the first place as it can only come together as a story BY delving into the past. I never got the sense Paul was trying to hide anything, it just seemed sort of pointless to him. He doesn't seem to be outwardly concerned of danger, he sky dived, he travels all over the world, and just seems genuinely happy to be a part of something. I wish there had been some insight to Paul's creative process, the film makes it seem he just sort of fell into it, perhaps stemming from, in part, to his stature. Like Paul's music, the overall tone of the documentary is the good side of sadness, and Paul teaches us, perhaps tacitly so, there IS such a thing and its not such a bad thing after all.

Ben Alba Earlier this summer, I had the unexpected pleasure of seeing Paul Williams. Yes, THAT Paul Williams. The prolific, Oscar- and Grammy-winning '70s pop composer ("We've Only Just Begun," "Evergreen," "You and Me Against the World," "Rainbow Connection," "Theme from 'The Love Boat," and many more). His name caught my attention in eighth grade, when I was starting to discover songwriters and learned that it was he who had written hits by different performers I liked. I even bought one of his albums. But then he embarked on a singing and acting career and became one of the most ubiquitous personalities on '70s TV, appearing on the Carson "Tonight Show" nearly 50 times, numerous other talk shows (Mike Douglas, Dinah Shore), game shows ("Hollywood Squares"), crime dramas (he got into a shooting match with Angie Dickinson), sitcoms, and even "Circus of the Stars" (where he jumped out of a plane). I'm sorry, but this was just too much Paul for me, and I started to tune him out.Until seeing this documentary, I never paid much attention to the person behind the stocky, five-foot-two frame, shaggy hair, tinted aviator specs, glib personality, and warbly voice. His story has the usual elements: childhood loneliness, need for acceptance, rise to A-list fame and fortune, fading star, descent into alcohol and drugs, rehab, triumph (he has been sober for 25 years), and contentment upon finally finding and accepting his place in the world.But what makes this film so compelling is that it was made by a fan of my generation who became a successful director. Although it breaks the rule that a documentarian should not inject himself into his work, the developing bond between filmmaker and subject (Stephen Kessler followed Williams, his childhood hero, for three years) proved to be a worthy secondary story. That Williams would open himself up to a stranger, and the warm friendship that developed, give the documentary a more informal, personal dimension than Ken Burns' best work, without Michael Moore-style political messages. Kessler admits to once wanting to be Paul Williams, and I found myself wanting to be Kessler — to follow a childhood hero and become buddies with him. How cool is that! "Still Alive" is a serious work, but neither Williams nor Kessler takes himself seriously, resulting in candid, funny, heartwarming moments, not to mention the film's self-deprecating title.I was intrigued by the coverage of Williams' acceptance of an invitation to perform in, of all places, the province of Mindanao in the southern Philippines — the notorious part of the country that American tourists are urged to avoid because of Al Qaeda threats. Fortunately, not only did the 8,000-mile trek proceed terror-free (including the six-hour bus ride through a jungle), but Williams felt much love from throngs of fans in this far-off land, known for its affinity for sweet, sentimental music. He had flown back to the '70s.As if the film weren't remarkable enough, what followed was a live Q&A with Williams himself, now a fit 71, and director Kessler. The audience at the Gene Siskel Film Center in Chicago was mostly middle-aged, but there were also seniors and kids, including an 11-year-old who asked the diminutive composer whom he admired growing up (Paul's answer: Mickey Rooney, because he was short, famous, and still got the girl). The graciousness, honesty, humor, wisdom, dignity, and warmth emanating from the stage exceeded my expectations. I learned that Williams' lyrics about loneliness, heartache, and hope really did come from his heart, and that he continues to be gratified by the connection that millions feel to his songs.In just two hours, I grew from simply enjoying Williams' work to admiring him, and in some ways even identifying with him. Before I go to bed tonight, I think I'll play my piano-bar rendition of "Rainy Days and Mondays." There's still hope for me yet.

Troy Taroy I only just re-discovered Paul Williams a year ago, although he was a clear memory from my childhood. Williams was a ubiquitous TV personality in the 1970s. And although the film will definitely appeal to nostalgia addicts of a certain age, it has more than enough good humor and emotional resonance to draw in anyone who's never heard of him (everyone's heard his songs). Kessler approaches his subject with great love, respect, and a sometimes intrusive curiosity. Williams responds at first with suspicion, then eventually trust. The growing affinity between subject and filmmaker almost becomes a second plot line - the primary one being Williams' manic career. It's edited with wit and, dare I say, pathos. I sat fairly close to the screen, and there were a few moments where shaky camera-work bothered me, but that's an inevitability whenever a filmmaker obsessively attempts to capture the essence of a childhood hero. The film also functions as a meditation on the true meaning of success and happiness. It's a lesson sorely needed in an aggressively competitive world, but the film doesn't preach. You walk away with some of the most beautiful songs ringing in your head. A beautiful film.