The documentary filmmaker Bruce Ricker (that's him on the left, with Clint Eastwood and Quentin Tarantino) was like a Saul Bellow character. Not outsized and overwhelming, like a Herzog or Henderson or Humboldt, but one of those smaller, unswervingly colorful supporting players who bump around the edges of Bellow's books, sometimes a bedeviling presence, more often benignant. Single-minded and vigorous, they manage to combine street smarts with the immaculate innocence only the truly idealistic possess. Put another way, they're guys who know how to play the angles while themselves remaining resolutely non-Euclidean.
Bruce died last week, at 68, after a long battle with pneumonia and other health problems. He was a man constantly on the go. He had to be. A dedication to documentary film is no recipe for success in this culture. Ditto a dedication to jazz. And being dedicated to each at the same time? That's tying both hands behind your back, not just one.
