Alan Parker was a filmmaker more selective than your average. His undeniable status as an auteur has perhaps gone too long unacknowledged save for in death because of his rare ability to adapt his talents to whatever material he was directing at the moment. Unlike, say, a Hitchcock or a Tarantino, there is nothing specifically “pinpointable” about Parker’s style–save for an undeniable predilection for historical dramas. To that end, Evita was seemingly always destined to make it into his adept hands after the project spent decades in development hell. At every phase and state of the movie’s evolution, Madonna was gunning for the lead role, particularly when it was still attached to Oliver Stone (whom Parker would grudgingly share a writing credit with after taking over), from 1987 to 1994. Robert Stigwood, who owned the rights before they were transferred to Disney, and was also the West End producer of Evita’s London iteration, had originally wanted Alan Parker to direct the film version after its Broadway success, but because Parker had just done Fame (which, incidentally, features the ad for Evita emblazoned on Broadway) in 1980, he was uninterested in following it up with yet another musical.
Having turned it down then, it looked as though the project almost deliberately kicked itself around before finding its way back to him, and his view of the film as, ultimately, one about an ambitious woman who came from nothing in order to become a force to be reckoned with. Thus, he described the premise as follows: “While Evita is a story of people whose lives were in politics, it is not a political story. It is a Cinderella story about the astonishing life of a girl from the most mundane of backgrounds, who became the most powerful woman her country (and indeed Latin America) had ever seen, a woman never content to be a mere ornament at the side of her husband, the president.”
Fate seemed to be on Madonna’s side as well as Parker’s in terms of the film finally dropping into their laps. Madonna, having feared that she lost her chance to play the part forever when Michelle Pfeiffer (after Meryl Streep) had secured the role, implored Parker with a four-page letter (her handwritten letters to directors being something of a signature, if one also goes by A Certain Sacrifice) and the video for “Take A Bow” (in which she deliberately “auditioned” by making it a period piece with a 1940s flair) to let her have the part. She was undoubtedly relieved when Pfeiffer opted out of the production when she found out she was pregnant. Pregnancy, too, was an apparent curse of being cast in the lead, for Madonna also got pregnant with her first child, Lourdes Leon, while filming.
That Madonna had been rebuffed by Oliver Stone when the project was still under his authority stemmed from her declaration of wanting script approval, as well as expressing an interest to Andrew Lloyd Webber about rewriting the score. In fact, she told both highly touchy men in the touchiest man of all’s property–Trump Tower (where Webber had an apartment)–just how strong her vision was. Big mistake, huge. Perhaps having learned her lesson from that first tango in which she let her control freak side shine, Madonna “bowed” to Parker when he insisted that she fully acknowledge who was in charge before going into production. As Parker stated, “The film is not a glorified Madonna video. I controlled it and she didn’t.” Such a thing was undeniably a challenge for Madonna, and possibly what ultimately helped cultivate and fortify her aphorism, “To me, the whole process of being a brush stroke in someone else’s painting is a little difficult.”
And yet, it was all worth it for her to trust in Parker’s vision and execution of the movie, which he didn’t want to be billed as a full-stop musical, desiring the songs to instead be interwoven in a more organic way than, say, the grandiose musicals of MGM’s past. So it was that he remarked, “Once you overcome the fact that people are singing, it’s infinitely more convincing if it’s shot in a naturalistic way.” And naturalistic it was, with Madonna even convincing then president of Argentina Carlos Menem to allow her performance of “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina” to be shot on the Casa Rosada where Eva Peron herself once stood.
As for Madonna’s long-standing connection to and obsession with the reviled and revered icon, it was as Parker summed up, “In Argentina there are two kinds of people: those who think she’s a saint and those who think she’s a whore. There’s no in-between.” In an interview promoting the film, Madonna would add, “I can certainly relate.” Needing a director who could draw that delicate balance out of her, their seamless collaboration together was a major reason for the film’s success and praise. As it was said in a Newsweek article from 1996, “More than anything, this Evita is a bold creative collusion between Madonna and Alan Parker.” And, arguably, Madonna would never have a better director after (her second-best one being Susan Seidelman for 1985’s Desperately Seeking Susan, though it didn’t take much effort to get a performance out of Madonna then that showcased her tough-talking, ragamuffin ways)–certainly not Guy Ritchie. Which is possibly why she was never lavished with accolades as much for a film before or since.
It seemed Parker was also aware that he didn’t want to make many subsequent features after completing this one, a grand achievement in scale and spectacle–one of the few musicals for the modern age. While Parker’s oeuvre spans four decades, Evita remains one of the most shining gems in his canon (that, and the contrasting in tone Angel Heart). With only one film (Angela’s Ashes) in between this and his final, 2003’s The Life of David Gale (which Kevin Spacey’s reputation has definitely tainted), Evita has remained a standout not just of his final films, but of his entire career.
