Full conversation
SAM DINGMAN: Back in 1999, Suzanne Johnson made her first movie. It was a documentary about one of the valley's most prominent architects, Al Beadle. By then, Beadle’s name was synonymous with a very particular style of Phoenix design, low-slung, rectangular buildings with floor to ceiling windows, interiors flooded with sunlight.
The structures are unmistakable. Their sharp angles and stark lines draw a contrast with the undulating red rock mountains that surround them. Beadle buildings make bold statements, which, as Johnson recently told me, is a reflection of the man who designed them.
SUZANNE JOHNSON: Well, he was a personal friend of mine to begin with and I was somewhat familiar with his architecture. He brought glass and steel to the desert. And you would think that those materials would be impossible to work with in our climate, but as it turns out, he proved everybody wrong.
DINGMAN: What was he like in friendship, like as a person? I mean, we see some of this in your film, obviously, but what was it about him as a friend that you wanted to make sure that you got across?
JOHNSON: He was his own person. He was honest as the day is long, and the thing I liked about him as an artist with a capital A, is that he wasn't willing to compromise. If you asked Al Beadle to design a building for you he would take into account the site, your program and the budget.
And then step aside and let the man deliver to you what you had asked for or what he thought would do best for your circumstances.
DINGMAN: Yeah, that's one of the things that comes through for me in the film, is this idea that once he kind of clocked what the intentions of a project were, if you were his client, it was really important to kind of trust him and step back and and let him do his thing.
JOHNSON: Absolutely. Go away, get out of the way. You know, an artist does their work for themselves first and foremost. I believe that of every artist that I have known and interviewed along the way, the work comes first and it comes from them and it's to please them ultimately before they can pass it on.
And it was nothing for him to say, “this is what I'm delivering and if it doesn't work for you, let’s part.”
DINGMAN: Right.
JOHNSON: He would hand the pencil across the table, you know, somebody would step into the conversation, he would hand the pencil across the table and say, “You do it.”
One of my early fun experiences, which I love to tell, was when he came to dinner one night at my house with his wife and Michael and I served them dinner. The boys were talking about architecture, and he mentioned a client that wanted a yellow kitchen.
And I had said, “Well, Al, why don't you give her a yellow kitchen?” And he threw his napkin in the middle of his plate, and he said, “There will never be a yellow kitchen in a Beadle house.”
And it's like, “Whoa, what did I do?” But I have come to really respect his position.
DINGMAN: You have said that when it comes to Arizona, Beadle was the most important architect next to Frank Lloyd Wright. And obviously it's been much discussed that with Wright, his whole thing was organic architecture, this idea of architecture that seemed like it was in harmony with the surrounding landscape.
We see some of that in Beadles' work too, but it seems like it's a little bit different for him. Is that fair to say?
JOHNSON: Well, I think, he, like Frank Lloyd Wright, designed structures where he could bring the outside in, and Beadle brought new materials to the table when he started working with glass and steel.
DINGMAN: I really appreciate that distinction that you just gave from a materials standpoint because I'm also not an architectural expert, but having been to Taliesin West say, there is this component with Wright's work where it seems like he's interested, in a lot of cases at least, in sort of blurring the line between where the structure and where the landscape begin and end.
And with Beadle, there's just a sense that the structures are more complementary than attempting to dissolve, in that sense.
JOHNSON: Oh yeah, he wanted to make bold statements, certainly,he wanted to make bold statements, yes. He probably would have been cross with me, by the way, for just even focusing the lights on him, he never sought the limelight or anything like that.
I mean, another great Beadle story is he was arrested for practicing without a license, so he got himself a lawyer and the lawyer said he doesn't have a license.
Nor does Frank Lloyd Wright, which of course opened up a whole bigger can of worms and ultimately, the condemning board sent a license to Frank Lloyd Wright and sent a license to Beadle because certainly those two men had preserved had certainly preserved and presented themselves, you know, as true architects with a capital A.
Beadle, when he got his license in the mail, tore it up and mailed it back and demanded to take the test. Which of course he passed with flying colors.
DINGMAN: Right. What has it been like for you? You made this film in 1999, right?
JOHNSON: Oh, that was so long ago.
DINGMAN: Yeah, it's been almost 30 years. Can I ask you, I mean, this is stepping slightly outside the bounds of this particular film and this particular festival that it's going to be screened at, but there's obviously so much conversation right now about what a documentary is and what it should be and the whole documentary industrial complex when it comes to true crime and things like that. Not to open a can of worms you don't want to open, but one of the things that I was really excited about with your film is that it is of a time when a documentary felt less like popular art.
JOHNSON: We weren't recreating scenes to explain a point of view, this was real life, real world, real reactions. When people got emotional in the film, that was very real.
DINGMAN: Do you feel pressure in projects now to gin things up?
JOHNSON: No, I still take the same point of view: that I am there to document and I do primarily work with artists, to document an artist's work and present it and them with my overview.
DINGMAN: Right, as you put it, Al might not have been too thrilled with you for releasing this documentary, but you as a filmmaker felt it was important to do.
JOHNSON: Well, it has historic value because if we don't do these kinds of things, if we don't document things, it's forgotten. My job is to ask a lot of nosy questions, right?
DINGMAN: Hey, that's my job, too!
JOHNSON: As a documentarian, I really enjoyed this kind of conversation. It made me very nervous to begin, but OK, I don't like to talk about my work. It's just something that I need to do.
DINGMAN: Yeah, that is such an interesting balance and I mean this is something I really got out of the film is that there can be a sense sometimes in documentary work that it's not experiential, that it is about, information delivery or education, and that's something that comes through so much in your film is that it just feels nice to spend time with this person.
JOHNSON: I want you to know who this person is, and I have approached all my documentary subjects in the same manner, you know, who is this person? I'm not the one, I'm not in a position to make any statement about architecture with a capital A. But this is my experience of him and his buildings and his fan club, which is enormous.
DINGMAN: Well, listeners can get to know Beadle and his fan club and Suzanne indirectly by going to see the film, “Beadle Architecture,” at the No Festival Required festival, part of the Arizona architectural film showcase, and I've been speaking with Suzanne Johnson, the filmmaker. Suzanne, thank you so much.
JOHNSON: Thank you, sir. I hope this was somewhat articulate.
DINGMAN: It certainly was.
