After that, Huberman says, it was apparent that Pennell had lost something inside him. Before, whenever they'd gotten together, the conversation had been about film and Pennell's next project. After that, Pennell spoke only of his next drink.
After his short stay at the Austin clinic, Pennell stayed a hairbreadth from the streets. For one of the first times in his life, he took a nine-to-five job, delivering parts for a small electrical firm. He was soon fired after repeatedly calling in sick with hangovers.
Last Night at the Alamo: Roger Ebert asked Pennell if he'd set out to make a movie about alcoholism. Until then, Pennell hadn't noticed that he had.
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From then on, life was a blur. Through occasional infusions of cash from his family, he was able to keep a roof over his head -- usually some flophouse where he could follow the trail of empty malt liquor cans to the nearest convenience store.
In the fall of 1996 Pennell's mother told him that a registered letter had come to her home. It was from the Austin Film Society, and enclosed was a check for $1,500 -- seed money for developing a screenplay. Pennell had forgotten that several months earlier he'd submitted a screenplay treatment based on the life of the homeless.
After getting the check, he decided to study the subject closely. He began panhandling on street corners and sleeping with vagrants in Levie Park, not far from the Greenway 3 cinema, where some of his films had played.
"My research," says Pennell, "turned into a lifestyle."
The Center's dormitory, where Pennell endured his latest round of rehab, is located on Fannin Street, named after Colonel James Fannin of the Texas Revolution. Fannin is one of Pennell's heroes, a flawed character, especially when compared to other men of Texas myth. Jim Bowie, Davy Crockett and William Travis fought heroically to their deaths at the Alamo; Fannin was indecisive at crucial times, and his waffling claimed the lives of his entire command. According to The New Encyclopedia of the American West, "Fannin displayed some promise as a military leader in the early stages of the fighting, but his ambition and exaggerated sense of honor made him uncooperative."
Nevertheless, Huberman says, Pennell has always wanted to make a movie about Fannin and the Battle of Goliad -- and Pennell himself wanted to play Fannin.
"It's not so much that I identify with Fannin," says Pennell, "except that I do believe he is a misunderstood character in Texas history." And to some extent, Huberman agrees that Pennell, too, is misunderstood.
"Underneath, Eagle is someone who cares for people very much," says Huberman, "but he hides it very well."
"People could say he's a loser, but I'd say they're wrong, because everybody loses. Eagle's just a little more public about his losses."
It's doubtful, however, that Pennell will play that part, or direct any other movie anytime soon, although Huberman, for one, wishes someone would give Pennell another shot. The film business is unforgiving, even at the lowest levels. Though Pennell's out of rehab, with a part-time job and a little apartment of his own, Hollywood won't be beating a path to his door.
It's a fact that Pennell regrets, along with a lot of other things in his life. But rather than dwell on them, Pennell says, all he can do is look forward. Sure, he'd like to direct again, or at least write a screenplay. But not yet.
"Right now," he says, "I'm just working on staying sober."
On Saturday, November 13, at 7 p.m., the Rice Media Center will host a retrospective of Eagle Pennell's first three movies. Brian Huberman hopes that Pennell will show up to talk about the films.
