Monte Hellman on the creative type

Excerpt from Plunging On Alone: Monte Hellman’s Life in a Day (Paul Joyce, 1986).

Monte Hellman reads from Ernest Becker’s book The Denial of Death.

[sakalees]

Becker book/Hellman’s glee in reading it: Is it just us that feel a cringe each time hearing “he” and “his” over and over? Wonder if looking back 3+ decades later explains how hermetically sexist this sounds OR was it even then that such talk of “the artist” as, of course, male already stuck out like an out of tune note or simply as someone misreading a score and repeatedly playing it without clue to its crass degrading-ness?