Like the rest of the country I watched and listened to the events unfold in New York and Washington and Pennsylvania ten years ago this weekend. As I recall, I was teaching then and cancelled all of my classes. I sat by the television (and the radio - for some odd reason I had them both on) and tried to make sense of the information crowding my brain.
I had already moved to Chicago by then and a couple of days after the attack I was on Michigan Avenue, near the huge, now defunct, Border's Bookstore across from the old Water Tower. A television reporter stopped me on the sidewalk and did a quick 'man on the street' interview. They wanted to know if the incidents in the previous few days would effect my Christmas shopping; if I thought the economy would suffer because of the devastation. I said I hoped not and kept walking.
I lived in New York City from 1985 until 2000. I was not that long gone from the city when it happened. While I can't exactly say the WTC was on my beaten path, I had certainly been there a few times, once even eating in the restaurant there, Windows On The World, I think it was called. And many years ago, shortly after moving to NYC, I had waited tables at a place very near the towers, can't even remember the name of it, and took the subway there everyday. I didn't like the financial district in NYC, especially on rainy days. This was the eighties and 'power unbrellas' were big then. These were huge umbrellas that yuppies carried around. They were a constant source of irritation to people who were not carrying one because they were so big and they tended to poke people in the face while walking on the street. It was purely a yuppie thing in NYC and mostly the young, dumb and rich carried them. Hence their presence in the financial district.
I remember Chicago, of course, always envious of New York and constantly in comparison (every business in Chicago used the tag line 'Better Than New York!' it seemed), was reporting for awhile that the fourth plane, the one that fell into a muddy field in Pennsylvania, had been heading for some target in Chicago. Of course that wasn't true, but they repeated it quite a bit for a week or so on the local news. Turns out that plane had already turned around and was heading for one of two sites in D.C., one quite possibly The White House.
Like nearly everyone else in the nation I remember wanting swift and violent retribution for the people responsible. The American public, for the most part, didn't know anything about Osama Bin Laden or AL-Qa'ida. I had been in NYC for the first attack on The World Trade Center in 1993 and had no doubt heard the name then, but, like the rest of the country, assumed we had qualified people working on that and the name didn't register or stick with me in any concrete sense.
At that period in my life I was living a very insular existence, self-exiled and reclusive. So I didn't discuss my feelings about the attacks with anyone else for a long time. But I watched almost compulsively as the talking heads replayed it over and over during the next few weeks. I watched to see if I could recognize anyone I knew in the dust and panic of that day, anyone fleeing the towers covered with white soot. I didn't see anyone.
And like most extraordinary events in my life, I experienced a delayed reaction to it all. In fact, it wasn't until the first anniversary of the attacks that I really began to get a grasp on the import of that day. And finally the oft-repeated phrase, 'everything changed,' began to make sense to me. Everything had changed. I did everything alone in those days, I ate in restaurants alone, I drank alone, I spent my evenings alone. I would teach during the day and spend comfortable nights by myself in my darkened apartment. It was a phase that was to last many years. But something had been taken from me, from us, that day. A sense of detachment had been yanked away. Our false sense of isolation had been removed - for me, both personally and as an American, whatever that might mean.
Now, ten years later and 1750 miles away from Chicago, my wife and I have watched three or four specials on the event over the last few nights. It somehow seems more real to me now than it did ten years ago. And the thing that keeps occuring to me is that the horror of that day for so many was also the beginning of the end for my own period of forced isolation. It is almost allegorical in its timing. Like many, I suppose, who can mark the moment in their lives when they heard that Kennedy had been shot, or when the astronauts landed on the moon, or the chaos and panic of Pearl Harbor, the images of Nine One One take me back to a stretch of time that marked an apathetic loneliness in my own life, an era of quiet, personal anarchy. And, almost against my will, I found myself being forced to think of the tragedy of other people, other lives, distant pain. It became impossible to consider the idea that I was the center of my own little universe. The images from the television screen, leaping out and clawing at me, simply wouldn't allow my self-inflicted compartmentalization to continue, try as I might to let it be so.
In the final analysis, this is what I remember about that anonymous and explosive day in September. The first glimpses of a life outside myself, of casting off a firmly embedded sense of isolation. I ached for the families that lost husbands and wives and fathers and mothers that day. And surprisingly, I began to feel connected again. Connected to a whole nation of grieving, imperfect people.
Today, when I watch the same images again, the atrocity of people being forced out of the upper floors of the towers, leaping to their certain deaths, I am filled with a moral outrage. Ten years ago I was filled with something else, a numb anger, perhaps. And again, I begin to understand the oft-repeated cry, Everything Has Changed. Because Everything Had.
See you tomorrow.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Up and at 'em
Up early and ostensibly working the new screenplay. I say 'ostensibly' because I'm really not. But I will when I finish blogging.
104 yesterday in The Valley. When it gets that hot, plans have to be adjusted, to say the least, and consequently I spent the day watching old fight films I've managed to record off of Uverse...mostly old ALI films from the seventies. I'm weird that way.
I've come to the conclusion that I'm an expert on only one thing in my life...heavyweight boxing in the 1970s. An odd thing to know so well, but there you have it.
I have this reading coming up with the wonderful actor Powers Boothe next week. Powers and I did another one a few months ago and that was fun so I decided to do another for the same director when he contacted me.
The week after that another Indy film, this one down in Long Beach, I think. Small role. Haven't even read the whole script.
So hopefully the intense heat will stay away long enough to get a walk in this morning before retreating into the solitude of air conditioning. Once that's done I'll pull out the new writing and have a go at it all day. Angie's been a bit under the weather so I'll be quiet and studious for the most part. Her allergies have gone super nova, apparently.
All of the 9/11 programs are coming on these days due to the 10 year anniversary. It hardly seems 10 years since that horrible day. I was lucky. I didn't actually personally know anyone in the towers that day. Many NY friends did, however. I did know a guy I had done a few plays with and his wife died that day. But I'd never met her.
Of all the terribly images of that day, the one that haunts me the most are the 'jumpers,' the ones that couldn't stand the heat and decided to leap. I see those images from the footage today and I'm still just appalled, stricken.
Angie and I watched the new HBO documentary out about the day...the one that Martin Sheen voices. Quite good, but it kept us both up after we'd seen it.
And I don't have the same sense of outrage at GW Bush about it anymore now that I know more of his reasons for his odd reactions to the attack. Knowing how much he wanted to get back to DC after the attacks and the secret service kept him in the air, I mean.
I was a bit shocked to learn, however, that Rumsfeld wanted to immediately carpet bomb Iraq that day with no evidence whatsoever that they were involved. That's a bit scary. Even after Cheney, of all people, told him Afghanistan was the place to concentrate on. But thinking back, I, too, wanted immediate revenge. Now, of course, I realize how savage and futile that would have been.
It certainly changed everything, that dreadful day in September of 2001. For me, for everyone.
But the sun is coming up, the dogs are eyeing me with anticipation, and life is stretching out before me. Everyday is so very good.
See you tomorrow.
104 yesterday in The Valley. When it gets that hot, plans have to be adjusted, to say the least, and consequently I spent the day watching old fight films I've managed to record off of Uverse...mostly old ALI films from the seventies. I'm weird that way.
I've come to the conclusion that I'm an expert on only one thing in my life...heavyweight boxing in the 1970s. An odd thing to know so well, but there you have it.
I have this reading coming up with the wonderful actor Powers Boothe next week. Powers and I did another one a few months ago and that was fun so I decided to do another for the same director when he contacted me.
The week after that another Indy film, this one down in Long Beach, I think. Small role. Haven't even read the whole script.
So hopefully the intense heat will stay away long enough to get a walk in this morning before retreating into the solitude of air conditioning. Once that's done I'll pull out the new writing and have a go at it all day. Angie's been a bit under the weather so I'll be quiet and studious for the most part. Her allergies have gone super nova, apparently.
All of the 9/11 programs are coming on these days due to the 10 year anniversary. It hardly seems 10 years since that horrible day. I was lucky. I didn't actually personally know anyone in the towers that day. Many NY friends did, however. I did know a guy I had done a few plays with and his wife died that day. But I'd never met her.
Of all the terribly images of that day, the one that haunts me the most are the 'jumpers,' the ones that couldn't stand the heat and decided to leap. I see those images from the footage today and I'm still just appalled, stricken.
Angie and I watched the new HBO documentary out about the day...the one that Martin Sheen voices. Quite good, but it kept us both up after we'd seen it.
And I don't have the same sense of outrage at GW Bush about it anymore now that I know more of his reasons for his odd reactions to the attack. Knowing how much he wanted to get back to DC after the attacks and the secret service kept him in the air, I mean.
I was a bit shocked to learn, however, that Rumsfeld wanted to immediately carpet bomb Iraq that day with no evidence whatsoever that they were involved. That's a bit scary. Even after Cheney, of all people, told him Afghanistan was the place to concentrate on. But thinking back, I, too, wanted immediate revenge. Now, of course, I realize how savage and futile that would have been.
It certainly changed everything, that dreadful day in September of 2001. For me, for everyone.
But the sun is coming up, the dogs are eyeing me with anticipation, and life is stretching out before me. Everyday is so very good.
See you tomorrow.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Wrap Party
I went to my first actual 'wrap party' last night (see new photo right) following the completion of THE PARTY IS OVER, the new comedy I did with Cathy Baker, produced by Steve Robman and featuring a whole gaggle of very talented twenty-somethings. I sat with Cathy over dinner and drinks and finally had a chance to talk to her about some of her work over the years, specifically FOOL FOR LOVE, the Sam Shepard piece she did with Ed Harris at the beginning of her career. The play was directed by Shepard at The Magic Theatre in San Francisco and then moved to Circle Rep in New York and, well, the rest is history. It's a legendary production in theatre circles, famous not only for its quality of work but for the iconic poster attached to it - the one with Elvis tongue-kissing the elated female fan.
Shepard directed the play in the small space in San Francisco (a 99-seater) and Cathy said they were all sort of shocked when they were told it was moving to Circle Rep in New York. The Rep wanted to recast (Harris had just made THE RIGHT STUFF and was starting to get a bit of a name but Cathy hadn't done any film or TV yet and no one knew who she was) in NYC but Shepard held firm and said they could only have the play if the original cast stayed in place. Cathy told me she thought NY was going to 'eat them up' but on opening night there was such a tumultuous greeting from the opening night audience she knew they were in something special.
I was living in NYC when it played at Circle Rep and I could kick myself for not seeing it. She stayed with the play for the long run but she said Harris left after only six weeks to pursue film stuff. It is one of my favorite Shepard plays.
The director of the movie, Vahe Gabuchian (very talented young filmmaker) put together a six or seven minute 'compilation' reel for the party...just quick snippets of scenes from the film (it's a 'full length,' not a short) and I must say it looks super cool. When asked by a friend the other day what the film was about I had to think a moment. It's an odd one, to be sure. The best I could come up with was 'a thinking man's AMERICAN PIE,' if that makes any sense. I have a smallish role in it, but very, uh, entertaining.
Steve Robman (google him) produced. Steve is a very successful television and stage director and turns out we have dozens of mutual friends in the theatre biz in Chicago and New York. He directed quite a bit at The Goodman back in the day and we both know a lot of the same Chicago actors.
It's completely a youth oriented movie - I think Cathy and I were probably the oldest ones involved and that's counting the crew as well. The three lead actors, all in their early twenties, looked really good in the compilation we saw last night. In fact, the whole thing looked really good. Look for it sometime in 2012.
Angie and I are continuing with our new 'health kick.' Essentially this means we're cutting back on cigs and bread and potatoes and taking killer walks up into the mountains. Sunday we walked a place called 'Fryman's Canyon.' I saw my life pass before my eyes. I now call it 'The Widowmaker.' I'm told it's not an especially difficult hike, but it nearly closed the curtain on me. Within the first five minutes I had sweat completely through my shirt. I have a long, long ways to go with this new 'get in shape' stuff. Fortunatly, while climbing The Widowmaker, Angie let me stop now and then and take huge, gulping breaths. I pretended I was stopping for Zooey's sake (she's our 12 year old dog) but, much to my chagrin, Zooey seemed to be doing just fine and was impatient with my stop and start technique on The Widowmaker.
Los Angeles, thankfully, is in the middle of a heat wave right now so I've been spared a repeat trek for the time being. We're taking the long 'Oasis Walk' in our own neighborhood until the heat breaks. The Oasis Walk is a long one, too, but it's all flat and it circles around the 'Los Angeles River,' which is not a river at all but just a big concret waterway. Over the years, however, foliage has grown unimpeded all around and in it. It's really quite accidentally beautiful.
The work on two, count 'em, two screenplays continues. One sucks and one is looking okay. The one that sucks has me completely bamboozled. I have no idea what to do with it. The one that's okay, however, has me rather excited. I'll continue working it today.
Angie and I were also talking to another screenwriter last night at the wrap party. He recommended a book called 'Your Screenplay Sucks.' I'm going to try and pick it up today at the library. I asked him if he'd read 'Save the Cat,' the book that impacted me so much when I first started writing my screenplay, and he had pretty much the same opinion of it that I did, which is to say, initially impressed and then sort of offended by its continual references to writing a script that makes money rather than writing a script that means something to you.
Life is good. Angie and I are coming up on our one year anniversary. We were married on October 10, 2010, and we haven't quite decided what to do to celebrate. I want to take a three week trip to Europe but Angie reminded me we don't have any money, so we're probably going to go with a three hour trip to Van Nuys, which I'm told, is quite lovely this time of year.
See you tomorrow.
Shepard directed the play in the small space in San Francisco (a 99-seater) and Cathy said they were all sort of shocked when they were told it was moving to Circle Rep in New York. The Rep wanted to recast (Harris had just made THE RIGHT STUFF and was starting to get a bit of a name but Cathy hadn't done any film or TV yet and no one knew who she was) in NYC but Shepard held firm and said they could only have the play if the original cast stayed in place. Cathy told me she thought NY was going to 'eat them up' but on opening night there was such a tumultuous greeting from the opening night audience she knew they were in something special.
I was living in NYC when it played at Circle Rep and I could kick myself for not seeing it. She stayed with the play for the long run but she said Harris left after only six weeks to pursue film stuff. It is one of my favorite Shepard plays.
The director of the movie, Vahe Gabuchian (very talented young filmmaker) put together a six or seven minute 'compilation' reel for the party...just quick snippets of scenes from the film (it's a 'full length,' not a short) and I must say it looks super cool. When asked by a friend the other day what the film was about I had to think a moment. It's an odd one, to be sure. The best I could come up with was 'a thinking man's AMERICAN PIE,' if that makes any sense. I have a smallish role in it, but very, uh, entertaining.
Steve Robman (google him) produced. Steve is a very successful television and stage director and turns out we have dozens of mutual friends in the theatre biz in Chicago and New York. He directed quite a bit at The Goodman back in the day and we both know a lot of the same Chicago actors.
It's completely a youth oriented movie - I think Cathy and I were probably the oldest ones involved and that's counting the crew as well. The three lead actors, all in their early twenties, looked really good in the compilation we saw last night. In fact, the whole thing looked really good. Look for it sometime in 2012.
Angie and I are continuing with our new 'health kick.' Essentially this means we're cutting back on cigs and bread and potatoes and taking killer walks up into the mountains. Sunday we walked a place called 'Fryman's Canyon.' I saw my life pass before my eyes. I now call it 'The Widowmaker.' I'm told it's not an especially difficult hike, but it nearly closed the curtain on me. Within the first five minutes I had sweat completely through my shirt. I have a long, long ways to go with this new 'get in shape' stuff. Fortunatly, while climbing The Widowmaker, Angie let me stop now and then and take huge, gulping breaths. I pretended I was stopping for Zooey's sake (she's our 12 year old dog) but, much to my chagrin, Zooey seemed to be doing just fine and was impatient with my stop and start technique on The Widowmaker.
Los Angeles, thankfully, is in the middle of a heat wave right now so I've been spared a repeat trek for the time being. We're taking the long 'Oasis Walk' in our own neighborhood until the heat breaks. The Oasis Walk is a long one, too, but it's all flat and it circles around the 'Los Angeles River,' which is not a river at all but just a big concret waterway. Over the years, however, foliage has grown unimpeded all around and in it. It's really quite accidentally beautiful.
The work on two, count 'em, two screenplays continues. One sucks and one is looking okay. The one that sucks has me completely bamboozled. I have no idea what to do with it. The one that's okay, however, has me rather excited. I'll continue working it today.
Angie and I were also talking to another screenwriter last night at the wrap party. He recommended a book called 'Your Screenplay Sucks.' I'm going to try and pick it up today at the library. I asked him if he'd read 'Save the Cat,' the book that impacted me so much when I first started writing my screenplay, and he had pretty much the same opinion of it that I did, which is to say, initially impressed and then sort of offended by its continual references to writing a script that makes money rather than writing a script that means something to you.
Life is good. Angie and I are coming up on our one year anniversary. We were married on October 10, 2010, and we haven't quite decided what to do to celebrate. I want to take a three week trip to Europe but Angie reminded me we don't have any money, so we're probably going to go with a three hour trip to Van Nuys, which I'm told, is quite lovely this time of year.
See you tomorrow.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
The Real Stuff
Yesterday I auditioned for a 'guest starring' role on the television program, 'Parks and Recreation.' This is a program I've seen a few times. I like it. It's in the style of 'The Office' or 'Reno 911,' lots of 'takes' to the camera, breaking the fourth wall, etc. Some witty writing, good, loose, free-wheeling acting style, a clever and smart show.
Before I went in for the read, I did my homework, of course. I took a look at some of the recent, 3rd season shows, got a feel for the humor, studied some of the plot lines...and then memorized my stuff and drove over to Hollywood and did it for the casting director (who, incidentally, was great, very pleasant). The character calls for someone with a 'bad haircut.' And of course when I walked in I saw all these character actors, roughly my age, with, well, bad haircuts. Some had done their hair in a sort of 'comb over,' some had rugs on, and some really DID have bad haircuts.
This sort of thing makes my eyes roll up into my head. It's what I call the 'lab coat' syndrome. That is to say, some time ago I was called in for the role of a Doctor in some show or movie (can't remember now what it was, frankly). And when I got there, every last guy in the room had a damn lab coat on. A couple even had a stethascope slung around their shoulders. Another time, when I first got to LA, I was sent out to a read for a music video shoot (I was naive then - these days I never accept those auditions) that required a 'priest.' When I got there, everybody had on a priest's outfit. Every last one. A couple of the people there actually WERE priests.
I refuse to buy into this phenomenon. For one thing, it's embarrassing. And for another, it's just dumb. I imagine a conversation like this in the Casting Director's office after the audition: "Well, hm. Both were very good actors, I guess. But the one guy, well, he had that lab coat on. My gut tells me to go with him. He LOOKED like a doctor, after all."
Balderdash. I simply can't believe the casting of roles in this town is as infantile as that. But on the other hand, maybe it is. Well, I won't get those roles, then.
Now don't get me wrong. If the role is described as a 'businessman,' yes, I will wear a suit to the audition. If the role is a 'cowboy,' yes, I'll wear jeans and boots. But that's about it. Any further becomes humiliating.
It all reminds me of one of my first professional gigs. I was in my early twenties, living in NYC and I was offered and accepted a job in Kentucky at a summer stock theater. Actually turned out to be a good thing because I made a few lifelong friends from that gig. But anyway, one of the shows they were doing that summer was a 'frontier musical' set in the 1830s in Kentucky. To this day it is the worst piece of writing for the stage I have ever encountered and that is really saying something. But that's beside the point. In a letter, a couple of months before I left NY to head down to KY, I was asked to 'bring all my buckskins.' The letter went on to say for me not to worry because I would be financially compensated if the theater decided to use 'any personal buckskins' on stage. I wrote back, "Let me get this straight. You want me to bring ALL my buckskins?" They must not have found that amusing because they never answered that letter.
A couple of my friends who have been in LA for quite awhile, been in the trenches, kicking and biting to get roles, tell me this is a relatively new thing, this 'dressing up as the character' silliness. And, what's more, there are, now and again, in the breakdowns ('breakdowns' are the information sent to agents and managers so that they might submit their clients more suited for the available roles), actual instructions to WEAR clothes that might fit the character. Again, I simply ignore these instructions. It indicates an appalling lack of imagination on the casting director's part. Of course, none of the 'real' casting directors ever ask for this, the CDs that cast on the big time level, I mean. This is something only the ham and eggers do.
All of this is further complicated by the plethora of 'reality shows' out there. I never go on those auditions, either. Nothing could interest me less. So, these 'reality based' programs throw their hat in the ring of breakdowns. They routinely call for 'real doctors' or 'real cowboys' or 'real midgets with one leg slightly longer than the other and who work as a fireman.' The sad thing is, hundreds of midgets with one leg longer than the other who work as firemen actually show up. It's a tough town.
I have to memorize a long, long monologue today for a feature I'm shooting next week. I hate memorizing words. I think Brando had it right. Just put an earpiece in and have someone read the words into your ear during the shoot. Of course, he was Brando and people let him get away with that. I'm not, however, so I have to learn these frickin' words. And that's what I'm about to do right now.
See you tomorrow.
Before I went in for the read, I did my homework, of course. I took a look at some of the recent, 3rd season shows, got a feel for the humor, studied some of the plot lines...and then memorized my stuff and drove over to Hollywood and did it for the casting director (who, incidentally, was great, very pleasant). The character calls for someone with a 'bad haircut.' And of course when I walked in I saw all these character actors, roughly my age, with, well, bad haircuts. Some had done their hair in a sort of 'comb over,' some had rugs on, and some really DID have bad haircuts.
This sort of thing makes my eyes roll up into my head. It's what I call the 'lab coat' syndrome. That is to say, some time ago I was called in for the role of a Doctor in some show or movie (can't remember now what it was, frankly). And when I got there, every last guy in the room had a damn lab coat on. A couple even had a stethascope slung around their shoulders. Another time, when I first got to LA, I was sent out to a read for a music video shoot (I was naive then - these days I never accept those auditions) that required a 'priest.' When I got there, everybody had on a priest's outfit. Every last one. A couple of the people there actually WERE priests.
I refuse to buy into this phenomenon. For one thing, it's embarrassing. And for another, it's just dumb. I imagine a conversation like this in the Casting Director's office after the audition: "Well, hm. Both were very good actors, I guess. But the one guy, well, he had that lab coat on. My gut tells me to go with him. He LOOKED like a doctor, after all."
Balderdash. I simply can't believe the casting of roles in this town is as infantile as that. But on the other hand, maybe it is. Well, I won't get those roles, then.
Now don't get me wrong. If the role is described as a 'businessman,' yes, I will wear a suit to the audition. If the role is a 'cowboy,' yes, I'll wear jeans and boots. But that's about it. Any further becomes humiliating.
It all reminds me of one of my first professional gigs. I was in my early twenties, living in NYC and I was offered and accepted a job in Kentucky at a summer stock theater. Actually turned out to be a good thing because I made a few lifelong friends from that gig. But anyway, one of the shows they were doing that summer was a 'frontier musical' set in the 1830s in Kentucky. To this day it is the worst piece of writing for the stage I have ever encountered and that is really saying something. But that's beside the point. In a letter, a couple of months before I left NY to head down to KY, I was asked to 'bring all my buckskins.' The letter went on to say for me not to worry because I would be financially compensated if the theater decided to use 'any personal buckskins' on stage. I wrote back, "Let me get this straight. You want me to bring ALL my buckskins?" They must not have found that amusing because they never answered that letter.
A couple of my friends who have been in LA for quite awhile, been in the trenches, kicking and biting to get roles, tell me this is a relatively new thing, this 'dressing up as the character' silliness. And, what's more, there are, now and again, in the breakdowns ('breakdowns' are the information sent to agents and managers so that they might submit their clients more suited for the available roles), actual instructions to WEAR clothes that might fit the character. Again, I simply ignore these instructions. It indicates an appalling lack of imagination on the casting director's part. Of course, none of the 'real' casting directors ever ask for this, the CDs that cast on the big time level, I mean. This is something only the ham and eggers do.
All of this is further complicated by the plethora of 'reality shows' out there. I never go on those auditions, either. Nothing could interest me less. So, these 'reality based' programs throw their hat in the ring of breakdowns. They routinely call for 'real doctors' or 'real cowboys' or 'real midgets with one leg slightly longer than the other and who work as a fireman.' The sad thing is, hundreds of midgets with one leg longer than the other who work as firemen actually show up. It's a tough town.
I have to memorize a long, long monologue today for a feature I'm shooting next week. I hate memorizing words. I think Brando had it right. Just put an earpiece in and have someone read the words into your ear during the shoot. Of course, he was Brando and people let him get away with that. I'm not, however, so I have to learn these frickin' words. And that's what I'm about to do right now.
See you tomorrow.
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