During my early years in New York, I worked as a bartender in an Irish Pub on the Upper East Side. I think it was 67th and 3rd Avenue. I had only been working there a couple of months when St. Paddy's day came around. The head bartender was an older Irish guy, a real Irish guy - first generation - with a face like a catcher's mitt and an impossibly upbeat personality. We hoisted more than a few 'poynts' together after our shift. Later I had to do an Irish accent on stage and it was his that I used as my model. His name was Brennan and I believe he's still there, tending bar at the same pub all these years later, well into his seventies by now. At least I'd heard he was a couple years ago.
Brendan taught me the finer points of bartending. He had a remarkable rapport with his customers, particularly those right off the boat from Dublin. He loved to get into the thick of things regarding his customers private lives. He really did see himself as a sort of father confessor behind the bar. I can still hear him saying as he set a shot of Jameson's in front of some baleful guy at the bar, "Tell me, Laddie, what's got ya' so horse-faced early in the day?"
People poured out their problems to Brendan. And he took it all in without judgement. 'Nobody ever brings anything small into a bar,' as Mary Chase says in the play, 'Harvey.' Brendan, although I'm sure he had never read or seen that play, took that truism very much to heart.
So it's St. Patrick's day and I come in for my usual afternoon shift. This was a bit of an upscale bar/eatery on the Upper East and the bartenders wore black pants, white button down shirt, a black tie and a long white apron...very much in the old school bartender tradition. We all kept an unsharpened pencil, the kind with a blunt end, behind our ear like Brennan did, for no real reason.
As I walked in that particular day, Brendan took one look at me and said, "Change your tie, Cliffy, and put one on that brought I in...they're in the back." Huh? I went into the back room and there were several clip-on, black ties laid out. I took mine off and put one on. I went back out to start my 'side work' and asked him why? "Just trust me, Laddie."
It was a long bar, triangle shaped, with three bartenders at any given time...one at the point, two on either side. The other bartender came in a few minutes later. He, like myself, was a young guy. Brendan told him the same thing, "Go in the back, Laddie, and put one of the ties on that I brought in." I don't remember the other guy's name but he was a surly sort, didn't really like bartending, and always seemed to be hungover. He looked at Brendan and said, "I've got a tie, thank you." Brendan smiled and said, "And it's a lovely tie. But you'll want to put mine on." The surly guy ignored him and kept on cutting lemons and cleaning up behind the bar readying himself for opening, which was 10:00am, sharp.
As I said, it was St. Paddy's day in New York and the Irish in that city take that day very seriously. When we unlocked the door, they swarmed in. Three or four deep at the bar within an hour. We were all in the weeds, pouring shots and tap beer at top speed. After a while I heard a commotion at the other end of the bar (Brendan always had 'point' because he was the fastest). I looked down and saw that a customer had the other young bartender by his tie and was punching him repeatedly in the face. He couldn't get away because his tie was a regular wrap-around tie. He was helpless. By the time Brendan and I got to him, he was a goner. Eyes swelling, bloody lip, dazed. Brendan was chuckling as we pulled the drunk customer off him and lowered him to the floor behind the bar. "Told him to put one of my ties on," he said under his breath.
And that was my lesson for the day: always wear a clip-on tie when you're bartending on St. Paddy's day.
I didn't stay long with that job because I got an acting gig shortly thereafter. But of all my 'service industry' jobs in New York back in those day, it was by far my favorite. The tips were surprisingly good for an Irish Pub and, more importantly, it was always fun. Mostly because of Brendan and his refusal to take anything too seriously. Plus he actively encouraged drinking on the job, felt it was the bartender's duty to drink with his customers, and in those days for me, anyway, that was a huge incentive to go to work.
And, like I said, Brendan took a liking to me and we often drank together after we clocked out for the day. He had an amazing ability to always move the conversation away from himself and focus on me. "Tell me your dreams, Laddie," I can still hear him saying. However, one night in a moment of unexpected candor, he did say he had always wanted to be an opera singer. He was tone deaf and to my knowledge had never been to the opera, but nonetheless, it was the one thing he always wanted to do. "Ah, but enough about me, Laddie, tell me your dreams."
If Angie and I ever get back to the city, I'll stop in for a club soda and see if he's still there. If he is, I'll have Angie meet him. If he remembers me, and I think he will, I'll say, "Brendan, I'd like you to meet my wife." I suspect he'll smile knowingly and say, "I heard all about you twenty one years ago." He always did have a flare for the poetic.
See you tomorrow.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Last Tango in Los Angeles: Another Day, Another Dollar, Another Blog.
Last Tango in Los Angeles: Another Day, Another Dollar, Another Blog.: "So a couple days ago we were just starting to take the dogs out for their morning walk when a model-T Ford chugged by the house. We were st..."
Another Day, Another Dollar, Another Blog.
So a couple days ago we were just starting to take the dogs out for their morning walk when a model-T Ford chugged by the house. We were standing right out front deciding on a course for the morning...either the dog park around the corner, the long and winding, dusty trail at the Equestrian Center or the residential trek through suburbia. And here comes this model-T Ford. Jay Leno was driving it. Apparently he has thousands of cars, he's a car freak, and this is not a terribly rare sight. He lives near here in Burbank. But it made me smile. A gentle reminder that I'm not in Kansas anymore, so to speak.
Now, seeing Jay Leno drive by in an old car is not in and of itself all that earth shattering. But it gave me pause because I just think it's cool that a guy we see on our TV screen everynight (actually, we watch Letterman, but you get my drift) drives by our house all the time in one of his freakish cars.
As usual he waved and smiled and kept going. Mr. Leno, at least from the safety of his front seat, seems a very nice guy.
Last night I had an audition for a small budget film. The read was at 8:00pm...an odd time for an audition but whaddayagonnado. The character was a very milk toast kinda guy, ala Jack Nicholson in 'About Schmidt.' I read the scene over a few times before I went in and had pretty much decided there wasn't a lot there for me to play with, acting-wise. So I just did it plain and open and simple. No frills auditioning. When I finished and the director turned the camera off, she said, "GREAT! I just KNEW you'd bring something completely different to the role!" Huh? Uh, yeah, well, thanks.
Today I'm memorizing a chunk of dialogue for a big read on Friday. I usually don't memorize dialogue for auditon purposes, but this is a callback situation and a big one at that. So, I'm breaking my rule.
The read last night reminded me of a story a buddy of mine out here told me once. He'd been cast in a film Clint Eastwood was doing and they had all taken their marks and were about to get the 'action' call. He turned out to Clint, standing slightly back and away from the camera and quickly asked, "Anything in particular you want for this?" Eastwood replied, "Well, let's start with nothing and see what happens." I've always liked that - 'Let's start with nothing...'
I didn't win the mega millions lottery. Then again, no one else did either. So now it's up to something like eight gillion dollars. I'll buy two more tickets for the next drawing on Friday. I don't mind doing this. As usual I'm a little late to this party. I never played the lottery before coming out here. Not once. Ever. And yet I always fantasized about winning it, strangely enough. I don't mind buying two dollars worth of tickets (are they called 'tickets?') because I get so much enjoyment from daydreaming about winning it. My daydreams have taken on the scope of a daytime drama...incredibly complex, lifelike, action-laden daydreams. I've practically written a full-length play in my head about the twists and turns that would come from winning it. While we're on our morning constitutional with the dogs, Angie often asks, "Where are you right now? What are you thinking?" I always say, "Nothing." But the truth is I'm deep into my lottery daydream. Sort of pathetic, really. Nonetheless it gives me great pleasure.
I remember an interview I saw some years back with Bill Gates. He was asked, "What do you say to people who tell you 'money can't buy you happiness?'" He said, without pause, "They've never had money."
There you have it.
See you tomorrow.
Now, seeing Jay Leno drive by in an old car is not in and of itself all that earth shattering. But it gave me pause because I just think it's cool that a guy we see on our TV screen everynight (actually, we watch Letterman, but you get my drift) drives by our house all the time in one of his freakish cars.
As usual he waved and smiled and kept going. Mr. Leno, at least from the safety of his front seat, seems a very nice guy.
Last night I had an audition for a small budget film. The read was at 8:00pm...an odd time for an audition but whaddayagonnado. The character was a very milk toast kinda guy, ala Jack Nicholson in 'About Schmidt.' I read the scene over a few times before I went in and had pretty much decided there wasn't a lot there for me to play with, acting-wise. So I just did it plain and open and simple. No frills auditioning. When I finished and the director turned the camera off, she said, "GREAT! I just KNEW you'd bring something completely different to the role!" Huh? Uh, yeah, well, thanks.
Today I'm memorizing a chunk of dialogue for a big read on Friday. I usually don't memorize dialogue for auditon purposes, but this is a callback situation and a big one at that. So, I'm breaking my rule.
The read last night reminded me of a story a buddy of mine out here told me once. He'd been cast in a film Clint Eastwood was doing and they had all taken their marks and were about to get the 'action' call. He turned out to Clint, standing slightly back and away from the camera and quickly asked, "Anything in particular you want for this?" Eastwood replied, "Well, let's start with nothing and see what happens." I've always liked that - 'Let's start with nothing...'
I didn't win the mega millions lottery. Then again, no one else did either. So now it's up to something like eight gillion dollars. I'll buy two more tickets for the next drawing on Friday. I don't mind doing this. As usual I'm a little late to this party. I never played the lottery before coming out here. Not once. Ever. And yet I always fantasized about winning it, strangely enough. I don't mind buying two dollars worth of tickets (are they called 'tickets?') because I get so much enjoyment from daydreaming about winning it. My daydreams have taken on the scope of a daytime drama...incredibly complex, lifelike, action-laden daydreams. I've practically written a full-length play in my head about the twists and turns that would come from winning it. While we're on our morning constitutional with the dogs, Angie often asks, "Where are you right now? What are you thinking?" I always say, "Nothing." But the truth is I'm deep into my lottery daydream. Sort of pathetic, really. Nonetheless it gives me great pleasure.
I remember an interview I saw some years back with Bill Gates. He was asked, "What do you say to people who tell you 'money can't buy you happiness?'" He said, without pause, "They've never had money."
There you have it.
See you tomorrow.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Last Tango in Los Angeles: From Here to Eternity
Last Tango in Los Angeles: From Here to Eternity: "Angie and I watched the wonderful, old film from 1953, 'From Here to Eternity' last night and seeing it again only confirmed my suspicions t..."
From Here to Eternity
Angie and I watched the wonderful, old film from 1953, 'From Here to Eternity' last night and seeing it again only confirmed my suspicions that I've become an old codger. It's a great script. Some archaic, old-school, studio acting in it, but also some clear traces of what was coming. Monty Clift is brilliant, as usual. It's almost as though he's working from an entirely different place. But saying that, everyone is quite good, considering it was 1953. Having read the trilogy of novels by James Jones (this film was based on the first one), that follows a group of soldiers from Pearl Harbour to the end of the war and after, I know that it is a remarkably accurate treatment. Although the novels are much more graphic, as one might expect. They opened the door for Mailer's 'Naked and the Dead' some five years later, the great book on WWII from that generation of writers.
Lancaster is picture perfect as Warden, the top sarge of the bunch. Borgnine dead on as Fatso, the evil guard sarge. Donna Reed and Deborah Kerr both good in very typical leading lady roles of the era. The one weak spot, ironically, is Sinatra, who won an Academy Award for his portrayal that marked, arguably, the greatest 'comeback' in Hollywood history.
Sinatra has never been a favorite actor of mine. He got by on sheer personality, which, frankly, wasn't a very interesting personality. As an actor, he's incapable of throwing a line away. He wanted so badly, escpecially later in his career, to project the 'devil may care' attitude that Dean Martin did so well. In fact, I think it fairly safe to say, Sinatra wanted to be Martin in terms of his acting career. Martin was by far the more gifted natural actor. Take a look at Martin in a film called 'The Young Lions.' It's a dramatic role, not his usual leering, smirking stuff. And he's really, really good in it.
Don't get me wrong, Sinatra is quite possibly, the biggest phenomenon that popular music ever produced. Even more so than The Beatles for students of music history that know anything about his 'bobby sox' years. He was the first 'super star.' But he never took acting seriously, certainly not as seriously as he took his singing. In the business he was known as 'One Take Charlie' because he often refused to do re-takes. One shot, that was all. He claimed it messed with his illusion of the first time. And that is apparent throughout his film career.
There are others famous for this approach, Bogart comes to mind. But Bogart really did have a personality fascinating to watch. Sinatra's personality all by itself just wasn't.
But after all is said and done, it is Clift that shines. He, like Brando, was quite simply decades ahead of his time. In fact, according to Brando's autobiography, he considered Clift to be the finest actor of his time. He says when he saw 'From Here to Eternity' he left the theatre in despair because he didn't think he could do what Clift had just done. He is quoted (and this is quite telling for any actor, I think) as asking, "How does he stay so still and do so much with it?" Montgomery Clift had perhaps the most visible 'inner life' of any screen actor I've ever seen.
In any event, the film is dated in many ways, of course. Sappy underscoring throughout, lots of 'stage' shots of three or four people in a group, slightly turned out. Cut away shots to waves breaking or planes flying. Sometimes stilted dialogue. But when one considers this was all part of that era of making movies, it is quite remarkable. And smack dab in the middle of this picturesque movie-making style is Montgomery Clift being as real as the guy next door. It really is quite remarkable.
So, as the film is finishing up, there I am sitting on the couch thinking, "I can't make it through a half hour of 'Inception' and yet this movie from 1953 has me on the edge of my seat." Old Codger. No use trying to get around it. Just blatant Old Codger-ism.
Speaking of films, I have an audition later today for a full-length, small budget thing. A mousy little guy (one of the two leads in the film) that lacks the courage to change his life after his family dies in an accident. It's a nice role and something I could shoot during the day while in rehearsal at night for my next stage project. Not a scad of money, but a nice script and a very young, ambitious director. I like working with really young talent sometimes. Tends to pump some new ideas into my opinionated veins. Physically I'm really not right for the role, but for some reason this guy wants to see me read it. We'll see.
For only the second time in my life I purchased four 'mega millions' lottery tickets yesterday. It's up to something like 180 mil. Which means an after taxes, one-time check of about 107 million or so. That would certainly be the bees knees. For one thing, I'd finally be able to get those cool rims for our Saturn. The ones that make it look like they're turning in the opposite direction the car is going. If I could get those silvery rims for the Saturn station wagon, I would no doubt be the envy of all on the road. They'd all think, "How does that guy go forward when the wheels are going backward?" And that, Gentle Reader, is just about as good a metaphor for my life as any I can think of.
See you tomorrow.
Lancaster is picture perfect as Warden, the top sarge of the bunch. Borgnine dead on as Fatso, the evil guard sarge. Donna Reed and Deborah Kerr both good in very typical leading lady roles of the era. The one weak spot, ironically, is Sinatra, who won an Academy Award for his portrayal that marked, arguably, the greatest 'comeback' in Hollywood history.
Sinatra has never been a favorite actor of mine. He got by on sheer personality, which, frankly, wasn't a very interesting personality. As an actor, he's incapable of throwing a line away. He wanted so badly, escpecially later in his career, to project the 'devil may care' attitude that Dean Martin did so well. In fact, I think it fairly safe to say, Sinatra wanted to be Martin in terms of his acting career. Martin was by far the more gifted natural actor. Take a look at Martin in a film called 'The Young Lions.' It's a dramatic role, not his usual leering, smirking stuff. And he's really, really good in it.
Don't get me wrong, Sinatra is quite possibly, the biggest phenomenon that popular music ever produced. Even more so than The Beatles for students of music history that know anything about his 'bobby sox' years. He was the first 'super star.' But he never took acting seriously, certainly not as seriously as he took his singing. In the business he was known as 'One Take Charlie' because he often refused to do re-takes. One shot, that was all. He claimed it messed with his illusion of the first time. And that is apparent throughout his film career.
There are others famous for this approach, Bogart comes to mind. But Bogart really did have a personality fascinating to watch. Sinatra's personality all by itself just wasn't.
But after all is said and done, it is Clift that shines. He, like Brando, was quite simply decades ahead of his time. In fact, according to Brando's autobiography, he considered Clift to be the finest actor of his time. He says when he saw 'From Here to Eternity' he left the theatre in despair because he didn't think he could do what Clift had just done. He is quoted (and this is quite telling for any actor, I think) as asking, "How does he stay so still and do so much with it?" Montgomery Clift had perhaps the most visible 'inner life' of any screen actor I've ever seen.
In any event, the film is dated in many ways, of course. Sappy underscoring throughout, lots of 'stage' shots of three or four people in a group, slightly turned out. Cut away shots to waves breaking or planes flying. Sometimes stilted dialogue. But when one considers this was all part of that era of making movies, it is quite remarkable. And smack dab in the middle of this picturesque movie-making style is Montgomery Clift being as real as the guy next door. It really is quite remarkable.
So, as the film is finishing up, there I am sitting on the couch thinking, "I can't make it through a half hour of 'Inception' and yet this movie from 1953 has me on the edge of my seat." Old Codger. No use trying to get around it. Just blatant Old Codger-ism.
Speaking of films, I have an audition later today for a full-length, small budget thing. A mousy little guy (one of the two leads in the film) that lacks the courage to change his life after his family dies in an accident. It's a nice role and something I could shoot during the day while in rehearsal at night for my next stage project. Not a scad of money, but a nice script and a very young, ambitious director. I like working with really young talent sometimes. Tends to pump some new ideas into my opinionated veins. Physically I'm really not right for the role, but for some reason this guy wants to see me read it. We'll see.
For only the second time in my life I purchased four 'mega millions' lottery tickets yesterday. It's up to something like 180 mil. Which means an after taxes, one-time check of about 107 million or so. That would certainly be the bees knees. For one thing, I'd finally be able to get those cool rims for our Saturn. The ones that make it look like they're turning in the opposite direction the car is going. If I could get those silvery rims for the Saturn station wagon, I would no doubt be the envy of all on the road. They'd all think, "How does that guy go forward when the wheels are going backward?" And that, Gentle Reader, is just about as good a metaphor for my life as any I can think of.
See you tomorrow.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Last Tango in Los Angeles: RED, Inception and Adding Machine.
Last Tango in Los Angeles: RED, Inception and Adding Machine.: "Haven't blogged for a bit because, once again, I just got too darned busy. And that's always a good thing. Irons are in the fire. One or ..."
RED, Inception and Adding Machine.
Haven't blogged for a bit because, once again, I just got too darned busy. And that's always a good thing. Irons are in the fire. One or more may actually heat up.
We've got two more performances, add-ons, of Adding Machine this upcoming Friday and Saturday nights. And then this long, difficult, pot-hole- ridden experience comes to an end. It's a very arduous show for me. In the middle of the run some health issues surfaced and I've never quite recovered. Even now, after five months or so of working on this piece, I get very, very anxious every night as I'm about to launch a song called 'Zero's Confession.' It's a ten minute song that ends in a nervous breakdown. It's a tough ten minutes for me. Never really mastered it. I did my best with it. Wasn't quite enough, I think. Wish I'd done it better. Oh, well. Move on.
Angie and I have an old and very dear friend coming to stay with us next week. I've known Jeff Wood since my NY days. He's coming out for four or five days with his wife and two little girls. Disneyland being the key destination.
I'm looking forward to it. Jeff is a former theatre director (one of the best I've ever known, in fact) turned novelist. We shared our youth back in the eighties in New York City. Best of times, worst of times...
I can't really blog about the irons in the fire. Suffice to say a couple of them are pretty big deals. I'm hopeful. This week, one way or another, I'll have answers.
Angie and I Netflixed 'RED' the other night with Bruce Willis, John Malkovich, Morgan Freeman and Helen Mirren. It was, as I suspected, sort of fun watching the old pros ham it up, but good god, what a lousy script. I'm appalled sometimes at the words in this town that get the 'green light.' My imagination runs wild. Did some suit at a studio actually read that and leap to his feet thinking, "My God, we've GOT to make this movie!?" It's mind-boggling. Yes, it ended up being watchable, but mostly because of the pros involved. But even they were taxed to their limit. Malkovich, bless his heart, one of the finest actors alive on the planet earth, was milking his stuff to the point of saturation. All of them were, really, with the exception of Willis, who is an underrated actor anyway, but in this piece had the presence of mind to just say the words and get on with it.
Natually, it was just filled with gunfights and explosions and car chases and badly plotted intrigue, so maybe that was what the guy in the suit got excited about. In any event, I'm just stymied. Or maybe the original screenplay was stellar, just terrific stuff and by the time the money guys got done with it it was just another shoot-em-up with some names attached. Who knows.
I'm so very often disappointed with Hollywood films these days. It's truly, and I suppose this has been the case since the dawn of film, a lowest common denominator market. I'm not saying anything the least bit new here or anything that hasn't been said by a ton of other people before me. Nonetheless, it's frustrating.
And yet, at the same time, I'm not a big fan of ultra slow, low budget, artsy-fartsy independent films, either. There is the odd exception, of course. I think 'Winter's Bone' was extraordinary. I was mesmerized from start to finish. And that's a pretty slow film, really.
This is why, much to our friends puzzlement, Angie and I go back and watch old episodes of 'The West Wing' all the time. We honestly get more viewing pleasure from watching an hour of that show, an hour we've no doubt seen a few times before, than Netflixing the newest hot thing in the theatres...REDS being a case in point.
And last night we attempted to watch 'Inception.' Maybe it was my frame of mind (I'd just finished a matinee of Adding Machine and was pretty much toast) but I was bored within ten minutes and had no desire whatsoever to stick around for the obligatory exposition scene which experience has taught me usually comes about an hour into a movie of this sort..."OHHHH...so the needle is filled with TRUTH GAS that makes the red-headed girl see visions of an apocalyptic future...NOW it makes sense!" I just don't have the patience anymore.
Anyway, a badly needed day of no stress following a long group of back to back shows. This thing, this Adding Machine, is such a bombardment on my psyche that around noon on show days, I start getting stressed out. I know that in only eight and half hours I'll be standing center stage, chained to a pedastal, roaring my brains out, counting measures, trying to hit high F's.
Of course there are always people that don't like your work. This role had a number of directions I could have gone with it. I made a decision to attack it every night and grapple and flail at the role. A 'Sound and Fury Signifying Nothing' approach. Acting choices that I made and then stuck with. I don't regret them. But I know others think I was wrong. That's okay. It's a very subjective thing. If I had to do it again, I'd make the same choices.
Someone might say, "Well, you don't sing it very well." In fact, someone did say that. They're right. I don't. Never set out to. I'm not now nor have I ever been the least bit interested in singing a song pretty. Bores me. A song, every single song ever written, is a monologue to me, a plot point, a chance to forward the theme, an opportunity to elevate the spoken word to poetic drama. If they wanted a guy that could sing a pretty song there are thousands out there. Josh Groban, I'm not.
I've taken some heat over the roaring, growling and stupidly spiteful performance I ended up with. And that's cool. It really is. They were all thoughtful choices and I stand by them. There is not an accidental moment in the show for me. It was all a carefully plotted roadmap. I know what I do well as an actor and what I don't. It's a valuable thing to know for an actor.
Still, as usual, I'm a Monday morning quarterback after each and every performance. I play moments over and over. 'Could have done that better.' 'That moment didn't work.' 'I was too big there.' 'Should have pulled way back for that moment.' On and on.
I guess in the final analysis this one wasn't really fun for me. 'Fun' in the sense that I never really just let go and see what happens next out there. For one thing I'm simply not, nor will I ever be, a good enough musician to allow that. So every night I found myself trudging out to do battle, rather than eagerly taking my place in the darkness before the lights come up, anticipating a couple hours of sometimes magical exploration. It has been like the difference between going to work as an air traffic controller and going to work as a dance instructor.
Fortutunately, I have been surrounded by astonishing talent. Whatever moments in which I personally didn't ring the bell, they did. Rob Herring, Christine Horn, Kelly Lester and of course, our amazing ensemble of future stars...they are all, quite simply, the best this business has to offer. They just doesn't get any better. Rob, Christine and Kelly touch me to my core every single night. Incandescent work.
So...two more performances. Twice more unto the breach. And then the process starts all over with another project and somebody else's words can keep me up at night.
See you tomorrow.
We've got two more performances, add-ons, of Adding Machine this upcoming Friday and Saturday nights. And then this long, difficult, pot-hole- ridden experience comes to an end. It's a very arduous show for me. In the middle of the run some health issues surfaced and I've never quite recovered. Even now, after five months or so of working on this piece, I get very, very anxious every night as I'm about to launch a song called 'Zero's Confession.' It's a ten minute song that ends in a nervous breakdown. It's a tough ten minutes for me. Never really mastered it. I did my best with it. Wasn't quite enough, I think. Wish I'd done it better. Oh, well. Move on.
Angie and I have an old and very dear friend coming to stay with us next week. I've known Jeff Wood since my NY days. He's coming out for four or five days with his wife and two little girls. Disneyland being the key destination.
I'm looking forward to it. Jeff is a former theatre director (one of the best I've ever known, in fact) turned novelist. We shared our youth back in the eighties in New York City. Best of times, worst of times...
I can't really blog about the irons in the fire. Suffice to say a couple of them are pretty big deals. I'm hopeful. This week, one way or another, I'll have answers.
Angie and I Netflixed 'RED' the other night with Bruce Willis, John Malkovich, Morgan Freeman and Helen Mirren. It was, as I suspected, sort of fun watching the old pros ham it up, but good god, what a lousy script. I'm appalled sometimes at the words in this town that get the 'green light.' My imagination runs wild. Did some suit at a studio actually read that and leap to his feet thinking, "My God, we've GOT to make this movie!?" It's mind-boggling. Yes, it ended up being watchable, but mostly because of the pros involved. But even they were taxed to their limit. Malkovich, bless his heart, one of the finest actors alive on the planet earth, was milking his stuff to the point of saturation. All of them were, really, with the exception of Willis, who is an underrated actor anyway, but in this piece had the presence of mind to just say the words and get on with it.
Natually, it was just filled with gunfights and explosions and car chases and badly plotted intrigue, so maybe that was what the guy in the suit got excited about. In any event, I'm just stymied. Or maybe the original screenplay was stellar, just terrific stuff and by the time the money guys got done with it it was just another shoot-em-up with some names attached. Who knows.
I'm so very often disappointed with Hollywood films these days. It's truly, and I suppose this has been the case since the dawn of film, a lowest common denominator market. I'm not saying anything the least bit new here or anything that hasn't been said by a ton of other people before me. Nonetheless, it's frustrating.
And yet, at the same time, I'm not a big fan of ultra slow, low budget, artsy-fartsy independent films, either. There is the odd exception, of course. I think 'Winter's Bone' was extraordinary. I was mesmerized from start to finish. And that's a pretty slow film, really.
This is why, much to our friends puzzlement, Angie and I go back and watch old episodes of 'The West Wing' all the time. We honestly get more viewing pleasure from watching an hour of that show, an hour we've no doubt seen a few times before, than Netflixing the newest hot thing in the theatres...REDS being a case in point.
And last night we attempted to watch 'Inception.' Maybe it was my frame of mind (I'd just finished a matinee of Adding Machine and was pretty much toast) but I was bored within ten minutes and had no desire whatsoever to stick around for the obligatory exposition scene which experience has taught me usually comes about an hour into a movie of this sort..."OHHHH...so the needle is filled with TRUTH GAS that makes the red-headed girl see visions of an apocalyptic future...NOW it makes sense!" I just don't have the patience anymore.
Anyway, a badly needed day of no stress following a long group of back to back shows. This thing, this Adding Machine, is such a bombardment on my psyche that around noon on show days, I start getting stressed out. I know that in only eight and half hours I'll be standing center stage, chained to a pedastal, roaring my brains out, counting measures, trying to hit high F's.
Of course there are always people that don't like your work. This role had a number of directions I could have gone with it. I made a decision to attack it every night and grapple and flail at the role. A 'Sound and Fury Signifying Nothing' approach. Acting choices that I made and then stuck with. I don't regret them. But I know others think I was wrong. That's okay. It's a very subjective thing. If I had to do it again, I'd make the same choices.
Someone might say, "Well, you don't sing it very well." In fact, someone did say that. They're right. I don't. Never set out to. I'm not now nor have I ever been the least bit interested in singing a song pretty. Bores me. A song, every single song ever written, is a monologue to me, a plot point, a chance to forward the theme, an opportunity to elevate the spoken word to poetic drama. If they wanted a guy that could sing a pretty song there are thousands out there. Josh Groban, I'm not.
I've taken some heat over the roaring, growling and stupidly spiteful performance I ended up with. And that's cool. It really is. They were all thoughtful choices and I stand by them. There is not an accidental moment in the show for me. It was all a carefully plotted roadmap. I know what I do well as an actor and what I don't. It's a valuable thing to know for an actor.
Still, as usual, I'm a Monday morning quarterback after each and every performance. I play moments over and over. 'Could have done that better.' 'That moment didn't work.' 'I was too big there.' 'Should have pulled way back for that moment.' On and on.
I guess in the final analysis this one wasn't really fun for me. 'Fun' in the sense that I never really just let go and see what happens next out there. For one thing I'm simply not, nor will I ever be, a good enough musician to allow that. So every night I found myself trudging out to do battle, rather than eagerly taking my place in the darkness before the lights come up, anticipating a couple hours of sometimes magical exploration. It has been like the difference between going to work as an air traffic controller and going to work as a dance instructor.
Fortutunately, I have been surrounded by astonishing talent. Whatever moments in which I personally didn't ring the bell, they did. Rob Herring, Christine Horn, Kelly Lester and of course, our amazing ensemble of future stars...they are all, quite simply, the best this business has to offer. They just doesn't get any better. Rob, Christine and Kelly touch me to my core every single night. Incandescent work.
So...two more performances. Twice more unto the breach. And then the process starts all over with another project and somebody else's words can keep me up at night.
See you tomorrow.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Last Tango in Los Angeles: The Screenplay.
Last Tango in Los Angeles: The Screenplay.: "There's a part of me, a larger part than I'd care to admit, that was born about about 75 years too late. I'm speakng professionally, here. ..."
The Screenplay.
There's a part of me, a larger part than I'd care to admit, that was born about about 75 years too late. I'm speakng professionally, here. And I'll tell you why. I'm deep into my first original screenplay. Which for me, really, is rather surprising. For quite some time now I've thought screenplays were not my medium. Mostly because the writing of screenplays bored me. And I'm not good with bored.
For years I've been the 'horse and carriage' in an industry that only monitors the Indy 500. That is to say, I've always felt writing a play was far more interesting than writing a screenplay. Some years back I had a long conversation with a Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright who has now devoted nearly all his time to writing for the screen. He said something to me that depressed me no end. He said, "For a brief, very brief, time it was possible to make a living, a good living, only writing plays. Neil Simon, George Kauffman, Edward Albee, Harold Pinter, a few others, maybe, are nearly the only ones who've done it. It's not possible today." This from a guy (I won't drop names) who has won every major award the stage can possibly give to someone who writes for that venue. He went on to say (we were having a long lunch in Chicago) it is, of course, the most satisfying forum in which to write, but it is insane to think one will ever make a few bucks from it. Prestige, yes. Money, no.
In the 1930's film was not taken seriously by 'real' actors and directors and writers. At first, it was nothing more than a lark. And then, as time progressed, it became a way to make some serious cash, but was still considered sort of cheap. In the late thirties a few films came along to challenge that, most notably 'Citizen Kane.' But still, the majority of stage people, that is to say, London and New York artists, didn't give it much credence. And anyway, most serious efforts from Hollywood were still adapted stage plays at that point. And sadly, most looked like it.
But that was nearly eight decades ago and things have changed a mite.
One of the myriad differences between writing for the stage and screen is that the screenwriter has very little influence over what finally appears on the screen. In the theatre, the playwright is king, the source of all that is good, the worshipped; he is the one recieving the genuflects. On the screen, it is the director. And being an acknowledged control freak, this doesn't bode well for me.
And in addition, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, in LA is writing, has written, or is about to write the next great screenplay. Ninety year old Armenian women have screenplays ready to go at the drop of a hat. It's a shame. And one only has to do a little research to find that the screenplay written sometimes has little to no resemblance to what actually appears in the final product, after all the 'director's additions,' actor improvs and dreaded editing room chopping and slicing.
There is much truth to the old line, "Did you hear about the starlet that was so dumb she slept with the screenwriter?"
Having said all that, I've nearly completed my first original screenplay.
The effort has its genesis from two things. One, the idea can't be done on the stage and two, this very same playwright, the one with more awards than Edith Head and Walt Disney combined, told me to swallow my pride and write something that more than a thousand people would see. As we sat there having lunch and drinking coffee late into the day, he said, "You're singing in the shower, Clif. And it's beautiful singing but nobody gives a fuck." From under the table in my fetal position I replied shamefully, "Okay."
So I toddled off to the library. The public library is, all by itself, the greatest untapped education on the planet. I picked up dozens of screenplays, dozens of 'how to' books, 'Screenwriting for Dummies,' that sort of thing. I drank them in. I devoured them. And I still know about the same as when I started. I should've known better, I guess. Writing for the screen, it turns out, is the same as anything else; everyone has an opinion and 99 percent of those opinions are bullhockey.
So, after all the research, I just did what I thought was best.
I'll finish it soon, or I should say, I'll get to a point that I'm tired of writing it. The aforementioned George Kauffman has a wonderful quote on playwriting and it applies to writing for the screen, too. "A play is never finished, only abandoned." True dat.
When I first sat down and started shaping the piece, the new screenplay, that is, I was concerned about the film lingo, the WAY to say something between dialogue, i.e. all the pans and long shots and medium shots and over the shoulder shots and close ups and dolly shots, etc. But I had a telling chat a while back with a fairly successful screenwriter out here and he told me, "It used to be important to use all the right words and phrases, but now it's not really that big of a deal. The important thing is to accurately describe the action that occurs in the prose BETWEEN the written dialogue." In other words, see exactly what the camera would see and describe it in precise detail. "Most screenplays are read by idiots," he said, "And you have to make them see EVERYTHING."
Makes sense. Besides, as I looked at a lot of on-the-paper movies, things like 'Casablanca' and 'Magnolia,' I kept forgetting what the various initials and buzz words meant and had to keep going back to my other library book with the screenplay 'glossary' in it.
So I'm writing a screenplay. I've become the enemy. I've given in to peer pressure. I'm discarding my eighty year old writing ethics and venturing into something new. I've decided, like the actors, directors, writers and producers from the 1930s that maybe, just maybe, this whole 'moving picture' thing is here to stay. Might as well jump on board.
See you tomorrow.
For years I've been the 'horse and carriage' in an industry that only monitors the Indy 500. That is to say, I've always felt writing a play was far more interesting than writing a screenplay. Some years back I had a long conversation with a Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright who has now devoted nearly all his time to writing for the screen. He said something to me that depressed me no end. He said, "For a brief, very brief, time it was possible to make a living, a good living, only writing plays. Neil Simon, George Kauffman, Edward Albee, Harold Pinter, a few others, maybe, are nearly the only ones who've done it. It's not possible today." This from a guy (I won't drop names) who has won every major award the stage can possibly give to someone who writes for that venue. He went on to say (we were having a long lunch in Chicago) it is, of course, the most satisfying forum in which to write, but it is insane to think one will ever make a few bucks from it. Prestige, yes. Money, no.
In the 1930's film was not taken seriously by 'real' actors and directors and writers. At first, it was nothing more than a lark. And then, as time progressed, it became a way to make some serious cash, but was still considered sort of cheap. In the late thirties a few films came along to challenge that, most notably 'Citizen Kane.' But still, the majority of stage people, that is to say, London and New York artists, didn't give it much credence. And anyway, most serious efforts from Hollywood were still adapted stage plays at that point. And sadly, most looked like it.
But that was nearly eight decades ago and things have changed a mite.
One of the myriad differences between writing for the stage and screen is that the screenwriter has very little influence over what finally appears on the screen. In the theatre, the playwright is king, the source of all that is good, the worshipped; he is the one recieving the genuflects. On the screen, it is the director. And being an acknowledged control freak, this doesn't bode well for me.
And in addition, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, in LA is writing, has written, or is about to write the next great screenplay. Ninety year old Armenian women have screenplays ready to go at the drop of a hat. It's a shame. And one only has to do a little research to find that the screenplay written sometimes has little to no resemblance to what actually appears in the final product, after all the 'director's additions,' actor improvs and dreaded editing room chopping and slicing.
There is much truth to the old line, "Did you hear about the starlet that was so dumb she slept with the screenwriter?"
Having said all that, I've nearly completed my first original screenplay.
The effort has its genesis from two things. One, the idea can't be done on the stage and two, this very same playwright, the one with more awards than Edith Head and Walt Disney combined, told me to swallow my pride and write something that more than a thousand people would see. As we sat there having lunch and drinking coffee late into the day, he said, "You're singing in the shower, Clif. And it's beautiful singing but nobody gives a fuck." From under the table in my fetal position I replied shamefully, "Okay."
So I toddled off to the library. The public library is, all by itself, the greatest untapped education on the planet. I picked up dozens of screenplays, dozens of 'how to' books, 'Screenwriting for Dummies,' that sort of thing. I drank them in. I devoured them. And I still know about the same as when I started. I should've known better, I guess. Writing for the screen, it turns out, is the same as anything else; everyone has an opinion and 99 percent of those opinions are bullhockey.
So, after all the research, I just did what I thought was best.
I'll finish it soon, or I should say, I'll get to a point that I'm tired of writing it. The aforementioned George Kauffman has a wonderful quote on playwriting and it applies to writing for the screen, too. "A play is never finished, only abandoned." True dat.
When I first sat down and started shaping the piece, the new screenplay, that is, I was concerned about the film lingo, the WAY to say something between dialogue, i.e. all the pans and long shots and medium shots and over the shoulder shots and close ups and dolly shots, etc. But I had a telling chat a while back with a fairly successful screenwriter out here and he told me, "It used to be important to use all the right words and phrases, but now it's not really that big of a deal. The important thing is to accurately describe the action that occurs in the prose BETWEEN the written dialogue." In other words, see exactly what the camera would see and describe it in precise detail. "Most screenplays are read by idiots," he said, "And you have to make them see EVERYTHING."
Makes sense. Besides, as I looked at a lot of on-the-paper movies, things like 'Casablanca' and 'Magnolia,' I kept forgetting what the various initials and buzz words meant and had to keep going back to my other library book with the screenplay 'glossary' in it.
So I'm writing a screenplay. I've become the enemy. I've given in to peer pressure. I'm discarding my eighty year old writing ethics and venturing into something new. I've decided, like the actors, directors, writers and producers from the 1930s that maybe, just maybe, this whole 'moving picture' thing is here to stay. Might as well jump on board.
See you tomorrow.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Last Tango in Los Angeles: This and That.
Last Tango in Los Angeles: This and That.: "Just a few random thoughts this morning to get the old fingers loosened up and some oil in the gears of the mind. I spend an unhealthy amou..."
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