In a couple of weeks I'll turn 50 years old. It doesn't seem natural, somehow. Already I'm getting comments from friends like, "It's just a number." And, "Fifty is the new thirty five." I like that one.
Frankly, writing about turning fifty is tough...it's a subject that's been covered by far better writers than I. It's sort of like writing about death or marriage or babies or pets. It's kinda been covered.
Nonetheless, I'm stalwart if nothing else.
I thought about writing about all the stuff one might expect: the body starting to betray me, hair leaving in spots and appearing, quite unwelcome, in others, the short periods of wisdom I'd like to pretend I have now and then, the remarkable, late-stage turn of events with regards to my marriage last year, the life-affirming geographical change from Chicago to Los Angeles, and on and on and on. But I don't think so.
I think instead, like a feckless grad student unable to tackle the real intellectual problem in front of him, I'll fall back on a 'compare and contrast' approach.
When Frank Sinatra turned fifty he was playing Vegas. In fact, he recorded perhaps his finest album, certainly his finest live album, 'Sinatra at the Sands' as he turned fifty. He was also on the 'top ten movie stars' (in terms of income) list in Variety that year. He was, in short, at the top of his game, vocally and otherwise.
When Marlon Brando turned fifty his last two movies had been 'The Godfather' (for which he won the Oscar) and 'Last Tango in Paris' (for which he should have won the Oscar). His artistic comeback was complete and he was generally regarded to be our finest living actor. He was about to disappear to his island in Tahiti full-time and become a living enigma.
When Laurence Olivier turned fifty he was in rehearsal for 'The Entertainer' on the London stage. It was to shoot his career in an entirely different direction. Instead of becoming obsolete like his contemporaries, he became the vanguard of a new generation of the 'kitchen sink' realism school of theatre in Britain. And he was very shortly to take the helm of The National Theatre of Great Britain and begin an astonishing journey of artistic excellence still unequaled in that country.
I think I've wasted a lot of time, frankly. I spent the better part of two decades persuing a hedonistic frame of mind that, although occasionally a lot of fun, didn't exactly pay a lot of dividends. Oddly, I have very few regrets about that. A few, naturally, but not as many as one might expect.
'Wasted' might not be the right word. If one knows one is wasting time while in the midst of wasting said time, is it still wasting time? Not sure. It might just be a conscience choice.
Certainly I'm happier now than I was then. That means something, I suppose. But 'happy' is a relative term, I think. There are still massive moments of unhappiness. But the interesting thing is they are moments, not extended time periods. For example, I recently got royally pissed-off about something regarding the play I'm currently doing. But instead of leaping head-first into the mire and thrashing around in my anger, instead I spent a little time being pissed off and then let it go. Twenty years ago that would have been nigh impossible for me.
It sounds like a little thing, but in actuality it's gargantuan. The relatively new-found ability to simply move on. I discovered some time back that I don't experience anger like most other people...I tend to bypass irritation, annoyance and bothersome and go straight to all-out rage. Knowing this about myself is in and of itself a massive accomplishment in terms of mental health. At the risk of sounding sophomoric, I not only understand but embrace the concept of, "whatever" (spoken as Valley-girlish as possible).
I'm also in deep, deep denial about turning fifty. I don't think I'm alone in this. When I actually stop for a moment and consider it, I know my life is considerably past the half-way point, assuming I live to 77.5 years of age which is the current average for males in this country. I'm guessing insurance companies come up with that statistic.
At fifty, Ernest Hemingway was already making plans for his suicide. Severe arthritis and a host of other ailments were daily making his life more and more unbearable. What's more, he was making no secret of it. He'd written about it a number of times. We just didn't catch it. In 'Green Hills of Africa' he wrote that it was infinitely preferrable to die young as a lion on the brown plains of the serengeti, in a violent and life-affirming moment of glory rather than lay down at last, caged and defeated and old in an indifferent world of zoos and circuses. In the midst of his succinct prose he specifically outlined his own death. Fifty did not agree with Ernest Hemingway.
In his autobiography, John Huston, the hard-living film director, wrote if he could change anything about his life (he wrote his memoirs at the very end of his life) it would be this: "I would drink less hard liquor and savor sweet wines more often." I think that might be as good a metaphor as any as to how I feel. The 'hard liquor' of my life, the rage, anger, blame, shame, resentment and staggering irresponsibilty would be replaced with the 'sweet wines,' the pursuit of comfort, the gentle acceptance of the millions of things I can't change, the company of old friends, the learned ability to simply...be still.
Who knows, maybe fifty is the new thirty five. I don't know. There's so terribly much I don't know. But at thirty five I lived a life thinking there was always something more exciting going on down the road, around the next bend, blazing in someone else's reality. At fifty, I still think that may be the case. The difference is I no longer care.
See you tomorrow.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Sir Anthony Hopkins.
Last night, following the Super Bowl, I watched an interview with Sir Anthony Hopkins (as it turns out, a not very good interview featuring somewhat clueless questions from Piers Morgan). Hopkins is a fascinating actor, to be sure. I've long been an admirer, like most actors. He is unquestionably the standard-bearer for 'naked face' work.
A close buddy of mine was over to watch the game and stuck around to see the recorded segment with Hopkins. We both agreed Morgan had no idea what and who Anthony Hopkins really is. Most of the questions would have been fine had he been interviewing, say, Justin Bieber (At one point, Hopkins was about to launch into a detailed, introspective explanation of his personal journey from atheist to agnostic to believer when Morgan cut him off by asking, "So, do you like being famous?" Good Lord.).
Nonetheless, there were a few gems from Sir Tony. At one point he, like nearly anyone that has any idea of what great acting is about, tipped his hat to Brando, DeNiro and, oddly, Matt Damon.
I also, quite coincidentally, just finished reading a fine biography of Hopkins. He's an odd duck, to be sure. A man who has clearly spent decades thrashing around in his own skin trying to find something to make him feel comfortable in it.
Having said that, however, he is, on occasion, an astonishing actor. I have never had the pleasure of seeing Hopkins on stage. I have never had the pleasure of seeing him tackle the big Shakespearean roles on the boards. I have, of course, seen his film versions of a few of these roles.
His preparation for a role is legendary in the theatre. I suspect not so much for film, but that's just a guess. A glance at his script for King Lear, for example, shows thousands of tiny, tiny notations in precise block script next to his dialogue.
There is a wonderful story of Hopkins auditioning for The National when he was very young. He got in. But first he had to do a monologue for Olivier. Sir Laurence had just finished a spectacularly successful Othello at The National in the role of Iago. When asked what he would be doing that day, Hopkins, standing alone on stage in the lights looking out over the dark theatre, said, "Iago." A long pause from the house..."Cheeky," said Olivier.
Of course he got in and Olivier, years later, recounted the incident in an interview with the BBC. "Yes, that's true," he said. "Only a fool would have done that. Turns out it was very good. Very good, indeed. Not as good as mine, but very good." And years after that, in an interview with Ken Tynan, Olivier went even further. "He could have been the best, I think. He was better than Richard (Burton). He could have been the heir to the sword."
"The sword" that Olivier spoke of was the actual sword that David Garrick used in his famous production of Richard III some 145 years earlier. It had been passed down from actor to actor over the years and finally ended up in Olivier's hands when he did the role in the mid-fifties. Ostensibly whoever held the sword was by default the reigning leading actor in Britain. Not surprisingly, Olivier never gave the sword up...even though legend has it he offered it to Peter O'Toole when he directed him in 'Hamlet.' Allegedly O'Toole, in typical fashion, replied, "I don't need a bloody sword to tell me I'm the best actor in England."
But, alas, as we all know, Hopkins, like Brando, chose not to pursue a life on the stage, although unlike Brando, he occasionally went back to it. He claimed not to 'fit in' on the stage. In fact, even in the interview last night he said, "I never felt comfortable in the theatre community, not like McKellan (Ian) or Judi (Dench)." He went on to say, "All I ever wanted in life was to be a movie star."
Not too long ago I was talking to the brilliant actor, Michael Moriarty, about our favorite film performances. I said (and I still believe this) the best I ever saw was Brando in 'Last Tango in Paris.' Michael agreed it was an astonishing performance. But, he said, the finest film performance he had ever seen was Hopkins in 'Nixon.'
Interesting. Michael and Hopkins are cut from the same piece of cloth when it comes to technique. Moriarty went on to say, "It is Shakespearean in its scope. Hugely tragic. Epic acting." And yes, I agree, it is a towering performance. But the film itself is highly flawed, I think, and that diminishes the performance somewhat.
In any event, my personal favorite Hopkins performance is in a film that not a lot of people saw. It was called 'The Edge' and featured Hopkins and Alec Baldwin in a terrific script by David Mamet. It is Hopkins at his best, doing a slice of 'naked face' work absolutely unparalleled.
Sir John Gielgud weighed in once on Hopkins as well. An interview in the mid-eighties with Dick Cavett, of all people. He said, "Oh, yes, Very good. Wonderful actor. But troubled, very troubled boy. Much like Richard (Burton)."
Hopkins seemed in the Morgan interview to finally be at peace with himself, though. He has never been secretive about his involvement with AA and pointed up that he's been sober for 35 years. He also admitted he had no 'actor friends' at all. He liked to 'stay at home.' He recently turned 73 and had no time for 'negative people.' "God bless you but please go somewhere else with all of that," is how he put it.
I think the chances are slim he will ever return to the stage, but one never knows. Regardless, he's one of the finest actors currently alive on the planet, I think. Along with only a handful of other actors still around, he's one of those guys I really would pay to see 'read the phone book.' He possesses the finest quality an actor can have, the very finest, in fact: no matter what he does, he's never, not for an istant, boring.
And that's really, in the final analysis, what it's all about.
See you tomorrow.
A close buddy of mine was over to watch the game and stuck around to see the recorded segment with Hopkins. We both agreed Morgan had no idea what and who Anthony Hopkins really is. Most of the questions would have been fine had he been interviewing, say, Justin Bieber (At one point, Hopkins was about to launch into a detailed, introspective explanation of his personal journey from atheist to agnostic to believer when Morgan cut him off by asking, "So, do you like being famous?" Good Lord.).
Nonetheless, there were a few gems from Sir Tony. At one point he, like nearly anyone that has any idea of what great acting is about, tipped his hat to Brando, DeNiro and, oddly, Matt Damon.
I also, quite coincidentally, just finished reading a fine biography of Hopkins. He's an odd duck, to be sure. A man who has clearly spent decades thrashing around in his own skin trying to find something to make him feel comfortable in it.
Having said that, however, he is, on occasion, an astonishing actor. I have never had the pleasure of seeing Hopkins on stage. I have never had the pleasure of seeing him tackle the big Shakespearean roles on the boards. I have, of course, seen his film versions of a few of these roles.
His preparation for a role is legendary in the theatre. I suspect not so much for film, but that's just a guess. A glance at his script for King Lear, for example, shows thousands of tiny, tiny notations in precise block script next to his dialogue.
There is a wonderful story of Hopkins auditioning for The National when he was very young. He got in. But first he had to do a monologue for Olivier. Sir Laurence had just finished a spectacularly successful Othello at The National in the role of Iago. When asked what he would be doing that day, Hopkins, standing alone on stage in the lights looking out over the dark theatre, said, "Iago." A long pause from the house..."Cheeky," said Olivier.
Of course he got in and Olivier, years later, recounted the incident in an interview with the BBC. "Yes, that's true," he said. "Only a fool would have done that. Turns out it was very good. Very good, indeed. Not as good as mine, but very good." And years after that, in an interview with Ken Tynan, Olivier went even further. "He could have been the best, I think. He was better than Richard (Burton). He could have been the heir to the sword."
"The sword" that Olivier spoke of was the actual sword that David Garrick used in his famous production of Richard III some 145 years earlier. It had been passed down from actor to actor over the years and finally ended up in Olivier's hands when he did the role in the mid-fifties. Ostensibly whoever held the sword was by default the reigning leading actor in Britain. Not surprisingly, Olivier never gave the sword up...even though legend has it he offered it to Peter O'Toole when he directed him in 'Hamlet.' Allegedly O'Toole, in typical fashion, replied, "I don't need a bloody sword to tell me I'm the best actor in England."
But, alas, as we all know, Hopkins, like Brando, chose not to pursue a life on the stage, although unlike Brando, he occasionally went back to it. He claimed not to 'fit in' on the stage. In fact, even in the interview last night he said, "I never felt comfortable in the theatre community, not like McKellan (Ian) or Judi (Dench)." He went on to say, "All I ever wanted in life was to be a movie star."
Not too long ago I was talking to the brilliant actor, Michael Moriarty, about our favorite film performances. I said (and I still believe this) the best I ever saw was Brando in 'Last Tango in Paris.' Michael agreed it was an astonishing performance. But, he said, the finest film performance he had ever seen was Hopkins in 'Nixon.'
Interesting. Michael and Hopkins are cut from the same piece of cloth when it comes to technique. Moriarty went on to say, "It is Shakespearean in its scope. Hugely tragic. Epic acting." And yes, I agree, it is a towering performance. But the film itself is highly flawed, I think, and that diminishes the performance somewhat.
In any event, my personal favorite Hopkins performance is in a film that not a lot of people saw. It was called 'The Edge' and featured Hopkins and Alec Baldwin in a terrific script by David Mamet. It is Hopkins at his best, doing a slice of 'naked face' work absolutely unparalleled.
Sir John Gielgud weighed in once on Hopkins as well. An interview in the mid-eighties with Dick Cavett, of all people. He said, "Oh, yes, Very good. Wonderful actor. But troubled, very troubled boy. Much like Richard (Burton)."
Hopkins seemed in the Morgan interview to finally be at peace with himself, though. He has never been secretive about his involvement with AA and pointed up that he's been sober for 35 years. He also admitted he had no 'actor friends' at all. He liked to 'stay at home.' He recently turned 73 and had no time for 'negative people.' "God bless you but please go somewhere else with all of that," is how he put it.
I think the chances are slim he will ever return to the stage, but one never knows. Regardless, he's one of the finest actors currently alive on the planet, I think. Along with only a handful of other actors still around, he's one of those guys I really would pay to see 'read the phone book.' He possesses the finest quality an actor can have, the very finest, in fact: no matter what he does, he's never, not for an istant, boring.
And that's really, in the final analysis, what it's all about.
See you tomorrow.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
LA, NY or Chicago?
The midwest, including Chicago, my former stomping grounds, has been staggered by this relentless weather as of late. I really didn't enjoy Chicago as a city. Not at all. I lived there for ten years. Before that I lived in NYC for about fifteen years, give or take. I say 'give or take' because easily half of that time I spent 'on the road.' Out doing theatre gigs, that is. And yet, I have nothing but fond memories of NY. Chicago is quite a different story. I simply don't understand why Chicagoans are so fiercely defensive of their city. It's a miserable place to live, geographically. Now, true, it is a very pretty city when the weather is nice. The Loop, the downtown area of the city, is quite diverse, I suppose. And I do agree there are a lot of places to eat in the city. But the weather is nice there very briefly over the course of a year and does one really want to live in a city simply because it has a few nice restaurants? I would hope not.
Artistically, Chicago holds some adventurous venues, theatrically speaking. But unless one works on a continual basis at, say, Steppenwolf or The Goodman, it's nearly impossible to make a living as an actor there. It is, instead, the largest community theatre town in the world. Thousands of actors working for free in small, storefront venues. Yes, some of the work is stellar, but pursuit of a career there eventually means driving a cab or waiting tables or being a secretary and then giving up all your free time to do theatre at night in a fifty-seat house that is usually less than half full. I don't really consider that a career.
Now, of course, one can run into the same professional problems in NY or LA. But those cities offer the one thing Chicago does not: the carrot on the proverbial artistic stick. There is always the chance, even the opportunity, to land the 'break out' role, the big money, the brass ring, the pot of gold barely hidden at the end of the rainbow. Chicago, realistically speaking, doesn't offer this.
One of the things I noticed in my decade in Chicago is that a lot of young actors, fresh out of academia, coddle an ill-advised plan to 'train' in Chicago and then move to NY or LA. Theoretically, I suppose that's not a bad idea. Realistically, it's stupid. If an actor has reached the age of 22 or 23 or whatever and is still thinking with a little more experience he or she might be ready for some 'big gigs,' well, chances are that actor will never be ready. Unless the actor is suffering under a relievable 'crisis of confidence' this approach to a career rarely works.
The major problem is the simple fact that no one sees your work in Chicago. No one of importance, that is.
LA is king of the 99-seat venue. Hundreds of them. Even more than Chicago and NY combined, I'd venture to say. Now, one of my pet peeves here on the west coast is the 99-seat theatre that charges 'dues' for membership. It's a scam. It's a necessary scam sometimes, but a scam nonetheless. Young actors (and even older, more experienced actors) pay around $75 a month to 'be in plays.' I know of one place in NoHo out here that has some sixty dues-paying 'members.' And every now and then they do a play, some one-acts or something trite like that, and just rake in the cash. They don't offer classes for the 'dues,' they don't offer training of any sort, they just take the money and put the actor's headshot up in the lobby as a 'member' of the troupe. Eventually, of course, the actors, most of them anyway, wise up and pull out of the 'troupe.' The company then posts an ad on Actors Access and drags in a whole new gullible gaggle of actors happy to give them $75 to be in the 'troupe.' This scenario repeats itself endlessly year after year after year because sadly there is no shortage of hopeful young actors in Los Angeles.
This practice is not limited to LA but I have to say, I see it more often here than in NY or Chicago. I find it irresponsible, deplorable, and most bothersome, simply cruel. Alas, life is not fair and my kvetching about it doesn't make it so.
Steppenwolf, of course, was the exception to the rule in Chicago. But even the wonderful actors that came out of that institution didn't thrive until they had peddled their wares, via the company, in New York.
In the final analysis, Chicago is the city actors fly over to get to other cities. But I want to be clear: some of the finest actors I've ever met in 35 years in this business are in Chicago. Geography has absolutely nothing to do with talent. But they are, literally and figuratively, spinning their wheels there.
There for awhile a lot of filming was taking place in Chicago. Nowadays whenever I see a film that was shot there (The Fugitive, Blues Brothers, Dillinger) I see a bunch of people I know from that community. They have a line here, a line there. Small roles, one liners, cameos. People I know to be terrific actors. People I've seen do just awesome work on stage in front of about 12 people. And their claim to fame is saying, "He went thataway" in a big money hollywood movie.
After all is said and done, Chicago has become a 'friends and family' city, theatrically speaking. While living there I realized that the audience usually consisted of other actors and family members coming to see little Timmy act. To be fair, a lot of times this is also true of the 99-seat 'pay to act' venues in Los Angeles. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, but is that really why any of us do this? I don't think so. Being a serious actor in Chicago eventually becomes a parody of the business itself. "You should have seen my Biff Loman at 'Grandpa's Strasberg Institute of Serious Acting' down on Addison Street. It was incredible!"
There are pitfalls everywhere in this business. I'm sort of picking on Chicago right now, but that city is certainly not alone when it comes to living a life of the mind in theatre. The bottom line is, if you're not sure you're 'ready' for NY or LA so you go to Chicago to 'get ready,' well, it's a cop out. Either you're good or you're not. A few years of storefront theatre is not going to make a difference.
See you tomorrow.
Artistically, Chicago holds some adventurous venues, theatrically speaking. But unless one works on a continual basis at, say, Steppenwolf or The Goodman, it's nearly impossible to make a living as an actor there. It is, instead, the largest community theatre town in the world. Thousands of actors working for free in small, storefront venues. Yes, some of the work is stellar, but pursuit of a career there eventually means driving a cab or waiting tables or being a secretary and then giving up all your free time to do theatre at night in a fifty-seat house that is usually less than half full. I don't really consider that a career.
Now, of course, one can run into the same professional problems in NY or LA. But those cities offer the one thing Chicago does not: the carrot on the proverbial artistic stick. There is always the chance, even the opportunity, to land the 'break out' role, the big money, the brass ring, the pot of gold barely hidden at the end of the rainbow. Chicago, realistically speaking, doesn't offer this.
One of the things I noticed in my decade in Chicago is that a lot of young actors, fresh out of academia, coddle an ill-advised plan to 'train' in Chicago and then move to NY or LA. Theoretically, I suppose that's not a bad idea. Realistically, it's stupid. If an actor has reached the age of 22 or 23 or whatever and is still thinking with a little more experience he or she might be ready for some 'big gigs,' well, chances are that actor will never be ready. Unless the actor is suffering under a relievable 'crisis of confidence' this approach to a career rarely works.
The major problem is the simple fact that no one sees your work in Chicago. No one of importance, that is.
LA is king of the 99-seat venue. Hundreds of them. Even more than Chicago and NY combined, I'd venture to say. Now, one of my pet peeves here on the west coast is the 99-seat theatre that charges 'dues' for membership. It's a scam. It's a necessary scam sometimes, but a scam nonetheless. Young actors (and even older, more experienced actors) pay around $75 a month to 'be in plays.' I know of one place in NoHo out here that has some sixty dues-paying 'members.' And every now and then they do a play, some one-acts or something trite like that, and just rake in the cash. They don't offer classes for the 'dues,' they don't offer training of any sort, they just take the money and put the actor's headshot up in the lobby as a 'member' of the troupe. Eventually, of course, the actors, most of them anyway, wise up and pull out of the 'troupe.' The company then posts an ad on Actors Access and drags in a whole new gullible gaggle of actors happy to give them $75 to be in the 'troupe.' This scenario repeats itself endlessly year after year after year because sadly there is no shortage of hopeful young actors in Los Angeles.
This practice is not limited to LA but I have to say, I see it more often here than in NY or Chicago. I find it irresponsible, deplorable, and most bothersome, simply cruel. Alas, life is not fair and my kvetching about it doesn't make it so.
Steppenwolf, of course, was the exception to the rule in Chicago. But even the wonderful actors that came out of that institution didn't thrive until they had peddled their wares, via the company, in New York.
In the final analysis, Chicago is the city actors fly over to get to other cities. But I want to be clear: some of the finest actors I've ever met in 35 years in this business are in Chicago. Geography has absolutely nothing to do with talent. But they are, literally and figuratively, spinning their wheels there.
There for awhile a lot of filming was taking place in Chicago. Nowadays whenever I see a film that was shot there (The Fugitive, Blues Brothers, Dillinger) I see a bunch of people I know from that community. They have a line here, a line there. Small roles, one liners, cameos. People I know to be terrific actors. People I've seen do just awesome work on stage in front of about 12 people. And their claim to fame is saying, "He went thataway" in a big money hollywood movie.
After all is said and done, Chicago has become a 'friends and family' city, theatrically speaking. While living there I realized that the audience usually consisted of other actors and family members coming to see little Timmy act. To be fair, a lot of times this is also true of the 99-seat 'pay to act' venues in Los Angeles. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, but is that really why any of us do this? I don't think so. Being a serious actor in Chicago eventually becomes a parody of the business itself. "You should have seen my Biff Loman at 'Grandpa's Strasberg Institute of Serious Acting' down on Addison Street. It was incredible!"
There are pitfalls everywhere in this business. I'm sort of picking on Chicago right now, but that city is certainly not alone when it comes to living a life of the mind in theatre. The bottom line is, if you're not sure you're 'ready' for NY or LA so you go to Chicago to 'get ready,' well, it's a cop out. Either you're good or you're not. A few years of storefront theatre is not going to make a difference.
See you tomorrow.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The Art of 'Sucking Up.'
Many years ago in NYC a much older and constantly working actor friend of mine said something to me I didn't believe. He said, "Working Broadway and Hollywood is just like your college theatre department. Jobs are gotten the same way on every level: who you know, who likes you, who you make laugh, who you suck up to, who's seen your work." I thought at the time it was a preposterous statement. Of course, now I realize it's true.
I'm sure I'm not alone when I say there have been hundreds of times in my life when I would be watching a film or TV show and thought to myself, 'How on earth did that guy (or girl) get hired. He (or she) is TERRIBLE!" Well, as cynical and disheartening as it sounds, they knew someone. They were friends with someone.
There was a guy I went to school with. No names for obvious reasons. He was a stunningly bad actor. But terribly funny and charming off stage. He gladhanded everybody. One would always see or hear him in the halls laughing uproarously at something a faculty member had just said, or slapping them on the back and complimenting them on whatever they happened to be wearing. To me it was all too transparent, this unapologetic sucking up. And yet he probably did more mainstage roles than anyone I knew in school at that point. And every single time he was just embarrassingly bad. I don't know what ever became of him, but I suspect his appalling lack of talent finally caught up to him and he stopped working and moved into another line of work.
Since that time I've run across countless actors that do the same thing. But now that I'm older it no longer surprises me. After all, it's the same with everything in life, really, not just the acting business. It's how things work. Certainly it's how things work in my business.
Now this sort of thing doesn't work at the very highest level of film producing. I mean, Tom Cruise may not be the greatest actor that ever lived but he's certainly not a bad actor by any stretch of the imagination. Eventually there's so much money involved in the film industry that gladhanding and sucking up can only get one so far.
The same is true of Broadway. The money involved is just too important to hand a role over to someone who's greatest asset is their ability to kiss ass.
Although I can't say it doesn't happen in TV and regional theatre. I see it all the time. Friendship trumps talent.
Now, I'm not writing from a standpoint of sour grapes. I haven't been in LA long enough to do that yet. I mean, I hardly know anyone, so I can't very well be resentful yet. Nonetheless I see it. It doesn't piss me off (although someday soon, I suspect it might), it just makes me smile knowingly.
My close buds John and Brad did a small budget movie a few years ago. It's just awful. But, John and Brad being talented, they are good IN it. Yet in one of the leading roles is an actor so bad as to be almost unwatchable. I asked them about it. The answer didn't surprise me at all. He knows everyone, they said. He's friends with everyone. He is, off camera, one of the most personable, complimentary people on earth, they said. He's been hanging around the peripheries of the film business for twenty years, apparently.
Now, at this stage of my involvement in the film business out here, I don't even know WHO to suck up to. It's not like I run in the same circles as Spielberg or Scorcese or Anderson or Cameron. In fact, the only circles I run in are Franny and Zooey and they, unfortunately, aren't in the position to offer me a job (Franny and Zooey are my dogs, by the way.)
Even Angie has told me stories like this. She was, for many years, a casting person out here in LaLa Land. Often times we'll be watching something or other and she'll say, "He's a really nice guy, too." To her credit, most of the time she says this, the guy is pretty talented to boot.
But my point is that the entertainment industry, for the most part, is the same as any other line of work. The squeeky wheel gets the most oil. Casting folk are no different than anyone else; all things being equal they'd rather cast someone that blows smoke up their ass than someone they hardly know. It is, alas, the way of the world.
Again, I'm honestly not bitter about any of this, particularly since I'm really most definitely in the fledgeling portion of my Hollywood career. I mean, I would have no compulsions about sucking up to someone if I knew who to suck up to.
It's important for the young actor to see this, embrace this, accept this. It can smooth over a lot of pain and rejection simply by knowing it.
Back at the grind today. Go over the whole script to Adding Machine. Sing the songs out loud a couple of times. Get my head back in the game after a few days off. This is one of those shows that will never exactly be 'fun' to do. It's too severe. But sometimes I do experience a mild catharsis by doing it, which is good. And I do like everyone involved which is a good thing, too.
See you tomorrow.
I'm sure I'm not alone when I say there have been hundreds of times in my life when I would be watching a film or TV show and thought to myself, 'How on earth did that guy (or girl) get hired. He (or she) is TERRIBLE!" Well, as cynical and disheartening as it sounds, they knew someone. They were friends with someone.
There was a guy I went to school with. No names for obvious reasons. He was a stunningly bad actor. But terribly funny and charming off stage. He gladhanded everybody. One would always see or hear him in the halls laughing uproarously at something a faculty member had just said, or slapping them on the back and complimenting them on whatever they happened to be wearing. To me it was all too transparent, this unapologetic sucking up. And yet he probably did more mainstage roles than anyone I knew in school at that point. And every single time he was just embarrassingly bad. I don't know what ever became of him, but I suspect his appalling lack of talent finally caught up to him and he stopped working and moved into another line of work.
Since that time I've run across countless actors that do the same thing. But now that I'm older it no longer surprises me. After all, it's the same with everything in life, really, not just the acting business. It's how things work. Certainly it's how things work in my business.
Now this sort of thing doesn't work at the very highest level of film producing. I mean, Tom Cruise may not be the greatest actor that ever lived but he's certainly not a bad actor by any stretch of the imagination. Eventually there's so much money involved in the film industry that gladhanding and sucking up can only get one so far.
The same is true of Broadway. The money involved is just too important to hand a role over to someone who's greatest asset is their ability to kiss ass.
Although I can't say it doesn't happen in TV and regional theatre. I see it all the time. Friendship trumps talent.
Now, I'm not writing from a standpoint of sour grapes. I haven't been in LA long enough to do that yet. I mean, I hardly know anyone, so I can't very well be resentful yet. Nonetheless I see it. It doesn't piss me off (although someday soon, I suspect it might), it just makes me smile knowingly.
My close buds John and Brad did a small budget movie a few years ago. It's just awful. But, John and Brad being talented, they are good IN it. Yet in one of the leading roles is an actor so bad as to be almost unwatchable. I asked them about it. The answer didn't surprise me at all. He knows everyone, they said. He's friends with everyone. He is, off camera, one of the most personable, complimentary people on earth, they said. He's been hanging around the peripheries of the film business for twenty years, apparently.
Now, at this stage of my involvement in the film business out here, I don't even know WHO to suck up to. It's not like I run in the same circles as Spielberg or Scorcese or Anderson or Cameron. In fact, the only circles I run in are Franny and Zooey and they, unfortunately, aren't in the position to offer me a job (Franny and Zooey are my dogs, by the way.)
Even Angie has told me stories like this. She was, for many years, a casting person out here in LaLa Land. Often times we'll be watching something or other and she'll say, "He's a really nice guy, too." To her credit, most of the time she says this, the guy is pretty talented to boot.
But my point is that the entertainment industry, for the most part, is the same as any other line of work. The squeeky wheel gets the most oil. Casting folk are no different than anyone else; all things being equal they'd rather cast someone that blows smoke up their ass than someone they hardly know. It is, alas, the way of the world.
Again, I'm honestly not bitter about any of this, particularly since I'm really most definitely in the fledgeling portion of my Hollywood career. I mean, I would have no compulsions about sucking up to someone if I knew who to suck up to.
It's important for the young actor to see this, embrace this, accept this. It can smooth over a lot of pain and rejection simply by knowing it.
Back at the grind today. Go over the whole script to Adding Machine. Sing the songs out loud a couple of times. Get my head back in the game after a few days off. This is one of those shows that will never exactly be 'fun' to do. It's too severe. But sometimes I do experience a mild catharsis by doing it, which is good. And I do like everyone involved which is a good thing, too.
See you tomorrow.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
My Secret Obsession.
I have it within me, I think, to leave the earthly trappings of this world and completely submerge myself in the virtual world of gaming. I have to be ever-vigilant about this aspect of my personality. I only have a few games these days...Madden Football, a wild west game called GUN and my beloved swords and sorcery game, DIABLO. This is on purpose. These games are like crack to me. I just can't play one for an hour or so. Once I start, I'm off to the races. Life ceases. I live in my head. I begin to experience a whole new and fresh litany of crippling personality disorders that I've spent years battling in real life: resentment, anger, hostility, revenge, apathy, entitlement, egomania, inferiority complexes. And yet, like mood-altering drugs, I gleefully throw myself into it all knowing full well the consequences and dangerous escapist mind-set these games instill in me.
It all began in the summer of 1977. I was 16 years old. My buddy Pat Collins, unbeknownst to me, had an older brother. He was much older, in fact, and that's why I didn't even know he existed. One day Pat said to me, let's go by and say hi to my brother Jesse. Who? My brother Jesse. He lives down the street from us. You've never met him. Oh. Okay.
So we went to visit Pat's brother Jesse Collins. When we got there Jesse said you can come in but you have to stay standing against the wall. You can't move. Why? Because I'm chasing the Bismarck. Excuse me?
Jesse was a wargamer. And in that moment my life changed.
Jesse had moved all of the furniture out of the front room and was playing an incredibly complex miniature warship game called Dreadnought. And yes, he was indeed re-creating the hunt for the Bismarck off the coast of France in the spring of 1941. He had dozens of miniature (two inch, extremely precise models of WWII warships) battleships spread about the front room. The carpet was a dull grey and looked eerily like a real miniature ocean. He had transparent rulers and and a metal compass near him. He had dozens of many-sided die spread here and there. Four-sided die, the standard six-sided die, eight-sided die, ten-sided die, twelve-sided die and twenty-sided die. On the table behind him in the next room sat a thick, ominous player's manual. And there before me, on the carpet, looking like the wild and windy grey ocean, was the Hood, the King George V and of course, the Bismarck. I was transfixed.
Jesse could see in my eyes immediately that he'd found a soul-mate. You like history? I said yes. Let me explain what I'm doing.
And he began to draw me into the world of wargaming. And I have never fully recovered.
I began visiting Jesse (he was much older than I was and worked as a social worker at the local state hospital - but that was not his life - his life was wargaming.) every weekend for the next two years. Jesse was a serious collector of games. Now, you have to realize, these were not games like Risk or Clue. No, these were unimaginably complex games issued from companies with names like Strategy and Tactics and Avalon Hill.
Over the next few years we played dozens of games. Eventually a few others joined us. My friends Dave Gibson and Bob Steinrauf (who later attended West Point and is now a officer in the United States Army) and a few others. We refought dozens of Civil War battles; Gettysburg, Shiloh, The Wilderness, Antietam, Chancellorsville, Sharpsburg, Fredicksburg. We played one game (my favorite, in fact) called Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. This game took approximately 72 straight hours to play. We would start it on Friday afternoon, only take time out to sleep and eat a bit, and would try and finish it by Sunday night. It started in the fall of 1939 and ended when it ended. I remember one marathon session in which the war lasted until 1951 (on paper, anyway). Each player would handle one of the major nations involved: The United States (which couldn't enter the war until the end of 1941 in order to keep the game as historically accurate as possible), Germany, Italy, The Soviet Union, France and Britain. We refought ancient battles in China and Japan, the War of 1812, the battle of Waterloo, WWI and even Custer's Last Stand.
Of course it didn't occur to me at the time, but I was getting an extraordinary education in the process. I had, through hardly any effort of my own, become a history geek. A virtual encyclopedia of historical events.
This was also about the time a new game was just coming about. It was called Dungeons and Dragons. Jesse got the first three books and hundreds of miniatures and we gave it a shot. Instant obsession. We played D and D off and on for the next couple of years, magically transporting ourselves into the realm of our fervent imaginations on a weekly basis.
I continued playing wargames (remember, this was before video games and computers) throughout college and later when I moved to NYC. I found a group that played in the back room of a hobby store in Chicago when I moved there.
And now I play solo via computer and Playstation in Los Angeles. One of the collateral benefits to all this was the fact that I now have a freaky knowledge of historical battles and war. Comes in handy during Trival Pursuit.
Unlike others, however, wargaming has not completely overwhelmed my life. I do it now and again these days. But when I start a new adventure in DIABLO or I roll the die to start yet another re-creation of the battle of Shiloh, I am at my absolute happiest. My imagination soars. My troubles evaporate. My highly advanced sense of empathy kicks in (probably the sole reason I became an actor and playwright). And, most importantly, I am really, really happy.
To her credit, Angie completely understands this aspect of my personality. She finds it amusing, yes, but she understands it. She has said to me, in all the years I've known you, this was the one secret you kept completely to yourself. You are a geek.
And she's right. This part of my life has always been compartmentalized from other aspects of my life. It has always belonged only to me. I have never shared it. Some of my very closest friends, people I've known for thirty years, are surprised to learn of it.
These days I don't 'game' often. Now and then. But when I do, the day is gone. I sit alone at my computer or isolated in my office at the big TV hooked up to Playstation and I enter another world. And I experience all the triggers and trips and rage and joy and unbridled passion that I often keep at bay in my 'real' life. And when I'm done I re-enter my life of wife and career and puppies and bills and art and writing and acting and love and disappointment and exist instead in the cautionary obstacle course of 'one day at a time.' And I wouldn't change one second of it for anything in the world. It is my living tea kettle. The built up steam and pressures in my life are whistled out. When people, places and things start to tear at me, I slip into this world and emerge hours later with the tried and true and healthy idea of 'this, too, shall pass.' I highly recommend it.
See you tomorrow.
It all began in the summer of 1977. I was 16 years old. My buddy Pat Collins, unbeknownst to me, had an older brother. He was much older, in fact, and that's why I didn't even know he existed. One day Pat said to me, let's go by and say hi to my brother Jesse. Who? My brother Jesse. He lives down the street from us. You've never met him. Oh. Okay.
So we went to visit Pat's brother Jesse Collins. When we got there Jesse said you can come in but you have to stay standing against the wall. You can't move. Why? Because I'm chasing the Bismarck. Excuse me?
Jesse was a wargamer. And in that moment my life changed.
Jesse had moved all of the furniture out of the front room and was playing an incredibly complex miniature warship game called Dreadnought. And yes, he was indeed re-creating the hunt for the Bismarck off the coast of France in the spring of 1941. He had dozens of miniature (two inch, extremely precise models of WWII warships) battleships spread about the front room. The carpet was a dull grey and looked eerily like a real miniature ocean. He had transparent rulers and and a metal compass near him. He had dozens of many-sided die spread here and there. Four-sided die, the standard six-sided die, eight-sided die, ten-sided die, twelve-sided die and twenty-sided die. On the table behind him in the next room sat a thick, ominous player's manual. And there before me, on the carpet, looking like the wild and windy grey ocean, was the Hood, the King George V and of course, the Bismarck. I was transfixed.
Jesse could see in my eyes immediately that he'd found a soul-mate. You like history? I said yes. Let me explain what I'm doing.
And he began to draw me into the world of wargaming. And I have never fully recovered.
I began visiting Jesse (he was much older than I was and worked as a social worker at the local state hospital - but that was not his life - his life was wargaming.) every weekend for the next two years. Jesse was a serious collector of games. Now, you have to realize, these were not games like Risk or Clue. No, these were unimaginably complex games issued from companies with names like Strategy and Tactics and Avalon Hill.
Over the next few years we played dozens of games. Eventually a few others joined us. My friends Dave Gibson and Bob Steinrauf (who later attended West Point and is now a officer in the United States Army) and a few others. We refought dozens of Civil War battles; Gettysburg, Shiloh, The Wilderness, Antietam, Chancellorsville, Sharpsburg, Fredicksburg. We played one game (my favorite, in fact) called Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. This game took approximately 72 straight hours to play. We would start it on Friday afternoon, only take time out to sleep and eat a bit, and would try and finish it by Sunday night. It started in the fall of 1939 and ended when it ended. I remember one marathon session in which the war lasted until 1951 (on paper, anyway). Each player would handle one of the major nations involved: The United States (which couldn't enter the war until the end of 1941 in order to keep the game as historically accurate as possible), Germany, Italy, The Soviet Union, France and Britain. We refought ancient battles in China and Japan, the War of 1812, the battle of Waterloo, WWI and even Custer's Last Stand.
Of course it didn't occur to me at the time, but I was getting an extraordinary education in the process. I had, through hardly any effort of my own, become a history geek. A virtual encyclopedia of historical events.
This was also about the time a new game was just coming about. It was called Dungeons and Dragons. Jesse got the first three books and hundreds of miniatures and we gave it a shot. Instant obsession. We played D and D off and on for the next couple of years, magically transporting ourselves into the realm of our fervent imaginations on a weekly basis.
I continued playing wargames (remember, this was before video games and computers) throughout college and later when I moved to NYC. I found a group that played in the back room of a hobby store in Chicago when I moved there.
And now I play solo via computer and Playstation in Los Angeles. One of the collateral benefits to all this was the fact that I now have a freaky knowledge of historical battles and war. Comes in handy during Trival Pursuit.
Unlike others, however, wargaming has not completely overwhelmed my life. I do it now and again these days. But when I start a new adventure in DIABLO or I roll the die to start yet another re-creation of the battle of Shiloh, I am at my absolute happiest. My imagination soars. My troubles evaporate. My highly advanced sense of empathy kicks in (probably the sole reason I became an actor and playwright). And, most importantly, I am really, really happy.
To her credit, Angie completely understands this aspect of my personality. She finds it amusing, yes, but she understands it. She has said to me, in all the years I've known you, this was the one secret you kept completely to yourself. You are a geek.
And she's right. This part of my life has always been compartmentalized from other aspects of my life. It has always belonged only to me. I have never shared it. Some of my very closest friends, people I've known for thirty years, are surprised to learn of it.
These days I don't 'game' often. Now and then. But when I do, the day is gone. I sit alone at my computer or isolated in my office at the big TV hooked up to Playstation and I enter another world. And I experience all the triggers and trips and rage and joy and unbridled passion that I often keep at bay in my 'real' life. And when I'm done I re-enter my life of wife and career and puppies and bills and art and writing and acting and love and disappointment and exist instead in the cautionary obstacle course of 'one day at a time.' And I wouldn't change one second of it for anything in the world. It is my living tea kettle. The built up steam and pressures in my life are whistled out. When people, places and things start to tear at me, I slip into this world and emerge hours later with the tried and true and healthy idea of 'this, too, shall pass.' I highly recommend it.
See you tomorrow.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The Wild Bunch...Sam Peckinpah's masterpiece.
The other night I came home from the play and began to wind down from the evening. I skipped around on the TV. Couldn't find anything I wanted to watch. At first I started watching Viva, Zapata, an old Brando/Kazan film I hadn't seen in years. Twenty minutes into it I'd had enough. So dated. Not even Brando's usual genius could save it. Angie had gone to bed. Skipped around some more on the tube and came across, just as it was starting, The Wild Bunch. Well, I thought to myself, I really don't like this movie much, but maybe I'll get sleepy while it's on. So I sat back and began the viewing.
Within a few minutes I realized I'd made a terrible mistake. Somehow in my head I had confused The Wild Bunch with a silly little movie made around the same time called The Magnificent Seven. I'd never seen The Wild Bunch, at least not all of it. It is considered by some to be the best Western ever made. Many consider it to be Sam Peckinpah's masterpiece. I believe it is. As a mild cinamaphile, I'm a little ashamed to admit I'd never seen it.
The film is decades ahead of its time. As I watched I kept wondering how Peckinpah got these actors (William Holden, Robert Ryan, Ernest Borgnine) to do it given the anti-heroic, ambiguous, existential script. But he did. And all three give amazing performances. It is unquestionably the best thing William Holden ever did. I never really cared for Holden as an actor. I thought he was okay in Network but abysmal in his early stuff like Picnic or Sunset Boulevard. He's very much a 'spit the words out and never slow down' kind of fifties actor that always made me roll my eyes. Not so in The Wild Bunch. It's a fascinating performance: faltering, gruff, pathetic and vulnerable. Borgnine is even good.
But mostly this is a director's picture. Peckinpah is at his bleakest. No one in the film is all good or all bad. He tightropes a fine line of storytelling morality from beginning to end. These are not nice people. Although at times they are admirable people. And the two bookending sequences of extended violence are masterfully shot. Ballet-like composites of gory violence. Kids, women, pets, everybody gets unapologetically gunned down. Peckinpah famously slows his camera down for slow-mo killing effects. Even though I've seen clips from it and read about the sequences for years, I was still not prepared for it. Just mesmerizing film-making.
This was the director's cut, too. Twenty minutes longer than the theatrical release in 1969 with a lot of the flashbacks edited into the film. Needless to say, I watched the whole thing and didn't get to bed until around four in the morning and then couldn't sleep because I couldn't get it out of my mind. I'm astounded that I'd never gotten around to seeing this movie before.
We know now that Peckinpah and Holden led very sad lives off-camera. Both were severe alcoholics and eventually died from it, both directly and indirectly. And booze figures into the picture as prominantly as it does in Eastwood's masterpiece, Unforgiven. Not sure that 'severe alcoholic' isn't redundant, but you catch my meaning.
As in most great pieces of writing, there's a line in the film that personifies the film itself. Holden, at one point, defensively yells at Borgnine, "I gave my word!" Borgnine responds, "It ain't our word that counts, it's who we give it to!" Not a bad lesson for life, that.
Another beautiful day in Southern California. I understand from the weather channel that my home state of Missouri is getting pounded by a blizzard. My condolences.
See you tomorrow.
Within a few minutes I realized I'd made a terrible mistake. Somehow in my head I had confused The Wild Bunch with a silly little movie made around the same time called The Magnificent Seven. I'd never seen The Wild Bunch, at least not all of it. It is considered by some to be the best Western ever made. Many consider it to be Sam Peckinpah's masterpiece. I believe it is. As a mild cinamaphile, I'm a little ashamed to admit I'd never seen it.
The film is decades ahead of its time. As I watched I kept wondering how Peckinpah got these actors (William Holden, Robert Ryan, Ernest Borgnine) to do it given the anti-heroic, ambiguous, existential script. But he did. And all three give amazing performances. It is unquestionably the best thing William Holden ever did. I never really cared for Holden as an actor. I thought he was okay in Network but abysmal in his early stuff like Picnic or Sunset Boulevard. He's very much a 'spit the words out and never slow down' kind of fifties actor that always made me roll my eyes. Not so in The Wild Bunch. It's a fascinating performance: faltering, gruff, pathetic and vulnerable. Borgnine is even good.
But mostly this is a director's picture. Peckinpah is at his bleakest. No one in the film is all good or all bad. He tightropes a fine line of storytelling morality from beginning to end. These are not nice people. Although at times they are admirable people. And the two bookending sequences of extended violence are masterfully shot. Ballet-like composites of gory violence. Kids, women, pets, everybody gets unapologetically gunned down. Peckinpah famously slows his camera down for slow-mo killing effects. Even though I've seen clips from it and read about the sequences for years, I was still not prepared for it. Just mesmerizing film-making.
This was the director's cut, too. Twenty minutes longer than the theatrical release in 1969 with a lot of the flashbacks edited into the film. Needless to say, I watched the whole thing and didn't get to bed until around four in the morning and then couldn't sleep because I couldn't get it out of my mind. I'm astounded that I'd never gotten around to seeing this movie before.
We know now that Peckinpah and Holden led very sad lives off-camera. Both were severe alcoholics and eventually died from it, both directly and indirectly. And booze figures into the picture as prominantly as it does in Eastwood's masterpiece, Unforgiven. Not sure that 'severe alcoholic' isn't redundant, but you catch my meaning.
As in most great pieces of writing, there's a line in the film that personifies the film itself. Holden, at one point, defensively yells at Borgnine, "I gave my word!" Borgnine responds, "It ain't our word that counts, it's who we give it to!" Not a bad lesson for life, that.
Another beautiful day in Southern California. I understand from the weather channel that my home state of Missouri is getting pounded by a blizzard. My condolences.
See you tomorrow.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Adding Machine - The Musical
A couple of the reviews are out. Backstage and LA Weekly.
http://www.laweekly.com/2011-01-27/stage/padraic-duffy-s-puzzler-and-joshua-schmidt-and-jason-loewith-s-adding-machine-a-musical/
http://www.backstage.com/bso/content_display/reviews/la-theatre-reviews/e3ieac0be2e21d77772bab17b7986a48879
I'm pleased. Not because the reviews are so astounding, they're not. They're good, and I think fair, but because a week ago today I was certain we were going to be eviscerated in print. And I was sad, because I'd worked so terribly hard on this show. I had given up some other gigs, high paying ones, and I was thinking I'd made a dreadful mistake. Just being honest here, not blaming, just saying how I felt. In this particular case it feels really great to be wrong. It turned out to be the right choice, after all.
My co-stars fared well, too. Kelly and Rob and Christine all received nice mentions. That pleases me very much. Kelly and Rob both exhibit some vocal pyrotechnics in this piece that simply can't be ignored and Christine has, to be perfectly honest, one of the purest, simplest, most haunting voices I've ever heard. In addition, they all happen to be very fine actors, too. Our ensemble - Travis, Greta, Nick and Mandy are so letter perfect as to be sort of stunning. They got a nice mention, too. So in those regards, I'm really happy so far.
Still waiting for the big one - The LA Times. That, I think, should be out today. Aside from that, a bunch of smaller publications, local ones. But, as I've said before, all theatre, like politics, is local.
Speaking of the ensemble, apparently one of them (Mandy) has seriously hurt her foot and I'm going in a bit early today to make the necessary adjustments in blocking. Live theatre.
Reviews are a funny thing. Some actors don't read them. I went through a period where I didn't, in fact. As goes the old adage, 'if you believe the good ones, you have to believe the bad ones.' My teacher of note, the tremendous actor, Michael Moriarty, once told me he hadn't read a review in twenty years. He's also the first person to recount the old line to me, "Critics are like eunochs at an orgy, they can watch but they can't join in."
Personally, I've been very lucky throughout my career with regards to critics. I've only gotten a few sticky ones. And frankly, I didn't even mind those. The ones that have bothered me are the ones that treat my work with indifference. You know the ones...'Also in the cast...'
One of the above notices referenced Carrol O'Connor (Archie Bunker from All in the Family). I can see that, I suppose. Actually, if truth be known, my initial image for Mr. Zero in Adding Machine was James Gandolfini with his intense yet odd, nasal readings. Of course, that was merely a starting point. It quickly morphed into something else. I'm not really a very good impressionist (although I do a pretty good Brando) so usually I'm in no danger of being accused of copying anyone.
One of the three Camelots I've done (King Arthur) was cited once in print. I decided to play the role as if Peter O'Toole were doing it - pigeon-toed, eccentric vocal choices, unexpected volatility, etc. So I was amused when one of the reviewers wrote, "Mr. Morts as Arthur appears to have channelled Peter O'Toole in his portrayal." Hm.
Early in my career I did the role of Clifford Anderson four seperate times in the play, Deathtrap. The fourth time I did it, I was, quite frankly, getting a little bored with the character. So I decided to give him a slight stutter. I thought it would liven things up a bit for me. When the show opened one of the notices said, "If Mr. Morts had bothered to learn his lines..." Clearly they had mistook my intentional stutter for unintentional line faltering. That one amused me more than bothered me, though.
Some years back I was in Toronto doing a play, a Eugene O'Neill piece, and the critic had written something to the effect of, "if the whole play could be recast with better actors, keeping only Mr. Morts..." It hurt a lot of feelings. One night a few weeks into the run, I encountered that critic in a bar. I'd had a few by then. He came up to me and said, rather smugly, "Did you like what I wrote about you?" I said, "Listen, you gob of spit, you have the right to voice your opinion because that's your job, but you don't have the right to be cruel, so fuck off." Back in the days that I spent time in bars I often said things like that. I regret them now. But at the time it seemed like a good idea.
A buddy of mine, a very good actor on the East Coast, was once doing a play with me at Arena in DC. He got a lousy notice for the new play we were doing. He, too, encountered that critic in a bar (in fact, I was there, too, just not at the same table). He became so enraged he took his wallet out and threw it at the critic. We've laughed about that for years now. Who throws a wallet at someone? He said, "I was between beers and didn't have a bottle in front of me, the lucky son of a bitch."
In any event, for better or worse, the notices are trickling in for The Adding Machine. I hope they help because The Odyssey spent a bunch of money on this show.
Back on the horse today. Another run at this extraordinary material. I'll probably never get it exactly right, but I'm having oh, so good of a time trying.
See you tomorrow.
http://www.laweekly.com/2011-01-27/stage/padraic-duffy-s-puzzler-and-joshua-schmidt-and-jason-loewith-s-adding-machine-a-musical/
http://www.backstage.com/bso/content_display/reviews/la-theatre-reviews/e3ieac0be2e21d77772bab17b7986a48879
I'm pleased. Not because the reviews are so astounding, they're not. They're good, and I think fair, but because a week ago today I was certain we were going to be eviscerated in print. And I was sad, because I'd worked so terribly hard on this show. I had given up some other gigs, high paying ones, and I was thinking I'd made a dreadful mistake. Just being honest here, not blaming, just saying how I felt. In this particular case it feels really great to be wrong. It turned out to be the right choice, after all.
My co-stars fared well, too. Kelly and Rob and Christine all received nice mentions. That pleases me very much. Kelly and Rob both exhibit some vocal pyrotechnics in this piece that simply can't be ignored and Christine has, to be perfectly honest, one of the purest, simplest, most haunting voices I've ever heard. In addition, they all happen to be very fine actors, too. Our ensemble - Travis, Greta, Nick and Mandy are so letter perfect as to be sort of stunning. They got a nice mention, too. So in those regards, I'm really happy so far.
Still waiting for the big one - The LA Times. That, I think, should be out today. Aside from that, a bunch of smaller publications, local ones. But, as I've said before, all theatre, like politics, is local.
Speaking of the ensemble, apparently one of them (Mandy) has seriously hurt her foot and I'm going in a bit early today to make the necessary adjustments in blocking. Live theatre.
Reviews are a funny thing. Some actors don't read them. I went through a period where I didn't, in fact. As goes the old adage, 'if you believe the good ones, you have to believe the bad ones.' My teacher of note, the tremendous actor, Michael Moriarty, once told me he hadn't read a review in twenty years. He's also the first person to recount the old line to me, "Critics are like eunochs at an orgy, they can watch but they can't join in."
Personally, I've been very lucky throughout my career with regards to critics. I've only gotten a few sticky ones. And frankly, I didn't even mind those. The ones that have bothered me are the ones that treat my work with indifference. You know the ones...'Also in the cast...'
One of the above notices referenced Carrol O'Connor (Archie Bunker from All in the Family). I can see that, I suppose. Actually, if truth be known, my initial image for Mr. Zero in Adding Machine was James Gandolfini with his intense yet odd, nasal readings. Of course, that was merely a starting point. It quickly morphed into something else. I'm not really a very good impressionist (although I do a pretty good Brando) so usually I'm in no danger of being accused of copying anyone.
One of the three Camelots I've done (King Arthur) was cited once in print. I decided to play the role as if Peter O'Toole were doing it - pigeon-toed, eccentric vocal choices, unexpected volatility, etc. So I was amused when one of the reviewers wrote, "Mr. Morts as Arthur appears to have channelled Peter O'Toole in his portrayal." Hm.
Early in my career I did the role of Clifford Anderson four seperate times in the play, Deathtrap. The fourth time I did it, I was, quite frankly, getting a little bored with the character. So I decided to give him a slight stutter. I thought it would liven things up a bit for me. When the show opened one of the notices said, "If Mr. Morts had bothered to learn his lines..." Clearly they had mistook my intentional stutter for unintentional line faltering. That one amused me more than bothered me, though.
Some years back I was in Toronto doing a play, a Eugene O'Neill piece, and the critic had written something to the effect of, "if the whole play could be recast with better actors, keeping only Mr. Morts..." It hurt a lot of feelings. One night a few weeks into the run, I encountered that critic in a bar. I'd had a few by then. He came up to me and said, rather smugly, "Did you like what I wrote about you?" I said, "Listen, you gob of spit, you have the right to voice your opinion because that's your job, but you don't have the right to be cruel, so fuck off." Back in the days that I spent time in bars I often said things like that. I regret them now. But at the time it seemed like a good idea.
A buddy of mine, a very good actor on the East Coast, was once doing a play with me at Arena in DC. He got a lousy notice for the new play we were doing. He, too, encountered that critic in a bar (in fact, I was there, too, just not at the same table). He became so enraged he took his wallet out and threw it at the critic. We've laughed about that for years now. Who throws a wallet at someone? He said, "I was between beers and didn't have a bottle in front of me, the lucky son of a bitch."
In any event, for better or worse, the notices are trickling in for The Adding Machine. I hope they help because The Odyssey spent a bunch of money on this show.
Back on the horse today. Another run at this extraordinary material. I'll probably never get it exactly right, but I'm having oh, so good of a time trying.
See you tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Misconceptions of 'method' acting.
I was once again impressed with the eloquence of our President last night as I listened to his State of the Union address. Now, I realize it is entirely due to his speech writers, but nonetheless, he appears to have better writers than W. ever did. Of course, Bush's writers were working under a handicap in that they were apparently instructed not to use big words or complicated ideas.
I'm the first to admit I'm not only idealistic when it comes to politics but naive to boot. I tend to reference The West Wing a lot, I blush to confess. I remember one episode (I've seen them all many times - I consider it to be the finest network television show in the history of broadcasting) in which the staff spent the entire show arguing over a word in the SOTU address and whether it was too 'elitist' for the public. It was finally decided quickly at the end of the episode when the president simply said, "They can look it up if they don't know what it means." I liked that.
Which brings me to my point today. Never pander. It's the basis for my approach to the craft of acting. Naked Face, I call it. Actually, I don't call it that, Michael Moriarty and John Gielgud did. I stole the phrase from them. Anyway...
I discovered early in the rehearsal period for Adding Machine that my personal take on acting didn't fit with this piece. I had to adjust. I had to find something that did work. Naked Face work is predicated on the idea that the audience does most of the work in any given performance, be it onstage or on camera. It discards what I like to call 'parallel storytelling.' That is to say, the actor indicating through his work what the playwright has already said. For example (and I'm purposely being simplistic here), if the line is, "My cat died today" the grief or joy or shock or whatever is inherent in the line itself and there is no need for the actor to emphasize it by ACTING the grief or joy or shock or whatever on top of the line. The audience is being cheated out of the experience because the actor is up there emotionally flailing away at what is self-evident. It's 'lowest common denominator' acting. In other words it is always more interesting to watch an actor try NOT to cry than it is to watch him cry. And yet, this is exactly what 'method' work espouses.
There have been a few times in my career, however, that this (Naked Face)approach simply doesn't hold water. This play is one of those times. Others have been some Shakesperean stuff (not all) and once when I played a severely retarded man in a play called 'Boys Next Door.' In that play, I realized there was no 'editing' process for the actor. No subtext. The lines were exactly what they were...the lines.
The same is true, for the most part, in this piece I'm doing now. It's highly stylized work (although I don't remember that word ever being used in the rehearsal process). It's slightly beyond hightened realism. It didn't take me long to realize that 'indication' was not only acceptable in this play, it was almost demanded. And I also realized that it wasn't a form of 'pandering' to the audience, but rather an integral part of the flow of the play. It is, after all, still a musical theatre piece regardless of its sophistication in terms of composition. To be honest, it's exhausting, much more difficult than Naked Face work. That's a huge misconception about acting, in my opinion: actors think it has to be 'difficult' to be 'good.' It doesn't. One doesn't have to work up a sweat to be doing the best they can do. Although in this piece I most certainly do work up a sweat and that is due, in part, to the fact that I AM working my ass off in it.
This is one reason I don't trust acting teachers who are not themselves actors. Also why I rarely trust directors who don't themselves act. Their direction becomes theoretical. They don't understand the importance of GETTING from A to B. They only know they want to somehow GET to B.
In thirty five years of doing this professionally, I've only met one director that didn't act himself that was worth a tinker's damn. And he's out of the business now and raising a family in Colorado. Pity.
The problem seems to be that most young actors look upon the craft of acting, especially in their formative years in academia, as a 'right' and 'wrong' pursuit. It is not. Never has been. Never will be. It is not math. There are no clear and true answers. There are guidelines, yes. But solutions? Rarely. What works for one actor will not necessarily work for another. The young actor's inability to grasp the ambiguity of the craft is mostly to blame. Like anything else, as one gains experience, one becomes more proficient at something. Yet that's not always true, either. Some actors, sadly, hang onto the dictums and rules of a small bunch of egocentric American acting pioneers from the 30's - Strasberg, Lewis, Adler, even Kazan - who, though well-intentioned, completely misinterpreted the common-sensical approach to the craft as outlined by the oft-misunderstood Constantine Stanislavski. Even today, sixty-some years later, it is widely unknown that these 'pioneers' took Stanislavki's first book and used it as a basis for an entire revolution in acting. The uncomfortable truth is that he wrote THREE books on the subject, all available today but not then. The second two books had yet to be translated into English and thus were not taught. This single event crippled and thwarted countless thousands of otherwise very talented actors, the ramifications still readily apparent even today.
Of that bunch of misguided teachers from that era, perhaps Stella Adler was the only one to adjust to the idea that there are no obvious answers to many applied acting problems. She is the only one on record as saying, "Talent is talent and learning the 'method' doesn't make a bit of difference." Brando, of course, is the prime example of this. He hated being catagorized as a 'method' actor. He wasn't. Yes, he used what he could from that school of thought, but he also discarded as much as he used. In fact, Adler said of him, "I taught Brando nothing. He was a brilliant actor long before I met him. I simply nudged him in the right direction."
The truth is the 'method' is a system of REHEARSAL, not performance. The two are as widely disparate as singing scales are from performing the lead in an opera. And yet some actors stubbornly hang on to the teachings of 'method' well into their sixties or seventies. They resolutely cling, like struggling swimmers holding onto a bouy, to antiquated ideas like 'motivation' and 'intentions' and 'clarity of action.' No real human being in the history of the world acts or behaves with unquestioning motivation or intention. The fascinating thing about human behavior is decidely contradictory to this train of thought, in fact. The interesting thing about human beings is that half the time we have NO IDEA why we do what we do. Ambiguity. Indecision. While it might be comforting for an actor to go through his or her script and paranthetically reduce every single utterance and action to these lowest common denominators, I contend that it is, in the final analysis, simply not very exciting. And I've always thought the only real sin in acting is being boring.
I am well aware that many, many, MANY very fine actors completely disagree with me. So be it. As Johnny Cochran once said, 'If it doesn't fit, you must acquit.'
So...going back to the script and the music to ADDING MACHINE today. Best not to let this stuff get too far out of my head before I tackle it again this weekend.
Rumor has it the L.A. Weekly review of the show is coming out today. And furthermore, rumor has it that it is a good one. I hope so.
I've barely spoken for the past two days because my voice needed rest desperately. It feels much better today. By Thursday night I suspect it will be back to a hundred percent, which is good because it's been months since I've performed this stuff with a healthy voice. I've been doing a lot of compensating onstage because of it.
This Friday is a 'pay what you can' night at the theater. Hopefully this will bring in some patrons who otherwise would not be able to see it. I hope so. Theater, by its very definition, should never, ever be too expensive to enjoy.
See you tomorrow.
I'm the first to admit I'm not only idealistic when it comes to politics but naive to boot. I tend to reference The West Wing a lot, I blush to confess. I remember one episode (I've seen them all many times - I consider it to be the finest network television show in the history of broadcasting) in which the staff spent the entire show arguing over a word in the SOTU address and whether it was too 'elitist' for the public. It was finally decided quickly at the end of the episode when the president simply said, "They can look it up if they don't know what it means." I liked that.
Which brings me to my point today. Never pander. It's the basis for my approach to the craft of acting. Naked Face, I call it. Actually, I don't call it that, Michael Moriarty and John Gielgud did. I stole the phrase from them. Anyway...
I discovered early in the rehearsal period for Adding Machine that my personal take on acting didn't fit with this piece. I had to adjust. I had to find something that did work. Naked Face work is predicated on the idea that the audience does most of the work in any given performance, be it onstage or on camera. It discards what I like to call 'parallel storytelling.' That is to say, the actor indicating through his work what the playwright has already said. For example (and I'm purposely being simplistic here), if the line is, "My cat died today" the grief or joy or shock or whatever is inherent in the line itself and there is no need for the actor to emphasize it by ACTING the grief or joy or shock or whatever on top of the line. The audience is being cheated out of the experience because the actor is up there emotionally flailing away at what is self-evident. It's 'lowest common denominator' acting. In other words it is always more interesting to watch an actor try NOT to cry than it is to watch him cry. And yet, this is exactly what 'method' work espouses.
There have been a few times in my career, however, that this (Naked Face)approach simply doesn't hold water. This play is one of those times. Others have been some Shakesperean stuff (not all) and once when I played a severely retarded man in a play called 'Boys Next Door.' In that play, I realized there was no 'editing' process for the actor. No subtext. The lines were exactly what they were...the lines.
The same is true, for the most part, in this piece I'm doing now. It's highly stylized work (although I don't remember that word ever being used in the rehearsal process). It's slightly beyond hightened realism. It didn't take me long to realize that 'indication' was not only acceptable in this play, it was almost demanded. And I also realized that it wasn't a form of 'pandering' to the audience, but rather an integral part of the flow of the play. It is, after all, still a musical theatre piece regardless of its sophistication in terms of composition. To be honest, it's exhausting, much more difficult than Naked Face work. That's a huge misconception about acting, in my opinion: actors think it has to be 'difficult' to be 'good.' It doesn't. One doesn't have to work up a sweat to be doing the best they can do. Although in this piece I most certainly do work up a sweat and that is due, in part, to the fact that I AM working my ass off in it.
This is one reason I don't trust acting teachers who are not themselves actors. Also why I rarely trust directors who don't themselves act. Their direction becomes theoretical. They don't understand the importance of GETTING from A to B. They only know they want to somehow GET to B.
In thirty five years of doing this professionally, I've only met one director that didn't act himself that was worth a tinker's damn. And he's out of the business now and raising a family in Colorado. Pity.
The problem seems to be that most young actors look upon the craft of acting, especially in their formative years in academia, as a 'right' and 'wrong' pursuit. It is not. Never has been. Never will be. It is not math. There are no clear and true answers. There are guidelines, yes. But solutions? Rarely. What works for one actor will not necessarily work for another. The young actor's inability to grasp the ambiguity of the craft is mostly to blame. Like anything else, as one gains experience, one becomes more proficient at something. Yet that's not always true, either. Some actors, sadly, hang onto the dictums and rules of a small bunch of egocentric American acting pioneers from the 30's - Strasberg, Lewis, Adler, even Kazan - who, though well-intentioned, completely misinterpreted the common-sensical approach to the craft as outlined by the oft-misunderstood Constantine Stanislavski. Even today, sixty-some years later, it is widely unknown that these 'pioneers' took Stanislavki's first book and used it as a basis for an entire revolution in acting. The uncomfortable truth is that he wrote THREE books on the subject, all available today but not then. The second two books had yet to be translated into English and thus were not taught. This single event crippled and thwarted countless thousands of otherwise very talented actors, the ramifications still readily apparent even today.
Of that bunch of misguided teachers from that era, perhaps Stella Adler was the only one to adjust to the idea that there are no obvious answers to many applied acting problems. She is the only one on record as saying, "Talent is talent and learning the 'method' doesn't make a bit of difference." Brando, of course, is the prime example of this. He hated being catagorized as a 'method' actor. He wasn't. Yes, he used what he could from that school of thought, but he also discarded as much as he used. In fact, Adler said of him, "I taught Brando nothing. He was a brilliant actor long before I met him. I simply nudged him in the right direction."
The truth is the 'method' is a system of REHEARSAL, not performance. The two are as widely disparate as singing scales are from performing the lead in an opera. And yet some actors stubbornly hang on to the teachings of 'method' well into their sixties or seventies. They resolutely cling, like struggling swimmers holding onto a bouy, to antiquated ideas like 'motivation' and 'intentions' and 'clarity of action.' No real human being in the history of the world acts or behaves with unquestioning motivation or intention. The fascinating thing about human behavior is decidely contradictory to this train of thought, in fact. The interesting thing about human beings is that half the time we have NO IDEA why we do what we do. Ambiguity. Indecision. While it might be comforting for an actor to go through his or her script and paranthetically reduce every single utterance and action to these lowest common denominators, I contend that it is, in the final analysis, simply not very exciting. And I've always thought the only real sin in acting is being boring.
I am well aware that many, many, MANY very fine actors completely disagree with me. So be it. As Johnny Cochran once said, 'If it doesn't fit, you must acquit.'
So...going back to the script and the music to ADDING MACHINE today. Best not to let this stuff get too far out of my head before I tackle it again this weekend.
Rumor has it the L.A. Weekly review of the show is coming out today. And furthermore, rumor has it that it is a good one. I hope so.
I've barely spoken for the past two days because my voice needed rest desperately. It feels much better today. By Thursday night I suspect it will be back to a hundred percent, which is good because it's been months since I've performed this stuff with a healthy voice. I've been doing a lot of compensating onstage because of it.
This Friday is a 'pay what you can' night at the theater. Hopefully this will bring in some patrons who otherwise would not be able to see it. I hope so. Theater, by its very definition, should never, ever be too expensive to enjoy.
See you tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Another Good Day. They're All Good Days, These Days.
Well, the Oscar nominees are in. Can't say I care for this 'ten best picture nominee' thing. Hollywood only makes about 12 pictures a year these days, so it's become a thinly veiled marketing thing. Boo to that.
Very pleased, however, to see John Hawkes from 'Winter's Bone' nominated. Unquestionably the best piece of film acting I've seen this year. Incidentally, (name dropping here) Beth Domann, our friend from Missouri, was in that film and did a fine job in a small role. Although Beth lives in Missouri (actually she's the artistic director of 'Landers Theatre' there) and it won't help her much in Springfield, if she were in LA she could ride that kudo for several months. At the very least she'd get a few invitations to some cool parties awash in pretty girls.
Also glad to see 'True Grit' nominated. Thought the Coen brothers did a top-flight job with that remake.
I'm always a little amused to see kids nominated for Best Something, however, like what's-her-name from 'True Grit.' I once worked with the eighty year old, amazing Chicago actress Marji Bank who once lost a 'Jeff' award for Best Actress to a seven year old. At the ceremony I happened to be sitting with Marji. She turned to me and said after the announcement, "What do I say to her? Nice choices?" Funny lady and someone I miss a great deal.
I have been resting my voice since Sunday night. No talking (well, not much) and certainly no singing. That part wasn't hard because I rarely break into song around the house anyway. When I do it's usually to the tune of 'Hello, Dolly!' to one of my dogs and I sing quite loudly, 'Hello, Franny! Well, Hello, Franny! It's so nice to see you back where you belong!!!' much to his confusion.
I also sing to the tune of 'Nobody Knows the Trouble I've seen...' to Zooey...'Zoeberry knows the trouble I've seen...' Another is to the tune from 'Flipper' - 'They call him FRANNY, FRANNY, king of the ocean, king of the sea...' Or from The Brady Bunch: 'Tis the story of a puppy named Franny!' Angie's favorite is an old jazz standard I adapt called 'Joey.' I sing, 'Zooey. Zooey, Zooey. It's been TOO long since you BEEN gone...'
Anyway.
I felt good about Sunday's performance of ADDING MACHINE. At the risk of sounding a little hoity-toity, I felt very much 'in the moment' that night. I had some friends in the audience and of course that always tends to notch my energy up a bit because I'm a show-off. But honestly, in retrospect, I rather enjoyed myself that night.
The composer of the piece, Josh Schmidt, is flying in to see the play this weekend. A couple of weeks ago when we found this out, my co-star, Kelly Lester, turned to me and asked what I wanted to say to him. I said, "Well, first, I wanna slap him and scream, 'WHAT WERE YOU THINKING! WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS, DAMN YOU!'
Actually, I want to tell him that, in my opinion, he's crossed the oh, so nebulous line of 'good work' into 'genius.' I've done about sixty musicals or so in my career, all professional, all Equity productions, and only once before have I been so stunned by the composition - Sunday in the Park with George. Mr. Schmidt is in good company.
I think my wife has been energized by the recent passing of Jack Lalanne. She's nearly physically dragging me out for long 'hikes' now with the puppies into Griffith Park. Personally, I never understood the difference between a 'hike' and a 'walk.' I guess maybe it's the outfit. For a 'hike' we tend to don a more safari-influenced ensemble; boots, khaki vests, lots of cotton, a rifle flung over our shoulders, binoculars, pith helmuts. For a 'walk' we generally just go as we are.
I was talking to a buddy of mine, a very successful actor out here in LA, yesterday. He said, "Try as I might, I can't get that damn show out of my head. (referring to ADDING MACHINE) I've been thinking about your performance and the music all day. It's kind of annoying, really." Hearing that I could only smile and think, well, we did our job, I guess.
Our musical director, the freakishly good Alan Patrick Kinney, wants to bring me in for some 'cleaning' today or tomorrow. He's a perfectionist (which is one of the reasons he's so good) and is not quite satisfied with some of the liberties I take within some of my songs. Actually, calling them 'liberties' is my way of being in denial about the fact that I can't seem to count to four in front of a crowd. In any event, I'm all for it. I have never understood (see posts about PRAYING SMALL earlier last year) why a show is abandoned simply because it opens. I'm completely in favor of continuing to demand the best of ourselves even if it means a rehearsal on closing night. So...I'm going in to work on it some more.
Angie and I finally relaxed a bit yesterday after about three weeks of high stress because of the play. I played Madden (my new, great addiction) all day and she went shopping (her lifelong addiction). Later she made me a dinner fit for The Ponderosa: Pan seared sirloin with sauteed onions, fresh Italian bread, spinach with balsamic and roasted, new potatoes. Just incredibly good. She is, and I say this with complete sincerity, the best chef I've ever known or seen.
I have to go in soon for more blood tests related to my 'silent killer' of a disease, stage two diabetes. Not looking forward to that. I'm comforted, however, in the knowledge that the last time I went in for my check-up, my 'numbers' were all well within the manageable zone. Considering the 'numbers' were all so high when I was first diagnosed, it is not as frightening as it once was. I'll remember my doctor saying to me upon that first visit, "It's a wonder you're not dead" for the rest of my life.
Good news, I think: a major casting director was in the crowd Saturday night and gave his card to Ron Sossi (our director) and asked that I call him today. He's a TV casting director (has three network shows within his auspices at the moment). He told Ron, "I can get this guy tons of work." We'll see. I am learning that Hollywood is not always as truthful as one would like.
That's about it. Off for our 'hike.' Just waiting for the aborigines to show up that we hired to 'beat the bushes' for slinking, feline predators. Yes, their calypso-inspired singing as they form a great, long line in front of us, clothed only in dusty, but revealing loin cloths, is a bit unnerving for our neighbors, but I find it somehow soothing.
See you tomorrow.
Very pleased, however, to see John Hawkes from 'Winter's Bone' nominated. Unquestionably the best piece of film acting I've seen this year. Incidentally, (name dropping here) Beth Domann, our friend from Missouri, was in that film and did a fine job in a small role. Although Beth lives in Missouri (actually she's the artistic director of 'Landers Theatre' there) and it won't help her much in Springfield, if she were in LA she could ride that kudo for several months. At the very least she'd get a few invitations to some cool parties awash in pretty girls.
Also glad to see 'True Grit' nominated. Thought the Coen brothers did a top-flight job with that remake.
I'm always a little amused to see kids nominated for Best Something, however, like what's-her-name from 'True Grit.' I once worked with the eighty year old, amazing Chicago actress Marji Bank who once lost a 'Jeff' award for Best Actress to a seven year old. At the ceremony I happened to be sitting with Marji. She turned to me and said after the announcement, "What do I say to her? Nice choices?" Funny lady and someone I miss a great deal.
I have been resting my voice since Sunday night. No talking (well, not much) and certainly no singing. That part wasn't hard because I rarely break into song around the house anyway. When I do it's usually to the tune of 'Hello, Dolly!' to one of my dogs and I sing quite loudly, 'Hello, Franny! Well, Hello, Franny! It's so nice to see you back where you belong!!!' much to his confusion.
I also sing to the tune of 'Nobody Knows the Trouble I've seen...' to Zooey...'Zoeberry knows the trouble I've seen...' Another is to the tune from 'Flipper' - 'They call him FRANNY, FRANNY, king of the ocean, king of the sea...' Or from The Brady Bunch: 'Tis the story of a puppy named Franny!' Angie's favorite is an old jazz standard I adapt called 'Joey.' I sing, 'Zooey. Zooey, Zooey. It's been TOO long since you BEEN gone...'
Anyway.
I felt good about Sunday's performance of ADDING MACHINE. At the risk of sounding a little hoity-toity, I felt very much 'in the moment' that night. I had some friends in the audience and of course that always tends to notch my energy up a bit because I'm a show-off. But honestly, in retrospect, I rather enjoyed myself that night.
The composer of the piece, Josh Schmidt, is flying in to see the play this weekend. A couple of weeks ago when we found this out, my co-star, Kelly Lester, turned to me and asked what I wanted to say to him. I said, "Well, first, I wanna slap him and scream, 'WHAT WERE YOU THINKING! WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS, DAMN YOU!'
Actually, I want to tell him that, in my opinion, he's crossed the oh, so nebulous line of 'good work' into 'genius.' I've done about sixty musicals or so in my career, all professional, all Equity productions, and only once before have I been so stunned by the composition - Sunday in the Park with George. Mr. Schmidt is in good company.
I think my wife has been energized by the recent passing of Jack Lalanne. She's nearly physically dragging me out for long 'hikes' now with the puppies into Griffith Park. Personally, I never understood the difference between a 'hike' and a 'walk.' I guess maybe it's the outfit. For a 'hike' we tend to don a more safari-influenced ensemble; boots, khaki vests, lots of cotton, a rifle flung over our shoulders, binoculars, pith helmuts. For a 'walk' we generally just go as we are.
I was talking to a buddy of mine, a very successful actor out here in LA, yesterday. He said, "Try as I might, I can't get that damn show out of my head. (referring to ADDING MACHINE) I've been thinking about your performance and the music all day. It's kind of annoying, really." Hearing that I could only smile and think, well, we did our job, I guess.
Our musical director, the freakishly good Alan Patrick Kinney, wants to bring me in for some 'cleaning' today or tomorrow. He's a perfectionist (which is one of the reasons he's so good) and is not quite satisfied with some of the liberties I take within some of my songs. Actually, calling them 'liberties' is my way of being in denial about the fact that I can't seem to count to four in front of a crowd. In any event, I'm all for it. I have never understood (see posts about PRAYING SMALL earlier last year) why a show is abandoned simply because it opens. I'm completely in favor of continuing to demand the best of ourselves even if it means a rehearsal on closing night. So...I'm going in to work on it some more.
Angie and I finally relaxed a bit yesterday after about three weeks of high stress because of the play. I played Madden (my new, great addiction) all day and she went shopping (her lifelong addiction). Later she made me a dinner fit for The Ponderosa: Pan seared sirloin with sauteed onions, fresh Italian bread, spinach with balsamic and roasted, new potatoes. Just incredibly good. She is, and I say this with complete sincerity, the best chef I've ever known or seen.
I have to go in soon for more blood tests related to my 'silent killer' of a disease, stage two diabetes. Not looking forward to that. I'm comforted, however, in the knowledge that the last time I went in for my check-up, my 'numbers' were all well within the manageable zone. Considering the 'numbers' were all so high when I was first diagnosed, it is not as frightening as it once was. I'll remember my doctor saying to me upon that first visit, "It's a wonder you're not dead" for the rest of my life.
Good news, I think: a major casting director was in the crowd Saturday night and gave his card to Ron Sossi (our director) and asked that I call him today. He's a TV casting director (has three network shows within his auspices at the moment). He told Ron, "I can get this guy tons of work." We'll see. I am learning that Hollywood is not always as truthful as one would like.
That's about it. Off for our 'hike.' Just waiting for the aborigines to show up that we hired to 'beat the bushes' for slinking, feline predators. Yes, their calypso-inspired singing as they form a great, long line in front of us, clothed only in dusty, but revealing loin cloths, is a bit unnerving for our neighbors, but I find it somehow soothing.
See you tomorrow.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Adding Machine - The Musical is now open and ready for business.
Well, we opened this behemoth of a show, Adding Machine, this past Saturday. For good or ill, it's on the books now. Los Angeles has now seen and heard Adding Machine - the musical.
I haven't weighed in here on the blog for awhile...in fact, I think this may be my longest extended absence since I started. Several reasons for that, the most obvious being that I've been simply overwhelmed with the final couple of weeks of mounting this thing. Another, not quite so tangible reason, was that I was sort of struggling for something good to say. I wanted very much to keep in a positive state of mind for this show because, well, because I cared so much about it. Like nearly every play I've ever done, this one got to be a bit nerve-wracking as opening night loomed. The tech wasn't coming together. The director was making choices that concerned me. And most notably, one of the actors was seriously trying my patience.
I'm pleased, and I suppose, not terribly surprised, however, to say all has ended reasonably well. This silly business has a way of doing that. Like the line in 'Shakespeare in Love,' it is a mystery. Not to say it simply 'came together.' It did not. In fact, some of it is still not 'together.' However, we did make it through the play without anyone losing an eye, which is saying something, I guess.
The piece is polarizing, to say the least. I didn't go out and make chatty with the opening night crowd (one of the above mentioned problems was still terrorizing me and frankly, I was in a bit of a snit) but I did go out to the lobby last night and hear some opinions. This music is either loved or hated. I loved it upon hearing it. Others, clearly, don't. My agent, for example, didn't care for it all. Yet he really enjoyed the performances. It's that kind of stuff.
So...for the first time in about 18 days...I can relax. And I have every intention of doing so. I'm taking my dogs for a long walk, I'm reading and resting my voice, I'm watching a Netflix...all the things I haven't had time for or cared to do lately.
And I'll begin blogging again after a conspicous absence. I have been rather shocked at the response I've gotten from people about it. In fact, even last night a gentleman (no idea who he was) came up to me in the lobby and instead of saying 'Good show' or something to that effect, said, 'Love your blog.' Hm.
Now we wait for the reviews. Honestly, I have no idea whatsoever which way they'll go. It's quite possible we will get our asses handed to us on a platter. Or they might be really glorious. I really don't know. One of my closest friends came last night and said he thought the piece 'brilliant.' But, he offered as a disclaimer, 'I like weird shit.' So there you have it.
It's good to work in a real theatre again, I have to say. The last one, over in NoHo, was really more like a Judy and Mickey movie...'Hey, I got a barn! Let's put on a show!'
No, I've enjoyed The Odyssey Theatre Ensemble very much. It comes as no surprise to any LA actors out there that the reputation is somewhat lofty and, at the same time, daunting. Ron Sossi, the artistic director of that institution for some 41 years, either strikes fear in one's heart (I've heard from others) or bolsters one's confidence. Personally, I've had a really warm and constructive relationship with him.
I'm sure Angie is pleased this long and emotionally bumpy ride has ended. She, as usual, has been the picture of patience itself. There was a moment awhile back, last week, in fact, that even she thought perhaps I was into a project that was possibly doomed. The technical aspects were overwhelming her (she sat in on the first invited dress and was, um, mortified). Plus she had to contend with the fact that I was coming home nightly in various states of despair.
And, as I alluded to earlier, rather than write negative things about the piece, I chose instead not to blog for awhile. Probably for the best.
In any event, we're up and running. For better or worse. The only thing to do now is to see what the press has to say about it all and that, like so many other things in my life, is out of my hands. All I can continue to do is my best.
See you tomorrow.
I haven't weighed in here on the blog for awhile...in fact, I think this may be my longest extended absence since I started. Several reasons for that, the most obvious being that I've been simply overwhelmed with the final couple of weeks of mounting this thing. Another, not quite so tangible reason, was that I was sort of struggling for something good to say. I wanted very much to keep in a positive state of mind for this show because, well, because I cared so much about it. Like nearly every play I've ever done, this one got to be a bit nerve-wracking as opening night loomed. The tech wasn't coming together. The director was making choices that concerned me. And most notably, one of the actors was seriously trying my patience.
I'm pleased, and I suppose, not terribly surprised, however, to say all has ended reasonably well. This silly business has a way of doing that. Like the line in 'Shakespeare in Love,' it is a mystery. Not to say it simply 'came together.' It did not. In fact, some of it is still not 'together.' However, we did make it through the play without anyone losing an eye, which is saying something, I guess.
The piece is polarizing, to say the least. I didn't go out and make chatty with the opening night crowd (one of the above mentioned problems was still terrorizing me and frankly, I was in a bit of a snit) but I did go out to the lobby last night and hear some opinions. This music is either loved or hated. I loved it upon hearing it. Others, clearly, don't. My agent, for example, didn't care for it all. Yet he really enjoyed the performances. It's that kind of stuff.
So...for the first time in about 18 days...I can relax. And I have every intention of doing so. I'm taking my dogs for a long walk, I'm reading and resting my voice, I'm watching a Netflix...all the things I haven't had time for or cared to do lately.
And I'll begin blogging again after a conspicous absence. I have been rather shocked at the response I've gotten from people about it. In fact, even last night a gentleman (no idea who he was) came up to me in the lobby and instead of saying 'Good show' or something to that effect, said, 'Love your blog.' Hm.
Now we wait for the reviews. Honestly, I have no idea whatsoever which way they'll go. It's quite possible we will get our asses handed to us on a platter. Or they might be really glorious. I really don't know. One of my closest friends came last night and said he thought the piece 'brilliant.' But, he offered as a disclaimer, 'I like weird shit.' So there you have it.
It's good to work in a real theatre again, I have to say. The last one, over in NoHo, was really more like a Judy and Mickey movie...'Hey, I got a barn! Let's put on a show!'
No, I've enjoyed The Odyssey Theatre Ensemble very much. It comes as no surprise to any LA actors out there that the reputation is somewhat lofty and, at the same time, daunting. Ron Sossi, the artistic director of that institution for some 41 years, either strikes fear in one's heart (I've heard from others) or bolsters one's confidence. Personally, I've had a really warm and constructive relationship with him.
I'm sure Angie is pleased this long and emotionally bumpy ride has ended. She, as usual, has been the picture of patience itself. There was a moment awhile back, last week, in fact, that even she thought perhaps I was into a project that was possibly doomed. The technical aspects were overwhelming her (she sat in on the first invited dress and was, um, mortified). Plus she had to contend with the fact that I was coming home nightly in various states of despair.
And, as I alluded to earlier, rather than write negative things about the piece, I chose instead not to blog for awhile. Probably for the best.
In any event, we're up and running. For better or worse. The only thing to do now is to see what the press has to say about it all and that, like so many other things in my life, is out of my hands. All I can continue to do is my best.
See you tomorrow.
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