Back to Praying Small...

When I first started this blog it was with the intention of using it as a chronicle of sorts for my work in Praying Small. However, in the meantime, we did From the East to the West and Praying Small was put on the back burner. Now EAST/WEST, the benefit production, is done and this Thursday night we have auditions for Praying Small. The opening is April 9, 2010. I have been asked to take the massive lead role of Sam, the man struggling through his first year of sobriety after having lost everything.

The role is written for an actor between the ages of 28 and 33. So I've added an opening scene that puts the play squarely in the category of "memory" play. A memory play is when the character has aged but is remembering something important in his or her past. Glass Menagerie is a memory play.

So as I said, it is a huge role. Sam is never offstage for over two hours. There are a bunch of long monologues to the audience. The fourth wall is broken consistently throughout the play. The "fourth wall" is the imaginary wall between the actor and audience. To break it and talk directly to the audience in "real time" is always a bit dicey. It is episodic writing and very difficult to pull off in a theatre (easier in film - in film it is called a "voice over").

So, as I've documented here, as I get older, remembering lines, even lines I have written myself, is getting difficult for me. I have a strategy, though. I have a whole bunch of different productions of Praying Small around the country on DVD. So my plan is to constantly have one of them playing, without the picture, all day long. I'll hear the words for the next two weeks all day, every day. Have no idea if that will work. But it's worth a try. I have till April 9th.

I did the play once before as an actor in Chicago. I stepped in to play the supporting role of Greg, the AA sponsor, in the play. I had one day to learn it. The previous actor playing it was a tapper. That is to say, he was one of those actors that gets so nervous onstage he constantly taps his feet. When I first saw the play with him in it I thought Fred Astaire was playing the role. So he was fired and the director asked me to step in. So the next day I spent ten hours with the actor playing Sam at the theatre learning the part of Greg. After all was said and done, it worked out okay. A lot of the Chicago critics came back to re-review the play with the playwright actually in it. Also, I'm sorry to admit, I had developed a reputation in that city as the hermit-like actor that would come out into the light once a year or so to do a little piece of work that was usually roundly applauded by the critics. The Sun-Times wrote, "Mr. Morts gives us a rare glimpse into why this critic thinks he's the best actor currently working in Chicago. Problem is, Mr. Morts apparently doesn't like to act." Another backhanded compliment in a career of them.

So now, upon moving to LA and changing so very many things in my life, I'm taking on the role of Sam, the big kahuna himself.

The play is written with fourteen characters. But it can also be done with six characters, with two of the actors taking on all of the smaller roles. That's the version we're doing.

So, Thursday auditions. And I'm guessing, rehearsals starting immediately after casting. This is all very exciting. More will be revealed.

See you tomorrow.

On Birthdays, Pabst, Robert Frost and Writing...

I turn forty nine today. Frankly, I'm aghast. It is something I really don't deserve.

When I turned 21, I was asked to leave the local VFW in my hometown of Fulton, Missouri. I got roaring drunk with a few friends and stood up on a rickety table around midnight and was reciting Robert Frost's A Road Less Traveled. I can honestly say I may be the only person in the history of Fulton's VFW to be asked to leave.

On March 1st, 1984, I was living in a three bedroom apartment in Springfield, Missouri. Going to SMSU and pissing people off left and right in the theatre department. For whatever reason my roomies and I began taunting the guys living in an exact replica of our apartment across the way. It ended, predictably, in a brawl in the street. Spent that birthday in jail.

On March 1st, 1987, I was doing a play I had written in New York, called The Flagger. After the performance, went out with Michael Moriarty and George Dzundza (very fine actor - google him) and drank till four in the morning at an Irish Pub in Midtown called BREWS. George and I sat transfixed as Michael recited nearly two straight hours of Shakespeare from memory.

On March 1st, 1989, I sat in one of the dingiest bars I've ever had the misfortune in which to drink in Park Slope, Brooklyn, with my buddies, Jeff Wood and John Bader. We closed the bar. We were a self-contained drinking trio, John, Jeff and I. Always entertained each other. I think we were working on a play of mine at the time, Jeff directing. Passed out and had to be helped back to their apartment right down the street.

On March 1st, 1993, I was on Sanibel Island doing a play called The Boys Next Door. Got blind drunk with my buddy Scott and found myself buck naked and swimming at midnight in the warm Gulf of Mexico, surrounded by dolphins wanting to play.

On March 1st, 1997, I was doing a play I had written for my then fiancee, Eileen, and we sat on the set drinking champagne until early morning. She could drink like I could. Rochester, New York. There were a few other actors there with us and we ended up toasting the dawn of March 2nd after 15 bottles of bubbly had been happily assassinated.

On March 1st, 2000, I was doing a play in Chicago, Lost in Yonkers, and after the show came down, around 11:00, spent the entire night and morning in my favorite dive bar in that city, on Belmont and Clark, slamming Jim Beam and slurping $1.00 Pabsts. Keifer Sutherland, of all people, was in town doing a film and quite accidentally, ended up drinking with us all that night. He picked up the whole tab at the end of the evening. I have never met or seen him since.

On March, 1st, 2002, I was working as the television spokesman for Chicago Opera. Did about five spots that day. Afterwards met up with a few actor buddies and drank deep into the night. I woke up the next day in jail after another bar fight. One of the arresting cops recognized me. He said, "Don't you talk about Opera on TV all the time?"

On March 1st, 2004, I attended the funeral of my dear friend, Alex Ramsdell, the finest jazz pianist I have ever heard. I was working as a drug and alcohol counselor in Chicago, IL. Alex had helped with some early drafts of Praying Small. He died of a heroin overdose. I stayed up until late, late in the evening reading A Prayer for Owen Meany. Occasionally I would put it down to cry.

On March 1st, 2010, I'm writing a new screenplay based on a play I've written. Drinking coffee, then switching to iced tea, having lunch with a close friend, taking a walk around Griffith Park with my dog, having dinner with my partner, Angela, getting to sleep early because I have to meet with a theatre company tomorrow for my new play, From the East to the West.

I am happier today than I can ever remember being. And I think that's all I need to say about that.

See you tomorrow.

John Wayne Can Act.

I know this is odd, but I have watched John Wayne in The Cowboys twice in two days. And I loved it the second time as much as the first. For all my actor buddies that read this, please sit down right now before you read this next sentence. John Wayne is one of the best screen actors I have ever seen.

He learned to act in front of us. His early work throughout the thirties and forties was just awful. All he really had was this gargantuan PRESENCE. But, god, was he a bad actor.

Then, somewhere around 1945, he started getting okay. And then along came John Ford. He had done Ford movies before but something seemed to click around the late forties and early fifties. He did Stagecoach in 39, I think. His breakthrough role. Not very good in hindsight, but again, the PRESENCE. Then we see Red River, The Searchers, Iowa Jima, Quiet Man...he's learning right there, right in front of us.

Then we see the sixties stuff, he's getting better and better, The Alamo, True Grit. Even gets an Oscar for the latter.

He battles cancer. Beats it the first time. And here he is in his sixties and his name above the title all but insures a hit, even at that age.

And then, in 1973, he makes this movie, The Cowboys. If you haven't seen this film, rent it, netflix it, NOW. It is an extraordinary piece of film acting. Wayne does with one subtle expression what most actors can't do with two pages of dialogue. Wayne always said about acting, "I don't act, I react." That may be true, but know this, he's being modest. At that point in his career he could blow any other actor off the screen. And I mean ANY other actor. The eye follows him no matter what else is being done. The PRESENCE, again.

There is a moment in The Cowboys when Wayne says in a quiet scene, talking about his two dead sons, "They went bad on me. Or I went bad on them. I don't know." It is a snatch of the most heartbreaking, honest dialogue I've ever heard.

John Wayne could act. In this move, The Cowboys, he is breathtaking. See it.

On a side note, had my two buddies, John Bader and Jim Petersmith over last night for a little birthday dinner (I'm turning 32 again). Invited them to a friendly, sociable game of Trivial Pursuit. Left them both scarred and bloodied. Nearly weeping. Shamed. Wounded and humbled. And that's all I have to say about that.

Angie made a beautiful cake for me. One of the best cakes I've ever had. I was happy. Not to linger on this, but I really have no business being alive (See my play, Praying Small, opening April 9, NoHo Arts Center, 11136 Magnolia, North Hollywood, CA). A cake was nice. She is the best thing to ever happen to me. The cake was the second best thing to ever happen to me. Zooey brings up the number three spot. Diablo is up there, too. And pudding.

See you tomorrow.

A Nation of Second Acts.

Most people probably don't know that Abraham Lincoln never won an election until he became President of the United States. In fact, he had a nervous breakdown while in his thirties because his life was such a mess.

Most people probably don't know that U.S. Grant failed at every job he ever had. He was working for 12 cents a day on his father's farm at the age of 37.

Most people probably don't know that Frank Sinatra couldn't get a gig at a twenty-seat Italian restaurant in Hoboken in 1951 because his voice was gone and he no longer had a movie contract.

Most people probably don't know that Muhammad Ali, during his forced layoff from 1968-1971, had to borrow money from Howard Cosell to feed his family. He borrowed $500 and bought loaves of bread and bologna and froze them so he would have enough for his three kids.

Most people probably don't know that when Fred Astaire first auditioned for the movies, the comment on his audition card said, "Can't sing, is ugly, dances a little."

Most people probably don't know that when Jesus trekked back into his hometown after preaching around the countryside for a few years was laughed at. They allegedly said to him, "You're a carpenter, not a prophet, take that shit somewhere else."

Most people probably don't know that that Edgar Allan Poe slept on a park bench, was homeless, and was writing short stories with a short pencil on the back of pieces of paper he found on the street. That's how he wrote The Tell-Tale Heart.

Most people probably don't know that Harry Truman worked in a hat shop, a haberdashery, because he couldn't find a job anywhere else and had failed miserably as a farmer. He was 44 years old.

Most people probably don't know that John Kennedy O'Toole, the author of Confederacy of Dunces, showed his hand-written novel to several publishers. They all made fun of him. He killed himself and the book won a Pulitzer.

Most people don't know that Einstein failed calculus.

Most people probably don't know that by 1970 not a single motion picture studio would hire Marlon Brando because he was just too much trouble.

Most people probably don't know that Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team. His coach told him he just didn't have what it takes.

Most people probably don't know that Vincent Van Gogh didn't sell a single piece of artwork while he was alive.

Most people probably don't know that J.R.R. Tolkein's Lord of the Rings was singularly trashed when it was published. One critic said of it, "This is the longest, most boring piece of writing I have ever been forced to read."

Most people probably don't know that Katherine Hepburn's first review on broadway contained this sentence, "She simply cannot act."

Most people probably don't know that the first time Tennessee Williams approached a producer for The Glass Menagerie, he was told, "nothing happens in this play. Why would anyone want to watch something like this?"

We live in a nation of second acts.

See you tomorrow.

On Steaks, Trivia and Plays

I've got a meeting today with the Artistic Director of NoHo, James Mellon, about the future of scheduling for both From the East to the West and Praying Small (see posters to the right). No idea whatsoever what's going to come of it. Naturally, I'm hoping both are on the schedule for full productions. But I'm not counting chickens just yet.

In 2003, I sublet a small apartment in Chicago on Bryn Mawr (a street). It's full of quaint little shops, Starbucks, Italian restaurants, etc. One day I'm walking back to my studio apartment and I see one of the storefronts that had hitherto been closed, with a sign on the door that says, "Actors Workshop. Now accepting students for Wednesday night acting class." Hm, I thought.

So Wednesday rolled around and I decided to stop in and see what was what. At that time I was working as a drug and alcohol counselor and had put theatre away for a bit. Trying to change the world one addict at a time. How naive of me. Anyway, I stopped in. There were only three of us, the artistic director, his wife and myself. No one else showed up.

So we got to chatting. It came up that I had a new script called Praying Small. That I lived around the corner. That I had a rather extensive background in theatre. So, since no one showed up for the "acting class" he suggested I go get my script and bring it over. "Let's read it out loud," he said. So I did.

We read the script out loud, sitting in that gutted storefront, and by the end both of them were weeping openly. We finished and he said, "Well, I don't think there's really anything more to be said. I'd like to open this theatre with this play." And we did. And it was a huge hit. Sold out for months. The play is about the first, shaky, terrible, joyful year of sobriety. It caught on with the recovery community in Chicago, entirely by word of mouth, and was suddenly this surprise hit. The reviews came out and we were suddenly and quite unexpectedly the critic's darling in Chicago. They were tripping over each other to say nice things about us.

The reason I tell you this is because that's how I like things to happen when it comes to my work. Read it, do it. Two simple steps. But, of course, that's not how it works generally. It is the playwright's version of being discovered at Schwabb's drug store.

So even though EAST/WEST was embarrassingly well received in the three day "benefit performance," there are no promises that it will run. I wish I could say there were, but there are not.

So, I don't know what's gonna happen today.

I am sufficiently far enough along with my personal beliefs to know that whatever happens is exactly what is supposed to happen.

On a lighter note, Angie and I had two friends over last night for grilled steaks and trivial pursuit. Not to brag, but I won. I won big, I kicked ass, I mauled the competition, I was a trivial pursuit machine, I was like the computer in 2001, spitting out answers, unstoppable, nearly super-human, really.

Okay, I did win. But not by that much. But the important thing is we had a great time. Lots of laughs. Chad and Lacy (our two funny, hip, smart, young guests) were a delight. In hindsight I'm a little sorry they were beaten so soundly. But they're both strong and young and they'll recover. Angie, the surprise smarty-cat of the evening, came in a close second.

Sorry. Off message there, but I promised them I'd write about it.

But really, in the final analysis, it was just too easy. It was tantamount to the New Orleans Saints playing a co-ed, high school football team. Just rolled over them. Heavy sigh.

I hope From the East to the West goes on the schedule at NoHo. I hope Praying Small runs a little further down the line. But life is cool even if they don't. Because I've got good friends, a beautiful girlfriend, and many nights ahead of me to thoroughly humiliate all trivial pursuit pretenders.

See you tomorrow.

Show Me.

My buddy, Brad Blaisdell, came over for a chat yesterday. Brad is an actor that's been around forever. Lots of film, including a big role in the movie, The Negotiator. Many others. Did a ton of Broadway stuff. Came to LA in the seventies, had a recurring role on Three's Company, for god's sake. Helluva actor. He just finished a really top-flight piece of work in the play PROOF at NoHo Arts.

He came over to hang and have a little Missouri Sweet Tea, shoot the shit, kick the bobo, chat about the future of EAST/WEST and the screenplay to Praying Small. Brad has been in the LA trenches. SAG Board member, friend of celebrities, clear thinker, and, like me, a bit of an outsider when it comes to LA. He does not suffer fools gladly, that's fairly clear.

So we're sitting out in my office-to-be and he's offering advice on a few things. Readily accepted, I might add.

Brad has a gentle confidence about himself that I like enormously. He has reached the age where he obviously doesn't really give a shit what people think of his work. As well he shouldn't because it's great stuff. He pops back and forth between film and television jobs and work in the theatre that interests him. In short, he has had the career I'd like to have. He's not a star, but he's had starring roles. He's not a name, but name's know him. He's an actor.

For whatever reason, he's taken an interest in my work, my writing. That's what we talked about mostly. What to do with it. He's convinced it is great stuff and wants to see it go further. I appreciated that.

I have a new play called Heavyweights of the Twentieth Century that I have been working on for about a year now. There's a massive role in it for Brad. He doesn't know it yet, but he'll play it someday.

Heavyweights is my homage to Kushner's Angels in American. It's a "big" play, three acts, three hours long. It's about war and AIDS and alcoholism and rape and dying and...heavyweight boxing throughout the nineteen hundreds. Yep. That's what I said. It's a corker.

But the other thing we discussed was possibly bringing him on board to direct the next incarnation of EAST/WEST. I thought of that a lot last night, and I think that would be ideal. He has the chops for it (EAST/WEST, for those who saw it, is no lightweight play...it's a fairly multi-leveled piece - needs a firm and confident hand). As to whether he'll do it, well, we'll see about that.

And we discussed my work on Praying Small and the screenplay potential there. The play is written in such a way that it is not terribly difficult to adapt. I'm finding that out as I work on it. I'm approaching it much like I have approached my work as a playwright in the past. That is to say, fuck what everyone says, do it my way. This has not served me so well in life, but it's certainly been a boon to my work as a writer and actor. I think I'll stick with it.

So, today, back to the boards. Visualizing Praying Small. Seeing the life in it. Tolerating the words in order to make a picture. Changing four words to one. Years ago I read something Alfred Hitchcock said about making movies. He said his ideal screenplay would have no dialogue whatsoever. NOT a silent film, mind you, just a screenplay so tight and clear that dialogue was not necessary. He could tell the whole thing with pictures. I'm keeping that particular piece of advice in my head today as I continue to trudge through it.

I remember reading a book called Tricks in My Pocket some years back. It's a day by day, minute by minute account of Paul Newman directing Joanne Woodward and John Malkovich in The Glass Menagerie. A great deal of it is simply transcribed conversations between them as they rehearse the play. At one point, Malkovich is trying to discuss, in great detail, a scene he is about to play. On the page it is a long, long paragraph of Malkovich talking and then Newman saying over and over, "Show me." More Malkovich talking, then again Newman, "Show me." And on and on. I liked that very much.

That's exactly how I'm approaching Praying Small as a screenplay. I'm showing.

See you tomorrow.

"It's All in the Movies..."

I've been getting a lot of helpful suggestions on how to adapt Praying Small into a screenplay, particularly from my friend and very fine actor, Michael Catlin. Michael recently moved to Denver and is already teaching classes and networking with The Denver Theatre Center, the big boy on the block out there. His suggestions are helpful for a couple of reasons. First, he clearly knows what he's talking about, certainly more than I do, and second, he's been down this road a few times before.

I've decided to back up and take another run at this thing. By that I mean, I'm going to throw all convention out the window and just write it as I SEE it. Because that's what film is, right? How we SEE a particular thing? So I'm gonna write it as a big Point of View kinda thing. The play is written entirely in first person. All of it from the perspective of Sam, the lead character. So I thought I'd approach the screenplay as I might approach a first person novel. Starting that today.

Also, was chatting with my buddy, Kyle Puccia, yesterday. Kyle is writing the entire score to the stage production of Praying Small. At one point Kyle mentioned it would be cool to do the whole thing much as P.T. Anderson had done Magnolia...all Aimee Mann music throughout. Only it would be all Kyle Puccia music throughout. I like that very much. In fact, Kyle sent me a song that was dead-on for it. When I listened to it (Kyle is so fucking brilliant, folks), I was re-energized about this project all over again.

Now, of course, I'm getting quite obsessive about the whole thing. I was watching Forrest Gump last night on AMC...and instead of enjoying a movie I've seen a dozen times (and still love), I was watching each scene and trying to visualize it on the page. I was thinking I really don't wanna get so close to the movie business that I lose my love of the movies themselves. This is sort of sophomoric of me, but I really don't. I love movies. I don't want to ever get to the point that I'm dissecting them as I watch them. That's no fun.

I remember many years ago, movie theatre on 33rd and 2nd Ave in NYC. John Bader, Jeff Wood, Robert Fiedler and myself. Matinee performance. A movie called Name of the Rose. Back then you could still smoke in the balcony of a theatre. You may remember there's a particularly hotsy-totsy sex scene in the movie when Christian Slater and the deaf girl go at it. We were all on the edge of our seat, not a peep from us. When it was over, I glanced around. All four of us had lit a cigarette and were leaning back, contented, in our seats.

I remember being about 12 years old, Fulton Movie Theatre, Saturday afternoon. Movie called Count Yorga - Vampire. A scene where the vampires invade a house while a dinner party is in progress. They kill all the people there. I was scared out of my wits. Dreamt about it for weeks. Still the scariest moment I can remember while at the movies.

I remember being home, sick from school, probably just playing hooky, watching the afternoon movie in the basement, rec-room of my childhood home in Fulton. The show was called "Dialing for Dollars" and at the commercial break they would call someone and if they answered, give them some money, I think. Anyway, the movie that day was called The Ugly American starring an actor named Marlon Brando. It is not a very good movie, sort of slow and dull. But that afternoon was singularly responsible for a great chunk of my life. I was mesmerized by this guy, this Marlon Brando fella. I was only about 16, had a done a few high school plays, was starting to get interested in "acting." But this guy, wow, I'd never seen anything like it. I knew, in some deep, very dark, dusty, claustrophobic section of my brain that this is exactly what I wanted to do the rest of my life, what this guy was doing.

I don't want what I'm doing now to corrupt all those remembrances. I don't want to analyze a movie while I watch it. I want to accept it all, suspend my disbelief, be scared of Count Yorga, mesmerized by Brando and vicariously excited by whatever scene I'm watching. I don't want to stop believing in movies. They've meant too much to me. They've informed too much of my life. They've taught me how to react to life. And I owe them, all of them, my trust.

See you tomorrow.

To Write a Script...

I've been asked to turn my play, Praying Small, into a screenplay. Now, I am not a screenwriter. Never have been, doubt I ever will be. As I mentioned before, everybody and their grandma has a screenplay out here. I suppose that's only natural, since this is the film capital of the world. I was chatting with a neighbor, nice lady, retired, used to be a secretary, I think. She came to see my last play. She liked it, I think. So, I'm out on the front lawn bringing in the trash barrels (LA has some strange "trash pick up" laws). And she sees me and wanders down to tell me about her screenplay. Actually, she's "pitching" me the screenplay. Like I might have the power to greenlight it somewhere. I think it had something to do with evil alien secretaries.

Hemingway said everyone has at least one great novel in them. He was, of course, saying that everyone can tell their life story. Out here everyone has at least one great screenplay in them.

This weekend, Angie and I picked up a low-budget film starring our friend, John Bader. It's a western. Not very good, really. But John is good IN it. But what struck me is this: someone spent a lot of time and money and passion on this thing. And it's simply not very good. Hackneyed, unoriginal, uninspired. I told Angie, "Why would someone take so much time out of their lives, when life is so short and immediate, to do this?"

Before I left Chicago, I was offered a chance to do the lead in The Scottish Play. It's my favorite Shakespearean role, even more than Hamlet or Dicky III. And I considered it, I really did. But finally one night I thought, "Do I have anything new to say about this guy?" The answer is no, I did not. So, the next day I called back and said, "You know, I'd love to play The Dark Scot. And I think I might even have a good one in me. But in the final analysis, it would take about five months out of my life. And I'm not ready for that kind of trade-off at my age."

The same John as mentioned above said to me after he'd seen From the East to the West, "It made me remember why I rarely do plays anymore. It's just too much damn work."

There is a story of Joe Papp running into Brando in midtown back in the mid-seventies. He rushes over to him and says, "Marlon, come back to the stage, you're the greatest American actor, come back to the stage and do Lear. I'll produce it. What do you say?" Brando smiled and looked off into the distance, you could see him considering it, his eyes lit up. Papp said later he was shocked; what was this? Brando was actually considering doing this? Oh my God, he said later, Marlon Brando is actually thinking seriously about doing King Lear at Shakespeare in the Park! Finally after a bit when Brando hadn't said anything, Papp said, "So, what do you think?" And Brando said, "I just did it in my mind, Joe. I just saw it all. It was great. But that's as close as I'll ever get to another stage role. In my mind. It's just too hard."

Today, I start adapting Praying Small into a screenplay. Like I said, I know zip about screenplays. But I went to the library this weekend and picked up a bunch of shooting scripts: four by Woody Allen, Magnolia by P.T. Anderson, a few others. So like everything else in my life, I'll teach myself how to do it. I don't care what anyone says, the greatest education to be had on the planet is in your nearest public library.

The big thing to remember is advice from Hitchcock, though. Film is about imagery. Theatre is about words. Praying Small is a very wordy script. So that's my job. Turn the words into images. Because here's a truism: A picture IS worth a thousand words. At least in the film business.

See you tomorrow.

Graumann's Chinese Theatre.

I saw Frank Sinatra in concert five times. One of those times, I think it was at Radio City Music Hall in New York, Sinatra finished with his signature song, New York, New York, and then strode off stage. He doesn't come back on. That is to say, Sinatra did not do encores. When the concert was done, the last song sang, Sinatra left. So while watching him at Radio City Music Hall, the crowd lingered a little longer than usual, thinking Sinatra was gonna come out and sing again. Finally, a booming announcement in a somewhat peeved voice said over the loud speakers, "Mr. Sinatra will not be doing an encore."

Angie took me to see Graumann's Chinese Theatre in Hollywood. I wanted to see John Wayne's footprints. I wanted to see them for two reasons. One, I loved John Wayne. Two, in Katherine Hepburn's book, ME, she says, "John Wayne had the smallest, daintiest, little Irish feet." I never believed that sentence. So I saw John Wayne's footprints at Graumann's Chinese Theatre today. He had tiny, dainty, Irish feet. If I had to guess, I'd say about size 7. At the most.

The stars down Hollywood Blvd. are terribly disappointing. First of all, Ange tells me that anyone can have one, practically. You just have to pay $2,500 and have someone from the Hollywood Walk of Fame Committee nominate you. It wasn't always like that, but it is now. That became painfully clear when I saw Erik Estrada's star right next to Tyrone Power's star. Almost made me throw up a little in my mouth.

But what stuck with me, what made me saddest, were the blocks of cement with the handprints and footprints and signatures and little comments. To have your name and feet and hands commemorated at Graumann's used to be a big deal. Actually, I suppose it still is. There are some modern-era folk there; Spielberg, Harrison Ford, Robert Downy Jr., Travolta, a few others.

But, not surprisingly, it was the old ones that fascinated me. And for a different reason than you might expect. I was really mournful looking at them all. Sunny day, crowds of people, Asians snapping photographs like crazy, and I was unexpectedly sad suddenly. And after a bit, I realized why. There was Humphrey Bogart, he's written, "Sid, don't you dare die till I kill ya'!" I could imagine the night he wrote that. It said 1946. Guffaws from an adoring crowd, more drinks when he got to the restaurant, congratulations, Sid Graumann picks up the tab, laughter all night, he stops on the way out, sees what he's written again, laughs, into the car, a wonderful night, memorialized forever at Graumann's Chinese Theatre.

Twelve years later he died an unimaginably painful death at the hands of a cancer that ate his insides out.

I kept looking. Gable, who I will always remember turning, smirking, lighting perfect, thirty feet high, eyes flashing, Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. He'd signed, "Thanks, Sid. What a night!" Died 21 years later from a massive heart attack, his chest so painful he couldn't speak, his assistant said his mouth was open in a silent scream for over a minute.

Myrna Loy, Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Rock Hudson, John Huston, Fred Astaire, Jackie Cooper, Paul Newman, Yul Brenner, George Burns, Jack Benny.

All living, laughing, breathing, happy. Stepping onto the wet cement. Cameras clicking, flashbulbs popping. Cocktails flowing, women grinning.

All dead now, some in particularly violent and gruesome manners. Others just getting old and slipping away.

I stood there in that large, patio-type area, surrounded by tourist outlets, and imagined the cameras, the smiles, the suits, maybe tuxedos, the bright kleeg lights, the beautiful women, furs, high heels, laughter, brill cream, cologne, perfume, cigarettes, cigars, booze, breezy, Santa Anna weather, names shouted from the crowd, wisecracks, quick explosive laughter, smiling.

And they're all gone. That moment, that night, that great night at Graumann's Chinese Theatre. Dead people now.

All glory is fleeting.

I was saddened by the footprints. The signatures made by sticks or index fingers. The comments there forever, witty at the time, I'm sure, now just sort of quaint. Reminded me of my own mortality and the mortality of my friends and of Angie. Made me think of wonderful nights I've had and how they are really just old, black and white photographs with girls laughing in the background, a little out of focus, holding drinks in conical, plastic cups.

Made me realize how important it is to absorb when we're in the very exact precise complete total unaware midst of happiness.

Mr. Sinatra will not be doing an encore.

See you tomorrow.

Back to the Present...

Well, back to a semblance of routine now. Happy about that. Today we're going to shop (by "we," of course, I mean Angie and I) for some groceries since all we have in the house after a week of theatah is dog food and saltines. Last night was a well-deserved night of decompression for us. Had some pizza and pie. I wanted the pie first but Angie put her foot down.

Heading to the library later to pick up "Screenwriting for Dummies." Can't really go into it, but there is some interest, much to my surprise, about turning Praying Small into a film. Hm. Personally, I don't want to get involved in the screenwriting business. Every schmo on the street out here has a screenplay. Also, I don't want a bunch of hackers and suits getting hold of my words. The screenwriter is treated like a janitor out here. At least in the theatre, the playwright is still held in SOME regard.

Also heading over to Hollywood to see the footprints. I know that's a tad plebian but I'm curious.

From the East to the West is full of references to feet and shoes. Most think it comes from one of the lines in the play. Actually, it doesn't. It's one of dozens of Christian references, including the title, which comes not from a line in the play, but from Psalm 103...As far as the east is from the west, that is how far God will go to forgive our transgressions. Beautiful piece of writing there allegedly from King David.

I don't believe a word in the bible, personally. It's been hacked and sawed and mistranslated for thousands of years. What we have left is a religion by committee...mostly the Catholic Church and the counsel of Constantinople. Most people don't realize, and oddly, the pulp fiction novel Da Vinci Code touched on it, that a bunch of Catholic bigwigs got together in the fifth century to VOTE on the divinity of Jesus. All documented. It's a little piece of history the Christians conveniently forget.

Nonetheless, there is some clever writing in the book. The whole thing is fraught with foot images. Up to and including Jesus getting his feet washed and dried by a prostitute and her hair.

By the end of the play, there are shoes all over the stage, dozens of pairs of shoes. The symbolism is left up to you, although of course I know what it means.

I worked for several years as a drug and alcohol counselor for The Salvation Army in Chicago. Went back to school at De Paul, got my C.A.C.D. and threw myself into work that "matters." Gave up the stage, secure in the knowledge that "hands on" work was far more important. It was noble experiment in my life, but, alas, wrong-headed. I'm reminded now of something Michael Moriarty once told me. He said he was planning on becoming a priest when he was younger until, quite accidentally, he happened to see A Man for All Seasons on Broadway. He said it was an epiphany for him and he realized that the only thing "nobler than the priesthood was acting." Wow.

My excursion into drug and alcohol counseling was a terrible time. Not because what I was doing wasn't important. It was. But because I had the horrible misfortune of working for The Salvation Army.

Someday soon, I'm going to blog extensively about this nefarious organization. For for now, suffice to say, they are the most extraordinary scam of the twentieth century. A truly evil group of people that have hoodwinked the American public into actually believing they are doing something helpful. A religious right organization that believes, among other things, that gay people should be put to death, that black people are less than human, that unwed mothers should be imprisoned. I'm not making this up, folks. Look it up for yourselves. These are very dangerous people and this is a very dangerous organization. Working for them forever changed my views on Christianity.

A little off-message here today. Forgive me. But the show is done for a second, the next one hasn't started yet, I have no information as to when it WILL start again or even if it will. I have a plan B and C, but I'm hoping for plan A. Until I find something out, I'm out here in left field wondering.

So today, I cherish the idea of doing absolutely normal, wonderful, mundane things. As long as I'm hanging with the sig other (Angie), it's all good. We tend to make each other laugh a lot. And that's a pretty cool thing. Grocery Stores and Libraries. Two places in which I like to hang out anyway.

See you tomorrow.