Last Tango in Los Angeles: Groucho Marx and Memories of Dead Friends.

Last Tango in Los Angeles: Groucho Marx and Memories of Dead Friends.: "Because I was in serious need of distraction last night I watched The Marx Brothers in Animal Crackers on TCM. I hadn't seen it in thirty y..."

Groucho Marx and Memories of Dead Friends.

Because I was in serious need of distraction last night I watched The Marx Brothers in Animal Crackers on TCM. I hadn't seen it in thirty years, maybe longer. It is the film that contains Groucho's famous line, "I shot an elephant in my pajamas. What he was doing in my panjamas, I'll never know."

The old film (1930) was made right after the advent of sound and it certainly looks it. One can see Groucho looking off to the crew or director for approval at times. The camera is essentially stationary and they simply do a play in front of it. Clearly, no one has any idea what to do with this new medium called motion pictures. And yet, there's Groucho, right in the middle of it all, being ridiculously funny. Eighty one years after it was made there I am, sitting on my couch giggling uncontrollably while my wife looked at me as though I were daft. Everything about the movie is just horribly dated, even Harpo (although he has his moments of absurdity). But Groucho still holds up. He's still funny. He's still Groucho.

There's a wonderful book out there, out of print now I think, called 'The Groucho Letters.' It is exactly that. Letters from and to Groucho Marx. It is a really fun, surprisingly thought-provoking book. Groucho Marx, oddly, kept a running dialogue with the likes of Einstein, John Kennedy, Winston Churchill and Jack Benny. The letters, some absurd, others shockingly serious and intelligent, are a pleasure to read. Groucho was self-educated but unbelievably bright. And one can never predict which subject he will choose to take seriously. I recommend the book highly. It's easy to understand why the likes of Dick Cavett and Woody Allen have always worshipped at the Groucho altar.

There are hundreds of Groucho stories out there amongst old timers like myself. When I was doing Praying Small over in NoHo last year, there was a show right next to mine, a new musical, based on The Marx Brothers and I would stand by the stage door chatting with a couple of the actors from that show sharing Groucho stories. My favorite has always been one from his television show in the fifties called 'You Bet Your Life.' It was a simple premise, designed to let Groucho adlib and talk about whatever was on his mind. The guest would come out, usually an everyman in an everyday job, and Groucho would try and get him to say 'the secret word' during conversation at which point a duck would drop from the ceiling and he would win a few hundred bucks. Not the duck, the guest. This is the one I saw many years ago on a 'blooper reel.' The man came out and sat and the conversation went like this:

Groucho: So. Do you have any children?

Man: Why, yes, Groucho, I do.

Groucho: Good, good. How many do you have?

Man: We have 13 children.

Groucho: Really? Hm. Why so many?

Man: Well, Groucho, I love my wife.

Groucho: Uh huh. Well, I love my cigar but I take it out now and then.

Pure Groucho and still funny. Naturally, it was edited out seeing how it was 1955 or something.

So, my buddy Jeff Wood and his delightful family came to stay with us last week while they made a couple of trips to Disneyland. It was a great joy to hang out with Jeff again after some twenty years or so. Like most old friends it was as though we'd been together only the day before. Our friendship was instantly rekindled and I realized why I had chosen him as a friend to begin with. Now if I could just get him to drop everything and move out here and get back into directing. Probably not gonna happen. Nonetheless, a good time was had by all and I think, I hope anyway, his little girls had a great time. Disneyland is something every little girl should experience at least once.

On Thursday night we played a concentrated yet fun game of Trival Pursuit. Afterwards, as another old friend, John Bader, was leaving to go home, someone brought up the fact that it would be perfect if our late friend, Robert Fiedler, could have been here. Robert died about a year and half ago from an overdose. But the four of us were together often back in our NY days and all three of us, John, Jeff and myself, were somehow acutely aware that he wasn't with us. Robert, in and out of a terrifying lifestyle of drugs and booze, was nonetheless part of who we were, what we stood for, where we were going, how we lived. His absence, strangely, was felt that night. His name was mentioned and we all stood there, by my front door, momentarily silent and giving him an instant of tribute in an entirely unpremeditated way. No one really had anything to say about it. Death and unfairness has intruded upon all of our lives all too often over the past two decades and, like the older men we are now, we didn't drag the pain out, simply acknowledged it and moved on. Robert, in all his predictable insanity, was still a chunk of that time for us. His memory is a bit of an unhealed scab that none of us like to itch. There but for the grace of God...and so on and so forth.

Big audition tomorrow, more shooting on the new film on Thursday, rewrites on the new play, a leisurely yet pleasantly examined day planned. The dogs need a walk, I have to take my diabetes medicine, Angie is making her list of things to do. Beautiful, exquisite, sensible, magical mundanity. Life is good.

See you tomorrow.

Last Tango in Los Angeles: Labcoats and Workshops.

Last Tango in Los Angeles: Labcoats and Workshops.: "I finished my first day of shooting on this new film yesterday. It was a relatively smooth shoot, well organized, pre-planned to the smalle..."

Labcoats and Workshops.

I finished my first day of shooting on this new film yesterday. It was a relatively smooth shoot, well organized, pre-planned to the smallest detail, just like I like shoots to go. But I was reminded again how important that first shot is before we move on to coverage and single shots and close-ups. If the actor doesn't make a choice in that first shot, he can't go back and add something later, because, obviously they all have to match. I'm still very much a newbie when it comes to this stuff, so it can be frustrating. Although yesterday the entire day of shooting had me in bed so there wasn't a lot of room for play anyway. Nonetheless, it was a valuable lesson. Again.

I have written, in this blog in fact, that I considered film work to be by far the easier of the two types of acting - stage and film. That's a sweeping and unecessarily bombastic statement and I made it for the sake of argument. Nonetheless, I still believe it to hold a kernel of truth. A friend of mine, a guy that works continuously in film and tv out here, took me to task for that statement when I wrote it. He's right, of course, but I wrote it not to denigrate film acting, but to amplify the difficulty of stage acting, the difficulty of sustained, concentrated work. No do overs, no second takes, no 'oops, I made a mistake.'

I've finished, at least the first draft, of a play I've been tinkering with for about six months now, tentatively titled THE PROMISE. I rather like it so far. Not to say I'll feel the same in about ten minutes. But I think it's got some possibilities. Ideally, I'd like to mount it as a staged reading sometime in April or May. As I did with Bachelor's Graveyard, another play of mine, just throw it out there and see what happens. Not a workshop or a 'talkback,' I hate those. What's more, I don't believe in them. I've never understood why playwrights feel the need to 'workshop' something they've written. When was the last time you heard of a novel being 'workshopped?' Writing by committe holds no allure for me. And I have no interest whatsoever of changing a single word of a play simply because an audience member suggests I do so, an audience member with absolutely no vested interest in the play to begin with. Workshopping a play is one of the silliest things about theatre I've ever run across and I'm a bit appalled at playwrights who allow it. Again, I'm reminded of that wonderful quote from George S. Kauffman, "Every human being has four needs in life: the need for shelter, the need for food, the need to procreate and the need to rewrite someone else's play."

Now reading a play out loud sitting around a table with a core group of trusted friends, that's another thing. I've done that. It hardly qualifies as 'workshopping,' however.

I have another big audition this Tuesday. An out of town gig that I'd kinda like to do. We'll see.

I had a long conversation recently with one of my agents about my hair...or to be more precise, my lack of hair. I've grown it long for ADDING MACHINE. Long on the sides, that is. It tends to magnify the fact that I'm balding to begin with. He would like me to 'rinse' it (dye it) and have some photos taken with it like that. He (and for that matter, nearly every actor I've talked to out here in Los Angeles) thinks it would behoove me to do so because casting directors apparently have no imagination whatsoever and can't conceive of an actor changing his or her appearance for a role. When I first heard of this particular line of thought I simply didn't believe it. And frankly, I tried hard not to believe it for months and months. Now, I'm not so sure. I have personally run across this sort of thing several times now, much to my genuine surprise, and I think there may be something to it. It's not only silly, it's demeaning. Yet, I have to make a decision about it this week because clearly there is some truth to it.

Two actors are in a room auditioning for the part of a doctor. The best actor doesn't get the role because the other actor is wearing a white lab coat. Casting directors, at least most of the ones I've met, seem to be unable to imagine the better of the two actors wearing a lab coat. Now, I know this sounds preposterous, even to the layman, but it's true. It's a decided truism in Los Angeles. I can only imagine the conversation following the audition, "Well, Bob is the much better actor. He's really good. But I just don't see him playing a doctor. But Gunther, although really not very good, was wearing that doctor's coat. He really looked like a doctor. Let's go with him."

This is the part of being an actor I despise. It's no wonder actors out here obsess over their head shots.

Anyway, that's all kvetching. I was talking to a friend of mine the other day about it. A fairly famous actor, one you'd recognize immediately, and he said to me, "You know, they're either going to 'get' you or not. The ones that don't aren't going to play a big part in your career one way or another anyway. Eventually, simply by the law of averages, you're going to run across a casting director that 'gets' you. And then everything will change." I hope he's right. He told me he was out here for nearly five years before someone 'got' him. Shortly after he was playing the lead in a very successful television series.

Ah, the life of an actor. The heights of absurdity. And yet, and yet, we keep going back for more. Geez.

See you tomorrow.

Last Tango in Los Angeles: Burton, Taylor and Virginia Woolf.

Last Tango in Los Angeles: Burton, Taylor and Virginia Woolf.: "I take particular joy in introducing my wife to old films she's never gotten around to watching. On the Waterfront, Come Back, Little Sheba..."

Burton, Taylor and Virginia Woolf.

I take particular joy in introducing my wife to old films she's never gotten around to watching. On the Waterfront, Come Back, Little Sheba, and last night, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf in homage to the recent passing of Elizabeth Taylor. She loved it.

Taylor won an Oscar for the role, as well as a number of other awards, and there's no getting around that she's especially good in this film, arguably her finest screen performance. But it is Burton that dazzles me. This guy had some chops. I mean, I've always known that. Most don't remember or realize that in the late fifties and early sixties he was generally considered the guy that would succeed Olivier as THE English actor of his generation. Olivier thought so. Gielgud thought so. His contemporaries (O'Toole, Guiness, Redgrave, Finney, Courtney, Harris, Bates, Hopkins, Scofield) thought so. And then two remarkable stage performances, nearly back to back, Camelot and Hamlet on the NY stage, and he was set to claim the mantle from the aging Olivier. Alas, it was not to be.

Two things happened to Burton around this time. Booze and Elizabeth Taylor. But neither can be seriously blamed for Burton's drift away from the stage. For one thing Burton had always been a hard drinker and, according to his diaries, it wasn't until the late sixties that drinking really started to intrude upon his work. And by all accounts Taylor always encouraged him to return to the stage. But Burton, like Anthony Hopkins, chose film as his medium. He didn't settle for it, as is often thought, he chose it. He wanted to be rich. He wanted to be a movie stah. He chose film. And by the time Virginia Woolf rolled around, he was, indeed, a full-fledged movie star. And, in my opinion anyway, he gives one of the five or ten finest performances ever captured on film in it.

His diaires, published in the eighties after his death, are fascinating. If you're an actor and haven't read them, I highly recommend them. He was entirely cognizant of his choices. Peter O'Toole, another actor that chose the screen over the stage, was probably his best 'actor' friend and Burton never stopped comparing himself to O'Toole. They were the British equivalent to Brando and Clift a decade earlier in America. They competed on a very high level. Not overtly so, perhaps, but they did. O'Toole always admired Burton's ability to be 'absolutely still' and, in his diaries, Burton admired O'Toole's 'vocal prowess.'

In fact, there is an oft-repeated story of the two, legendary drinkers both, having a long snort in the early sixties and deciding to do separate versions of Hamlet. One would do it in London and one would do it in NY. They actually flipped a coin (according to Burton they did this in the fabled Lion's Pub in New York - O'Toole, oddly, claims it never happened). Burton won the toss and chose New York. Then they flipped again for director. O'Toole is said to have won the second toss and chose Olivier to direct, Burton settled for Gielgud. Subsequently Laurence Olivier directed Peter O'Toole in the inaugural production of The National Theater in London and Burton was directed by John Gielgud and opened on Broadway. The Burton Hamlet was a smash, famous even today among Shakespeare-philes. O'Toole's Hamlet is equally famous for all the opposite reasons. It was apparently terrible. Olivier chose to do the full, four-hour text and stage a labourious and ultimately nearly unwatchable version. Gielgud cut the text to the bare bones, did it on a blank stage in rehearsal clothing and Burton's Hamlet still holds the record today as the longest running Hamlet on Broadway.

But I digress. All of this brings us to Edward Albee's remarkable piece of writing, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf. It was a surprise stage hit and Taylor and Burton actually saw it there as members of the audience. Taylor very much wanted the film to be made and back then, Liz Taylor had a considerable amount of clout in the Hollywood community. What Liz wanted, she usually got. She not only got the project green-lighted, she also demanded it be directed by a young nobody with no film credits named Mike Nichols. I have had the great privilege to sit and talk with Mike Nichols about that film. Some years back I picked his brain for several hours about that film and a few others he directed. He has mostly fond memories of it. For one thing, he told me, he was very clearly under the protective umbrella of Elizabeth Taylor so the studio didn't mess with him too much. They were too afraid of Dame Liz. He also claims Burton was beyond good. He showed up on day one letter-perfect, the entire script memorized and ready to go. He said Burton told him on the first day of shooting he had 'given up the drink' for the duration of the shoot. Burton, even then, was acutely aware of his own alcoholism. He also said the 'bergen and water' speech Burton gives halfway through the movie, sitting on the tree swing with a very young George Segal, is perhaps the best piece of film acting he's ever seen. He said Burton, being a trained stage actor, nailed it all on the first take and simply walked off set as though nothing had happened immediately following it, leaving Nichols and dozens of crew members standing there in awe. He also said that at one point a few 'suits' from Warner Brothers were standing around on set, generally getting in everyone's way, occasionally offering unsolicited advice, suddenly found themselves in the path of Liz Taylor's legendary temper. She told them she would not say one more word in front of a camera unless they immediately vacated the set to never return. She also, according to Nichols, told them she would personally see to it they never 'got near a movie studio again' if they sent one more 'memo' to Mike Nichols suggesting ways to direct the film. It apparently worked because Nichols said he never saw them again and never recieved another 'memo' from the studio.

Taylor, generally regarded as not so much a great actress as a great movie star, had the amazing ability to notch up her game when working opposite an actor of greater natural ability. She did it with Clift in A Place in the Sun, she did it with Newman in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, she did it with Brando in Reflections in a Golden Eye and she, most famously, does it with Burton in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf. She matches his work every step of the way. And that ain't no small thing. There are moments in this film in which Richard Burton is so good it's sort of paralyzing to watch him (if you're an actor and really 'get' what he's doing). And there, right along side him, is Liz Taylor, blowing the roof off. Taylor, despite a whole plethora of laughable performances later in her career, could stand toe to toe with the best in the business back in those days.

Buton and Taylor, booze fueled and overexposed, eventually self-destructed in an all-too-public way as nearly everyone now knows. They divorced, remarried, divorced again and eventually collapsed from their own self-indulgence. Burton never again gave the kind of performance he gives in Virginia Woolf. It was Taylor's swan song, too, I think. She was and always will remain "Elizabeth Taylor" but I really think that was her last great effort as an bonafide actress. Burton returned to the stage in the late seventies in Equus and recieved one of my favorite reviews for that play from a very famous and legendarily caustic NY critic: "Richard Burton may be the most promising middle-aged actor on the planet." That always made me chuckle.

It's hard to comprehend they are both now gone. Burton died way too young from drink and incomprehensibly hard living. Taylor, the ultimate survivor, finally succumbed a few days ago. I read an interview with her a few years ago, can't remember the magazine, but one of the quotes made me smile. She said, when asked about her many marriages, 'There was Richard. And then there were all the others."

I just love that.

See you tomorrow.

Last Tango in Los Angeles: Baseball.

Last Tango in Los Angeles: Baseball.: "I watched a film I hadn't seen in a long time last night...The Natural, with Robert Redford. I've become, over the last few years, a bit of..."

Baseball.

I watched a film I hadn't seen in a long time last night...The Natural, with Robert Redford. I've become, over the last few years, a bit of a snob about watching movies; I simply won't watch them on regular television. Commercials kill a film and I can't stand to see the wreckage anymore. So I had saved The Natural from TCM, one of my favorite channels, and took a look at it late last night.

I remember when the movie first came out. I liked it. I liked Redford and I especially liked Wilford Brimley in it. What a wonderful character actor Brimley was. The epitome of minimalism.

Over the years, The Natural has taken on new meaning for me. And last night, seeing it again for the first time in a couple of decades, I was truly moved by it. Redford is perfectly cast, he's rarely been better, and the story, especially the baseball sequences, is terribly moving.

Baseball has, with the possible exception of boxing, been the sport that Hollywood now and then gets exactly right. There are a few out there about the sport that the industry has done right: The Natural, of course, Bang the Drum Slowly, Bull Durham, Field of Dreams, a couple of others.

And unlike a lot of films about the sport, Redford really looks like he knows how to play the game. For those of us that have actually played a little baseball in our lives, it's the little things that add up. For example, Redford is seen throwing the ball a number of times in slo-mo. The guy throws it right...eyes right, arm extends far enough back, full overhead arc, release is right, follow through right, fingers down, right hip pull over in the exact right vortex following the release; he's got it down. Occasionally one sees an actor play baseball on screen that is just laughable...Tony Perkins in Fear Strikes Out, John Goodman in The Babe, Gary Cooper in The Lou Gehrig Story (or whatever that one was called), some others. Four others I've noticed really nailed it, too. Costner looked like a real baseball player in his trilogy of baseball films, Charlie Sheen could really throw a ball...and DeNiro and Moriarty looked picture perfect in Bang the Drum...but most of the time, it's easy to spot the non-player.

Anyone, in any walk of life, that has put aside the true passion in their lives only to return to it later in life, can identify with this film, I think. Hence my own fondness for it. I think Field of Dreams is the only Baseball movie that I've enjoyed more over repeated viewings. I can still quote, word for word, James Earl Jones beautiful speech about baseball from that movie. "...and through it all - Baseball. Baseball."

Years ago I wrote a one-act called 'Our Generation' in which I played a number of different characters. In it, I took a shot at baseball myself and wrote a long monologue in the piece about it. Mostly it was about the perfect symmetry of the sport. There is a pureness about Baseball, an unsullied American pureness, that allows it to stand alone among other sports. And the simple fact that it is forever linked with Summer doesn't hurt, either.

The Natural, like Field of Dreams, is filled with really beautiful, haunting images. It's mythical film making, very Spielberg-esque. The final shot of the stadium lights being shattered by the towering home run is a visual for the ages. And even though I've seen it a few times, I am always moved by it. It is the great statement on comebacks. "America is the land of second acts," says an old quote I personally hold dear, and The Natural and that last shot in particular, is a joyous celebration of that truism.

I miss playing the game. After high school, I mostly played softball, especially in New York and highly competitive games in Central Park, but I'd like to find a league out here in LA to get involved with. Of course, it would have to be the 'old guy's' league. I played with a theatre company in Chicago for awhile, but it was mostly an excuse for people to drink beer, which is fine and dandy, but I get very intense when it comes to softball, so it wasn't really satisfying for me. Watching the film late last night made me decide to do some research and find a league here in LA before the summer is upon us.

Okay...got an audition in a couple of hours. Gotta sing a little ditty for it. Frankly, I'm kinda over singing little ditties, but whaddayagonna do?

See you tomorrow.

Last Tango in Los Angeles: The Closing of the Beast.

Last Tango in Los Angeles: The Closing of the Beast.: "Well, we closed this beast of a show last night amidst great fanfare and a stunning sitting ovation. Actually, it was another full house an..."

The Closing of the Beast.

Well, we closed this beast of a show last night amidst great fanfare and a stunning sitting ovation. Actually, it was another full house and a very appreciative audience. As I've said before, this show ain't your father's oldsmobile, it's not for everyone's taste; it's a big, full, rich, thinking man's musical, really a chamber opera, and those that 'get it' are generally overwhelmed by it. And it is, upon reflection, the single most difficult role I've done in 30 years on the professional stage.

Our last show was a corker, too. My dear friends Tara Lynn Orr and Colin Walker were in the audience last night, both veteran actors, and they loved it. I can always tell right away. As I walk up to someone that has just seen it, there are usually one of two expressions, either simple confusion or a look very much akin to awe. As actors themselves, Tara and Colin were well aware of what they'd just seen. Knowing that I didn't have to do the show again today at two in the afternoon, I just leaned back and blew it out last night, vocally speaking.

I shall miss this show. I don't think I'll miss DOING this show, but I shall miss hearing this show every night. My opinion of it even five months or so after first hearing it, is unwavering; it is a piece of genius. Easily the most demanding vocal score I personally have ever had to tackle.

Now, I'm not a musical theatre guy down deep, so my opinion is not necessarily expert, but nonetheless I believe that.

It's raining like a big dog here in Los Angeles today. My buddy Jeff and his family are coming in tomorrow for a week. Fortunately, I think the weather is supposed to be mild and sunny for the week following this current storm.

It's been an emotionally tight week here at the Morts household this week. I've been on high alert about this upcoming gig (which I could hear about today, but it looks as though I didn't land it) and Angie has been dealing with a whole other mess. This has been the kind of week when marriages are tested a bit. It has been the kind of week when the words 'unconditional support and love' no longer become a catch phrase but an actual plan of action. And my wife and I weathered the emotional storm together and came out dry and determined, unquestionably devoted, in the end. In short, we had each other's backs.

So, for the first time in a long, long time I will not be waiting in the dark, anticipating lights out, heart palpitating slightly, nerves a-jangle, preparing to charge once more unto the breach. Adding Machine - The Musical is over. And god bless the next Mr. Zero. You have my empathy.

We have a ton of stuff to do today in preparation for the week. Mundane stuff mostly, cleaning, grocery shopping, logistics, etc. But we're both looking forward to it. And tomorrow another audition for me. A fairly big one for another large and highly respected company out here on the west coast. It's for another musical, which I'm not crazy about, but it's a good contract and there are some good people doing it. More about that as it pans out.

And finally, a very fond gesture of appreciation to the stalwart and staggeringly talented people with whom I've just shared the last five months of Adding Machine: Ron Sossi, Alan Patrick Kenny, Kelly Lester, Christine Horn, Rob Herring, Travis Leland, Nick Tubbs, Mandy Wilson, Alan Abelew, Greta McAnany, Chris Myers, Scott Director, Jennifer Palumbo, Katherine Hunt, Chris Schultz and Beth Hogan. My eternal gratitude to them all. They are all at the peak of their considerable professional powers in this wild and wacky world of bigtime theatre and I simply could not be prouder to have been associated with them. You, all of you, are the stuff dreams are made of. Godspeed. I'll see you all on the boards again very soon.

See you tomorrow.