American Idol or The Gong Show revisited.

Something very interesting is happening with American Idol. Angie is a dedicated watcher of the program and, consequently, I have sort of become interested myself. There is an unusually talented bunch on the show it seems to me. But that's not so terribly different from seasons past. No, the interesting thing this year is that each of the remaining contestants seem to be experts in wildly disparate genres of music.

Gospel is represented by one young man, jazz by another, grass roots country by another and, of all things, heavy metal by yet another. So what's happening here is that people aren't voting for the 'best' of the bunch of singers, but rather for the kind of music they enjoy. I really like this. It elevates this rather pedestrian talent show to something else altogether; a compare and contrast study of American music itself.

Last night the young man that sort of 'specializes' in jazz sang an old Nat King Cole tune called 'Nature Boy.' It was not even in the same league as the rest of the participants. For the first and perhaps the only time, this over-produced 'Gong Show' became something else entirely: a concert. And, quite to my surprise, I was really impressed with this guy's performance. It wasn't a bunch of caterwalling set to latter-day, bubble-gum tunes, but an actual, beautifully conceived performance. It was extraordinary. And I fully expect him to be voted off tonight.

This is the sad part of the show. Clearly the majority of voters are teenage girls. And I would be very surprised if they enjoyed that particular performance in the least. On the other hand (and the really cool thing about the show) is that this guy has been yanked from obscurity and placed front and center on America's stage to display his wares. And impressive wares they are.

Another of the singers on display is a young man (sixteen, for God sakes) with one of the purest country voices I've heard in years. It's a throwback to Hank Williams and George Jones and Johnny Cash and it's absoulutely riveting. Singing pure country is not easy. This is not 'cross-over' stuff, but rather the real deal. And I, quite surprisingly, found myself shaking my head in awe as he warbled out his song last night.

There's another young man (Angie likes him more than I do) who did a pure 'heavy metal' song last night. In fact the song was actually called 'Heavy Metal.' I'm not a fan of that style of music. I find it grating and, well, just dumb. But nonetheless this guy rocked it out. Even though I don't like the genre itself, there is no getting around that he does it exceptionally well.

And then there's the young guy that sings gospel. Last night he performed the great Simon and Garfunkel tune, Bridge Over Troubled Waters. This guy has the kind of voice that really shakes the rafters. He's not a great performer, per se, but that voice...heavens. The problem is, he's clearly rather religious judging by his comments during the show and like most religious dimwits, he's always trying to 'teach a lesson' through his music.

Oddly, the female performers this year are not up to the standards of the male performers. Generally, as I recall, the opposite has been the case in the past few seasons.

But again, this jazz guy, I think his name is Casey, he's the one to watch. Really a simply top flight artist. He plays the stand-up base with his work, and it is head and shoulders superior to everybody else on the show. Which is really saying something, because, as I said, this is an unusually talented bunch this year.

There are a couple of 'mentors' on the show this year that give advice during the rehearsal week about choice of song, etc. One of them is apparently the president of some huge record company and, naturally, he's always pushing for the performers to sing the lowest common denominator type songs. Something that will appeal to all the teenage girls, that is to say. Casey, the jazz guy, flat-out refused to do it. I liked that very much. The heavy metal guy also told him to take a hike. This guy, the 'mentor' (Jimmy something is his name), is a microcosm of everything that's wrong about American popular music today. He's clearly concerned with making money and selling records rather than actual talent.

Strangely, I find myself looking forward to seeing who leaves the show tonight. If for no other reason to see if my theory holds water. To see if America will vote out the one singer that shows true artistry. I hope I'm wrong but I suspect I won't be.

See you tomorrow.

Acting Classes

Acting classes are a funny thing. I think it goes without saying that it's important to find the exact right fit, sort of like picking a glove that fits your hand perfectly. Now, generally speaking, it's nearly impossible to swing a dead cat out here in Hollywood without hitting an acting teacher. They're everywhere. It seems there are almost as many acting teachers as there are actors.

This is true, I've found, in New York as well (although, oddly, not quite so much in Chicago). The big difference I've found, however, is that acting classes in New York seem to be actual acting classes. Out here (there are exceptions of course) the 'acting class' is forever linked to 'networking.' That is to say, a lot of young actors don't take the class so much to learn about acting but to meet someone that might further their career. And I suppose there's nothing wrong with that, really. It just seems a bit misdirected to me.

I have, as a professional actor for nigh on thirty years, seen a butt-load of acting teachers in my life. A few are good at what they do, most are not. "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach" is the old adage. And I don't think it's a very accurate one on the whole. But with regards to acting professionally, it is uncomfortably true more often than not. I prefer Woody Allen's take on the phrase: 'Those who can't, teach. And those who can't teach, teach gym.'

I was very luck as a young actor in New York because I, quite accidentally, ran across the brilliant actor, Michael Moriarty, as a teacher. I worked with Michael, off and on, for about five years. Right up until he started Law and Order on NBC and no longer had the time to teach. They were the most important five years of my life in terms of my craft. I've already blogged about Michael and his classes here so I won't repeat myself. Suffice to say, Michael simply assumed his students knew how to act already...he just made them more interesting to watch. Much more interesting. And in the final analysis, that's really what it's all about.

I'm not sure anyone can 'teach' someone how to act. One can 'build' upon talent, but not give it away. One already has the instincts to be a good actor or not. It's not something one can 'find' by looking or being taught. But that's just my theory. Others might disagree.

For example, I remember one class with Michael when a young actor said to him, "I don't want to hear about all of that stuff about Naked Face and internalizing and all that. I want to know how to ACT." I recall Michael taking a long pause, sort of sighing a bit, and then launching into an hour or so of breathing techniques; when to breathe, how to breathe, staggered breathing, full breaths, semi-breaths, top of the phrase breathing, quick breaths, breathing in the pause...it was absolutely fascinating and the young actor was overwhelmed. He ended by saying some actors do all of this instinctively. And if that is not the case it becomes tantamount to advanced trig...it's that complicated. In essence, Michael was telling the young actor that it can't be taught, or if it could, it would be so serpentine as to be almost incomprehensible. He was saying, quite wisely, that acting is breathing, first and foremost.

After that, he sat at his piano (Michael is a world-class jazz pianist) and turned the young man's monologue into an aria. He improvised the music and told the actor where the emotional peaks and valleys were. He stretched some of the sentences into soaring musical phrases and shortened some into quick, syncopated jazz riffs. It was remarkable. I can honestly say I learned more about the actual nuts and bolts part of acting in that hour than I had in the previous ten years of my life.

Before I ran across Michael's class I had ample opportunity to 'try out' some other teachers. For awhile I studied with the fabled Sanford Meisner. Certainly thought of to be one of the great teachers of the twentieth century in America. And yes, there were some cool things to learn from old 'Sandy.' But mostly it was a compilation of party games that had little or nothing to do with the actual work of the actor. Although I must admit, most of the time it was fun.

Uta Hagen's book, Respect for Acting, seems to be the one that most academic acting teachers espouse. It's a common sensical approach and not a bad book at all. My problem with it is that it is just full of 'right' and 'wrong' ways to do things. I've found over a hundred or so professional plays that this line of thought is simply silly. There is no right or wrong, there is only what works and what doesn't work.

I once worked with a teacher in New York who confused acting with personal therapy. There seems to be a lot of that going on. After I finished a scene once, before commenting about the work, he asked, "Did you have a difficult childhood?" I said, "Yes, I did. But not nearly as difficult as this asinine class." And walked out.

There's a charlatan here in LA, over in NoHo, who pretends to be an acting teacher. His background is mostly chorus work in big musicals. He's in his fifties now and runs a theatre, so a lot of young actors think he knows what he's talking about. After every scene or monologue he starts by saying, "How did that feel?" Which is okay, but that's as far as it goes. After the young actor describes how it 'felt' he says okay, and that's that. Next actor. Good Lord. The sad part is this guy actually has quite a few students that pay good money to be asked that.

There was one guy in New York (this happens all too often, I'm afraid) who used his classes to get laid. He abhored all the men in the class and everything they did. The women were all lavished with praise. It was so transparent as to be really uncomfortable.

The gist here, I suppose, is BE CAREFUL. Pick and choose carefully. A really good acting teacher is worth his or her weight in gold. A bad one can fuck you up forever.

Here's the thing: once an actor has reached a certain level of competence, he is competing against a whole gaggle of good actors. Everyone in the room is good. There ARE no bad actors in the room. Everybody knows what they're doing. It's not college anymore, it's not 99 seat theatre, it's not the Irene Ryan Competition, it's the real deal. And at that point it becomes not about being 'better' but about being 'more interesting.' Michael Moriarty understood this. That's what I loved about his classes. He really wasn't interested in teaching people 'how' to act, but rather how to make them a 'more fascinating' actor.

And in the long run, that's what it's all about.

See you tomorrow.

Waiting for the Next Big Gig...

I've unexpectedly found myself with a new management team here in LA. Entirely about film and television submissions. And, let's face it, LA is a camera town, not a stage town, as exasperating as that is now and then. Although to be sure, there is certainly some fine stage work being done here and there. The Geffen is constantly doing good work on stage. And not, like a lot of theatre companies, just once in a while, but consistently. Currently they're producing Jane Anderson's new controversial script about the sex industry. I've read the script, in fact, and it's really good stuff. I look forward to seeing it come alive onstage.

The Geffen may be the most beautiful regional theatre complex I've ever seen. And I use the word 'regional' loosely these days because the time of New York producing the hottest new plays are decades behind us. I was at The Geffen a couple of weeks ago for a meeting with the resident casting director there and I was reminded all over again just how stunning that facility is.

In any event, through a series of surprising conincidences I'm become involved with this fairly high-end management company. So...we shall see what we shall see. I can't really say a lot more at this particular time for a number of reasons, but suffice to say I'm very excited by it all and much encouraged. LA is all about who reps you. Unlike New York and Chicago, in this town the cream doesn't always rise to the top. Sometimes it simply sits, coagulated and static, in the middle of the cup unless the right people are repping you. A bit sad but undeniably true.

I've decided to get back to my original screenplay today. I've put it on the backburner for a little while and I'm sort of inspired again. Although absolutely nothing like it, I was initially moved to write the piece after watching, for the second time, the film 'Sideways.' It's a very funny, very smart film starring the always interesting Paul Giamatti. If you haven't seen it, I heartily recommend it.

It's funny because I've turned down a lot of projects lately in order to be availabe for some other possible gigs. It's very much an LA mindset. It goes against my professional grain, not taking jobs I think I might like but to rather wait for one that might 'make a splash.' Nonetheless, it's the right thing to do. I was chatting with a close buddy the other day and he was suggesting I do exactly that. "Stop doing good work and wait for big work," was the exact quote. Sometimes it's maddening, to be honest.

And so it goes.

See you tomorrow.

Playing the 'Bad Guy.'

So I'm watching a little more of this 'Kennedy's' thing on REELZ. Like I said before, it's not very well written but for the most part, the actors are rising above that. It's the old adage, 'Good actors can sometimes save a bad script, but a good script can never save bad actors.' It begins and ends with the actor. In Olivier's second book on acting he talks briefly about this. He says something akin to, you can take away the director, the script, even the stage, but you can't have theatre without actors. Unfortunately, there are those in this business that still consider actors a necessary evil, as astonishing as that may sound.

Anyway, I'm watching this thing and there's an older actor, don't even know his name, who is playing the role of the bitter, misguided, war-happy character of General Bennett in the series. It's a plumb little role, clearly written as the antagonist, and this poor guy is clueless. He's playing the whole thing like a petulent, fit-throwing, pouting twelve-year-old. He's completely missed the idea of always loving the character you play. Anthony Hopkins, when asked about his Emmy-winning turn as Adolf Hitler, said he needed to find a place inside himself where he thought he was right, where he was doing the right thing, where his motivations were heroic and benign. Therein, says Sir Anthony, lies the key to playing 'bad guys.'

There's nothing more satisfying than watching a really good actor grab hold of a villainous role and shake it like a dog with a bone. I'll mostly reference film villains here because that's the medium we can all identify with, generally speaking. But I once saw Stephen Lang play Colonel Jessop (the role Jack Nicholson later did in the film version) in the play, A Few Good Men in New York. What a magnificent performance of a villain that was. I still, all these years later, think of his work in that play now and again.

In terms of film, there are a few that come to mind, too, that illustrate my point. One is Gary Oldman in any number of films, but most spectacularly in a movie called The Professional. Oldman is well aware of his strength as a 'bad guy.' He is clearly cognizant of his ability to play bad guys as charming, smart, evil and explosive and this is never more apparent than in that film. If you're an actor and haven't seen it, I highly recommend it for that performance alone.

Olivier himself is at his best in an old movie called Marathon Man with Dustin Hoffman, in which he plays a NAZI scientist on the run. His dead eyes and unblinking stare are enormously creepy. And yet there are moments he can turn on the charm as easy as flicking a light switch.

And of course, there is Hopkins as Hannibal Lector. It's a text book approach to playing villains, probably to be studied by other actors for generations to come.

There are others, too, certainly worth mentioning. Take a look at Robert Mitchum in the original Cape Fear. Or, arguably, Brando in The Godfather (although, Brando being Brando, that's almost an antagonist turned into a protagonist simply through his sheer force of personality). A rather obscure one, although one of my favorites, is Ben Kingsley in a rather muddled film called Sneakers with Robert Redford. Exemplary job of good, old-fashinoned bad guy work. Try Lee J. Cobb in On the Waterfront. Another example of a personality so large it nearly overshadows the content of the script. He's just a terrible person in that movie, and yet so convincing in his through-line as an actor, it's nearly impossible to hate him.

And speaking of old films, take a glance at Orson Welles in Citizen Kane. A bad guy, to be sure, but absolutely fascinating.

Shakespeare understood this fascination we have with villains all to well. Richard III is, of course, the case in point. An entire three-hour play surrounding a purely evil character. And yet, it works beautifully (although most Richard III productions excise all of the political dialogue in that play - it's unbelievably complicated what with all of the Yorkist and Lancastrian allusions). And Olivier on film and the extraordinary Ian McKellan in the 1990's production are prime examples of an actor moving past the content and into the realm of real behavior. As Stephen King says, '...the art of creating a person rather than a bag of bones.'

Bad guys are the axis of drama, the reason for it to exist. Without the bad guy, drama becomes existential, which can be satisfying but not especially dramatic. Dramatists and storytellers have, for eons now, understood the need to simply 'root' for someone. And as far back as Aristotle we have had villains to overcome. It is essential to the arc of drama itself. In simple terms, we don't want to be angry and offended at bad 'things.' We want to be angry and offended at bad 'people.'

There is someting very satisfying about seeing a bad guy get his 'come-uppance.' One of the examples that comes to mind in film is during the final ten minutes of the movie The Verdict with Paul Newman. It's a wonderful script by David Mamet. And a great courtroom drama (courtroom dramas, for obvious reasons, especially lend themselves to good guy - bad guy work). James Mason has a moment when his entire case collapses when Newman cross-examines a woman on the stand and gets her to admit she made copies of a crucial piece of evidence. Mason looks up, startled for the first and only time in the film, eyes widening and blurts out the single word, "Objection!" In that single glance, we see the tables turn, we see the bad guy 'get his.' We see justice and moral rights upheld. It's a stunning and delicious moment.

Ask any professional actor and he'll tell you how much fun it is to play the bad guy. Much more so than playing the good guy. I've had the opportunity to play more than a few in my time and I couldn't agree more. And, as Anthony Hopkins so eloquently described, it all has to do with believing in the character, loving the character you're playing. It's not only difficult, but uninteresting, to play a bad guy as though he thinks he IS a bad guy. The trick is to play him as 'the good guy.'

It's the reason this older charcter actor in the mini-series of The Kennedy's bothers me so much. He's been given a golden opportunity. And he's squandering it by actually playing the bad guy AS the bad guy. Maybe he's being directed that way, I don't know. Wouldn't surprise me. Most directors I've come across don't understand the balancing act in playing villains. They're too afraid 'the point' will be missed. But then again, I've rarely met any directors with a healthy sense of imagination. A few, but not too many. But that's a whole different blog on a whole different day.

See you tomorrow.

The Kennedy's on TV...

When I was younger I did a lot of improv. Starting in college (with a wonderful seminar with the legendary Del Close - who at the time I did not know was 'legendary') and then with a late night group in NYC in the East Village. I enjoyed it a lot. I was not bad at it. I learned the basic rules and arcs of the form. Never deny. Always augment but don't top. Push for the full story rather than the quick laugh. That sort of thing.

Frankly, I'm appalled when I audition for a new piece, be it a television pilot or a film of some kind, when the director says, "Why don't you just improvise for a bit here. See what you can come with?" My first thought is always, 'No.' I mean, I'd be glad to, but pay me as a writer first. I'm not here to give your writers free ideas and dialogue. I'm here as an actor.

I once auditioned for a piece, some while back, and a few days later got a callback on the piece. During the original audition, they had asked me to improvise. I did so with gusto. Then the dimwits called me back and lo and behold the stuff I'd improvised was now in the script. As they used to say in the beginning of the old Hill Street Blues series, 'Be careful out there.'

There is no protection, union or otherwise, for the actor that is especially good at improvising dialogue. None at all. So nowadays whenever I'm asked to improvise something, I'm always in a bit of a quandry. The truth is, I'm pretty good at this sort of thing. So when I let loose and really do it, it's usually better than the crap on the page. The quandry, of course, is do I let them take my dialogue or do I just go ahead and do my best and shoot for the acting job? It sucks.

A little while back I was asked to improvise WHILE THE CAMERA WAS RUNNING in a new film. The papers had been signed and I was in the midst of actually shooting on the set. I balked. I made a decision. Nope. I purposely took a submissive back seat in the scene and let the other actor flounder around a bit while I simply agreed with him. The scene struggled to an end and they didn't ask again.

Here's an interesting and true story. An old, old friend of mine in NYC was in the original Broadway production of Fifth of July by Lanford Wilson. Now, let me say up front that I happen to be a huge Lanford Wilson fan. He died recently, which I was very sad to hear. My friend is still a little bitter about that production. Apparently during rehearsals (they opened it first at Circle in the Square downtown and then later moved it to Broadway) there was a huge chunk in the second act that simply wasn't working. So Wilson and the director, Marshall Mason, asked the cast to improvise some of the dialogue. They gave them a beginning and end and told them to just take off. That dialogue, word for word, ended up in the final production and in the published version of the play.

Which brings me to my next honorable mention this morning. Angie and I have been watching the new mini-series on televison, The Kennedy's. It's well acted (although Barry Pepper is about forty years too old for 'Bobby Kennedy' and Katie Holmes has all the charisma of a head of cabbage) but badly written. I keep watching it, though, because I'm fascinated with the subject matter. I don't know what it is about that family that Americans are obssessed with, but I'm one of them. I love the serpentine lives of that cursed yet gifted family. But with regards to the series I can't help thinking how extraordinary it could have been with someone like Aaron Sorkin or David Kelly at the helm. The writing is coarse and broadly painted. Bad stuff, for the most part. The actors, especially Tom Wilkinson, mostly rise above it, however, but it's really fairly pedestrian stuff. Biopics, with a few exceptions, generally are.

Anyway, sitting here at home and watching this thing, I, like many other writers in LA, keep thinking, "Who greenlighted this thing? Did someone actually read the script and say out loud, 'We have to do this!'" I'll never understand the myriad workings of Hollywood. Time and again, for nigh on 100 years now, good writing is ignored and bad writing is celebrated. Now and then, all too rarely, a good piece of writing slips through the cracks and gets made. But not too often. Yes, there is some good television mini-series writing out there - Holocaust, Roots, - a few others, but it's just rare. Just very rare.

Whaddayagonnado?

See you tomorrow.

The Gold Ring.

I can't seem to get a story out of my head that my wife told me the other day. She used to be, for some twenty years or so, a casting associate here in the LA area. She knows a lot of the major 'players' here. She has worked on a goodly number of films you would recognize in an instant. And now and then, she will off-handedly tell me some inside goop about the business, which of course, I always love.

So she tells me about the ultimate, to my way of thinking anyway, the ultimate Hollywood nightmare story. Although normally she has worked directly with casting agencies and even for a brief time as an associate producer on several films, at this particular time she was working closely with a management firm. Managing actors, that is.

A young actor, tall, goodlooking, sort of personable, former model, comes out here and auditions for one of the most sought-after roles in Hollywood, the lead in a major motion picture, produced and distributed by one of the leading studios. He's all over the press, doing junkets, talk shows, etc. Problem is, he's no good. He's really not a very good actor. And probably never will be. But he's got his one and only shot at the gold ring. And he took it. Turns out the film was a flop, he was eviscerated by the critics, and the big time turned it's back on him.

For some reason this story, absolutely true and factual, fascinated me. Nowadays, this guy lives in somebody's guest house with his wife and struggles mightily for another chance. It is the Hollywood dream tale gone bad. Naturally, prudence dictates that I not use any names or titles, but I saw it as a gargantuan cautionary tale about being ready for the shot at the title when or if it comes.

I know and have worked with a lot of young actors, both here and in Chicago and New York. Some good, some bad, some with potential, some with wonderful instincts but no technique, some with charisma but no craft, some with craft and no charisma. I am drifting dangerously close to 'old codger-ism' here but nonetheless...

Young actors, more so here than NY or Chicago, think that getting the break is enough. Getting the shot at the title is enough. It's not. I am astonished sometimes at the sheer naivety displayed by young artists. And yet, I think it's only natural.

I don't know why people think the acting business is just something one can 'get into.' Good Lord, this is a tough and competitive biz. Even at the very low and early level upon which I compete, it is fierce at times. Of course, I've only been out here in LALA Land about a year or so, and I don't often get the opportunity to get in front of the real movers and shakers. But every now and then, I do. And even after some thirty years of making a living at this muck, I get very anxious as to whether or not I have the 'right stuff.' I can't imagine getting a shot at something big and not being supremely confident in my ability to deliver the goods. Early on I discovered that potential is the cheapest commodity in the world. No one is interested in potential, certainly not at my age, anyway.

Recently I was up for a rather large gig that ended up not getting because I didn't 'look' the part. That's okay. I can handle that. The CD involved called my agent personally and said, "He was the best actor in the room, but we decided he didn't fit the role." I can live with that. I'm not happy about it, but I can live with it.

The old boy scout motto...Be Prepared. It's so important. Hard to make a young arrogant actor realize that, but it is. And in this business of constant, day to day rejection, arrogance is not always a bad thing. As long as it doesn't go too far, that is. I tell my students this all the time...it's okay to think highly of your talent, but when the time comes to show your goods, well, you damn well better have them.

See you tomorrow.

One for Art and then One for the Money...

Ideally, I'll finish the few, short scenes I have left in this low-budget film I'm doing today. I'm looking forward to finishing for a couple of reasons. First, the moment I'm done I can cut my hair. Yes, cut my hair. It hasn't been cut since October of last year because I had to have it long for ADDING MACHINE. And, as it turns out, the director and producer of the film wanted me to keep it that way. So, here I am six months later with this whole 'Bob, your friendly, small town, midwestern, comb-over, insurance man" look going. Or, as I like to call it, the 'Gorbachev with a hangover' look. Oddly, my wife likes it. Go figure. I despise it and can't wait to shave my head later on today.

Today's finishing scenes are all to be shot in 8mm and then later transferred and processed digitally. They're B & W flashback scenes.

I also have the unexpected opportunity (well, 'opportunity' may be a bit strong) to do 'King Lear' in a theatre way south of here. That would be actually playing Lear in the play. I'm passing on that. It's not a lot of money and frankly I just don't want to tie myself up in another massive stage role for so long. Although the idea of doing Lear is rather enticing. It is, of course, one of those roles actors like to test themselves against. It was Olivier's last stage appearence. Finney has done it, most famously in recent times and I read that Kevin Kline is looking into doing it at Lincoln Center soon.

Personally, I've always felt Lear to be a rather silly role; a cantankerous, old man, consumed by jealousy, living solely by his ego. But it's Willy the Shakes, and that alone is challenging. I just don't think it's the role or play that others think so highly of. I always thought I was alone in this thinking but I recently discovered Olivier felt the same way. He writes in his first of two books on acting, "I suppose people think it's such a great part because it's usually only attempted by older, established actors late in their career."

A friend of mine told me the other day that I should reconsider because 'you'll probably never get another shot at it.' He's right, of course, but honestly, after just finishing this huge piece of stage acting in ADDING MACHINE, I just don't think I have it in me right now.

In John Houseman's book about his life and career, he recounts a conversation he once had with Marlon Brando in the mid-eighties. It was a chance meeting on the upper east side in New York. He said he saw Brando getting out of a car (remember, Houseman produced the film 'Julius Caesar' in the mid-fifties with Brando in the role of Marc Antony) and rushed up to him. He begged him to consider doing Lear onstage in New York calling it 'the greatest casting coup of the century.' He says Brando seemed unexpectedly excited about it for a few minutes and then stared off into space for a bit and said, "I just did the whole thing in my head. It was wonderful. But, John, that's the closest I'll ever get to the stage again. Sorry."

I've seen a few productions of Lear over the years. The latest here on the West Coast was, in fact, just a few miles from here with the wonderful actor, Dakin Matthews, in the title role. Matthews, incidentally, won an Ovation Award for it. But after a bit of soul-searching, I've decided I'm not interested in grappling with the role myself.

That is not to say there are a still a few older roles I wouldn't drop everything to assay. For example, I think sometime in the next ten years or so I'll take a shot at Willy Loman somewhere. I'd also like to pull out that old chestnut, Inherit the Wind, and take a crack at Drummond or Brady. But that's all just speculation.

In any event, first things first. I'm nearly finished with my new play, THE PROMISE, which I'm eager to mount somewhere in the LA area. In fact, just yesterday I emailed the script, unfinished but taking shape, to the key players. It's clearly going to be a long one, a three-act piece, and I'm sort of getting excited about it. The inescapable fact is as I get older I take so much more satisfaction in writing than I do in actually performing. I suppose it's only natural.

These days I'm kind of letting my mind and body relax after pouring everything into Mr. Zero. It was one of those roles that simply left me hollow after doing it onstage every night for so long. The thought of jumping right back into another all-consuming role like that, so soon after finishing one, just makes me quake. I think an actor has to let him or herself rejuvenate, get the mojo back, find the excitement again after climbing a mountain like that. And, to be perfectly frank, I haven't given myself that time yet.

There's also that old acting adage about alternating roles. You do one for yourself and then one for money. ADDING MACHINE was for myself. Now I need to do one for the money. It's a sad state of affairs, but a solid truth in this business. Man does not live by reviews alone. Now and then he needs to put a taco on the table.

See you tomorrow.

Scott Turow

I'm about halfway through a novel by Scott Turow. It's not his latest, but his second to last one, I think. Turow is sort of the thinking man's John Grisham. He is, apparently, still a working lawyer in Chicago despite his success as a novelist. His biggest hit, of course, was 'Presumed Innocent' back in the late eighties. I remember reading that novel when it was a sensation. I would take the subway into Manhattan every day from Astoria and it seemed nearly everybody on the train was reading it.

Like Faulkner, he keeps a cast of characters going throughout all of his books which are set in the fictional 'Kindle County' in the midwest, clearly meant to be Cook County. Turow is a fine writer, not in the least lawyerly or didactic. Unlike Grisham, with clear cut villains and heroes, Turow sees the law as a grey place, an ever-bending and very flixible line that can be crossed and re-crossed.

The book is called 'Reversable Errors' and, like all of Turow's books, once I got into it a bit, I became riveted. He knows his way around a sentence, this guy.

One of the interesting devices he uses is the 'judgemental set up scene.' He will introduce a character, revel in recounting his or her questionable moral decisions and/or lifestyle and then take a literary U-turn and explain what it might be like to be in their shoes. Just when you think you have somebody to root against, he turns the tables. It sort of violates all the 'writing class' rules one is taught and I love it. It tends to keep the reader on shaky moral grounds. Like a lot of readers, I love to see a good villain get his come-uppance. Often times, like Wambaugh, Turow places his cops in a wholly separate universe of right and wrong. They break rules to fight the greater evil. And usually, the police officers are blind to the moral implications of their actions. But his primary characters are officers of the court and they all seem to regard cops as a necessary evil. My thoughts exactly.

Another aspect of his writing that I enjoy are his physically less than ideal women characters. Unlike Grisham, there are rarely 'stunning, beautiful, desired' women to be chased. Turow's women are flawed. A little overweight, or older than one might expect, or perhaps even downright ugly. No matter, he still basks in their sexuality. And in Turow's world, a fifty five year old woman is still very much a sexual being.

As I mentioned, his most famous novel is 'Presumed Innocent,' which was later made into a film with Harrison Ford. It was one of those rare books that was actually very good writing and also happened to capture the public's imagination. Plus it had the added benefit of a startling 'reveal' towards the end of the story. It was one of those delicious who-done-its that, once explained, made the reader slap his forehead and say, 'Of course!'

Unlike Grisham's lawyers, Turow's people don't seem to get a great deal of enjoyment from the law. His characters all find themselves sinking in a dirty mire of hypocricy and double standards at one point or another. One can only suspect that Turow himself thinks this way. If so, it's refreshingly honest writing. In the words of Shakespeare, 'First, kill all the lawyers.' Consequently, Turow's characters are all on the line, neither good people or bad people but rather people struggling mightily to maintain dignity in a sea of mendacity.

This is my fifth Turow novel and he has yet to disappoint me. He's the kind of writer you'd really like to have a long cup of coffee with if you could. I also feel that way about John Irving. I'd really just like about an hour or two to simply pick his brain. And Turow, like Irving, has no compulsions about killing characters off. It's another device academia would frown upon, spending a great deal of the book flushing out a leading figure and then unceremoniously disposing of them. Tends to keep the reader unsettled.

I have so much respect for good prose writers. If nothing else, for their sheer stamina, living and wallowing in a story, a plot, a theme for years at a time sometimes. The good ones - the Irvings, the Turows, the Hemingways, the Faulkners, what have you - are latter day knights, I think. Spending their countless days and nights pursuing a murky truth that ultimately can't be found. They never patronize, these writers. They assume, rightly so, that their reader is every bit as bright as they are.

See you tomorrow.

Last Tango in Los Angeles: Television.

Last Tango in Los Angeles: Television.: "We probably watch too much television in this house. To be fair, I do spend a good deal of time reading, but usually that comes toward the ..."

Television.

We probably watch too much television in this house. To be fair, I do spend a good deal of time reading, but usually that comes toward the end of the evening. I also spend a hefty amount of time writing, but that's tough to do sometimes because there are often distractions around here keeping me from it. But true to our latter day, twentieth century roots, Angie and I tend to equate television after dinner, sitting together on the couch with the dogs around us, our 'family time.'

We always watch the news, of course. I've discovered since being here, however, that local news in the LA area is laughable. For whatever reason, Angie alwyas turns it to channel 4, which is NBC, for the local news. I don't know why this is because there is an anchor guy on that NBC affiliate named Chuck Henry who may be the single most incompetent news announcer I've ever seen or heard. He announces everything as though he's just spotted a new float in a parade coming around the corner, be it the Japan disaster or the most recent murder in East LA. There's always a subdued smile playing around his delighted lips as he reports in his carnival barker voice the latest horror of humanity. But most annoying and unnerving is his 'between stories banter.' It takes innanity to a whole different level. His comments are not only sort of stop-in-your-tracks stupid, they're unbelievably insensitive. And of course the fact that he clearly thinks he's the height of wit makes it even more unbearable. And yet, we watch him. Sometimes, when Angie isn't around, I flip it over to The Fox network for the local news. Unlike the national Fox folk who are unabashedly conservative and anti-Obama, that doesn't seem to be the case with the local guys. Plus, apparently Fox can't afford nice chairs because they make them stand up, awkardly so, to do the news.

In any event, once the news, both local and national, is over, the real battle for the TV begins. Angie prefers 'Dancing with the Stars' and 'American Idol.' I don't hold this against her because having seen both a few times, I admit it IS easy to get involved with that nonsense. The other night I found myself in an embarrassing conversation about whether the dance we'd just seen was indeed a 'quick step.' I had to disengage in the middle of it because I suddenly heard myself saying something like, "I really think it was too modern for a quick step. It bordered on jive. And although they did it well, I felt they didn't have the clean arm movements and step precision they had last week. And Ralph Macchio's line wasn't right. He needs to work on his posture a bit for next week." It was at this point I realized what I was saying and threw up in my mouth just a little a bit. I had to step out back and take some deep breaths and think of Eugene O'Neill and Sergio Eisenstein.

If left to my own devices I will always choose either The History Channel or The Military Channel. Last week there was a fascinating piece called 'Third Reich, the fall.' Pretty gritty stuff. Filmed by Germans, about Germans between the years 1939 and 1945. I was mesmerized. Angie tends to call all of these programs, 'The Hitler show.' She thinks they're all the same program. Whether it be WWII in Color or World at War or Iwo Jima or U-Boats in the North Sea or America at War...she thinks it's all the same show, The Hitler Show. So she always says, "We've seen this already. It's the Hitler Show. You watched it last night." To which I reply, "It is NOT the Hitler Show. There is no such program called The Hitler Show. This is about comparing and contrasting the Sherman tank and the Panzer tank in the Battle of the Bulge." To which she replies, "Yes. Exactly. The Hitler Show. We've seen that one." It's a no-win situation.

Fortunately, we mostly agree on our Netflix selections. Except every now and then when I start ordering a bunch of boxing documentaries. She doesn't care for that and will protest by standing in the kitchen for hours at a time silently weeping.

Bravo used to show episodes of The West Wing everyday. They've stopped doing that, which is too bad, because Angie and I could watch West Wing episodes until the cows come home. I've made no secret about the fact that I sincerely believe it to be the finest network television show in the history of broadcasting. At least the first five seasons until Sorkin bailed out. I never get tired of them simply for the writing. It's like going to school every time I see one. Sorkin is a master storyteller and I steal from him relentlessly. I don't know if the likes of it will ever come around again. And the parallels to the current administration are absolutely startling sometimes.

Angie is also a big fan of something called 'The Dog Whisperer,' which is about a Mexican obsessed with being 'The Pack Leader." I don't pay much attention to it, but now and then I look at it for a few minutes. This guy (I think, not surprisingly, his name is 'Cesar') likes to kicks dogs (gently, to be fair) and push them to the ground and demand allegiance from them. He is forever prattling on about being 'The Pack Leader.' These poor dogs, most of them small ones that couldn't hurt a tit-mouse, are bullied into following his every command. Now and then, in his insatiable pursuit of being 'The Pack Leader' he'll stare them down until they're so uncomfortable they roll over and pretend to die. This Cesar guy likes it when they do that and subsequently swaggers around for awhile afterwards touting himself as 'the true and undisputed champion of all Pack Leaders' in broken English. Sounds like a little overcompensating to me. Nonetheless, Angie is convinced this guy is Dr. Doolittle. Frankly, I don't know why he calls himself a 'whisperer,' because he always shouts. His claim, apparently, is that the dog is never wrong but the owners need training. I think his show should be called 'The Dog Bullier.'

Another beautiful day in So Cal. My buddy Jeff and his family came to visit us from Colorado last week and the entire time turned out to be rainy and cold. He'll probably never believe now that Southern California is almost never like that.

See you tomorrow.