Saturday, March 26, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, March 21, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Last Tango in Los Angeles: A Visit from the Past.
Last Tango in Los Angeles: A Visit from the Past.: "So my buddy, Jeff Wood, and his wife and two little girls, are coming to stay with us here in not-so-sunny Southern Cal for a week. They'll..."
A Visit from the Past.
So my buddy, Jeff Wood, and his wife and two little girls, are coming to stay with us here in not-so-sunny Southern Cal for a week. They'll be here on Monday. Their primary destination is 'Disneyland' but they'll be hanging out here and doing other things, too.
I met Jeff in 1985 in NYC. Another old friend of mine, John Bader, was completing his Equity membership year at a theatre in, of all places, Iowa, with me. Jeff was one of John's best friends. They'd gone to school together at Drake University in Des Moines. John and I became very close during our year of combat at The Old Creamery Theatre in the wilds of Iowa. We lived together in a big, old house there a block from the theatre. If I'd heard John say it once, I'd heard it a thousand times, "You have to meet my friend, Jeff Wood. You guys will really hit it off." So I moved to NYC on May 5, 1985. The night after I got there, John and Jeff and I met up for drinks. As it turned out, John was right. Jeff and I have been friends ever since.
Back in those days, Jeff was a very serious theatre director. He's since moved away from the theatre and is now a novelist. A very good one. But before that he was quite possibly the best theatre director I've ever known. Now, I say, 'very serious' theatre director because when it came to the actual work of mounting a play, he was. Jeff never really marketed himself, though. I don't know why. Just not his bailiwick, I guess. So his career in the theatre never really soared as it should have. A terrible shame as far as I'm concerned because since those aimless days of my youth I've worked with, I'm guessing here, about 100 or so professional directors. None have measured up to Jeff's work. The theatre, as one might suspect, is just full of charlatans and pretenders, no where more evident than in the field of directing. Over a long career I've worked with maybe, MAYBE, half a dozen worth their salt. Jeff was one.
I think, in retrospect, it was because Jeff didn't seem to have an ego when it came to directing. I'm sure he did, I just never saw it. He ended up directing four or five of my pieces in those early NYC days. One in particular, a play called 'Golden Eggs,' was just extraordinary work. Although I never heard him actually say it, I think one of the reasons Jeff was so good was because he didn't seem the least bit concerned with his personal 'vision' as so many directors are. His first and only concern, at least as far as I could tell, was making sure the story was told. It was always about the telling of the story in the clearest, simplest, most understandable way. And he's certainly the closest thing to a 'collaborator,' a term often tossed around in this business with nothing to show for it, that I've ever met. He didn't seem the least bit concerned about where an idea came from. If it was good, he used it. He instinctively understood that at the end of the day the program didn't say 'Directed by Jeff Wood with helpful suggestions from Sam and Bob." No, it simply said, 'Directed by Jeff Wood.' So he never seemed to be threatened by ideas and motives from actors, as outlandish as some of them sometimes were.
But Jeff was always sort of old school about marketing himself. I think he felt it was somehow a little unseemly to toss his resume around and beg for jobs. Unfortunately, in this business, at least early on, that's the game and that's how it's played. I think he would have benefitted greatly from an agent in those early days; someone to go to bat for him.
In any event, the theatre's loss was the writing world's gain. Not sure when he made the decision, but at some point he simply stopped directing and started writing.
He'd always written, short stories mostly back then, and I remember one particular short story with particular endearment. It was called 'Suicide Kings.' I had just moved into a new one-bedroom apartment by myself in Astoria, Queens. And to commemorate the occasion I called up a bunch of friends and had an all night stud poker game, something we used to do fairly regularly back then.
A few months passed and one day Jeff gave me the short story (about twenty pages) he'd written about that night, loosely based of course. It remains to this day my favorite piece of short prose writing. Filled with nuance, character study, supressed drama and sadness, it's a beautiful piece. It was then that I remember thinking he'd probably moved on to writing and that he would eventually leave the theatre behind.
We lost touch for a long time while I was constantly on the road doing acting gigs around the country and then moving to Chicago. I hadn't heard from him for a long time and had no idea where he was, in fact. Finally I heard, through John I think, that he'd moved to the mountains of Colorado to write full time. He'd gotten married and adopted two little girls.
And now, through the miracle of the internet, we've reopened our friendship and converse daily. Furthermore, much to my delight, he's decided to take a road-trip to Southern California to introduce his daughters to The Mouse.
So we've got a week of activities planned - Disneyland being ground zero, of course - but a couple of nights have been set aside to sit out back by the horses, around our fire pit, sipping beer and iced tea, grilling steaks and telling sad stories of kings past.
There's something satisfying in a solitary way of hanging out with people that knew you when you were young. I have the same feeling when I spend time with my two closest buds out here, John Bader and Jimmy Barbour. I think it has something to do with seeing each other through the years at our very best and very worst. The lines of conduct have been drawn and consequently there's no reason to talk about them. In essence, it's because we KNOW why we're friends. There's no need to invent scenarios in which we MIGHT be friends. We already know. So everything after becomes comfortable. The hard part is over, the intellectual dance of pushing and pulling and testing the friendship. So everything else is gravy.
Should be a fun week and I'm looking forward to it with glee. If for no other reason than Jeff and I make each other laugh. And that's a massive thing, a huge thing, an underrated thing, a deal-breaking thing, as far as I'm concerned. A shared sense of humor is the first test for possible friendship in my book of sorrows and rules. And that hurdle was jumped, with plenty of room to spare, in May of 1985. Since then it's all been easy.
See you tomorrow.
I met Jeff in 1985 in NYC. Another old friend of mine, John Bader, was completing his Equity membership year at a theatre in, of all places, Iowa, with me. Jeff was one of John's best friends. They'd gone to school together at Drake University in Des Moines. John and I became very close during our year of combat at The Old Creamery Theatre in the wilds of Iowa. We lived together in a big, old house there a block from the theatre. If I'd heard John say it once, I'd heard it a thousand times, "You have to meet my friend, Jeff Wood. You guys will really hit it off." So I moved to NYC on May 5, 1985. The night after I got there, John and Jeff and I met up for drinks. As it turned out, John was right. Jeff and I have been friends ever since.
Back in those days, Jeff was a very serious theatre director. He's since moved away from the theatre and is now a novelist. A very good one. But before that he was quite possibly the best theatre director I've ever known. Now, I say, 'very serious' theatre director because when it came to the actual work of mounting a play, he was. Jeff never really marketed himself, though. I don't know why. Just not his bailiwick, I guess. So his career in the theatre never really soared as it should have. A terrible shame as far as I'm concerned because since those aimless days of my youth I've worked with, I'm guessing here, about 100 or so professional directors. None have measured up to Jeff's work. The theatre, as one might suspect, is just full of charlatans and pretenders, no where more evident than in the field of directing. Over a long career I've worked with maybe, MAYBE, half a dozen worth their salt. Jeff was one.
I think, in retrospect, it was because Jeff didn't seem to have an ego when it came to directing. I'm sure he did, I just never saw it. He ended up directing four or five of my pieces in those early NYC days. One in particular, a play called 'Golden Eggs,' was just extraordinary work. Although I never heard him actually say it, I think one of the reasons Jeff was so good was because he didn't seem the least bit concerned with his personal 'vision' as so many directors are. His first and only concern, at least as far as I could tell, was making sure the story was told. It was always about the telling of the story in the clearest, simplest, most understandable way. And he's certainly the closest thing to a 'collaborator,' a term often tossed around in this business with nothing to show for it, that I've ever met. He didn't seem the least bit concerned about where an idea came from. If it was good, he used it. He instinctively understood that at the end of the day the program didn't say 'Directed by Jeff Wood with helpful suggestions from Sam and Bob." No, it simply said, 'Directed by Jeff Wood.' So he never seemed to be threatened by ideas and motives from actors, as outlandish as some of them sometimes were.
But Jeff was always sort of old school about marketing himself. I think he felt it was somehow a little unseemly to toss his resume around and beg for jobs. Unfortunately, in this business, at least early on, that's the game and that's how it's played. I think he would have benefitted greatly from an agent in those early days; someone to go to bat for him.
In any event, the theatre's loss was the writing world's gain. Not sure when he made the decision, but at some point he simply stopped directing and started writing.
He'd always written, short stories mostly back then, and I remember one particular short story with particular endearment. It was called 'Suicide Kings.' I had just moved into a new one-bedroom apartment by myself in Astoria, Queens. And to commemorate the occasion I called up a bunch of friends and had an all night stud poker game, something we used to do fairly regularly back then.
A few months passed and one day Jeff gave me the short story (about twenty pages) he'd written about that night, loosely based of course. It remains to this day my favorite piece of short prose writing. Filled with nuance, character study, supressed drama and sadness, it's a beautiful piece. It was then that I remember thinking he'd probably moved on to writing and that he would eventually leave the theatre behind.
We lost touch for a long time while I was constantly on the road doing acting gigs around the country and then moving to Chicago. I hadn't heard from him for a long time and had no idea where he was, in fact. Finally I heard, through John I think, that he'd moved to the mountains of Colorado to write full time. He'd gotten married and adopted two little girls.
And now, through the miracle of the internet, we've reopened our friendship and converse daily. Furthermore, much to my delight, he's decided to take a road-trip to Southern California to introduce his daughters to The Mouse.
So we've got a week of activities planned - Disneyland being ground zero, of course - but a couple of nights have been set aside to sit out back by the horses, around our fire pit, sipping beer and iced tea, grilling steaks and telling sad stories of kings past.
There's something satisfying in a solitary way of hanging out with people that knew you when you were young. I have the same feeling when I spend time with my two closest buds out here, John Bader and Jimmy Barbour. I think it has something to do with seeing each other through the years at our very best and very worst. The lines of conduct have been drawn and consequently there's no reason to talk about them. In essence, it's because we KNOW why we're friends. There's no need to invent scenarios in which we MIGHT be friends. We already know. So everything after becomes comfortable. The hard part is over, the intellectual dance of pushing and pulling and testing the friendship. So everything else is gravy.
Should be a fun week and I'm looking forward to it with glee. If for no other reason than Jeff and I make each other laugh. And that's a massive thing, a huge thing, an underrated thing, a deal-breaking thing, as far as I'm concerned. A shared sense of humor is the first test for possible friendship in my book of sorrows and rules. And that hurdle was jumped, with plenty of room to spare, in May of 1985. Since then it's all been easy.
See you tomorrow.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Auditions.
I ended up booking the small budget film I read for the other day. Daytime shooting commences on March 26. Should be fun. It's one of the two lead roles in the film and the script leaves a lot of room to play.
The final callback for a very big project is later today, too. More on that if or when it pans out. To say more about it now would be a bit premature. Either way, for good or bad, I'll know tomorrow.
And, of course, the final weekend for Adding Machine - The Musical. A long five months have been committed to this one. It's been quite a ride.
Because of my recent diagnosis of Diabetes ('the silent killer') Angie and I have been ultra sensitive about our diet and exercise. Last night neither of us felt like going out to do any serious shopping so my wife scoured the kitchen and came up with a few odds and ends to cook for dinner. At first glance the things she pulled out of the fridge looked a bit pedestrian, but she ended up with a feast for a king. Honestly, I don't know how she does it. She told me what she had in mind and I listened without excitement. An hour later, I stared in awe at what she had put together. And it was all perfectly healthy and nutritious. Two words that hardly ever entered my mind a few short months ago. Now, whenever we shop, I find myself looking at ingredients on cans and whatnot to see the health benefits or drawbacks. Huh. Who'd'a thought?
I'm up inordinantly early to work on this callback. Memorizing some of it, familiarizing myself with other parts of it, making pre-read choices, generally trying to make myself as comfortable as possible with all of it.
If it happens, next week (and the week after, for that matter) is going to be very, very busy for me. Doing the one thing I hate the most about this business - memorizing frickin' lines.
This auditioning business is a funny thing. Any actor can tell you that after awhile it becomes rote. Once it's over, you put the script aside and move on. What's next. And then, once in a blue moon, something comes along you really want. Sometimes it's because there's lots of money involved. Sometimes (like Adding Machine) it's because the material itself is just so damned compelling. And sometimes it's because there's someone involved with the project you really want to work with.
In the case of this thing today, it's all three. I rarely get too emotionally involved with a project before I've been offered the role. Again, as any actor can tell you, it's simply too tough to pull yourself back from it if you don't book it.
It's a lesson I learned a hundred years ago in college. One of the graduate students was directing a play called 'The Shadow Box,' a Pulitzer-prize winning play from the late seventies. I was up for the role of Mark. I remember all this so clearly because I still recall how very much I wanted the role. I threw everything I had into the audition, got the callback, came back in for the final read and eventually lost the role to one of my best friends. I was devestated. I think I topped off a fifth of scotch that night. I later saw the play, which turned out to be quite good, and my friend was excellent, really fine work. And I had to admit to myself, better suited for the role than I was. But it was, ultimately, a lesson I never forgot - do your best and then move on. Sometimes you get the bear, sometimes the bear gets you.
Another friend of mine, quite a fine actor, actually physically tears up the script after each and every audition. It's a concrete way to remind himself to move on, this one's over, forget it, concentrate on the next one. Rejection is part of the journey. It's not fun, but one has to accept it or go quietly crazy.
Angie, who has been in this business some twenty-odd years here in LA as a casting associate, has a philisophical bent on the whole thing. She often says, "Not meant to be, something better is waiting." I like that. And I agree. Sometimes it's just a bit difficult to be so zen-like immediately after losing a role you wanted so badly. Nonetheless, the only other option is letting it get to you and going slightly loopy.
And I'm always a bit shocked to find this happens at every level...I read an interview with Dustin Hoffman awhile back. He was talking about a role, a huge role, in a film in the eighties that he wanted very much. Ended up going to Ben Kingsley. He said he still thinks about it. So this is not exclusive to workhorse actors like myself. It's across the board.
In any event, as I sit here at my laptop, the script sitting threateningly beside me as I glance warily at it from time to time, I remind myself, it's just another read. The truth is some of the time it has nothing to do with 'how good' you are. It's all about, 'are you what they're looking for?' And that, of course, cannot be remedied. It just is.
See you tomorrow.
The final callback for a very big project is later today, too. More on that if or when it pans out. To say more about it now would be a bit premature. Either way, for good or bad, I'll know tomorrow.
And, of course, the final weekend for Adding Machine - The Musical. A long five months have been committed to this one. It's been quite a ride.
Because of my recent diagnosis of Diabetes ('the silent killer') Angie and I have been ultra sensitive about our diet and exercise. Last night neither of us felt like going out to do any serious shopping so my wife scoured the kitchen and came up with a few odds and ends to cook for dinner. At first glance the things she pulled out of the fridge looked a bit pedestrian, but she ended up with a feast for a king. Honestly, I don't know how she does it. She told me what she had in mind and I listened without excitement. An hour later, I stared in awe at what she had put together. And it was all perfectly healthy and nutritious. Two words that hardly ever entered my mind a few short months ago. Now, whenever we shop, I find myself looking at ingredients on cans and whatnot to see the health benefits or drawbacks. Huh. Who'd'a thought?
I'm up inordinantly early to work on this callback. Memorizing some of it, familiarizing myself with other parts of it, making pre-read choices, generally trying to make myself as comfortable as possible with all of it.
If it happens, next week (and the week after, for that matter) is going to be very, very busy for me. Doing the one thing I hate the most about this business - memorizing frickin' lines.
This auditioning business is a funny thing. Any actor can tell you that after awhile it becomes rote. Once it's over, you put the script aside and move on. What's next. And then, once in a blue moon, something comes along you really want. Sometimes it's because there's lots of money involved. Sometimes (like Adding Machine) it's because the material itself is just so damned compelling. And sometimes it's because there's someone involved with the project you really want to work with.
In the case of this thing today, it's all three. I rarely get too emotionally involved with a project before I've been offered the role. Again, as any actor can tell you, it's simply too tough to pull yourself back from it if you don't book it.
It's a lesson I learned a hundred years ago in college. One of the graduate students was directing a play called 'The Shadow Box,' a Pulitzer-prize winning play from the late seventies. I was up for the role of Mark. I remember all this so clearly because I still recall how very much I wanted the role. I threw everything I had into the audition, got the callback, came back in for the final read and eventually lost the role to one of my best friends. I was devestated. I think I topped off a fifth of scotch that night. I later saw the play, which turned out to be quite good, and my friend was excellent, really fine work. And I had to admit to myself, better suited for the role than I was. But it was, ultimately, a lesson I never forgot - do your best and then move on. Sometimes you get the bear, sometimes the bear gets you.
Another friend of mine, quite a fine actor, actually physically tears up the script after each and every audition. It's a concrete way to remind himself to move on, this one's over, forget it, concentrate on the next one. Rejection is part of the journey. It's not fun, but one has to accept it or go quietly crazy.
Angie, who has been in this business some twenty-odd years here in LA as a casting associate, has a philisophical bent on the whole thing. She often says, "Not meant to be, something better is waiting." I like that. And I agree. Sometimes it's just a bit difficult to be so zen-like immediately after losing a role you wanted so badly. Nonetheless, the only other option is letting it get to you and going slightly loopy.
And I'm always a bit shocked to find this happens at every level...I read an interview with Dustin Hoffman awhile back. He was talking about a role, a huge role, in a film in the eighties that he wanted very much. Ended up going to Ben Kingsley. He said he still thinks about it. So this is not exclusive to workhorse actors like myself. It's across the board.
In any event, as I sit here at my laptop, the script sitting threateningly beside me as I glance warily at it from time to time, I remind myself, it's just another read. The truth is some of the time it has nothing to do with 'how good' you are. It's all about, 'are you what they're looking for?' And that, of course, cannot be remedied. It just is.
See you tomorrow.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Last Tango in Los Angeles: Tell Me About Your Dreams, Laddie.
Last Tango in Los Angeles: Tell Me About Your Dreams, Laddie.: "During my early years in New York, I worked as a bartender in an Irish Pub on the Upper East Side. I think it was 67th and 3rd Avenue. I h..."
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