Beauty and the Model

Aaron was beautiful. Women would exclaim it and then cover their mouths in embarrassment. Even some guys would tell him. They all would soon discover, this was not the best way to start a conversation with Aaron.

Mesmerized by his beautiful face, women would forget to listen to him. They could not keep their side of a conversation for the distraction.

He hated it. Aaron had heard the words: ‘penetrating blue eyes,’ ‘riveting,’ ‘stunning,’ ‘chiseled features’ too often. Introduce yourself with one of these clichés and Aaron would turn away. He didn’t care. Aaron would show you his ‘sculptured’ back. End of story.

He saw himself as a regular guy, cursed, in his opinion, with extraordinary good looks. People raved about an accident of birth, a random blending of his parent’s DNA. Those perfect cheek bones had nothing to do with who he was.

When fashion changed, as it always did, he would still be the same regular guy with last year’s good looks. He worked as a model. He maintained himself. But Aaron had no ego about his appearance. He knew his shelf life would expire.

Aaron would laugh seeing co-workers checking themselves out when walking by mirrors, or windows. Aaron only saw his image when someone shoved an open magazine at him, asking him to sign some ad he appeared in. He would graciously comply, but he couldn’t care less. Responsibility for his appearance lay between the make-up girl and God.

When his work day finished, he used to grab a beer and hang out with the crew. Or try to catch a game. Eventually, Aaron stopped going. He wearied of residing in that shimmery bubble defined by admiring, staring eyes. Aaron joked that Mona Lisa smiled because more people were looking at him.

He couldn’t get to know anyone. Aaron once asked someone if they’d ever had a conversation with a peacock. It isn’t because the peacock has nothing to say, but that no one knows what to say to a peacock. No one understood the question.

He got to know the support staff, the make-up and hair people. They didn’t treat him like a freak. He laughed when one said, “When you look at diamonds all day, every day, they’re just rocks. Pretty and polished rocks, but just rocks.”

He asked one of the make-up girls out once, but she declined. She didn’t date clients. Smart.

Everyone said Aaron had a charmed life. He had it made. Aaron thought, ‘If a museum piece, only admired for its perfection, had it made, then yes, I have it made.’ He wanted more.

Aaron gave Madeline a call. He saw her ad for matchmaking services online. What did he have to lose?

She answered, “Matchmaker…”

“Hi. I’m looking for a relationship. A real one.”

“Uh huh. What’s the problem?”

“I can’t seem to meet anyone and get to know them. I don’t trust online services. I work. I’m a decent looking guy. I’m straight. How does this work?”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“I just told you.”

“Right. But why can’t you connect? Do you have horns? Scars? Pick your nose? What?”

“Oh… You’ll think it sounds stupid. I’m just a guy.”

“But?”

“I’m told I’m too handsome. Maybe women think I out shine them?”

“This is a common problem.”

“It is?”

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, ‘I’m too good looking. I’m just looking for love.’”

“Right. Well, maybe…”

“Tell you what. Come in. Let me look at you and see what I can do.”

Madeline was a pro, and not easily dazzled. But if this guy was for real, she thought she might have the perfect match for him.

Her name was Carol. She also modeled for a living. ‘Gorgeous’ only hinted at her beauty. But she loved the attention it brought her. Carol also used her beauty as armor between herself and intrusion. She loved her privacy. Carol discovered early on, this buffer allowed her to navigate countless social situations.  Carol never worried about undesired attention from strangers. She never needed to await entry to a club. No rope ever stopped her. Airports were a breeze.

Madeline hoped Aaron would be the perfect match for Carol. If he were as handsome as promised, the beauty factor would cancel out and they could just be together. Voila! The perfect couple.

Madeline grew up believing she was homely. Without prompting, all her girlfriends told her so. Many boys agreed. A practical romantic who didn’t waste time pining for her Prince Never-there, Madeline developed her character and a business sense. She had an acute understanding of human nature, of what drives people together and what separates them.

A romantic who gave up on finding true love for herself, Madeline became a matchmaker. And a good one. Madeline had a knack for seeing an individual’s potential for a life partnership. Adept at engineering connections leading to happy marriages, Madeline thrived on seeing people joined in happiness.

When Aaron entered her office, Madeline caught her breath. He was a Greek god. Carol’s perfect match, Madeline thought, ‘Gorgeous, meet Gorgeous.’

Madeline introduced herself and shook his hand. She thought ‘his smile is dazzling.’ Not wanting to stare, Madeline shuffled papers while outlining her services and expectations, should he sign on with her.

Madeline led Aaron to a quiet, comfortable sitting room where she let prospective couples get acquainted. Carol awaited him there. She stood to greet Aaron and shook his hand.

“Carol, I want you to meet the gentleman I told you about, Mr. Adon…” She coughed. “I mean, Aaron. How is it, both being in the biz, you don’t know each other?”

The two clients laughed. “It’s a small town but we work in different aspects.”

“I mainly do cosmetics, and Aaron…”

“Men’s clothing…cologne…”

Carol and Aaron laughed at a few inside references, only they would understand. Madeline offered them refreshments and left them to chat.

Aaron took a chance and smiled at Carol. “Your hair is stunning.”

Carol looked at him with bright eyes. “And your smile is dazzling.” They both laughed at how silly all that fan-doration is.

They sat and dove into a conversation, blissfully not about work or fame. They liked the same food but knew different restaurants. Each enjoyed cooking at home, away from stares.

Apparently, their music collections were identical with expected departures into girl groups and metal. Neither liked rap. Both loved the Great American song book. Carol preferred vocals, Aaron instrumentals.

It was comfortable.

“Alright, trick question.”

“I’m ready.”

“Old movies?”

“Black and white? You’re kidding! The lighting in those days was heavenly.”

“Who is your favorite star, though?”

“No contest. Garbo.”

“Interesting.”

“She was funny. Not affected. She handled all the… you know, perfectly. And, she was beautiful.”

“Yeah, but not as beautiful as you…”

“Yada, yada, yada… Thank you. Who do you like?”

“I have to go with Clark Gable.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Gable was so natural. So completely un-self-conscious. Here’s this goofy looking guy. But sexy by being so relaxed. He drove women nuts, just being himself.”

The conversation went on for a long time, with no lapses. They felt so seen. So relaxed. They didn’t have to put on a face for the other. Each felt they could drop those ever present masks.

Madeline knocked and entered with a big smile.

“I have a surprise for you two. If you haven’t already made plans, I have a get together. An annual thing with some former clients. Many have married and been together for years. Would you honor me with your presence?”

Aaron looked at Carol, expectantly.

She shrugged and smiled. “Why not?”

“Sounds perfect. We’ll just pick up where we left off here.”

“Wonderful. Here are the directions. You both look great. And great together. Oh, and we’ll be having dinner. So I hope you didn’t fill up on cookies.”

Carol rolled her eyes at Aaron. “As if cookies were my downfall…” They all laughed as they made their way out.

Aaron and Carol went in his car. Madeline drove alone.

“Do you think this is going to be okay?”

Aaron scoffed. “These are Madeline’s people. I would expect them to have some class. She’s a pro.”

“She got us together. I’d say she’s a genius.”

“It’ll be fun. At the very least, we can talk with each other.”

“That’ll work.”

They drove in silence for a while.

“I have to say, Carol. It has been a long time since I could talk to someone. Just talk, and feel heard.”

Carol smiled at Aaron and touched his hand. “Me too. It might take some getting used to.”

“Let’s try.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

They got to the dinner and everyone was friendly. It felt weird that no one acted weird. That became Aaron and Carol’s ‘in joke’ for the evening – weirdly normal.

Most couples had small tables, for two. Madeline sat at a larger table nearby, with some early clients who were now happily married.

Music played under the conversational buzz. Occasionally, someone would address the group. They praised Madeline for her great work. Everyone acted toward Aaron and Carol as if they were two new friends. That’s all.

Weird.

Aaron and Carol touched glasses for a private toast. They drank. Aaron made a joke just as Carol was swallowing and she started to choke. The room went silent. She kept waving Aaron away, but the coughing got worse. She couldn’t breathe.

Carol began to panic. She stood. The chair fell back. Her eyes rolled back. She started to weave as if she were about to collapse.

Madeline approached from behind and swiftly applied the Heimlich maneuver. Carol gasped. They collapsed to the floor.

Everyone gathered around. Someone yelled to call 9-1-1.

Carol waved her hand. “No! Don’t! I’m fine.” She coughed some more. Madeline, still kneeling, offered Carol her hand to help her up.

“Don’t touch me, you bitch. Get away from me. Who gave you permission to approach me?”

Madeline withdrew her hand. She stood and faced Carol as she came upright.

Carol looked at her dress. “Look what you did! You ruined my dress.” She shrieked, “Leave me alone!”

Carol kept coughing. Everyone backed away from her. Aaron put his arm around Carol, to comfort her. Carol shrugged him away.

“I said, leave me alone!”

Madeline tried to sooth her. “I was afraid for you. I wanted to help.”

“Don’t touch me. Ever.” Carol walked unsteadily to the dining room door. She turned and looked at Aaron. “Are you coming?” Carol left.

Aaron apologized to everyone. He took Madeline’s hand and bowed. He kissed her hand. “I’m so sorry, for this. Your friends don’t deserve this. I’m sorry.”

“It’ll be alright. Go.” Madeline smiled at Aaron and nodded for him to leave.

A few days later, the phone rang at Madeline’s office.

“Matchmaker…”

“Hi, Madeline, this is Aaron…”

“Aaron! I’m so sorry. That shouldn’t have happened. What can I do? I suppose I’m fired.”

“Madeline, I will not accept your apology. But there is one thing you can do.”

“You don’t have to accept it. But I am so embarrassed. What do you need?”

“Let me take you out to dinner?”

“Take me? Aaron, I don’t socialize with clients. That would be a conflict of interest. I can’t. I hope you’ll understand. I might have another young wo…”

“Madeline, you are fired. I don’t want your matchmaking services anymore.”

“Oh. I worried about that.”

“I mean it. I am no longer your client.”

“I understand. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, Aaron. You seem like a very…”

“Madeline. You aren’t listening.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m no longer your client. So now you can have dinner with me.”

“What?”

“Madeline, I have been searching for a caring, classy, wonderful woman. What happened the other night was unfortunate. And I owe you an apology for the scene we put on in front of your nice friends.”

“But…”

“But, what you showed me… The way you acted was so deeply beautiful. You were caring, tender and kind and classy. You didn’t deserve what Carol did. You are the woman I’ve always searched for. Please, let me take you out.”

Madeline didn’t know what to say.

“Are you there, Madeline?”

“I’m here.”

“Let’s get to know each other. You are the first person who ever treated me like a human being. Let’s have dinner. Can we do that?”

Madeline answered hoarsely. “Okay. When?”

“Friday night?”

“Okay.” Madeline hung up the phone. Then she started to cry.

 

Only Sick as Your Secrets

a fiction by John K. Adams

Mark said, “My Dad is a gigolo.”

Shouts of protest and guffaws dominated as the group erupted in reaction to this.

Sally asked, “What’s a gigolo?”

Tom started humming ‘Just a Gigolo’.

Marian couldn’t stop laughing into her napkin.

Ed just looked at the table strewn with drinks and beer bottles, shaking his head, “No, no, no, no…”

Grace touched Mark’s hand and gave him a look of compassion. Mark started to laugh. Then he put his arm over her shoulder. “It’s okay. I doubt they’ll even remember…”

Then Mark called out, “Anyone beat that? I didn’t think so. Pay up, ladies and gents.”

They were playing Family Secrets. Everyone had to buy a round for the one who had the most shocking, most outrageous revelation about their family. No one came close to this.

The table settled into relative quiet while they contemplated the ramifications of Mark’s announcement.

Sally again, “No, really. What did he mean?”

Marian leaned over to Sally, “It’s a man who gets money from women for, you know, sex.”

“Men do that too? But I thought…”

Another burst of laughter.

Ed lent support, “Often talked about, Sally. But seldom done.”

Sally persisted, “But what about his Mom?”

“She died,” whispered Marian. Sally picked up her drink.

Trying to control his own laughter, Tom tried to calm the group. “As the unofficial devil’s advocate, I have some questions for Mark. How do you know this? Do you have any proof? And, how does one get started in this? Is it a side gig? Or is it, like, his main source of income?”

The shouting and hilarity erupted again. Mark raised his hands indicating he was waiting to answer. The group quieted.

“I know, because he told me. Though he didn’t use that word specifically.”

“What word did he use?”

“He was pretty lubricated when he told me. He said he met these women in Beverly Hills and was dating some of them.”

“That doesn’t…”

“No, wait. But then he bragged that they are ‘loaded.’ And it came with a ‘debit card’.”

This set Grace off. “No! Did he really say ‘debit card’?”

Mark nodded. There was too much noise to be heard.

Marian added, “Nice meeting you Mr. Debit… I mean, Mr. Donato.”

“Debit Card Donato,” chimed Ed. “Donate to Donato! I can see his ad now.”

“But wait!” Sally protested. “But this is terrible.” She shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. “Mark. I didn’t know your Mom died. Are you okay?”

Mark composed himself. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Was this recent? I mean…”

“Yeah. Back in November.” Mark looked down and away. Grace touched his shoulder.

“But that’s only four months! And he’s…”

Marian gestured to Sally to let it go. Sally rolled her eyes in exasperation. “But… Mark, I’m sorry.”

Mark waved her off.

Tom took the floor again. “I’m sorry for the delay, folks. But the rules of the game state, there has to be more than vague grotesqueries presented. We want the goods before we pay up.”

Mark composed himself and addressed the group. “I’m not going to use his exact language. But he more or less said… they pay him for his… uhm, `time.’ One of them is an artist. She’s painting his portrait.”

“Among other things,” Ed interjected.

“Which can be left at that,” Mark concluded.

Ed asked, “Is it a nude?”

Mark laughed and shrugged. “I doubt it, but…”

Marian asked, “Or smoking a cigar? Wearing a ruffled collar? Like a Dutch Master?”

“A close up?” Ed again. “Does he charge by the brush stroke?”

Tom asked, “Where are you going to hang that picture?”

Grace said, “Not over the fireplace.”

“Maybe, in the fireplace,” countered Mark.

“Or the bathroom,” offered Marian.

Sally could only say, “Ewww!”

“It’s Dad’s house. He’ll hang it, wherever he wants.”

Tom tapped one of the beer bottles with a knife. “Ahem… I’m sorry folks, but again, we are digressing. We need to focus.”

Marian reacted, “We’re just having fun, Tom. It’s a game, remember? Do you always have to crack open Robert’s Rules?”

“Not always, Marian. But someone has to be the pompous ass. I figured tonight was my turn.”

“And every other night…”

“I’m sorry. Am I stepping on your lines? I meant to give you a break. Relax.”

“No, go ahead. Please.”

“Thank you. Back to the game… Mark. This has been a very entertaining revelation. You put us all to shame, with your shameless confession. But you haven’t offered any proof.”

Everyone got quiet. Sally sipped her pina colada.

Mark pulled a plastic card from his pocket. “Alright, you doubters. I just happen to have exhibit A, a debit card in my possession. It isn’t mine. I borrowed it from my father.” He held it up. “You’ll see it doesn’t have my father’s name on it either.”

Ed grabbed the card and looked closely at it. Others huddled in to see.

“I need that back, guys.”

Ed held the card up. “Drinks are on Mark!”

Tom added, “Or, more accurately, Ms. Greenberg…”

“Guys. I need it back. I won the game. You are supposed to be buying the rounds. Not me.”

“Nor Ms. Greenberg…” added Grace.

Ed returned the card to Mark. “Of course. We don’t want to stoop to the level of ‘he, who shall not be named.’”

Marian asked, “What’s your Dad’s name again?”

That got a laugh.

Tom waved the waitress over. He turned to Mark. “So, do you want all these drinks now? Or would you like them on account?”

“I’ll take one now. And you guys can treat me over the next… week or so. Is anyone keeping track of this?”

“We won’t forget.”

“Nor will I.”

The waitress arrived at the table. Tom ordered a Mai Tai for himself and for Mark. “Anyone else? The night is young…”

Sally raised her empty glass. “Pina Colada?” But everyone else passed.

The waitress cleared some of the empties and went to the bar.

Grace pulled on Mark’s sleeve. “Your Dad won’t miss that card, will he? I don’t want you to get on his bad side.”

The others leaned in to hear Mark’s response.

Mark shook his head. “Actually, you won’t believe this, but he enjoys this. He brags about it, being the stud. He told me he feels about twenty-five.”

“Disgusting!”

Tom weighed in. “It’s a different mindset for a man… I mean, I would never…” Everyone laughed.

“They have robots for that now, Tom.”

“Oh, Marian, a robot could never do what I do.”

More laughter.

“So here’s the kicker,” Mark continued. “Now, mind you, I’m not condoning this. But my Dad seems to think there’s an opportunity here.”

“That’s awful!”

“He’s recruiting!”

“That’s the worst! Pimping his son’s friends?”

Mark pocketed the debit card. “I draw the line at free drinks from you guys. I have nothing more to say.”

The waitress set the fresh drinks on the table.

Marian turned to Ed. “Tell me you wouldn’t do that.”

Ed smiled at all eyes turned on him. “Now hear me out…”

“Oh no. Here it comes…”

“No, really. As male fantasies go, that may be tempting. But the reality? I would have to draw the line at that. I wouldn’t sell myself. Not that way, anyway. I never paid for it. And I’m not a taxi for hire.”

Mark raised his glass. “Here’s to Ed’s moral clarity!”

Sally said, “Here’s to love!”

Everyone chimed in, “Here’s to love!”

 

 

Oscar Night

Jimmy could hardly sit still. This is the biggest night of his life. His whole career is riding on this one evening and he feels ready to explode.

Of course, no one looking at him would know that. He’s been in the biz long enough to know, never to show his emotions. That’s what scripts and make up and cameras are for. Don’t forget cameras. Without cameras we’d have nothing. None of us. None of this.

Jimmy loves the cameras. And the cameras love him.

Just smile. You gotta smile. Who wouldn’t? It’s such a circus. How can you not smile? Make it real.

Yes. It is almost too much. The theater is filled with so many people he’s known for so long. Some of them friends. Many competitors. But there is a mutual respect, or Jimmy liked to think so, between long time collaborators. Even when you strive for a job against so many talented people. Someone has to get it. Better when it’s you, but like the Duke used to say, “Catch the next wave.” There’s always another job, another wave, another Oscar. Until there’s not.

But tonight! Oh boy! Walking up that red carpet. He’s made that trip before, but tonight, they were watching him. Everyone knew Jimmy. Everyone wants to grab his hand. Pat him on the back. Take a picture. Be seen with Jimmy! It is grand. Grand to be Jimmy.

And the women! So many beautiful women! And the clothes. Jimmy has never seen such dresses! Each one more extravagant than the one before. Who wears such stuff? Actresses! They can get away with it. Do you know how many poor children you could clothe with the fabric in that one dress? Is that a dress? Or a house?

Oh, and look at her. Excuse me. You look cold. Does your mother know you went out naked? Your goosebumps have goosebumps. Maybe Dame Whatshername will lend you some of her train with which to cover yourself.

Even tomorrow, when they do the postmortems on the evening and cat about this ugly dress, or that worst look. Hey! Shut up. They were on the carpet. They had the good seats. They were the ones the paparazzi were calling to. Where were you? Lame bastards.

Men are smart enough not to compete on the fashion front. Hopefully, they remember to wear pants. And the tux sleeves aren’t too short. That’s about as daring as the men get. Try to look dignified in the midst of all this brouhaha. They want people looking at their faces, not the clothes. What the men really want is to stand beside a beautiful woman. They really don’t need more than that, when the cameras are flashing. That is plenty, thank you.

A man can look like a toad, but if he’s standing next to a babe? Who cares? He’s a toad with good taste in women. “Look at that beautiful woman with the pet toad!” More power to him. Maybe later, when she kisses him, he’ll turn into a prince.

And the paparazzi. How many flashes can you stand? It’s enough to give you a seizure. Yikes! Take it easy guys. I’ll hold the pose… That’s it? How about one more? A money shot. Get it.

Here comes the interview. “Hey! How are you? Blah. Blah. Stunning!”

“Thank you. Hey, I love your blah, blah. How do you do that?”

“Oh, it’s blah. Got it from my mother, blah. But enough about me. How do you feel tonight? Is this your night?”

“I feel great. I know I did my best and I trust the Academy and the gods that be, to touch those most deserving. I’m just so honored, blah.”

“Well, I don’t want to jinx you. Ha, ha!”

“And blah, blah to you too! Ha, ha!” Smooch!

Jimmy looks around at all the people. And not just people, famous people! He never dreamed. Of course he always dreamed. But to be here is something he could hardly envision. Talk about a cast of thousands.

Look at the sets! They dropped a few dimes on this. Every year it out does every expectation. So much talent. And so much talent that never gets a nod. A name on a list at the end of the show. How many people work to make this come off? It is incredible!

Oh! And there she is. If he owes it to anyone, it is to his co-star. Jimmy knows he wouldn’t have the nomination if not for her. They call it acting, but those scenes with her — well, they forgot about the cameras. Twenty people standing around and they were alone.

She is staggeringly beautiful to Jimmy. Not cliché ‘stunning’. Not merely gorgeous. ‘The original knock-out’ is how Jimmy puts it. And none of the distracting frippery about her dress. Simple, pure class. Elegance defined. Of course nothing could disguise her classic looks.

Jimmy tells people, thousands of years from now, scholars will debate ‘What was she really like?’

Jimmy regrets, they couldn’t make a go of it, off set. He thought they were really in love. It was a movie, silly. Jimmy got taken, like all the rest. “It’s called ‘acting,’ Jimmy,” he chuckles to himself. And she is an actress through and through.

He catches her eye and she nods with that little smile of hers that makes him melt inside. It was just for him.

But she doesn’t come over. No time for that. Who’s the new heartbreak escorting her tonight? Some surfer she discovered? Or Tony, her PR hack, shoe-horned into the program? Cue Hollywood Hairboy #3. Action!

Jimmy hopes for his sake, he’s got the stuff to land on his feet. He’ll need it. Jimmy walked that gauntlet. Good luck!

Smiling people stroll by. They offer their hands, embraces, kisses on the cheek. Some of them mean it.

The orchestra is starting up! Here we go. Batten down the hatches. Jimmy’s getting an Oscar tonight! “Don’t let it slip through your fingers, boy.”

Jimmy looks at his notes. Short and sweet. Sincere thanks. Hit all the notes. Humility. Make them laugh. Make them cry. Leave them wanting more. And thank her. She won’t expect that.

Judging by the acceptance speeches, Jimmy knows it will be a long evening. At least until he gives his. Then everyone will wake up. He was all for the third seamstress getting her due. But please don’t let her near the mic.

Jimmy thinks, “Can everyone just shut up and let me have my statue? Enough!”

After a while, Jimmy wonders if he accidentally wandered into a political rally. “Is someone running for president? I thought these were acting awards. Actors don’t have opinions, they have scripts.”

Suddenly, it is time. Jimmy can’t believe it. It all happened so fast. He doesn’t feel ready. Where did the night go?

He keeps repeating the mantra, “Wait to hear your name. Don’t jump up until they say your name.” Jimmy braces himself on the arms of the chair.

The presenters come out. She is one of them. This could be weird. Maybe it will be perfect. Is it a sign? An omen? Jimmy swallows hard.

The presenters stall with some banter. Everyone is laughing. It is excruciating. The man gives her the envelope. She looks directly at Jimmy with that little signature smile. She opens the envelope and the look in her eyes says it all. She says the most beautiful words in the most beautiful voice, “And the winner of the Oscar, for best actor is… Jimmy…”

The crowd goes nuts. She throws the envelope over her shoulder and strides to the edge of the stage to offer her hand to Jimmy as he bounds up the steps. There are screams and whistles as she gives him a passionate kiss. The other presenter makes a big show of breaking them up. It’s pandemonium. Jimmy wipes tears from his eyes as he steps to the mic…

Nurse Salazar tapped Jimmy on the shoulder to get his attention. He looked up at her from his chair with a look of confusion.

“Mr. Jimmy, time for your meds. They’ll help you sleep.”

Jimmy looked at the television. The end credits streamed by. The big music reached its crescendo. Then Jimmy remembered the golden statue, cradled on his lap.

The nurse continued. “Everyone in the home gets so agitated. Every year, it’s the same.” She smiled down at Jimmy. “You want me to take that for you? You don’t want to drop Mr. Oscar. I’ll put it back up on the shelf. He’ll be safe there.”

Jimmy surrendered his Oscar with reluctance. In exchange, she gave him a small cup containing some pills.

“Here you go, Mr. Jimmy. These will help you sleep. Would you like to get into bed now?”

Jimmy smiled at her. “Do you want my autograph? You can say you knew me, when.”

 

 

 

New Year’s at the Blue Coyote

Dan drove by the Bull & Bunyan Brewing Company. The micro-brewery was closing and its customers were gathered on the sidewalk or making their way to vehicles. Through the big window, he could see the large mural of Paul Bunyan and Babe, the blue ox, toasting each other with gargantuan mugs of frothy beer.

Dan thought to himself, “Welcome to Hipsterville…” He had a small financial interest in the micro-brewery, more for a hobby than as an income mainstay. It was nice to see it thriving though. And, he was happy those in charge didn’t appear to need his assistance tonight.

A police car idled half a block away. Plumes of exhaust from its tail pipe hung in the air.

Dan parked his truck and walked to the entrance of the Blue Coyote Burgers. Reminiscent of the dancing Kokopelli god, a trickster coyote, in blue neon, frolicked overhead while holding a gigantic hamburger. A cluster of smokers puffed or vaped their own cloud, outside the doorway. The crowd was growing by the minute. Quarter after midnight, light snow was falling.

Dressed in sweats and an old parka, Dan stood out amidst the party goers, gathered for their first meal of the New Year and to extend the revelry as long as possible. He was obviously there only for the food.

Several people greeted him with nods or raised flasks. Dan was well known in town.

He got in the order line behind a man, also out of place. He was obviously not a local. In this weather, the stranger’s tailored jacket and loafers made as much sense as a Ferrari in a demolition derby.

The stranger looked about, seeing things fresh. His gaze lighted on Dan and his face became a big smile.

“Dan? Excuse me. Are you Dan Jensen?”

The man looked familiar but Dan couldn’t place him. “Yes, I’m Dan. And you…?”

“You don’t remember me?”

“Oh, my God! Eddie Arntsen! What’s it been? Ten, twenty years?”

“At least. I’m in town for the holidays.” Eddie extended his arms. “Lots of changes!”

“Yeah. Some locals took over a failed franchise and juiced it up. The town was dying and then some new blood came in. Did you check out the Bunyan and Bull?”

“A micro-brewery in place of the old Astro Theater? I’m glad they kept the naked goddesses flying around the ceiling.”

“Sexy constellations. Gotta respect our classical heritage, after all.”

They laughed. The line moved forward and Dan clapped Eddie on the back.

“What’re you up for? I’m buying.”

“Let’s see… what’s a California burger?”

“You know. Burger, lettuce, tomato…”

“That makes it a California?”

“It is the traditional recipe in lieu of a salad. Gotta get your veggies.”

“But no avocado?”

“You crazy left-coasters will stop at nothing. Where will it end?”

“But they have avocado toast.”

“Does anyone really eat that stuff?”

“Gotta get with the times, my friend.” They stepped up to the cashier. “Oh… I’ll ring in the new year with a double California. And a large coke.”

Dan ordered the same with a large fries. He paid and they found a table. When the food arrived, Eddie pulled his ‘sneaky drinker’ flask out and fortified their cokes with rum.

Biting into his burger, Eddie groaned with pleasure. “You’re right. Nothing like a California burger. This is great!”

Having grown up together, they caught up on the essentials in the verbal short hand common to old friends. Long ago, Eddie escaped the old home town to hit the big time in Los Angeles.

“What’s a line producer? In brief, we babysit the production, eyes on the ground, so the investors actually get a movie delivered to them. Keep all the money from flying up someone’s nose.”

Eddie waxed eloquent about his tax deductible travels to twenty-three countries sandwiched between his two divorces. A life of never-look-back adventure. And, being a recognized expert in his niche, Eddie was proud of his ‘small contribution to the nation’s cultural well-being’. He’s writing off this trip, doing some location scouting for a project up, outside of Duluth.

Dan never left town. Not even the house he grew up in. In high school, he helped in his Dad’s hardware store and took the helm when Dan Sr. wanted a permanent fishing holiday.

“We tried expanding. But when the economy shrank, we cut our losses. The home store has never done better, though. And we added self-storage units in the lot next to us.”

A moment’s lapse in the conversation betrayed Eddie’s distraction. Dan raised his coke in a toast. “Listen to us old math whizzes, talking shop. Here’s to a prosperous new year, for us both.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Eddie looked around, eyes darting.

“College kids,” Dan observed. “The college is a magnet for them, from all over. The town’s actually grown. I’m not cramping your style, am I?”

“No. Sorry. You ever see any of the old crowd?”

“They’re around. Mostly home tonight, with family and all, I expect. The serious drinkers were at Shorty’s tonight.”

“You’re kidding. Shorty’s is still open? Was that place decrepit when we were kids? Or was it just the drunks who hung out there?”

“It hasn’t changed. Only our esteemed peers are its denizens nowadays. I think some of them have grown roots. Booley inherited his Dad’s stool. Remember Booley?”

“That doofus… You remember exploring down at the train yard? What a hoot.”

“The derelict refrigerators?”

“There must have been thirty of them. We were lucky those monsters didn’t roll down on top of us.”

“Post war construction. They weighed a ton. Probably only ten of them, but…”

“Yeah. We let what’s his name out. He got locked in one of them?”

“Jimmy.”

“Yeah, Jimmy! What ever happened to him?”

“You were around… He died.”

“Ohhh, right. That was terrible.”

“No surprise, when you think about it.”

“You’re right. If it wasn’t one thing…”

“He was a walking heart attack, my Dad used to say.”

“What happened to his sister?”

“Janey?”

“My first love. She was sweet.”

“Still is. We’ve been married now, what, twenty-three years.”

“You married Janey? You gotta be kidding! You?”

Dan raised his coke. “Me and Janey.”

“You stole her away from me.”

“I think she’d say she chose me.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Maybe if you hadn’t left town, my friend…” Dan smiled at Eddie’s drifting attention. “Where do you live in L.A?”

Eddie focused, “Got a small place in Malibu. Nice view. Pool.”

“Must be hot and cold, running bikinis?”

“Yeah, well… I’m hardly there. You’ll have to come out and party.”

“We’ve been talking about taking a trip. Maybe visit our daughter near Chicago.”

“How many kids?”

“Two. A grandkid is due in March.”

Eddie offered to freshen Dan’s drink but Dan waved him off.

“Come on, Dan. You bought dinner.”

“Just a splash, then.” Dan watched Eddie do the honors and then raised his hand. “That’s good. No point in a dry toast.”

They raised their drinks once more, and drank.

The crowd was winding down. Eddie wiped his mouth with finality and crushed all the greasy papers into a ball. “It looks like you’ve done alright for yourself, Dan. You did the whole Norman Rockwell thing, to a tee.”

Dan chuckled at Eddie’s summing of his life. “I don’t remember it being all cute caricatures. But if I had to live inside a cartoon, Rockwell was one of the best. I’d pick that over Plato’s cave…”

“Plato’s cave?”

“You know, staring at a wall?”

“Oh, right! I thought you were talking about a club, in Frisco, I went to once.”

“Since you’re in town, you’ll have to come to dinner. Janey would love to see you.”

“Actually, sorry, I’m outta here tomorrow. Business.”

“No problem. Where are you staying?”

“My sister’s. She gave me her couch for the week. I think she’ll be happy when I clear out.”

“Say hello. Pam right? She comes into the store once in a while.”

“I will.” Eddie fumbled with his wallet. “Here’s my card. Let me know when you come out to the coast.”

Dan looked at the card and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “I will.”

“Be sure to give me some notice, though. I never know when I’m on a plane somewhere.”

“Of course. You never get tired, living out of a suitcase?”

Eddie shrugged indifference.

They looked at each other. It was time to go. Dan followed Eddie out. It was snowing hard now. Dan’s truck was white with it.

“You walking? Can I drop you?”

“No. I’m just around the corner. Haven’t seen snow in a while. Not the real stuff.”

They shook hands. Eddie initiated a fist bump. “Happy New Year, bro.” Eddie turned and walked into the swirling night.

Dan watched his old friend for a few moments, until a blast of wind hit his face. He pulled his coat close and turned to open his truck.

Looking into the sky, Dan caught a snowflake and touched his tongue to it. He smiled. “Still tastes the same.”

Has Anyone Seen My Je Ne Sais Quoi?

Sometimes, I accompany my wife to her favorite make-up store. Cosmetics are now a highly competitive, big business.  Recently, I have become appalled at the decadent state of ‘modeling.’ Models were once icons of ideal beauty for mere mortals to emulate. Testing the standards of beauty, the movement to use ‘normal’ looking models has taken an ugly turn. And all to sell voluminous brows, or third-eye liner.

Why would anyone ‘normal looking’ spend a fortune on beauty products, in order to emulate and look more like… themselves? And what now passes for the ‘common’ look is more than a little scary. The number of gap toothed models on display make me wonder how much money my parents could have saved on my orthodontia had this fashion become the rage in my youth.

This is the look of normal? A century ago, anyone looking like this would either be locked up in an asylum or had to be part of the English royal family.

Once upon a time, it was thought that a flaw was necessary to be truly beautiful. These days, the stars are either cookie-cutter bland, or the ‘flaw’ has become the whole show. Do today’s young women really want to look like refugees from an episode of “The Walking Dead”? Some of these models make Grace Jones look positively nubile.

Speaking of femininity, a counter movement is growing for men. Am I the only one who thinks male models have become just a tad too self-consciously perfect? The line has been crossed where the tweezed, plucked, waxed and chrome-plated look currently popular, makes the wax figures from Madame Tussauds look ruggedly authentic. All that well-oiled sullenness just begs to be hit with a banana crème pie.

Who is promoting these new standards of beauty? And would someone please clean the Vaseline off their glasses?

Years ago, new to Hollywood, I was working sets for a commercial production company, hungry for a ‘break’. The location manager asked me would I be interested in doing modeling. I was intrigued.

He suggested I go in for a test. He thought I had ‘a look, a certain quality.’ A talent scout he knew, was looking for someone with that… je ne sais quoi. He gave me the card of his photographer friend and I called for an appointment.

Wow. Mere months in the city and I had been discovered! I couldn’t wait to tell my wife. She cynically thought my getting a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, might be premature.

I told her “Mine is the face that will launch a thousand shipments of what people buy after turning a page in a glossy magazine and seeing my face. Liquor.”

I went to my appointment for the test photo-shoot with eager anticipation. There was none of the ‘metoo’ stuff you may have heard about. The photographer looked at me, pointed and told me to stand by a bicycle parked on the highly-lit set.

I was no fool. I knew better than to ask him what my motivation was.

I did my best to act like it was my bicycle.

He snapped a few shots and told me I could go. That was it. No contracts were forthcoming. No requests for autographs. What a disappointment!

You may be thinking, ‘Well, maybe they couldn’t see the bicycle.’ That wasn’t it. Nor the absence of inflatable abs. Ignorance of my need to sneer wasn’t it either.

However, I do think I know what harpooned my becoming tomorrow’s over-night sensation, today.

I’m sure you haven’t noticed, but I have a slight bow in my legs, which I’ve been told, if I stand in a certain way, on a clear day you can see Catalina Island. My Mom told me, when she was pregnant with me, she got scared by a horse.

But maybe now, with the move away from the ultra-beautiful, I could still make my big break into modeling.  Now, where did I leave my tweezers?

Women are Powerful

Women are strong.

There seems to be some confusion about that in recent years. For one thing, many feminists have spent an inordinate amount of time falsely promoting the idea that women are always victims, mainly of toxic masculinity. I have read American women are the most oppressed minority in the world. But we are also supposed to believe there is no difference between males and females. Huh.

Now we are told to believe women are strong. Which they are. They always were. In fact they are powerful, whether they know it or not.

Traditionally, women were kept out of the armed forces, especially combat roles, not to discriminate against them but because women were judged not to be expendable. Women were thought to be too important to be mere cannon fodder like their male counterparts. If women want to participate in defending our country, there is no doubt they can be fierce warriors. But that is a separate issue.

Some years ago an anthropologist studied a village (known as the U.S. Congress) and its culture. The study determined that the women actually get things done in this village. Everyone else talks about doing more than they actually do. These results gibe with studies of almost every culture, primitive or not. Huh.

There is currently a new book out, ‘Strong is the new Pretty,’ promoting the concept of strong women. Nicole Kidman and Drew Barrymore are two celebrities who gave it a thumbs up. Considering their decades of survival in the jungles of Hollywood, I would say Kidman and Barrymore know something about strength. The book’s cover claims it consists of photographs of young women ‘being themselves – strong’. I can’t argue with that. Life is tough. Strong is good.

I haven’t seen the book’s contents. But the publishers made an unfortunate choice for the cover shot. The young woman on the cover looks like she is spoiling for a fight, which makes her look neither strong nor pretty. It is not the fault of the woman in the photo. Did the photographer tell her to ‘be herself’? Or, ‘look mean. Look tough.’ She looks ridiculous. Diane Arbus’ famous photo of the enraged little boy holding the toy grenade comes to mind. Pretty wrong.

Feminists have spent the last decades emasculating boys and men. Now they want girls and women to fill the void (and become the men they hate). Is masculinity toxic only when males have it?

Someone (anyone) who is truly strong doesn’t need to swagger around with a snarl on their face. Relaxed confidence does more to fend off potential aggression than in-your-face scowls.

Speaking of Hollywood, the most iconic female stars were no shrinking violets. Millions of fans bought tickets to see Bette Davis, Katherine Hepburn, Claudette Colbert and others for their spirit, spunk and never-say-die attitude. They inspired all of us. Their strength transcended the muscular.

A friend of mine, Sonny, told me he first worked as a bell hop at a beach side resort near Santa Barbara. One morning he delivered breakfast to a room occupied by Marilyn Monroe. She answered the door in her robe, smiled and asked him to prepare her a cup of coffee. His hand shook as he stirred in the sugar. How many specific cups of coffee do you remember making after thirty years? And you didn’t even taste it?

According to Sonny, no braggart, nothing more than her playful flirtation happened. But they both knew her effect on him. Marilyn Monroe had an undeniable power over people. She still does. Women always have.

Curiously, the powerful are the least visible in society. The poor and vulnerable can be seen on any city street. The powerful are invisible. They travel incognito in private jets to undisclosed locations. They exert their power unseen or from a distance.

Imagine a culture, a utopia in which the women are so powerful, they sequester themselves from society. They require attendants for travel and when in public, they dress anonymously – covered head to foot in shapeless, colorless and un-revealing clothing. Perhaps only their husbands and children know what how they look. In this imaginary society, women reject education. Their immense power is enough. Education is for the male servant class who need it for their physical work.

It might appear to an outsider that the men who acquiesce to these feminine demands are afraid of women’s power. Do these men believe the mere sight of a woman, as she truly is, would deprive them of their will? Render them helpless? Is it for their own good that they submit? Or else what? Are these women so irresistible?

Can you imagine these terrified, desperate men, blowing themselves up in defiance of such enveloping femininity?

What culture would willingly impoverish itself by condemning half its people to such a life? How damaged must one be to perpetuate such fear and weakness? Could healthy balance ever be regained?

Thankfully, imagination is not reality. Every sane parent, man or woman, wants opportunities and happiness for each child. Imposing one’s will on the weak and vulnerable is tyranny and abuse.

 

Hearing Silence, Seeing Darkness

I once went out into the desert to record silence.  You might wonder why, and even how can one record silence – it being so quiet and all. But in the sound business one finds the constant need for what might better be labeled as ‘ambiance’ to play behind dialogue or to enhance a mood for the characters. The quietest scene will always have at least a ‘room tone’. In the real world you only get quiet but very rarely is silence achieved. In the sound track of a film, ambient sounds may be labeled as sound effects but they are orchestrated no less than the musical score.

I once cut backgrounds for a scene in a movie that took place in a meadow. Because of the way it was cut, what would really last over an hour – bright sunlight turning to dusk, took about five minutes of screen time. I cut various tracks of birds and breeze, gradually phasing out the birds and overlapped them with other birds and cicadas and then crickets so the visually compressed time felt natural in the transitions. It felt good when the producer announced that I was an artist.

So, back to the desert. I wanted to record natural sounds, away from traffic or mechanical and man-made sounds. In Los Angeles County, that is nearly impossible. One has to go a long way into the desert to escape the ubiquitous sounds of humankind.

But I discovered something. This may seem self-evident, but it was a revelation to me. It is in silence that one can really hear everything happening.

I set up my recorder and microphones in my wind break and sat still, awaiting the symphony of nature to unfold before me. First I heard the freeway, several miles away and sounding like a distant surf. Then a mile or so distant, someone started up their tractor and drove it into their barn. I heard meadow larks marking their territory. A distant horse neighed. A truck door slammed. Something rustled in the brush. A gust of wind met a clump of dry sage. A crow flew by, its feathers beating the air. It spoke its click language to a neighboring crow. It was so quiet, I could hear everything.

Had I been recording in almost any other location, almost none of those discreet sounds would have even been noticed. We are submerged in a cacophony and are barely aware of it. It was only where there was hardly any sound at all that I could hear so much activity. Ordinarily, we are deafened by the sheer number and volume of sounds constantly barraging our ears. In the recent rains, did anyone hear any individual rain drops?

In a similar vein, we don’t really see, unless it is dark. Or, if you will, we are not aware that we see unless we are focused on what draws our attention. I took my kids camping at Lake Cachuma some years ago. That night, we left the tent to take in some night air.

I looked to the night sky and fell speechless at the splendor of the stars on that moonless night. We could actually see the Milky Way laid out before us. The sheer scope of the night sky, unsullied by city lights, was beyond description. The constellations everyone can identify, even in the city, like the Big Dipper or Orion, were almost lost in the pointillist cloud of stars – each one a sun.

One may be important in one’s life and to others, but on the scale of the vast night sky, one can only be humbled.

Likewise, the time I saw the Northern Lights was unforgettable – a vast luminescent curtain blowing in the cosmic wind. The radiation which causes them is almost always present. But the circumstances whereby one can take in their awesome display requires that one, at the very least, look to the sky with open eyes.

A cat or a dog sees, but they are not aware of their sight. Sight’s purpose is to maneuver about, to find the thrown stick, to catch a mouse. It is only when consciously looking at something (which might always be there) but never noticed, that one begins to truly see. Suddenly, one gains perspective on everything present to our senses but drowned out by the many, many things barely looked at in passing. One becomes present in their own life, but only if one participates.

 

I’m not a Talking Bomb, but I Played One on TV

One of the most interesting aspects of working in post-production in Hollywood was the time I spent on the ADR stage. ADR (Automatic Dialogue Replacement) is the process by which actors are brought onto a sound stage to recreate their original performance that was marred by noisy ambience or other technical issues. I had the opportunity to work with many talented actors, most of whom were cooperative and agreeable under stressful circumstances.

The task is a unique blend of technical ability and art. Ideally, in the original performance, the actor inhabits the character while submerged in the ambiance of the location and interacting with the other characters.

On the ADR stage, the actor must re-create that original sense and emotion of the scene, while standing alone on a dark stage which lacks any of the physical cues that supported the original performance. And he must also watch him or herself on the screen and perfectly lip-sync his new performance to the original. It is that combination of re-creating an emotional performance, while also objectively observing it, which throws some actors.

Imagine yourself playing a character helping a wounded friend while dodging bullets from a sniper. All your exertions and dialogue provide the viewer with a sense of the immediacy and danger of your plight.

Now, imagine trying to re-create that same tension, without the noise, the dust, the struggle, or your co-player, all while standing on a cool, dark stage, watching yourself perform on a giant screen.

Some actors just cannot do it. Their process of acting is so integrated into the moment that doing justice to their performance, after the fact, in such artificial circumstances defeats them. And many are wonderful actors. Ultimately, if the performance is good, a little judicious editorial surgery will improve on the sync.

One such case was with the actor Robert DeNiro. Considered one of the greatest actors of his generation, the process of ADR is completely counter-intuitive for him and his style of acting. We scheduled multiple sessions, only for him to balk or cancel each in turn. He was agreeable, but intimidated by the technical process. I finally got him to do his lines ‘wild,’ with four or five interpretations of each line. With minimal editing, I was able to make one of these performances fit.

I worked with the actor Jackie Chan on one of his films. He is the most focused and exacting actor I ever worked with. Except for lunch, he never took a break. A week was scheduled for the recording and he finished re-voicing the complete film in three days.

Jackie’s film was shot in Chinese. Our task was to replace Jackie’s whole Chinese language performance with English lines. We needed to write Jackie’s lines so they would make sense to the story and also closely match the onscreen lip movements.

This task was daunting enough. But as we were starting, Jackie asked how he could get rid of his Chinese accent. Since we were preparing his film for an American release, he didn’t want his Chinese accent to distract or make the audience struggle to understand.

Having never been asked this, or thought about it, I needed to think fast. How could I solve this? Hardly missing a beat, a solution popped into my head. The ADR gods were smiling down on me.

One factor for any non-native speaker of English (or, I suspect, any second language) is the natural tendency to pronounce each word discreetly. This exaggerates the accent and creates a stilted hesitation, rather than a natural flow of expression. The speaker sounds like they are struggling over a pile of rocks, rather than floating down a stream.

I asked Jackie to say the phrase ‘American accent’ but to slur the final ‘n’ to the beginning of ‘accent’ to sound like ‘America-naccent’. By tying the two words together, much of that odd emphasis and hesitation is lost and it sounds much more natural.

Jackie tried it and immediately grasped my intent. We started work and he was pleased with the improvement in his ‘American’ accent. Whew!

Another aspect of ADR is the recording of background ‘walla’ for crowd scenes, restaurant scenes etc. Some ‘loop groups’ are very talented and will create a texture of background that adds a sense of reality to a scene.

Long ago, loop groups were told to murmur ‘peanut butter’ over and over to create a non-descript background buzz that would not compete with the foreground dialogue. Modern loop groups bring vocabulary lists and even foreign language phrases for the talent to use in order to give the walla the flavor of a specific time and place. A Moroccan street market sounds different than a corporate board room. Really!

Many actors, practice their craft and can make a decent living working in a loop group while seeking on-camera work. The downside can be that novice actors are so hungry to be ‘discovered,’ their performances must be reined in so they remain in the background.

Working with inexperienced actors provided me with the opportunity to perform as a ‘talking bomb’. Twice. Occasionally, some absurd gimmick becomes popular with multiple script writers. In this case, a time bomb which not only had a clock, but also a voice which announced, to anyone who happened to be standing around, how many seconds they had before being blown to bits.

“Siri, should I cut the red wire or the blue wire?”

On two different shows, I ran the sessions where we needed a voice counting down from ‘ten,’ presumably to inject further tension into an already anxious scene. But the actors seemed unable to grasp the ‘motivation’ of the ‘talking bomb.’ Alternatively gleefully evil or mother-hover anxious, their bomb was over-acting.

Every Shakespearean attempt by each member of the loop group would be rejected by the director. When they ran out of actors, I offered to try.

The tension in the scene was in the characters, and hopefully, with the audience. But the bomb couldn’t care less about the pending explosion. It wasn’t a character. It had no character. It didn’t ‘know’ what was about to happen.

I performed my count-down as devoid of emotion as possible, a counter-point to the humans in the scene. This bomb had not a care in the world. Rain or shine, this bomb was indifferent to its future or the lack thereof. It was what no actor wants to be described as – mechanical and flat. My performance, with just a suggestion of boredom, was perfect.

I was the bomb. They loved it.

Hits and Misses from Storyography – 2017

Each year at this time I re-publish a selection of some of my blogs that may have slipped through the cracks, or I hope will find readers who might have missed them on the first pass.

And I include some of my personal favorites.

I am Woman, Hear Me “Wahhh!” is a little more political than usual for me but, like it or not, I felt my take on the recent sex scandals had to be said: https://lifestoryography.wordpress.com/2017/11/26/i-am-woman-hear-me-wahhh/  

Gumshoe, Meet Banana Peel is a rant from a different place that I hope gives you a smile: https://lifestoryography.wordpress.com/2017/11/04/gumshoe-meet-banana-peel/

Shakespeare, On the Rocks is a whimsical re-imagining of some of the Bard’s more famous plays: https://lifestoryography.wordpress.com/2017/10/24/shakespeare-on-the-rocks/

Eclipsed by a Fidget Spinner is an exploration of our need for diversion and the cyclical nature of our lives. This was printed in a recent edition of the Tolucan Times: https://lifestoryography.wordpress.com/2017/09/05/eclipsed-by-a-fidget-spinner/

You Kiss With That Mouth? was my most read blog this year. I’m told my misadventures with dentists is very entertaining and funny. Don’t forget to floss: https://lifestoryography.wordpress.com/2017/09/01/kicking-when-im-crowned/

Liberals and the Seven Stages of Grief examines the Kubler-Ross model of grief through the prism of the 2016 election: https://lifestoryography.wordpress.com/2017/05/31/liberals-and-the-seven-stages-of-grief/

Another Brick in the Wall recounts my brief tenure as a middle school teacher: https://lifestoryography.wordpress.com/2017/06/22/another-brick-in-the-wall/

Love and Scar Tissue is a reprint of a review I did for the Tolucan Times of the amazing Danny and the Deep Blue Sea. I wish everyone could have seen this riveting performance: https://lifestoryography.wordpress.com/2017/04/12/love-and-scar-tissue-on-display-in-danny-and-the-deep-blue-sea-and-poison/

Thank you for reading my blog this year. I very much appreciate your comments and attention. I hope 2018 is wonderful for all.

Why Movies About Movie Making Flop

It seems most movies tanked this summer. But why do movies about the film business do especially badly at the box office? I don’t mean films that use Hollywood as a backdrop, great films like ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ or ‘Sunset Boulevard’.

I mean movies that present the film business as interesting in and of itself. You know, shows like ‘An Alan Smithee Film’, ‘Map to the Stars’, ‘The Player’ ‘Won Ton Ton…’ and others. Did you see any of them? Exactly my point. These films didn’t sell enough pop corn to pay the ushers.

Why audiences don’t ‘get’ Hollywood-centric stories is a question I’ve never heard answered. I think it has to do with Hollywood’s self-promotion as a land of limitless glamour and glimmering success. There must be conflict to successfully engage the audience. How can the audience identify with anyone from that fanciful place untouched by darkness?

Comedies about the film business fail because they are filled with self-aware ‘in’ jokes, funny to those in the movie and few others. Alternately, the character’s problems may seem contrived. Can I truly sympathize with Red when she actively solicits the attentions of the Big Bad Wolf?

A case in point is a TV series I recently endured. The premise of it is absurd and I don’t recommend it. A secondary character, a writer is complaining about his sorry lot as the lead writer of a hit show. He is so put upon by his producer boss, that he has to work during ‘hiatus week’ while everyone else is vacationing or sitting by the pool. Any working schmo can identify with that. Who wants to work while everyone else is out playing? Not me.

But when you consider how much this ‘poor’ guy gets paid to put words on paper (six figures easily, plus golden time, residuals, etc.), our sympathy starts to fade. Perhaps his kids will respect him when they learn their Harvard tuition is completely funded. Meanwhile, he kvetches about his horrible job while riding around in a bit-coin powered limo and attending exclusive parties to schmooze flavor-of-the-week glitterati. Poor guy.

Understand that writing in Hollywood is a difficult and often thankless job. Writers often don’t get the appreciation they deserve. That is not my point. But Joe Blough, working two jobs just to keep up, and mowing his own lawn has a hard time feeling this character’s pain.

I never met a Hollywood writer who complained about his job. Whatever his private life, Hollywood people know they are blessed by whatever gods they grovel to. They would never be tempted to bite that beast’s gracious hand.

But that is only part of the problem. You have actors whose job is to give a gloss of authenticity to what is an inherently artificial process. It is hard enough to succeed at playing a cop, a housewife, or a lawyer. But an actor portraying an ‘authentic actor’ is beyond the best skills of most talented thespians. How exactly does an actor act, in the wild, when he’s not acting? What are they ‘really’ like? Just like you and me? Really?

Also, creating sympathetic portrayals of producers, directors and others in the business can be a task fraught with many pitfalls. Some of us ‘civilians’ may have to deal with out-sized egos and immense pressures in our hum-drum lives, but in Hollywood? Recent headlines only hint at what some of these powerful people are about.

But there is something un-real about how Hollywood elite deal with even mundane tasks. I heard Frank Sinatra had toilet paper in his house bearing his own image. Is your guest bathroom stocked with toilet paper with your smiling face printed on each two-ply sheet?

Asking an actor (read: someone truly fake and insincere) to honestly portray someone who is fake and insincere, creates a feedback loop of artifice. When it fails, it just looks like bad acting. But it is an honest attempt (by an inherently dishonest person) to portray as genuine, someone they know is dishonest. And that last bit is the problem. They try to make them genuine.

Some actors just play themselves and really only play one role, regardless how many shows they are in. Others never play themselves and completely transform once that camera starts rolling. When is either genuine though?

Not to say ‘genuine’ is impossible to do. In the recent mini-series ‘Feud,’ the story of the legendary competition between Bette Davis and Joan Crawford (played wonderfully by Susan Sarandon and Jessica Lang) all the elements combine to form a veritable work of genius. Centered on their one movie together, ‘Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?’ the series does everything right that most movies about movies fail miserably at. The characters are well known and bigger than life. The supporting roles are deliciously consistent with our expectations of who these people were. The writing is superb.

We see the characters on and off camera and they behave just as we expect they behaved, cat claws and all. Despite their bigger than life personas, the actors and writers succeeded in bringing out these character’s genuine humanity and the poignancy of their loneliness while embracing their prodigious flaws. They bring out their third dimension.

And the filmmakers never try to convince us these stars were normal or ‘just like us’. Hell, no! We don’t need to believe the ‘rich Hollywood actors, being paid millions of dollars to portray people just like you and me’ actually are just like you and me.

They succeed by highlighting our lives and allowing us to see things more clearly through their depiction on the big screen.

But they are not like us. And that is alright. I don’t want their flaws. I have my own. Watching them is entertaining. Watching me, not so much. (That is why they are known as ‘stars’!) If they were like me, I certainly wouldn’t be buying tickets to watch them.

Click  to see the Storyography Video Memoir website:  http://www.lifestoryography.com/