The Reconstruction of JANE FONDA

My wife loves to read biographies - amongst which she's been reading "My Life, So Far" by Jane Fonda. So when she heard about her book-signing appearance at the Union Square Barnes & Noble... well, "we just had to be there"!

B&N had a part of their 4th floor set up for the occasion and issued "red wrist-bands" for the "lucky" first ones to arrive. This entitled us to a seat near the front -wherein we sat for the better part of an hour and a half, awaiting Lady Jane. The people of Union Square have been known to be, ummm, "somewhat politically eccentric" (that's about as understated as I can make it). As an example, the guy sitting in front of us had his entire newspaper clipping-collection in his handy-dady duffelbag (you never know when one might have to site some "reliable" material). He and the two guys sitting around him were debating the downward spiral of WBAI's popularity since the radio station's anti-semitic rhetoric became more rabid and was denounced by Garry Null. The guy behind us was muttering politically incorrect sounds to himself (people should only do that with a fake cellphone attached to their ears). And then a well-dressed drunk sat near us, professing to the man next to him that he was psychic. This immediately started an exchange about "Oh...do you believe in intelligent life on other planets?". And at that point, Jane Fonda walked in with a couple of escorts.


The stage had two large pictures of litterary sybolism on either side of the signing desk. Jane walked passed the one with Gulliver starting to wake up as the Liliputians were trying to tie him down. When the host introduced her, she walked over to the microphoned podium and began to comment on the inspiration of her book. She was now in front of a large picture of Moby Dick with it's maw open. As the Q&A began between the audience and her, I was tempted to ask her opinion about the irony of her standing there, being dressed in white and juxtaposed against Ahab's favorite obsession. But I held my tongue and took in the show.


Her responses were interesting. She was angry at Hillary Clinton for "not being braver" but conceeded that there was something imperfect about every politician. She denounced the fake photos with John Kery... and the historical revisionism regarding the "truth" of Viet Nam. One guy from the audience was thinking of leaving the US because of his "disappointment"... she urged that "we need to stay here and fight for what we believe in". And then a clergyman stood to ask her a question:

"You seem to have come to spirituality late in life... how do you see that impacting your '3rd Act'?"

Her response was a bit comical but still poignant: "I come too late in everything. But when I come it's a 100%." She went on to say that the "empty place" in some peoples' lives gets filled with... addictions (she was always trying to please people -at the cost of her own lack of development, leaving her as someone who had no confidence in herself during her youth)... and she mentioned that she is presently attending school as a divinity student. Her perspective from the days of Barbarella have been redefined and now she is enjoying her older life... her 3rd Act. She also confided that the only thing missing is "intimacy" -sex was easy, but a meaningful, loving relationship is something that she is still looking for.


Then we all lined up and got the book signed and the pictures taken and the experience filed away under the notation of Act 2, Scene 99.

CASH in the Ring Of Fire

It was a pretty good musical... accompanied by some very innovative electronic scenery.

We craned our necks to see stage-right situated beneath our protruding box seats, but it was worth the effort. Especially since the singers and the musicians were terrific. The part of Johnny Cash was played in four different ways by four different actors at different times of his life... which in this depiction was mostly set around his songs. And that was OK with me and the friends we went with... but it was the simple stageset in the background that was the most magical of all. In fact, they were "TV sets". Literally!
3 huge TV's were being manipulated both physically and image-wise as the backdrop changed from countryside to Main Street to Bar scene (complete with well timed "broken bottles falling" as the actors bumped into it). Very cleverly done. It certainly kept my attention riveted to see how they would arrange them next.

I've only been on stage occasionally during my distant "yut(h)". Once as a chorus singer during 3rd grade, then playing a Spaniard dignitary from South America in the 4th grade... and recently, I actually won a bottle of champagne while participating in silly stuff in front of a packed audience at a hotel in Eilat. But otherwise, I haven't really pursued participation in theatrics... it's too repetitious. Doing the same act, night-after-night? Not for me. But I do like watching a live performance... good, bad or otherwise, and consequently I must have seen a hundred or more plays in the past (thanks to the low rates offered by TDF).

With the show over, it was off to nearby Cafe La Madelaine to discuss our impressions while dining on French food and drinking some red wine... and reflecting on how lucky we are to be able to do this every now and then.

The pits

What a piss-hole it is behind the Port Authority... beneath the bus-overpass ramp on 9th Avenue!

As I was treking through this area from 34th Street to 47th Street, to get one of my meager showbiz paychecks, I had suddenly dropped my usual apathetic armor for a moment and realized the world I was now smack in the middle of. Homeless men with puke on their clothes and barely-filled liquor bottles sticking out of their jacket pockets were leaning toward the dark end of a dilapidated garbage alley. One hand propping themselves up while the other was hidden from view in front of their pants, leaving the barricading chainlink fences with dripping urine onto the sidewalk. A block later there’s a cornerstore-pantry advertising 99cent pizza… one shady customer biting into it’s spongelike crust as his nose drips snot onto the “savory” goo passing for food at this 9^th Avenue locale of the wretched refuse. Most subway stops also have "the aroma" and it’s not much different on the upper west side either. As I walked past Zabar’s delicatessen the other day, on my way to an early morning movieshoot, I saw homeless people leaning on the multicolored freebie-newspaper dispenser stands and sleeping standing-up. Their clothes wreaking of urine, their skin bruised and bloodied from countless fights and falls, while uninvolved shopkeepers hosed down the sidewalk around them… only to spread the stench of the concentrated urine left behind by the nameless wraiths we call bums. I can not help them -though I wish I could. But I can’t pass them by without thinking that I could soon end up like one of them. And considered how it would all start?

Lately, I feel like it's already started... the depression of the downward spiral.

It begins when you start to turn down unpaid gigs. And before you know it, other opportunities suddenly evaporate as well. The phone falls silent; the emails stop coming. It appears as though a kind of balancing act was constantly making karmic adjustments to keep your ego in check (just in case you might drift toward thinking that you're better than anyone else).

I declined an audition for a lawyer part in a Hofstra student film. The reason being was that a part-time job had come along with a web-design company that I decided to take, in order to stay in touch with some semblance of my former reality. In fact this position came about just after I had agreed to take on a crude web-design assignment for one of my relatives. Guess I put some kind of energy into momentum that had vortexed me toward a new direction. The “web-job” had a lot of elements I’d always dreamt of: A venue to express my creativity through some form of designing art while still being connected to the technology I had been trained to work with… along with a short drive to work and short hours... there's minimum pressure (and minimum wage). Alas no real income but plenty of future possibilities… and the possibility of eventual independence.

Unfortunately, my showbiz “career” was immediately affected. I had missed an important (and well paid… $3000+) “farmer modeling role” because I had kept my cell phone on “mute” as a result of not wanting any interference during my web-design day-gig. Although I returned the call within 2 hours, the part was given to someone else. Also, I had to rescind my availability as a volunteer for the Tribeca Film Festival. And soon after, a 2-day weekend shoot was cancelled because the director’s camera parts were missing and her set-design was destroyed!?! Ironicly, the web-job ended prematurely as well (due to the fallout from the latest legal decisions against Microsoft). It would seem that the 2 worlds can not coexist without immediate complications of one or the other -or both at the same time.

All this has made me reticent to take on anymore unpaid showbiz gigs. As a result, I’m now officially wearing Gurdjieff’s "galoshes" and attempting to ride 2 horses with one ass!

TRAVELER at the Waldorf-Astoria

Another 7:AM call... for the Warner Brothers/ABC-TV pilot called "Traveler". But luckily it was to be in NYC at the famous Waldorf-Astoria. Rene, the Sylvia Fay(e) rep had led me to believe that we would be filming in the lobby.

No.

It was outside. It was the first day of Spring. It was snowing!!!
And since we had to be background extras in business suits, we froze our nuggies OFF... and so did the principals (one of whom was Logan Marshall-Green) from the TV series, "The OC".

But I have to say, that the film crew, headed by the director David Nutter,

was a tenacious bunch and kept us working almost from the time we arrived to the time we finished at 3:PM. Yes, lunch was served but only after the SAG guys had their fill. This class-distinction is still not sitting well with me. One of the women, with whom I had to walk with, told about her experience on a set with Nicole Kidman, who was very gracious and invited the extras to eat from the SAG-side. She also mentioned that Jimmy Falon was one of the friendliest person since he mingled and chatted with the extras on a regular basis during his movies. Robert DeNero also has a good rep among the extras as being the best food provider. Apparently he caters from the best places and makes sure the extras eat well. I still feel there should be a revolution of sorts to keep everyone on an even food-keel during the filming. I'm neither a socialist or a communist but I do believe in equality when it comes to food. This Hollywoodier-than-thou caste-system has got to go.

A sober reminder of my relationship to this industry came when we were being herded from our holding area at St. Bartholemew's to temporarily line up against it's walls prior to heading over to the Waldorf... our handler kept telling us to "Stay against the wall and let the 'real people' pass by!". It "brought me back" to thinking about my first post on this blog -pertaining to the "phantom zone" existence in which I was... or rather, was not.

EPILOGUE: That's me as a hotel patron passing by the boys as they rush into the Waldorf in the 1st episode.

August Rush in March

Silvia Fay's rep, Ali, gave me a call last night with a "check-in-number" and the "call-in line" to get the rest of the details for the Newark shoot. It was to be 7:AM!!! Yiykes... I'd have to wake up at 4:30 AM to drive there in time. Fully well knowing that I'd probably be waiting hours prior to being called on to the set and lamenting my obsessiveness to be punctiual. Of course, I was right. But Ali had told me that the movie had Robin Williams and Kerri Russell in it -and I really wanted to see those guys. So I relented and decided to do the "time".

I drove to the NJ site and discovered that we, extras, were not allowed to take advantage of the holding area's (Robert Treat Hotel) free parking space which I had been counting on. We'd have to use the public parking building across the street ($15... caching!), the total toll turned out to be $17.50... so that's $32.50 for the honor of being in a Robin Williams film! Compensation: 94.50 + 7.50 (had to haggle for it) = $102.00. So I guess I would go with it (even though it will get me to lose $100.00 from my next week's unemployment check). Sacrifices I make for "my art"... and so did a few hudred other extras!

The holding room was the Victoria Room in the Robert Treat Hotel across the street from NJ PAC (the Newark equivalent of Lincoln Center), where the filming was taking place. We all checked in, got our vouchers filled out and settled down for a 7 hour wait. Lots of chatting, reading, iPod playing, and other innovative time wasters were being conducted at each of the tables in the large dining-room-type set up. But none of them were as whacky as our table. We had Keren -the "almost violin player"!

Her talkative exhuberance was inexhaustable. It seems she forgot to "take her meds today"! The consequences of which allowed us to observe a relentless yaking for hours on end. It started with her being picked to portray a "real violin player". Apparently, when she was taken by the PA's to the filming site, the audition didn't work out and she was replaced by a "fake violin player" -Carl, the tuxedo guy! This started an endless lambasement of poor Carl and it didn't stop until he good-naturedly brought over his "just-for-show" $38 violin and Karen made an attempt to play it. Although she had studied violin at a younger age, she was unable to bring forth any sounds that would even remotely resemble violin playing. All that, after her rantings about being trained by Izhak Pearlman and desciples of Yasha Heifitz. Eventually, her wind dissipated and we were conversing on the "sane plane" (for about 10 minutes). And it was at that point we were requested to accompany our handlers to the filming site across the street.

Our purpose was simple: look like upperclass patrons of the theater while applauding the cello-playing virtuoso embodied by the role of Kerri Russell. We, the audience, would be moved around the huge theater several times for special effects later to be provided on a blue screen. As a result, a few hundred patrons will appear to be a few thousand in the CG-editing room. Kerri Russell was the only star in this scene and it was interesting to observe her acting... very minimalist (IMHO). Still, it was a bit of a charge to see her. And that 's what this whole ordeal was really about for most of us. To see a star... whether she twinkles or not.

While moving around the theater, we had different seating partners and numerous sound-byte introductions. I asked the guy next to me why he had chosen to do this work. He explained that although he was 33 years old, he had a very high-pressure job and had suffered an increase in his heart beat (160 per minute) and some liver problems as well. It took the doctors 22 hours to get his heart back to normal and now he was ordered to stay away from tension-causing situations. Another fellow was a high-level executive, who left his lucrative workplace because it was causing him to miss out on his family life. Now he was involved with locating antiques (hence allowing him a personal pleasure of pursuing historical artifacts) and selling them on E-bay. As we relocated again and again -I wound up next to a very happy woman who had been miserable as a teacher for 40 years and now she was "pursuing her dreams" by being in movies. Still another person whom I rubbed elbows with, admitted that this background-extras job had too much waiting associated with it, and she would never do it again! I was still wondering why I was doing it... It certainly wasn't because of the money. And how long before I too, would lose the magic of the diversionary "pixie dust"?

I suppose my introspective response would be that the "industry of illusion" has ironicly given me a sense of purpose -if only for an undetermined short time.

Just God and me

She descends effortlessly through the smokey clouds (of dry ice) and hands me (a business-suited politico type), the golden egg, with which I play and then, in turn, hand it over to a soldier who manages to break it -whereupon the gooey mess is seen dripping all over the map of the world... and yada, yada, yada. So now I'm doing politics and mixing it with religion.

Well, I liked the idea that I'd be playing a "support role" to God, so I stuck around for the grueling seven hour wait for the scenery to be prepared. It seems that no one ever prepares their set on time but the "talent" has to be on site and availble -no matter what! The crew was nice and I got to chat with Bobby (aka "God"), an Indian girl whose family hails from British Guiana in South America. She was 20-ish, shapely albeit with a diminutive build and a very calm demeanor. Nonetheless, she had broken away from her parents' influence and decided to have "fun" in the fantasy world that we were presently filming. (There's something "Pinnoccioan" about her story and I was wondering what my role here really was. )

In my mind, I couldn't escape the invevitable effect of my superimposing her deific role upon her mortal personality. And it was wreaking havoc with my psyche. Here I was, conversing with someone who has "somehow" been selected to play "God"... and I'd be "Her" co-star! Hmmm, so this is what "Joan of Arcadia" must have felt like.

Ironic, because just a few days ago I had whimsicly considered applying for a "reality show" wherein you had to submit an idea for starting a new religion. I had developed this whole idea about the religion of the ORB (Thanks again Woody!)... and the leader would be the "subORB"... the congregation would meet in a circle and each follower would ... well, never mind. Needless to say, I never submitted anything. But it was fun thinking about it. The stipend offered was to be $5000 and you would have a film crew follow you around and witness how succesfull you would be in recruiting some "followers". And today, here I was, face to face with "God". An omen for sure! (As in: "Oh man... don't you be messin' with my turf!")

All in all, a very inspiring shoot.

An INDUSTRIAL gig

I got the call while chatting with some artists at the NY Art Show in the Javits Center -I suppose that being there, was an indication of sorts, given the "industrial" nature of the artworks being exhibited. Giclee… phooey!
Oh well, at least I got to pose with MM.


Call time for the Sunday shoot was 9:AM at the Chelsea Market on 9th Avenue and 15th Street. It's a renovated old structure that has become a combination office space and shopping mall. A welcome "sheeky-trendy" spot for Chelsea's west-side financial infusion.

Heading for the second bank of elevators, I heard some steps clicking behind me through the deserted early morning corridors of the pealing brick walled mall. I held the door and was pleasantly surprised by a young woman whose whispery enunciations of gratitude upon her entrance to the elevator recrated a Marilyn Monroe-type of mystique (perhaps a leftover flashback from yesterday). I guessed at her destination being the same as mine -to which she confessed… and a sense of "mutual functionality" between two strangers had now been established (as opposed to just being "who's this creep in the elevator with me").

We were greeted by our Production Manager in the 6th floor offices of NY1/Time Warner, who immediately provided for a few introductions of the people we'd be working with and ushered us to our holding area: a company-lounge with plenty of space, breakfast food and a couple of "lounging extras". After being wardrobed and madeup… we were brought back to holding and began to consume the bagel and cream-cheese delicacies. The rest of the floor was a modern-designed wide office space complete with a news-caster's stage and lots of electronic editing rooms. I was impressed.

Sean was our director and he called me and a few others for an office scenario discussion. He described four scenes: Finance, HR, Marketing and Executive. As it turned out I got to be in 3 out of 4. During the first scenario, I was standing near the ad-client's copy machine (RICOH), pressing a button, grabbing a sheet of paper and begining a succession of mobile chain-reactive office interactions. While the crew was setting up, I was fooling around with the copy machine and kept screwing it up. Lights were flashing and alarms were beeping!? This activity did not go unnoticed by the intrepid film crew and after a few takes, I was told to change places with a tall, skinny, young German-accented guy by the name of Gabriel. I was placed into a "safe cubicle" where my "paper-interactions" would be more benign -albeit still in the frame shots. The film crew kept bumping their camera-dolly into the desks as they rolled back and forth to get the right shot. The dolly was being pushed and pulled by an ADP whose aim wasn't always within the tolerance levels of the narrow office aisle. As it turned out, sitting in the cube was the best deal since the bumpy shots took 2 hours to straighten out. With all the advanced camera equipment around, I couldn't understand why they didn't use the customary rails. Wow… I realized I was getting smart… I'd better shut up and just enjoy the show. The second scene went better (the aisles were wider)!

The final scene of the day was the Executive meeting room. For those who only got to be in this scene, the waiting time in the lounge was close to 8 hours. At least the TV in the lounge room and the munchies would keep them semi-conscious. Otherwise it's a brutal ordeal -especially if you're not loquacious, sleepy or don't know how to meditate. I kept conversing with my elevator buddy and her attractive friends. One of them kept complaining that whenever she got hungry, she'd have an anxiety attack. I made sure to keep some candy in my pocket -just in case she decided to go cannibalistic. Gabe came over and we hit off a friendship when he found out that I was Hungarian: it's that "European thang"! Eventually, as we spoke, I found myself accenting my own English in perfect Zelig-like style. (Thank you Woody Allen, for putting that neurosis in my psyche.)

We, the "executives" were now all in suits and ushered into the modern boardroom for a meeting-scene. The "CEO" would walk from the copy machine with new favorable info and distribute it to us at the table, where "smiles of approval" would abound. Sounds simple… BUT… by 8:PM we were all getting "loopy" and the cross-banter was making all of us giggle… until we finally got the scene down pat and it was a WRAP. Haleluyah!!! Time to get paid our 100 bucks.

The kicker: we had to fill out W-9 forms...
Translation: paid by check within… a month…two at the most!? ...and of course, there would be the dreaded tax-deduction! A typical industry tactic that reduces your real income. Even worse, my unempoyment check got docked $100 for my "working" one day. That just inspired me to expound a few immature expletives: Shnitzelgrooben and BASZ MEG!

CUT-oh!

This was a real “Lost in Translation” experience. I was told to go to 77 Bleeker Street for the Japanese TV-ASAHI documentary about MADONNA! The address was easy to find –problem was that there was no crew there. After a couple of phone calls and some frantic door-to-door searches, it turned out to be a basement bar, next to a café near the corner of Greenwich Village's Broadway. Went downstairs and opened the heavy doors into a dark, cozy, warm and confusing scene of young people in various stages of costume changes, makeup and spinning dance steps. The crew was there and from what I gathered, were mainly conversant solely in Japanese. As I approached one of them to ask for instructions, he asked my name and after telling it to him he began to call me “Russ”. Wrong-O! When I corrected him, he kept repeating the same name “Russ”. OK?... I figured it was the confusion of pronouncement problems that Japanese people have between the “L” and “R” –the old “rots of ruck” stereotyping. I was told by the oriental agent, who went by the name of Henry, to settle in somewhere -so I found a corner on the cushioned periphery of the lounge and changed into my silk shirt per instructions for the 70's/80's period wardrobe. As it turned out it was the perfect outfit because the scene was to depict the “early years” of young Madonna as she hung out in various dance bars. I began watching the dancing dudes do their fancy steps with “added verve” when I suddenly realized what kind of bar-scene was being shot as the director’s heavy accented instructions were enunciated…

“GAY BAR SCENE!”

One of the PA’s was asked to round up the guys. She started saying, “We need gays at the bar…” When no one responded she figured she had made the wrong pronouncements so she started requesting “ … we need the homos…”. One of her asian friends started to giggle and waved her back for a little western-PC consultation.

In those days, Madonna was picking up gay guys to dance with. The actress depicting Madonna was a cute blonde, overly made up in rouge and frizzed-out hair. She played her part with great exuberance which was demonstrated by a slight wardrobe malfunction as her “boobies” (her words) popped out of her dress. Prior to each take there would be some emotive Japanese instructions from Hiro, the director, which was followed by the english interpretation from Mariko –our female interface to the mysterious whirlwind methods of Japanese TV/movie making. At the end of each take, the Japanese DP would shout “CUT-oh!”. And Mariko would translate for the rest of us: "CUT!"

My part in all this was background bar-fly and way-background-dancer. When the crew couldn’t remember my name, they would call me the “older guy”. Since I wasn’t exactly very active in any of the scenes, I figured that I’d just fade out with the rest of the crowd as we wrapped up the bar scene and got ready to go home. BUT noooooooo! Henry, the director asked me if I could stay another two hours to do one more scene uptown?! Given the sexual predilection of the existing atmosphere, I began to stutter. Uh… w-w-hat was the scene? H-h-ow far uptown?? (Why me?)

"We make you judge”! (Oh good… my “older guy” status had paid off. I'd be doing a "featured role".) And as the gay guys left, it was me and the girls and one other guy packed into the movie van, zipping along the FDR drive chatting about acting schools, method, Meisner, Stanislavski, Brad Pitt, Nicolas Cage, Dustin Hoffman and having a great pseudo-thespian time. Mariko was ordering “lunch” for us from a fancy Japanese restaurant. We arrived at a church (what else is new) near 1st Avenue and 88th Street, where we snuck quietly in the back, past the main sanctuary, where some services were being conducted. (I realized on my subway ride home later, from looking at the darkened foreheads of the passengers, that it was Ash Wednesday .) We went down some winding stairways, up a rickety old elevator to the 3rd floor and opened an aging door to a dilapidated gym. Aging... dilapidated... I knew I was in the right place.

The scene was Madonna’s high school days – she was doing cheerleading. But there was one thing missing:

“MAKEUP-oh!”


Madonna needed to have “arm-pit hair”. This was a real scream. The ticklish application kept her laughing in stitches while the rest of us were rolling on the floor every time she raised her “cheer-leading arms”. Then came the “judges scene”… just as "lunch" had arrived at 9:PM. A stack of warm goodies (a.k.a. motivation) were waiting for us on the table across the gym while we, the 2 judges, were seated as Madonna pleaded with us to let her in to dancing school. My role was to tic-toc my index finger and say “Not this time!”… then wave her to leave.

They shot the scene from every inanely significant angle and finally kiai-ed the word we were all waiting for -so we could eat…

“CUT-oh!”

We grabbed our dishes and dug in. Very tasty, very good… but the crew was not eating!?
They were packing franticly. And inside of a couple of minutes we were asked to leave (apparently they only rented the space for a short time and evacuating it was of paramount import). Damn! I had to rush eating (hate that) and didn’t get the chance to finish the rice. I scrambled, packed up my stuff and felt the rush of freezing weather around me as I exited the house of peace all by myself, carrying the unfinished dish of rice. No ride was offered to the railroad… in fact they had all evaporated like ninjas… the job was done. It was back to Japan for them because, as I found out – it would air this Saturday! Wow… these guys are fast. Perhaps too fast, because they never asked us to sign any wavers. I guess it's not needed in Japan? Visions of vast amounts of Japanese yens for residuals went through my dreamscape... as I foresaw the eventual favorable outcome of an international law suit: "RUSS vs. TV-ASAHI" for unauthorized use of my image. As it turned out, eventually the whole documentary was put on YOUTUBE.com and I got paid fifty bucks from Henry. ( Flashback to 1991: I was at a tech-fair in my former job, where a couple of celbrity look-alikes were posing... one of them was Madonna-con-mia.)


During my walk to the Lexington Avenue subway station, all I could think about was plotting out how I could find a place to sit and enjoy the rice. But as my five block walk-of-obsession progressed, I realized how the cold weather would affect it and how the taste and consistency would turn it into an unappetizing clump… but I still wanted it and began scheming about how I’d be eating it on the train… and then a kind of zen moment pervaded my primal instincts for the gluttonous goal of my culinary satisfaction… and I realized that I ‘wanted it way too much”… and that there was something wrong in that. So I stopped at the nearest trash can –and let it go.

I had found my own translation and solved the koan of “CUT-oh”.

It's called WEBcasting

My first initiation (there's something redundant about that expression) into the world of making movies for the Internet dealt with the concept of “product placement”. It would be a “Sex in the City” type of series wherein a couple of women search for the “perfect man”. Hence the name of the series: “IN MEN WE TRUST”. When completed, people watching the show on the web could click on the actors’ clothes and get immediate information about it’s brand name and where it could be purchased -in addition to which, they could also have selections on how the story ends. Very innovative… but unproven.

The shoot was in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn, on the corner of 8th Avenue and 16th Street –a church (why don’t they shoot more movies in synagogues, or mosques, or Buddhist shrines…?). We were given a morning call to get there an hour even earlier than the original call time… the old hurry up and wait routine again –I knew better. Parking was brutal in Brooklyn so I had to cruise around for 40 minutes before I found a spot –thereby arriving at my original call time.

Our extras holding area was downstairs in a chilly, albeit finished basement where we bantered about movies, politics, paint-ball adventures, celebrity-gossip, martial arts, cabbie stories, and constantly grabbed snacks off the Kraft-table. After stuffing my face with jelly-beans, m&m’s, pretzels and power bars… we were pleasantly surprised by Kelsey, the casting PA, who suddenly announced that we were getting “lunch money”… and that we could go out for 45 minutes to eat lunch. Great… except that it was only 11 in the morning and most of us weren’t very hungry after all the munching. Later I’d go out and scout the neighborhood for something other than a slice of pizza or a hero sandwich. I found Lailah, a Greek-run middle-eastern restaurant that also provided for take-out food. Perfect! I blew my lunch money right then and there on a "combination plate".

Four hours had passed without any activity for most of us. No wonder they called it “holding”. Then a walkie-talkie call blared off of Kelsey's lapel to send two actors "upstairs" for background. Upstairs was a room decked out as a horticultural display. Tatiana Pavlova was the director in the center of a bunch of lights and various assistants. She appeared to be a dark-haired discerning young woman with a calm, Russian accent. Her directions were gentle but specific. The scene showed two geeky males and two ditzy women sitting around a table and having a “double entendre” conversation about the plants:

“Gooseberries… they love to reproduce!” (hyuk, hyuk)

My role was that of a horticulturist, inspecting a plant in the background. Another horticulturist would come over and we’d compare our “stalks”. Cheeeesy!
The whole thing took only a couple of minutes, and then it was back down into the basement… for another couple of hours of male-bonding (the women were smart and steered clear of us) until we were released.

Pay: $40.
Lunch: $8.50
Getting the heck out of there: priceless

I took the Belt Parkway in order to get to the location this morning, but now I decided to return home by way of the longer BQE, even though it was going to be during the busy rush-hour trek back to my house. And although it took me two hours to get home, I considered it a “peace-of-cake” after the “wait-training” production I’d just come away from. They wanted me to return and do it again Sunday in lower Manhattan for the late hours of 3:PM to 4:AM in the morning!

I think I’ll have to sleep... or coma... on that decision.

Oh the HORROR

A chopped off arm here… some bloody make-up there… a chained up guy in the basement… and you’ve got the right ingredients for yet another banal horror movie.

So it was with the Adelphi student thesis film production (ERIE ROAD) in Queens –as good a place as any for me to depict the patriarch of a cannibalistic family. My funkiest line: "Show us what you're made of son... I can taste him already! (accentuated by evil laughter)". Other gems were aimed at an unexpected young visitor: "Can we have YOU for dinner?"

Fortunately, lunch was nothing less than 10 boxes of pizza. Which reminded me of my first horror movie a few years ago (2003) with the director Jeff Lieberman. Jeff had done underground horror cult movies like SQUIRM and BLUE SUNSHINE in the 70’s and then kind of faded away until someone from Microsoft apparently funded him for SATAN'S LITTLE HELPER (possibly in hopes of producing a profitable spin-off video game). I spent 3 midnights in Westchester wearing a ghoulish outfit while dancing to the tune of "Play That Funky Music Whiteboy".

There were a lot of extras with some outrageous makeup and we passed the time chit-chatting while mountains of pizza boxes were being delivered as our breakfast, lunch and dinner meals. The principals, Amanda Plummer, Jeff, et al were eating catered pasta and chicken (I still dislike that class division crap). But I snuk around to the place where the good food was and helped myself when no one was there -then all of a sudden, I came face to face with Jeff Lieberman himself. I extended my hand to greet him but he was already munching on some greasy chicken and couldn't find a napkin to wipe up for the customary salutation... so we segued out of the "Seinfeld moment" by attempting some light conversation about another horror movie director I once knew.

"Do you know Sam Sherman? He does Dracula-type of horror movies..."
"No."

"Ummm, would you mind if I took your picture?"
"Amm..."

CLICK!!!

A short-lived private exchange that exuded the epitome of awkward moments. There really wasn't much to talk about. It was more fun being with the other extras, clowning around and exchanging war stories. One heavy-set guy claimed to be psychic and proclaimed that this Westchester mansion was "definitely haunted". He may have had a point. While strolling around the mansion, I took some pictures outside and later realized that I had "captured" the image of a "light orb". These apparations are supposed to be pre-ghost energy sources... or some inexplicable type of camera lens refraction. Neither explanation has been proven -so far.

Fortunately, nothing scarry happened throughout the shoot. Not fortunate enough however, for Lieberman, for whom the only venue for the film was to be at Tribeca and the Horror Film Festival... after which SLH seemed to have gone the way of his other movies: cult oblivion. Apparently there was no mass distribution. Guess I'll wait for the DVD version... Is Satan cold yet?

3 Shows with 3 friends

Went to see Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Savion Glover and The Harlem Globetrotters this month. My wife and I saw them with 3 separate friends with whom we experienced three somnambulistic reactions. LBM at the Tilles Center started out great with their deep-toned syncopation -and then slowly, as the night progressed, managed to put us into a trance state. We, and the rest of the audience, were waiting for some of the Paul Simon collaborations but only one was sung -and all the other tunes were great only if you happened to want to meditate. Our friend Barbara fell asleep and hallucinated. Our African experience at the off-Broadway show, Drumstruck, was the exact opposite. Everyone in the audience got a drum and no one, but I mean NO ONE, got a chance to so much as blink. The activity was frenetic and energetic.

Savion Glover at the B. B. King Blues Club was inexhaustible. His tap-dancing banter with the jazz band on the stage was a remarkable feat (no pun intended) of musical communication. But even here, after a while (close to two hours), we started to feel the repetition of the rhythmic steps and began to wish that there were other elements to the show . The more I watched Savion, the more I compared him to Gregory Heinz... and the more I realized that his steps were "heavier" than Gregory's. Gregory's moves were so much "lighter" and effortless. Savion's steps were loud and "stomped out", pressed hard into the stage floor. Andrea, our friend, became bored. The customary applause was provided and we quietly left the place with the other 200 "tourists" and emptied out onto the welcome chill of 42nd Street. En route to the train, I stopped off at one of the other theaters and what appeared to be "mysterious behaviour" on my part to our friend Andrea and my wife, soon became a remarkable exhibition of faith. I had lost my hat in here, about 8 months ago, and decided to take a chance that it might have been found and remarkably stored for my eventual arrival. AND, it was! Now THAT was exciting.

My wife got 4 free tickets to see The Harlem Globetrotters at Nassau Colleseum -so we asked Arnie and Harriet to come with us to the extravaganza. These guys were good... even though all the basketball clowning was staged... the acrobatics were GREAT! Many cute interactions with the kids from the audience as well as one funny "kiss and tell" adult-moment. We particularly enjoyed the Hot Boys' acrobatic trampoline basket-stuffings. These three guys were unbeliveable in their precise coordination during the half-time show. Globie, the clown was filling in the gaps between periods as "it" pranced around the court for laughs. Yet here too, our friend, Arnie, was "sawing Zzzzzz's"!?! Oh well, maybe the spicy pizza after the show will get him going -one way or another.

... did someone say Winter doldrums?

FASHION SHOW at Bryant Park

SMILE! And she did -avec plaisir...

The invitation-only-tents went up as soon as the freebie-skating-rink was disassembled -and all this week, the center of NYC, Bryant Park, would concern itself with introducing the FALL fashions of 2006 (even though it was still early February). Since my Thursdays are involved with going through this area, I decided to do my paparazzo thing and click some pix of whomever I deemed to be "interesting".


Although my mother was a dressmaker / designer, I never got too involved, but tagged along with her as a kid and got to know a little about the glitzy industry. Descriptions of "EMPIRE" and "A-LINE" dresses with "satin and organza" still echo colorfully through my gray matter. Unfortunately, I'm quite ignorant about constructing clothes or recognizing faces of the fashion-world's who's who -other than the big names of Lagerfeld, Klein, Wang and Mizrahi. On numerous occasions I've walked across Fashion Avenue's embedded brass discs with commemorative engravings to the likes of the classic greats -and so I know their names (Rudi Gernreich, Coco Chanel, Donna Karan, Betsey Johnson, et al) but could never recognize them by face. Nonetheless, whenever I see a fashion show, I think of my mother and it brings pleasant childhood memories of her entourage of customers being fitted for evening gowns in their underwear (and sometimes without their underwear)!


I've only done modeling once... so far. It was for a NYU Tisch Photography theme: JADED BUSINESSMAN. The photog's idea had something to do with a young minotaur being very active in a sleezy bar, while I sat "bored and barely involved" in the center with a bearded aquaintance of mine as we nursed our drinks. It was interesting to see the photog-crew "jell the lights" with all sorts of magenta-type colors. I also got some beautiful photo copies out of it... and an entry into my resume.

And back in 1990, while tracking through the booksigning routes of celebs, Annie Leibovitz was promoting her 1970-1990 collection -which I promptly bought (love her stuff). And while standing on line for her to autograph it, I asked her to snap a picture of me with my handy-dandy-off-the-shelf-instamatic-camera. And SHE DID! She was a really good sport about it, saying, "Yeah -sure...gimme that camera... where's the shutter release...?!". I loved it. A real collector's item.

Not exactly runway work...

Harrison Ford and his FIREWALL

The Learning Annex provides monthly opportunities to approach the proximity of the famous and the near-famous (as Mel Brooks would say in the role of the 2000 year old man). One such occasion was tonight's NYC premiere (sort of) for Harrison Ford's new movie, FIREWALL. I paid my twenty bucks a few weeks ago to enter the halls of the 42nd Street AMC movie theater for the opportunity to witness this event, albeit shivering outside for 30 minutes in the newly arrived February chill. Finally, the ushers let us in and hastily took our computer-print-out ticket-sheets only to replace them with a "flag-decorated wristband". My usher's aim with connecting the sticky ends was off and I wound up with an unwanted "hair-removal treatment" from my wrist. Definitely not very good security... anyone could have made a copy of my printout and hustle through the lax check-in procedures. We were immediately directed to the 3rd floor where a "security guard" checked our persons for any "metal". From my point of view, the metal-detecting wand wasn't even powered on -there was no glow at the tip. Then it was onward, into theater no.6 and seating for all .. I got 3rd row. OMG... these were not stadium seats! I'd have to crane to see the movie screen and move my head from side-to-side in order to take in the action on the huge panavision screen. The waiting-for-the-movie-to-start ordeal was made pleasant by the 40-ish woman on my right, who, as it turned out, was readily conversational. She told me that she liked the entertainment but hated the city. She was getting ready to move to either Utah, Colorado or Nevada. She wanted to see mountains and trees, rather than concrete and asphalt... and whatever personal baggage that was causing her to leave NYC. Definitely a woman in flux!

The movie started; it was a techno-thriller and kept everyone interested to the end. Harrison Ford did what he does best: look vulnerable and get the crap beat out of him! Then the lights came on and Joel Siegel came in. He bantered back and forth with the audience and a few minutes later, the moment we all paid for had arrived: Harrison Ford (Indiana Jones, Han Solo...etc.) entered with a few "handlers" (read: bodyguards) and received a standing ovation. The format was that Joel would interview/prompt Harrison to tell us "stuff". But Harrison is not exactly an exciting speaker, he's very mellow and laid-back and talks slow with deliberation, so Joel had to keep the commentary popping while Harrison was popping pop-corn into his mouth. He was sporting a beard and explained that it was for his upcoming part in a Civil War-era movie wherein he plays the man who tracked down and caught John Wilkes Booth, the person who shot Abraham Lincoln. He talked about not being the first person to be selected for Indiana Jones (Tom Selik was, but had a contractual obligation that couldn't free him for the part). He mentioned how lousy he felt from the "local food" the day that the "Black Swordsman" scene was shot in the first Indiana Jones movie. It seems that he wanted to leave early to recuperate from the runs so he suggested to Steven Spielberg that Indiana should just shoot the giant with the fancy swordwork, thereby completing the shoot early -Steven replied that he was "just thinking the same thing..." and the poor "giant swordsman", who had been practicing his swordplay for weeks just for this scene (which was supposed to be a long one: sword against whip fight) had to "die" with one lazy draw of a gunshot from Indiana Jones!


I noticed that there was a lot of very carefull tip-toeing around the mention of "arabs" during his descriptions. When he spoke about his experiences in Petra, he made sure to mention the "fine arab hospitality... from Queen Noor". And when he had to speak about Marion's (Karen Allen's role) kidnapping, Harrison gingerly described it as the "actors who were...(searching for the right PC expression) dressed up in arab clothes"... as though he was afraid that some kind of "fatwa" was going to befall him if he actually said "arab" without some kind of a "complementary" follow up or dared to put them in a negative light. To me, this "politically correct" baloney attitude that seems to prevail throughout most of Hollywood, is nothing more than a compromise of free speech. It's the very thing that the movie, "Good Night and Good Luck" tries to make clear. It's so ironic that Hollywood makes a very important moralistic movie about the 50's McCarthyism, like GNGL -and yet remains trapped in it's own muck of modern-day PC. Eventually it will pervade their creativity and make them into a cookie-cutter movie-factory producing the "same old, same old". Too bad. I've always thought that actors were much more ballsy.

Otherwise, I liked what Harrison had to say. He liked acting, "It's the only thing that still keeps me engaged..." . One can't help but think if Calista Flockhart has anything to do with that "engagement stuff". His greatest lament was the "loss of anonimity"... "The trouble is that I 'look like' Harrison Ford!". It's true -one would easily recognize him anywhere. He also mentioned that he is planing to "transition" into "secondary roles". This drew a lot of "disappointment sounds" from the audience. But it seems that he's acknowledging the fact that his age, and perhaps his acting abilities, are fading him into the background. He did cheer us up by saying that "...there is another Indiana Jones movie in the works with Steven". Only the paperwork needs to be worked out!? One can only hope (given his propensity for the runs).

It was time -and the conversation between him and Siegel came to an end. We were hoping there would be a Q & A between Harrison and us... but alas (and "a lack"), that was not to be. He left the applauding audience with his "handlers" and we left the theater feeling as though we were... still behind a firewall.

Poooof! I'm an MTV STUNT DRIVER

I got a bit lost again on my way to the West Broadway randez vous with the music video crew. Walked upstairs to the director's apartment... they were just starting to get "organized" (read: come to) and the whole place was full of cigarette smoke. Apparently, they didn't get to crash until 4 in the morning! I told the director, Will, that I would go and get breakfast while they got their stuff together. He was glad I made the gesture, took an envelope, wrote my name on it, gave it to me and mentioned that I should collect and give him all of my receipts for reimbursement. Sounded pretty fair to me. So I left and went down the block to the original audition cafe, The Cupping Room. This time I would be a paying patron and not just someone passing through. Had my cup of tea and pastry, read my paper, checked out the other patrons... and basically killed 45 minutes at a leisurely pace. Very mellow. Headed back to their building, and as I started to open the apartment house door, Will and Justin, another member of the crew was just coming out. His van was parked in front and as he inspected the window there was complete and utter amazement at the fact that he did not get a ticket for his overnight parking fete in a restricted zone. He let me sit in the van and I offered to watch it for him while the rest of the crew went back and forth for packing their equipment. As they trickled down with various sizes of camera boxes, I got to meet them one-by-one. Each seemed to have a different accent. Interesting...in an exotic sort of way. Everyone crammed in -but this time I avoided the contortionist routine by sitting in the front seat early. After cursing about not having any cigarettes, Will stormed out of the van and upon return, tore-ass out across the Williamsburg Bridge enroute to our DUMBO location. Unfortunately, he got lost and we pulled over to a drunk dressed in fatigues to ask for directions... Whoa! The guy leaned into my window with a breath that could have turned into a flame-thrower had anyone lit their cigarettes... he could barely muster a few incoherent blabberings of "turn at the corner and then turn back and...[a long "where's-my-brain" pause]...and then turnaround" -complete silence for another minute as we all anticipated him to just plop on the ground while his alpha-rhythms baselined. Oh well, guess we'll just follow that sign over there that says "Brooklyn Bridge". That worked out swimmingly well and we found our way to the spectacular site. We were literally under the Brooklyn Bridge with a terrific view of downtown NYC in the background. Excellent location scouting! It was cold near the East River waters and we all found ourselves bundling up or shivering, like the leading man, Jerome, was doing. Jerome was a French dude, and strangely enough, resembled a young Billy Baldwin (or maybe I just had Billy Baldwin on my brain from the day before). I believe most of the crew was French and after demonstrating my poor high school foreign language capabilities, they had no problems with speaking French in front of me. They figured I didn't understand a word of it! This attitude turned out to be somewhat overconfident on their part later on. The plan was for me to drive down the cobblestoned street while Jerome cuts me off riding his bike -and I stop short while cursing the hell out of him. Hence, the "ANGRY DRIVER" role. All this was to be set to music later on by a somewhat wellknown band for whom this video-story was being created in hopes of publicising their newest album. Lucky for Jerome that I was a NYC taxi cab driver during my college years... the sublime perfection of which, has never left me. The camera would be attached at numerous precarious locations on the vehicle each time the French DP wanted to get a different angle of my cursing cruise down the deserted street. It was fun but dangerous. One of the camera guys sitting next to me bumped his head on the camera as I was directed to stop short. He told me that worse things have happened to him: Once he fell out of a tree with a camera!!! I suppose only an "injured" guy would continue to do this kind of crazy work. After a dozzen or so takes, the DP and the director were satisfied with the accumulated results and I was told that "We're done!". I gave Will my envelope with the receipts and asked for the reimbursement. A short conversation in French took place between him and the DP. I understood enough to realize that Will was willing to pay me $20 but the DP had convinced him not to pay me just now... that "Eet would be better like zis!" I realized that although Will was the director, apparently he wasn't the man in charge... the French DP had the Svengali influence. Will took me aside and said that he would send me the money later when he got my name and address squared away. Since I was having so much fun on the set, I kind of took it in stride and allowed it to pass. After all, they haven't given me a "release agreement" to sign yet. Apparently they forgot -and that would be my "ace in the hole" later on! They arranged for me to get a ride back to Manhattan from Olivia, the friendly PA who ran their errands. Her constant cell-phone conversations and blackberry scrollings in the middle of NYC's rainy streets made the SUV ride a bit harrowing -especially when she almost ran through a red light and into oncoming traffic! I played my "angry driver" role well for the video, now I wondered if I would become an "angry passanger" before we reached Penn Station. Naaaaaaah... I was too sleepy.

Epilogue: They never did pay me. But a year later I ran into Jerome (the bicycle rider) near MSG and he mentioned YouTube as a possible source for seeing a clip of the short.

Adrift in Manhattan with a bearded Billy Baldwin and a pretty Heather Graham

"ONE/NINE" -that was just the "working title". Originally it was supposed to be the symbol of the subway line that ran the number 1 and the number 9 trains. But since 9/11, the number 9 has been eliminated. Lots of memories for me here since I was riding on those trains the day the World Trade Center was destroyed by arab terrorists. Had I arrived a few minutes earlier at my then-workplace in the World Financial Center, I could have been doused by burning jet fuel or various types of debris or... jumpers. My old stop was Cortland Street and each morning I walked through the WTC, out through Tobin Plaza and over the North Bridge to the palm-treed atrium of the WFC... (snap out of it man -that was then; this is NOW!)

Anyway, who knows what the final title of this full-length independent production will be? The interesting part was getting to see some big-name actors, and exchanging stories with some interesting extras. I arrived early at the location on West 67th Street, asked for "Zeke" and was told to go to the 3rd floor holding-area. Huffing up the steps, I was told to go to the 1st floor holding-area... once there, I was told to go to the lobby holding-area -Zeke was still not identified.
The holding-area was a conference room that had a small piece cordoned off for the safe sequestering of the two principal stars. I took off my coat and sat down in front of the "demilitarized zone". Soon others began to arrive and settle in, one tall bearded person was approaching the "safety zone" and I recognized him immediately as Billy Baldwin -instinctively I said "Hi", which was returned in a friendly, albeit non-plussed manner. Whoops... I realized that I had just violated the "non-intervention rule" -extras are not supposed to speak to the principals unless they speak to you first. Luckily, my friend Tom (from the earlier Guys and Dolls gig) just showed up and we began to converse like old friends. Hence, the feint of my non-chalant segue would prevent any undue attention to my innocuos "brash behavior" of my previous moment's "Billy-encounter". Oh the suppressed angst that we extras have to incur!

I was chosen to be a lonely popcorn-eating matron in a "movie theater" scene. Lots of activity from the DP, John, and the spanish-accented director, Alfredo De Villa. The other extras were strategically seated and a couple of arguments between John and Alfredo broke out about "losing the location for the afternoon" and "lighting problems" and f#@%! this and f#@%! that... I just sat there as Selena, a production assistant whom I knew from previous shoots, brought me a leaking cup of soda as part of my props. It was soon replaced but my pants were rather damp! Then all of a sudden, "Team Two", a couple who sat a few rows in front of me would now be replaced by "Team-One".

Billy Baldwin and Heather Graham walked in and took the place of the original seat-fillers. I was pleasantly surprised by Heather's pretty looks and slim build. They quickly sat down... had their faces powdered and light measurements taken. Was the drama about to start? Not really.
All we had to do was to make believe that we were watching some old-time movie while the two stars were acting "uninterested" in each other. Apparently this was not working out as the director planned because he kept coming over to Billy and Heather and whispered something "private" to each one separately!? Strange. But I suppose he gave them their "motivation" for showing "disinterest"! As the camera-on-tracks panned across the audience, my face was four rows behind and right in-between the two majors. If the editing doesn't cut this scene out, and the producers get sufficient backing for distribution of the finished film -I just might be seen!

(Epilogue: The scene was left in... I'm the blur in the middle between Billy Baldwin and Heather Graham. But interestingly enough, they zoomed in on me since I was at the same visual level as Heather's young stalker nearby.)
The next setting was to be in a school a few blocks away. The crew packed up everything in a very short time along with the extras and literally packed us, like sardines, into an awaiting van. In order to fit into my seat, I had to crunch myself up so that my knee was up by my chin. As I looked out the window, Heather Graham was being escorted to her own transportation. My neck couldn't crane far enough to see what that was, but I bet she didn't have to have to contort herself to fit in (although if she had to, she probably could... her being a practicioner of yoga).

The holding area in the school was the lunchroom. We would be waiting there for a few hours while the crew set up their movie gear on the fourth floor. In the process of sharing lunch tables, more friendships were forged and numerous tales told. One woman was from Tobago/Trinidad and she provided some fascinating anecdotes about her link to this island and that of Africa. Another woman was a storywriter and producer in her own right who recently put on a successful off-Broadway play. A white-haired middle-aged man recounted his success story with beating stomach cancer and provided inspiration for us with his enthusiastic attitude about how he "looked at life completely differently now... since the operation". His big dream was to be in the Sopranos, so I provided him with the appropriate email for submitting: sopranosextras@gmail.com.

At 5:PM "lunch" arrived. Apparently I got on the wrong food-line because I was politely told that the extras are not allowed to eat from the multi-choice-meal area. Instead, I was directed to the table with fourteen boxes of multi-choice pizzas! This 2nd-class segregation is the only thing that bothers me in this industry. But then again, the crew and the principal actors do work much harder than the extras -and so, I suppose I can justify it in my mind that they do deserve the 1st-class treatment.

(Epilogue: This scene is toward the end -and I'm right up there with Heather.)

The second scene of the day brought me closer to the action. It took place in a classroom where we acted like proud parents of our poetry-reading teenage kids. We needed to clap for a minute or so! During our clapping, Heather's role would come into the room and observe while Billy's role, as the teacher, would show approval of the poetry readers -all the while making some eye-contact with each other's character. This scene took about two hours to complete, but the two stars would be going closely past us on a regular basis after each take. Both were rather quiet at each passings-by. For some reason, during breaks, Billy would go into one of the other classrooms and constantly be on his cell phone -if he were smart, he'd be lining up the next gig (but I suspect that he was checking in with his wife, Chyna Phillips). It's a win-win either way!

We wrapped after 11:PM, signed our wavers and collected our $50-bill. Most of us were only told that the story revolved around three separate love stories which somehow intertwined as the movie came to a close. Personally, I didn't see any chemistry between the two majors and the story sounded wishy-washy. But then, I wasn't privy to the "big-picture". If it ever came out, I knew I would still want to see it... and of course tell all my friends about it. Got home after 1:00 AM. My MTV weekend-gig would prompt me to rise at 6:AM. Yaaaaaaawn.

Epilogue: The movie was screened at Sundance in 2007 under the title: Adrift in Manhattan. It's not in any of the mainstream movie theaters as of this writing (8/2007), so my best guess is that it will be an indi release.

SoHo - so what?

A cast call at the Cupping Room Café on SoHo's West Broadway provided the perfect follow up to my last night's "adventures with tea-reading in libraryland". I was "white-rabbit late" for the audition because I confusingly went to the "correct" address on on the "incorrect" Broadway… but the director, Will , didn't mind. He recognized me from my headshot as I walked up to him and he introduced me to his assistant. Stephanie. She shook hands with me and I shook it right back (I'm not one to miss out on the "tangible benefits" of western civilization).

The director plied me with compliments in his somekind-of-an-English/French accent, about me having the perfect looks for the part of the "ANGRY DRIVER"… and then Stephanie suddenly piped up, "Can you just muss-up your hair and can you just muss-up your eyebrows… yeah like that… real fuzzy!".
"Perfect!" says the director. Then he showed me the MTV-type of script and described my part as being that of a driver who almost runs down a bicycler in Brooklyn's DUMBO district… and when the cyclist skittles out of the way, I should get out of the car and shout angry explitives… and "Can you be available for the next four days?". Sure… I said. But why do I need to be available for " 4 DAYS" when my part is so short? Oh no no no… misunderstanding… I'll only be needed for ONE DAY… and after a small conference with the DP, even the day was nailed down! "And only during daylight."

Good by me. One more thing… can he reimburse me for the train trip? Well we're all working without pay here… but yes reimbursement and "meals" will be provided. EXCELLENT (I'm starting to bargain... knowing fully well that it's all baloney)! The DP then took me over to the wall and took some photos of my "angry" puss. Then the director bade me good bye… and that he's "99% certain" that I would get the part… but just to make certain -I would be contacted by the DP later today (the baloney slices were getting thin).

A day later the call DID come.
I got the part!

Another interesting adventure resulted from my latest excursion in this neighborhood. While walking through SoHo, I found a "yellow notice" posted on a tree, saying that filming was going on for "PERFECT STRANGER" -and the contact number was: 212-563-7053. Upon the follow up, I found out that Sylvia Fay(e) was the casting director. Unfortunately, her website, InstantCast.com was charging money to join. Yet another lead gone awry. Or perhaps, this is the trip that the tea-leaf-reader was talking about last night… not working out! But NO! I shared this info with Tom, my new best actor friend from the Guys and Dolls gig -who also wasn't able to get a fix on Sylvia Fay but recommended that I get in touch with the Scott Powers casting agency. They had somekind of a movie job available. I quickly acted on Tom's tip and emailed my stuff to them. A few hours later I was called back and given a $50-gig that was being shot the following day at 35 West 67th Street, entitled "1/9" with Billy Baldwin and Heather Graham! Life is good.

A performance artist with tea leaves

`But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.
`Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: `we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.'
`How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice.
`You must be,' said the Cat, `or you wouldn't have come here.'

<>

Went to my local library to see a demonstration about serving tea. An elderly English woman was giving a spot of history about its origins. It seems that many thousands of years ago, a Chinese emperor realized that boiling water reduced sicknesses and so he would frequently command that his drinking water be scalded. One day... lo and behold... some of the leaves from the branches that were stoking the fire, had flown into the boiling pot and... VOI LA... the leaves gave up their flavoring contents to the hot water, which the Chinese emperor found to be pleasant upon tasting. Henceforth, there would be tea!

This ceremony was now being performed by the elderly matron-of-tasseography who also entertained us with numerous anecdotes from different cultures relating to the various rituals surrounding the drinking of tea. One of these rituals was her avocation, that being the "reading of tea leaves". Of course, after completing our repast with the loose tea, we lined up and had each of our fortunes told. It always amuses me to observe the curiosities of people to want to know "how things will turn out"... when in fact, things turn out the same -whether you know about them beforehand, or not. I must confess here that I am an ardent fan of Ouspenski and his writings about the inevitable fortunes of his imago, Ivan Osikin. But I digress...


I heard the wise tea-woman speak to my friend about her latest and upcoming fortunes -and I observed that she was right on with her assessment of symbols formed on the sides of the teacup. So I stuck my thrice-swished and turned-up-side-down tealeaves in my cup over to the fortune telling tea lady for a personal scrutiny of my so-called destiny. First off, she asked me if I had been playing an instrument lately (which I had) -and she told me to "stick with it" because it would bring big success (I'd better polish up my triangle). Then she asked if I ski. When I demured, she switched to "someone close to me" who skiis or snowboards -and that they should be careful... (Guess I'd better use more super glue on my pet's paws.) Also, a long trip that I was planning would not work out because of lack of funds at this time (oh well, I guess I'll put off my trip to Antarctica... for now). But the last item was the best. According to her, I enjoy giving love and I will get back a lot of it! Now that's what I call good fortune... and a wonderful performance!!!

We gulped down the rest of our teas and finished our "sweeties"... and left the hall of knowledge for the safety of our respective ignorances. Ahhhhhhh... BLISS.

Did you say Guys and Dolls?

Well... sort of. It was actually a movie-trailer with the working title of "SMALL TIMERS" that was being made by the director, Ken Waddell, and I was cast as one of the gamblers in some key scenes. When we arrived, there was a LOT of green screens and green floors all over the place. This however, was not in recognition of Greenpoint, Brooklyn where the studio was located, but rather in preparation for computer graphic details that were going to be filled into 99% of the background upon completion of the film... or video tape... or whatever the high-definition media that was in vogue at the moment. There wasn't even a clapboard being used anymore since both the sound and the visual tracks would be electronically embedded (in synchronous mode) within the HD "stuff". Wow... I'm so glad to be able to blend in and understand geek-talk.

First off, we had to get fitted in the costume department, where Anika and Angela picked out our 1940-ish period clothes. They had the right sized jacket but my trousers would have to be... ahem...enlarged. I was way out of their 36-inch range! And since they really weren't equipped to "rip-and-sew", I had to improvise by "sucking it up", which needless to say, created a very substantial problem for me: BREATHING! So I decided to compromise by sucking it in during the actual movie shoots and later keeping my pants' zippper half-way down during the long breaks. This made me somewhat self-conscious since there were little kids running around on the set and I didn't want to get tagged with an "expose". My zoot-suit jacket would cover the "faux-pas" but I was constantly checking my fly to make sure the zipper was locked in! As the fitting progressed, it was apparent that my black tee-shirt would not do and I had to put on a newly-opened white tank-top-T; brown wing-tip shoes and a droopy bow-tie (which Anika tied perfectly -for the second time in her life). Then came "the hat"! It was severely crumpled and the brim wouldn't stay sharp. Instead, it kept curling up (like Ed Norton's plumber-hat in The Honeymooners). Anika told me to "work it" during the course of waiting around -and it would eventulally conform to the necessary "wiseguy" shape.

With fitting now completed, we had to go over to makeup. It's always a strange feeling to have a pretty girl gently and professionally apply cosmetics to your face so that you can look "tough" by accentuating your every wrinkle and topping it off by scrawling deep-dark-lines around your eye sockets - only to finish it off by powdering your nose to reduce the "shine". The reduced-shine-proceedure would be repeated a few times throughout the shoot per the director's orders -depending on how often he spotted you on the camera's monitor. Perfection... is not an accident!

Now that we were all prepped, it was time to wait around while the set was being built, repaired, modified and repaired again. And it is during this period that you get to know your fellow actors and stagehands. A lot of chatting takes place and names and numbers are exchanged for networking purposes. After all, you never know when one of them may refer you to a good gig. While chatting, I noticed that one of the actors looked very much like Leonard Nimoy, or Martin Landau, or John Cassavetes -and when I told him so, he was elated. In fact, he had been on one of the Star Trek movie sets (Nemesis) playing an alien on the ship's deck. How "kewl" is that?



I also chatted with the child-actors and one of their parents. They were all SAG and one of the mothers told me that they had an agent who got them regular jobs above the $500 mark. Hmmm... getting real pay.... I'd like that. However, you had to join the union and pay a hefty sum. Hmmm... I'm not into hefty sums of payment just yet.

Child actors are great. They are sooooooooo precocious and easy to talk to. I'm always amazed at their ability to learn lines at a moment's notice and speak them perfectly on cue -EVERY TIME! To me, that is a natural talent that we grownups will always be amazed at. A show in itself. The mother also explained that her young son liked it better in this open studio environment where everyone gets to talk to everyone else, rather than being cooped up in a trailer. The boy was in a recent movie shoot, "The Good Shephard" with Matt Damon and Angelina Jolie where he had to spend most of his time in a trailer -bored to death. I guess it's not always so great to get the "star treatment". It seems to isolate you from the real people and prevents an actor from regaining their natural humility -an essential baseline for character development.

During the final sceene we were sitting at the "speak-easy" tables yaking away with our "dates" -all of whom were pretty women dolled up to be even prettier. For me there's an occasional sense of "unresolved regret" whenever I carry on a friendly conversation that you know will be terminated by the director's loud shout of "CUT!". It's as though I've lost a chance at making a new friend. Then again, that's my own fault -isn't it?

When the shoot is over, there is a sense of a rush to get back into our "own custumes", shake hands with each other and the director... and stand in line to get our pay! This is the usual routine for extras.
Feature actors (those with lines to say), however, have to fill out an invoice and wait for the check in the mail. But then again, they get paid twice as much. Hmmmmm... maybe it's time to get myself an agent?!

A Paparazzo instead of The Sopprano???

So I went to this audition for a cop role, got the part, and was told to be ready on the 26th. Then my cell phone rings, and I'm informed that it's been moved up to the 24th -OK. So far so good. I'm pretty flexible when I'm unemployed. The call time was established as "noon"... then I get some more cell phone calls telling me that it will be at 2:PM... then some more calls moving it back to 2:15... 2:45... and finally, "just show up in the lobby at 3:PM and we'll meet you!"

A day before the shoot date, I get a call from Grant Wilfley Casting, asking me to be a background character on The Soppranos on the same date as my Discovery Channel gig... CONFLICT!!! What do I do? What do I do?
I turned down the Sopparanos call because I already committed to the Discovery episode. My conscience is clear -but somehow I know I goofed. How many times does an actor get a shot (no pun intended) at being on The Soppranos? It's probably their last season!!! Oh well, I told Grant Wilfley the reason and asked them to call me, "I'm available next week...". She said she'd "Call again...". I can feel the boys waiting for me... YEAH!


I show up in the lobby of City Lights, the production company for the Discovery Channel and wait a while... no one is coming. I'm directed by the helpfull doorman to ask one of the people standing nearby about the crew I'm supposed to meet. He says that I should ride up the elevator with him and he'll check into it... "After all, I'm the president of the company -I should know about this!?". The elevator went down? Wrong button pressed.... but we were chatting away as we eventually headed in the right direction.

"Are you really a cop?" , the president asked.
"Nah.. I'm an engineer." -my reply elicited a giggle from my new-best-friend in the building. The unsaid ironical truth that lingered in the air was that I was a "working actor but an unemployed engineer". A not so subtle sign of our disturbed politico-economic times. The question begging to be answered was: How long before they outsource actors too? After all, computer generated characters are getting to be "more real than real"!

As we got out of the elevator, the entire crew was standing by. He handed me off to them and after a few cross-handshaking introductions from every angle of the reception area, they explained that the plot had changed!? ...OH, OH!
I was no longer going to be a cop. My new role was to be one of a couple of paparazzi besieging a pretty celebrity as she is trying to escape from a cab!?! (And I was so looking forward to playing a policeman -they even took my measurements for the uniform a few days ago... "a boyhood dream come true"... Alas, it was not to be.)

Off to Central Park we went in a celebrity cab ride of our own with the shooting crew in tow. Eventually everyone arrived and the equipment was set up. We, the "talent", practiced our "lines" and our chaotic camera-flashing-attack on the "targeted celeb". During the course of our stint, I overheard one of the PA's say how unfortunate it was that one of the expected actors blew this gig off -and apparently, that's what started the whole change in the scenario. Groan! Our shoot lasted less than 2 hours and when it was all over, we all shook hands again and went our merry ways.

I can't believe I didn't blow this gig off and take on The Soppranos opportunity instead.... I can't believe it... (hair falling... more hair falling).

CEO head/hair-shot

Up the elevator of New York Spaces, an 8th Avenue building venture, where studios are rented to prospect for talents, I rose to the occasion of yet another audition. It was a clean and modern, yet cozy professional atmosphere -a direct opposite of the usual fare of dillapidated walk-ups with creaky stairs and dingy hallways. Inside the Ripley/Grier Studios, room 16A, there was a casting for an interesting (read: paying) gig. If you fit the part, you get to go to Nashville, TN and impersonate a big-wig CEO for a day or so. The others waiting outside to be called in, per sign-in-sheet, were of all sizes and shapes, even though the castcall specified 220 pounds and a 6'1" stature. What the heck... I sat down on the cleverly placed park bench next to the cleverly placed sitting stool and waited for my name to be called. There was music wafting from the adjacent studios and in the reflection of some display glass hanging on the wall, I could see a couple of dancers practicing their "Chorus Line" counts of " a-1-2-3-4-...a-5-6-7-8-aaaaand...hitch...aaaand step....aaaand... a-pop..." My reverie was interrupted by a green-skirted young lady passing closely by and turning the corner to perhaps yet another dramatic scenario in the confines of the individual performance cells. Luckily, she sachayed by our bench a number of times during the course of our anticipated loiterings -thereby making our wait rather bearable.

Suddenly, the director's mating call sounded, "NEXT!"... I went in for the adventure of it... after all, how far off could I be, given the variety of my fellow competitors? It was a standard session. A few black-clad PA/DP types, a video camera, a charming female director. Then the usual headshot request, digital/polaroid shot, stand on the line, slate your name, agency, phone number, turn right, read for us, are you claustaphobic, alergic to anything... let's see the back of your head. The back of my head??? Claustraphobic??? (Was that a subtle way to tell me "bye, bye"?). But... no... they actually inspected the "back of my head".



Apparently the chosen actor would have to have a live-cast-mask made (a process of 4 hours of being covered by goop). I started flashing on Star Wars, and Star Trek alien-creation documentaries I'd seen on TV... and heard myself say, "Hey...no problem! " The director asked if I could be available for the casting of the mold this week -IF CHOSEN? "Sure!"
They seemed impressed and very cordial as "Elvis left the stage". To me that's a bad sign. I like it when they want you to do more readings, or monologues or movements. So I kind of knew this wasn't going to happen for me.

As I went back to my bench to bundle up my coat, the green-dressed girl sauntered by again. This time I came face to face with her as she smilingly said "Excures me..." while waiting an inordinately long time (2 seconds) in front of me in order to pass through the narrow isle which I was opportunely blocking with my unnecessary "getting ready to leave movements". Just another performance at the Ripley /Grier Studios.

Celebrity feets

A while ago... while tripping through the chilly airs of Bryant Park I noticed a small crowd of photographers gathered in the southwest corner. Something was up! I crunched through the dead leaves toward the hustle and bustle of a crowd of maybe 50 stand-arounds... and became one of them. I overheard a woman mentioning that Mayor Bloomberg, Kenneth Cole, Harry Belafonte and Natasha Richardson were going to appear with a kick-off of a new AIDS campaign entitled "We All Have AIDS". I wondered what would be new about it and decided to stick around for a few minutes.

Mayor B. and Kenneth C. spoke for a couple of minutes while the batallion of cameras flashed-up the otherwise desolate and lonely park at 10 in the morning. And although both speakers were emphatic about raising our consciousness toward this planetary plague, the only new thing about the presentation was the dedication of a silvery tunnel-like exhibit which contained the bas-relief footprints of 20 or so additional celebrities. After the short speeches and the photo-ops with Natasha and Harry, I decided to check out the "star-studded-feet-of-clay".

It was cute... that's about the best description of a row of foot-bottoms, which looked as though they would elicit a chuckle if you deigned to tickle them as you passed by. Whoopy Goldberg's were chubby, Elizabeth Taylor's were plump, and Barry Manilow's were HUGE (what a shwanshtukah he must have)! What a thrill to have to look at the bottom part of a celebrity and then consider that "we all have aids". I guess that's new.

Finally an audition-

WHO ME?
Ho hummmm... where AM i?
Oh yes. I went for an audition to see if I could get back to my "horror movie roots"... and whdayaknow, I got the part. I'll be a cannibalistic father-figure -who really "likes" his family! Got a few nasty lines to practice -but hey, it keeps my "edge" semi-blunt. Well, what do you want... it's tough at this time of the year.

During my street-strutting adventures through the city, I saw a couple of stickers on the NO PARKING signs, saying that a particular crew will be filming in the area... and if there were any questions, call 336-6350. Coooool! I did, and it was Law & Order. They weren't looking for any extras at the time but the jazzy operator did refer me to the Grant Wilfley castcall dialup. Which, needless to say, I immediately took advantage of. The robo-human-voice at least provided some mailing information to send my electronic headshots to... one of which was sopranosextras@gmail.com. So I did... and of course, I'm still waiting for a callback... bada-boom, bada-bing.

Also, I went to a go-see on 14th Street for a documentary castcall. I had to fill out a "keep-yourself-busy" questionaire until they called me in. Got a camera pointed at me, slated my name and was asked to repeat some "first-impression responses" regarding the SUPERSIZE ME doc. And after a few more interview questions I got the old "we'll get in touch with you" response. Ta da!