The Wedding Slammer

It's that time of year again -- wedding season!  The time when women's dreams come true, guys lose their freedom (if there is such a thing), and parents stumble and fumble through every detail to make THIS wedding ceremony one for the ages... based on available funds, resources, and location, of course.

Just picture it: Man meets woman, he a character actor, she a production assistant. Man falls in love with woman. They get engaged over a weekend romp through the wineries of Monterey. They set a wedding date.  All is right with the world.  But, being a traditional wedding, the parents of the bride-to-be drop the weight of the proceedings upon their shoulders.  Fine, thinks the man. After all, her side of the family is of moderate wealth, and more able to afford all the nuances of proper festivities.  The mother, an interior designer, is a joy to work with. Her taste is impeccable.  And the father?

A feature director who likens himself to the second-coming of Stanley Kubrick, who's every fifth word is "no" and every fiftieth word is "fired", and has a penchant for belittling actors for shits and giggles.

Uh oh.

He demands a folding chair with the title "wedding director" screened on to it.  He conducts a casting call of area pastors, looking for the right "it" factor.  He fires three lightning technicians before the fourth finds him the proper ratio of key to fill.  He has the nerve to call his "pal" Stevie Speilberg -- he met him once as they crossed paths at Universal, which constitutes a permanent friendship, in his mind -- and offers 10% domestic profits and half of the european distribution rights to shoot his daughter's wedding.  In a stroke of marketing genius, he sacks the groom's best man and groomsmen, replacing them with New Kids On The Block, looking for that opening weekend punch.  He hires the entire UCLA School of Theater as wedding attendees to add an "emotional strength" to the event.

And finally, he re-titles the invites to read "Pirates of the Caribbean 6: Julie and Tom's Adventure on Marriage Island and brings in Hans Zimmer to perform an original score.

Of course, being of only moderate wealth, he attacked this event as if it were a feature film.  In other words: Use other people's money.  The problem is, those "other people" really thought is WAS a feature film. Once the truth is revealed, the money vanishes, the Mouse House comes after him for copyright infringement, and NKOTB management demands appearance compensation as well as revenue lost by canceling four concerts to be in the "film". His daughter, ruined, flees to a monastery and converts to Buddhism.  Her parents hire a slick entertainment attorney and dump the debt upon the unsuspecting groom, who now must work four jobs and sustain his now-miserable existence via a diet of Taco Bell (the employee discount helps) and Cup o' Noodles.

Damn!!!  See what happens when I watch a Swedish film doubleheader?

The MOSHer

I know what it's like to envision oneself as a great do-er of things.  I'm also quite acquainted with not possessing the resources needed for such grand visions.  So, I understand the role of the "Mover and Shaker" within the realm of Hollywood, and I don't blame them in their quest to make it big. It's something we all aspire for.

I just blame them for not telling us the truth.

It's a practice as old as the industry.  Person with real artistic talent is approached by person with no artistic talent, who desires a partnership whereas both can benefit.  The artist handles the creative end, while the non-artist deals with the business end.  As long as the particulars of the partnership are agreed to at the onset, and the agreement is mutually fair to both parties, then the team may continue forth and conquer the Town -- or at the very least try.   The artist (whether it be a writer, musician, or filmmaker) is clear in his or her talent.  Their website, Soundcloud, YouTube, or simply files on the laptop can verify their abilities without question.  But the MOSHer....

Well, that's another story.

More often than not, they procure a "beginner's card", as I like to call it -- either a generic business card from an entertainment or production company with their name and number scribbled upon it, or a poorly and cheaply conceived card of their making with a bad logo, vague contact intel, and the title of "president" or "CEO" below their name.  Look, my company (BeelineMedia) is a one-man operation, and sometimes finances can be tough, but at the very least I put in the hours to produce well-designed cards and websites.  It means a great deal to me.  It's a first impression, and that impression screams "quality", not "Kinko's".

Then there's the language. Phrases such as "It Sizzles", and "Money in the Bank" launch from their vocal orifice faster than a Sidewinders from an F-18 fighter jet.  Not unlike the car salesman trying to drop a crap Nissan Cube atop your platinum card, the MOSHer has a product to sell in HIMSELF -- and like the Nissan Cube, it might not be exactly what you want. But it sounds good, and that "sensible" Honda Civic across the street doesn't offer nearly as much "uniqueness", "convenience" and "cool factor" as the ice chest on wheels parked directly before you.  So, rather than asking for the Car Fax (I hate that stupid commercial), or "Card Fax" in the case of the MOSHer, you accept his or her words on face value, and venture ahead with your new buddy, ready to clean the studios of their money.

Of course, if you HAD asked for that Card Fax -- or prior credentials and proof that the MOSHer can, in fact, accomplish everything he or she promises they can achieve -- you'd find out they live with either their mom or three other roommates, take the bus to work, which is a waiter job at El Torito, and have very little experience in closing deals, let alone opening the right doors.  More often than not, they met somebody who knows somebody who can make a phone call to the secretary of the assistant vice president of telecommunication for the company of the step brother of the head of Paramount Pictures.

Why not just say, "Look. I'm a nobody.  But I know people who are somebodies.  If you allow me, I'd love to present your script/music/film to these people. I promise I'll push it hard. I can't guarantee anything, but I'll try my very best. One never knows.  Some great things have come from the most remote of chances."

MOSHer translation: "Babe. You pages leap out at me! This sizzles. It sustains! Here's my card. I'm a producer. I know people. I can open doors. This can make you rich, babe! I can make us millions!"

......?

Waitaminute.  You know.....

Flambé Padme, damnit!!!

You've gotta feel for the likes of Liam Neeson, Ewan McGregor, and Natalie Portman.  Whereas Harrison Ford might always be noted as Han Solo to some, he's built enough of a body of work to mitigate the burden of Star Wars Geek and his undying belief that, no matter what you do from that point forward, you will ALWAYS be your Star Wars character!

If you're a relative nobody. then you can parlay that into some cold-blooded cashflow.  Most actors from the original three (even the droids), benefitted from the success since, at the time, only Sir Alec Guinness and Peter Cushing were truly established as notable actors.  But with the new three (or "prequels" to the Lucasites) broke from the nobodies.  Alas, when Natalie Portman, already a well-established actress at the time of Episode 1 (which is really the fourth film, or the first of the second trilogy), steps into an eatery, I can't help but wonder how many times Warsies whisper to each other (not so quietly) "Dude, it's Padme!"

Nevermind the girl is an Oscar winner. Take no account that she's been in over 32 projects NOT named "Star Wars".  She will always be Anikin's wife!  That must piss her off.  But, she has only herself to blame. As Super Chicken so eloquently stated to his sidekick Fred, "You knew the job was dangerous when you took it!"  Interestingly, Liam Neeson, post "Phantom Menace",  exclaimed he'll "never" do another action film again -- then went off and chose "Batman Begins", "Taken", "The A Team", "The Grey", "Battleship", "Non-Stop" and "Taken 2" from big book of role choices for fine thespians.

True, he IS, in fact, a bad-assed action star, and perhaps that's why I view Portman and McGregor as Star Wars alumni more so than he.  Like Ford before him, he understood that, to clear himself of the Star Wars stigma, he must muddy the action flick/fantasy flick waters with as much "adventure goop" as humanly possible. Ewan and Natalie have, for the most part, have stuck with drama and the occasional dramedy, which only leaves the crappy prequels are our only substantial action flick references for either of them.

Not so fast! McGregor has finally woken from his galactic slumber!  Over the next couple of years, he's pulling a Liam Neeson on us, who pulled a Harrison Ford on us prior.  Perhaps it was McGregor who was approached by the Geeks, and not Portman.

SWG: "Dude, you're Obi Wan! May the Force be with you, young Ben!"

EMcG: "Shit!  I wonder if that Giant Killer project is still on the table? Gotta get out of this crap!"

Method Yoga

There is no such thing as "originality" in Los Angeles.  Everything is a derivative of something else, which was once a simulation of a copy of an original take of a concept many years prior.  For example, "The Big H" is nothing new. It's not the first single panel cartoon, nor the first about Hollywood, nor a combo of cartoon and editorial.  Yet, that's what I love about L.A. -- one really can get away with just about anything.  It doesn't have to be original.... just "creative" enough to spark an interest.

Yoga is monster in these parts.  The old adage "throw a rock, hit an actor" has been supplanted with "throw a rock, hit a yoga instructor".  Of course, many of these yoga people (I speak of them as a cult, which is completely intentional) are ALSO actors, which got me to thinking: most everything in this town is PBCed (a combo of two things that go together, like a peanut butter cup), so why not "yoga" and "method acting"?

It's perfect... just like those damn Reese's ads suggest.

"Drama" already exists within many yoga studios.  "Method Yoga" shall control that drama, and mold it into a controlled discipline concurrent with the art of yoga, whether it be Iyengar, Hatha, Bikram, or Yoda (that last one made up I did... but lots of money it would make, hmmmmm?!!).  Every actor within striking distance of the studio would blindly sign on the line that is dotted, if only to add it to their entertainment resume -- Meisner, Stanislavski, Alexander Technique, and Method Yoga!

It would be an emotional bunch, for certain.  Equal amounts of sweat and tears.  Each pose would be preceded with a sense memory or a moment before, so each position would hold as much emotional weight as it does physical stress.  Practitioners would break down in tears as they hold their Warrior 2, or emotionally dissolve as their Crow Pose collapses. Yet, at the end of the session, they feel completely refreshed, new and alive! Their mind is clear. Their emotional baggage, unloaded.

In disguise, Method Yoga is less yoga/acting as it is yoga/mental therapy.... and THAT'S why it'll succeed.  For not only does it combine two things many Angelinos enjoy, yoga and acting,  but sneaks in a third requirement for living in Los Angeles -- psychotherapy.

Actors Being Actors

Many friends of mine are AcToRs, and some of them are fine human beings.  But there are some -- one of whom is not a "friend", per se, but a friend of a friend -- who cause me to scratch my head and silently pontificate how they have yet to be murdered by a complete stranger due to a deadly combination of unfiltered mouth attached to unfiltered mind.

Sitting at one of my favorite hangs, medium Americano by my side, a woman approaches the condiment bar to spruce up her drink, my table close by.  I noticed something on her hand, something that appeared to be a ring, but nothing like any ring I've ever seen.  She was attractive, and such an unusual piece of jewelry is more often than not a fantastic conversation spark. As I turned to her, a second woman (actor) approached the bar.

"Pardon me. Is that...a ring?" I asked.  She proudly displayed it:  A vintage spoon curled around her ring finger into a tight twist, with its handle wrapping upward around the finger, ending at a sharpened tip jutting out toward the pinkie.  Cool bling, as WELL as a deadly weapon -- my kinda shit!  Naturally, being a guy, I focused firstly on the weaponization aspect of the ring. "Man, a dude better be careful what he says around you."  She giggled (not sure whether it was a "humor" chuckle or a "you have NO idea" snicker).

Just then, the actor blurted "maybe you should bring your face down here so she can use it."  She snorted a self-laugh, apparently content with her sudden display of sociopathic humor.

What the fuck???

I sort of know this woman, and have spoken to her on occasion.  Yet, even if she was my closest friend, there was no excuse for that outburst.  She didn't know Ring Girl.  Heck, she barely knows ME!  I suppose she genuinely thought of her blast of theoretical violence as comic gold.  With her non-blinking "kid in a toy store/deer caught in headlights" stare, she smiled as she wandered back to her friend who, being an actual friend of mine, could only gaze back at me with apologetic eyes.  No doubt, this was not Little Miss American Psycho's first fling with proverbial fire, and it won't be her last.

I just pray I'm at a great distance when her mouth finally writes a check life can't cash.

Late Night Tightrope

One of the many...MANY reasons why I don't watch late night talk shows.  Nothing against Leno, O'Brien, Letterman, Ferguson, Kimmel or Fallic -- but staying up late to watch the true personalities of my favorite television/film/music celebs rear their ugly heads is ultimately self-defeating.

I STILL remember, to this day, an appearance by psycho Alyssa Milano on Leno. I only say she's psycho since that's exacttly how she acted. "Does anybody wanna date me? Does anybody wanna go out with me?" were approximately the words she pleaded to the audience.... and I'm not 100% sure she was kidding.  Look, nobody's perfect, but suspension of disbelief is essential in the enjoyment of filmed entertainment. Watching an actor go batshit crazy on a late night tuber, then turning around two nights later and trying to believe his of her character is a well-adjusted, say, detective or lawyer is THE quickest way to screw the ratings pooch.

And above is not a solitary case. I've met quite a few actors living here in Studio City (which, to those outside of SoCal, REALLY does exist as a mapped community).  Some down-to-earth and enjoyable to share space alongside -- others galactically whacked to the degree as to wonder how they walk and talk at the same instant without exploding (apparently, so I'm told, that's a real issue with David Caruso).  Some hide behind layers of clothing and monster shades, of which frequently serve a counter-purpose as they call attention to who might be, exactly, behind those shades -- especially if they're worn indoors.  Which makes me wonder if their agent and/or manager vehemently stressed the use of said disguise in the hopes of avoiding prolonged conversation with the ticket-buying, Nielsen-fueling folk as to avoid the inevitable conclusion by said folk that their beloved star is certifiably mental.

I wouldn't blame them a bit.