Wicked Lemons

Final Image

2012-02-01T21:02:00.001-07:00

Photo

2012-02-01T16:01:00.000-07:00

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Celles qui s'en font by Germaine Dulac

2012-02-01T16:00:00.001-07:00

It's better with the soundtrack muted.

Still

2012-01-31T11:03:00.000-07:00

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Boxed

2012-01-31T11:02:00.005-07:00

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"He be boxed."

That's what the black attendant at the Chicago city morgue said about corpses heading out the door in coffins, according to a guy who used to be a reporter there.

"He be boxed."

If you're going to be a dog . . .

2012-01-31T10:55:00.000-07:00

'Another bar, another long bygone year. Being young and naive, I was still at the age when my primary strategy for dealing with really hot women was flattery, eagerness and niceness. A friend of mind gave me the advice that the hotter as girl is, the more I should treat her like I would treat an ugly woman. And if she’s really hot, I should be borderline cocky and arrogant. This seemed counterintuitive, and I was skeptical, but I told myself I’d give it a shot sometime.
'So on this night it was my friend Beethoven (short for The Beethoven of Bitches^TM) and me drinking in a Brooklyn Bar. It was a decent crowd with some definite cuties.
'Beethoven and I were sitting at the bar catching up. A hot hipster blonde and her friend nearby were getting hit on left and right by guys and playfully shooting them down. This was a giant ego boosting night for them; you could tell this was their normal Friday night routine: go out looking hot while teasing some eager, desperate guys they had no plans of hooking up with. There was a group of typical guys standing behind our chairs with their backs to us, and Hipster Blonde and her friend were on the other side of the guys getting their asses kissed making small talk. Hipster Blonde squeezed around the group of guys and interrupted Beethoven and me.
'Hipster Blonde said to me “Do you mind if I put my jacket on the back of your chair?” My first instinct was to eagerly say “Sure!” Then I remembered the advice about treating a hot girl like an ugly girl and acting arrogant.
'I looked at her expressionlessly. “Let me think about it.” I turned away as if visibly annoyed and in deep thought. She stood there holding her jacket in her outstretched hand, speechless and with an expression of utter disbelief. I turn back at just the exact moment before the silence would have gotten uncomfortable and say playfully with a smirk, “Yeah, I guess you can.”
'She playfully replied “Oh really? Are you sure it’s okay? I’d hate to inconvenience you.” I knew she was intrigued She probably couldn’t remember the last time I guy wasn’t eager to give her whatever she wanted. Or acted totally unimpressed by her.
'We bantered and traded barbs for a bit, and then just when it was getting good I said “All right, well you should get back to your friends,” and pointed at the crew of eager cornballs she was just speaking to. Her friend was still with them, alone. Before she could respond, I turned back to Beethoven and went back to our conversation.
'10 minutes later she came back, this time with her friend. It was obvious the friend was being brought over to get a look at me and give a second opinion. Women love getting the friend’s second opinion and approval.
'She interrupts us again. “Hey, I came back to get my jacket.”
'Exasperatedly, I say “You again? You’re just full of annoying requests, aren’t you?” I turned to her friend. “Is she always this demanding? How do you put up with it?”
'She and her friend gave each other an expression that’s a mix of mock shock and laughter. They were loving the cockiness. I’ve got them now. She smiled and teased, “You’re just mad because I’m prettier than you.”
'I gave her a slightly bemused look, scanned her from top to bottom like I was evaluating her, then rolled my eyes. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” I charmed them both a little bit more, made them laugh, then turned back to Beethoven and my drink. In my head though I was thinking, I can’t believe the more I act like a dick, the more it works. How much farther am I supposed to go with this?
'Hipster Blonde took her jacket, and she and her friend walked to the back of the bar where the couches were, occasionally turning back to look and giggle. I didn’t keep the conversation going because I knew it was a given she’d make an excuse to come back. I wanted to convey to her that I had zero neediness and unlike most guys was not desperate.
I walked to the back of the bar 15 minutes later to go to the bathroom. From my peripheral vision I saw Hipster Blonde and her girlfriend in the corner, tapping each other, whispering and pointing at me. Now I knew I really had her. All I had to do is wait for to come to me. It was a guarantee.
'Sure enough after I returned to my seat at the bar, she came up behind me the moment I sat down. She asked if I had a light because she wanted to go out and smoke. I said no. She didn’t budge. I just kept hitting her with cockiness, aloofness and little playful teasing insults, and she just seemed to be loving it.
'No one was more shocked than me. I just couldn’t believe that this approach was actually working. It just seemed wrong and counterintuitive and the opposite of every piece of dating advice I was ever given in my life. I’m pushing my luck, I told myself. I better switch gears before I blow it. Even though my new approach was working, I told myself it couldn’t keep working and reverted to the typical approach. I decided it was a good time to give her a compliment.
“Hey, remember when you said I was mad because you were prettier than me? Well, I didn’t want to admit it, but you are quite pretty I’ve got to admit.” I gave the compliment with a nice, earnest grin. I figured after all the arrogant cockiness and insults, she deserved and would appreciate some heartfelt sweetness.
'Her expression changed abruptly. Smile left, jaw dropped, silence. She suddenly looked disappointed.
'She leaned in close and said slowly, in a low voice, “If you’re going to be a dog, be a rottweiller. If you’re going to be a bitch, wear a skirt.” Then she walked away.'

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Stairway, by Robert Doisneau

2012-01-30T20:19:00.001-07:00

The Stairway, Robert Doisneau

Mercenary or prostitute

2012-01-30T20:18:00.000-07:00

Nassim Nicholas Taleb

... How about the nonbarbell class: Quasi-mercenary class, proto-prostitute class, protomercenary class. Is mercenary or prostitute a fitting designation?

x...x Class: An economic condition of making more than minimum wage and wishing for more wealth. Workers, monks, hippies, some artists, and English aristocrats escape it. The middle class tends to fall into it; so do Russian billionaires, lobbyists, most bankers, and bureaucrats. Members are bribable provided given an adequate narrative, mostly with use of casuistry.

Holy land

2012-01-26T16:00:00.001-07:00

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16 Horesepower: Wayfaring Stranger

2012-01-20T13:18:00.000-07:00

David Eugene Edwards sings.

Almost better than Burl Ives.

I take an acting class, last scene

2012-01-20T12:00:00.001-07:00

My scene partner and I prepped some more. I put together props and a costume, deciding to ditch my glasses and slick my hair back which makes me look thuggish, fitting the role better. A kind of nervous anticipation settled in during the day of class, surprising me. After all, the stakes were pretty low, and even a total failure wouldn't have much consequence. Still, there they were: opening night jitters.

The class itself fell into the familiar pattern: run the scene, take some notes, make some improvements. All of the actors performed better -- their best so far. Still, that simple issue of variety dogged most of the work. Before the teacher got to work on them, the scenes tended to hit one note.

Part of the reason for this flatness was that the scenes were dead. That is, instead of living in the scene, creating moment by moment, the actors were trying to recreate the scene -- the one in their imagination, or the one that had worked so well in rehearsal.

Variety's the spice

In talking this over, one fellow student put it well: I hear the scene in my head, then I try to play that. That is, you have this ideal version, and you aim for that. This is a mistake. The instructor was diplomatic in addressing the issue. The direct version would be: You have to live in the circumstances of the scene, with whoever's on stage with you. You can't can a performance, you have to react and listen to what you're partner's doing. Just like real life. Even ignoring someone is a reaction.

The common prescription was to increase the stakes. Make what the character wants matter more, or make failing to get it hurt more. Obstacles create energy.

She also had actors play the opposite -- take what you had thought was the action, and reverse it. From loud, go soft. From fast, try slow.

Our instructor pointed out that you have to be in a different place at the end of the scene than where you began. That is, if you start out happy, for example, you should end up sad -- that a scene involves a change.

If you want your partner to play something, jealousy for example, it's up to you to make her jealous. You have the responsibility of acting in a way that will provoke that in your partner.

Above all, you need to be flexible and crafty and original in pursuing your objective. Try out different tactics for getting what your character wants. Don't always go with your first choice -- maybe another, better choice is waiting, ready for you to dig it out of your imagination.

I had an example of this during my own scene. To recap, my character is trying to blow off a woman he slept with and in creating trouble for his step sister. She has some information that turns the scene around and gives her the upper hand at the end of the scene. So, in the win/lose binary scenario, he loses.

But, my objective is to win. So, even though the scene has my character failing, I have to struggle in every way I know how to put him on top. Because, that's the guy as written. He's not taking things lying down. My physical action is to stand and leave the cafe. That's not helpful, either -- it seems as if he's leaving with his tail between his legs.

A week earlier, I tossed a couple of dollar bills on the table -- or rather, at the woman. I could tell from the reaction of the other students that it worked. The women, in particular, found it insulting.

We ran our scene, and it went well. the vibe from our audience of students was solid, the work flowed, and my partner and I were in the groove. But, that didn't mean it couldn't use some work. I'll spare you some of the tweaks, except for the final part.

I pulled my move of tossing a few bills on the table and at the woman. I even had them ready in my pocket to go, as part of my prep, something I'd just read about in Stella Adler's book. Boom, out come the bills, bam! on the table. Take that!

Only, the instructor didn't think it was strong enough when we got to that section. "Don't let her win!" she said. "She's winning!" So I'm stuck on stage, groping for inspriration and then I just pull out the rest of my bills and make it rain on the table, flipping them out faster than a Vegas poker dealer wings out cards.

It worked. The pressure plus a memory of some rap video gave me the clue, and -- (not to make a big deal out of my little moment of invention, because it's not, it's what any good actor would do for hours a day)

What I learned

Actors are deeply exposed. Now, you do hear this a lot. But until it's you, under the lights, little old you with your skin full of fear and emotions and yearnings with your face and your voice under scrutiny as you try to create something in real time -- well, you just don't know what exposed is.

Actors need good feedback. When you're acting, it's hard to tell if what you're doing is working. That's why directors are useful. Or audiences. But in film, there isn't an audience to give you a reading. And if you're in front of an audience, you want to be sure that what you've chosen to do will have an effect.

This was something that confounded me through the whole course. I'd think or feel as if what I was doing was creating the desired effect. For example, I thought I was projecting dominance. But then, the teacher would say I wasn't. Frustrating. Then, I'd find another pose, bigger, more spread out -- and, yeah, that was more dominant. This is a basic example, of course, and maybe you should be so totally in the moment you're not aware of anything else. I don't know. But, it really helps to have someone give you a response, or a check, even if it's only on the "Is my fly zipped?" level.

Thoughtful repetition helps deepen the work. Yeah, I know. That's why they rehearse. Only, in a standard Hollywood film model, they don't rehearse much at all. Lumet used to have a two to four-week rehearsal period before shooting, and that boggles everyone's mind. I guess actors can be skilled enough to drill down and nail it right away, or they simply play a type and give that same type performance. But I don't know how you can really understand a piece without running through it several times, thinking about it, feeling your way around the actions and the text, experiencing how it goes with the other people in the scene.

The play I worked on was good, but not necessarily a Profound Work. Yet, each time we rehearsed it, we'd notice something different.

Overall

I didn’t find any obvious candidates for casting in upcomingprojects. In past classes, I have cast fellow students, with mostly goodresults. So, I didn’t meet that goal. But, the class had fewer students than other classes I’d taken, soperhaps it’s the law of averages at work. Fewer students mean less chance of areal talent showing up. Unusually, the bulk of the students didn't aspire to an acting career. They were hobbyists.

But, I did brush off some rust. I learned. And the simple act of working on a scene was valuable, not only for acting, but for writing as well.

Other posts about this class:

Acting Class 1

Acting Class 2
Acting Class 3
Acting Class - Thinking
Acting Class - Rehearsal
Acting Class 4

"You fit me better than my favorite sweater.. "

2012-01-13T21:23:00.002-07:00

Iggy Pop on David Letterman, 1982

2012-01-13T21:18:00.000-07:00

Les barricades mystérieuses

2012-01-08T12:58:00.001-07:00

images via

Schrader's outline for Raging Bull

2012-01-02T20:28:00.001-07:00

Paul Schrader’s heavily marked-up outline for “Raging Bull” for which he shared writing credit with Mardik Martin.

“It’s part of the oral tradition,” Mr. Schrader said of his process. “Rather than writing my way through an outline, I tell my way through, and then each time I tell it, I re-outline it.”As the “Raging Bull” outline shows, Mr. Schrader had the thrust of each scene, as well as key lines of dialogue (“If you win, you win. If you lose, you still win.”) already worked out before he sat down to write. (Alas, we couldn’t tell from this image how much of Jake La Motta’s helpful description of how to cook a steak had been composed at this stage.)Mr. Schrader also gave an estimated page length for each scene as well as a final count and a running tally of total pages, which he said was crucial for pacing.“It’s very important to calibrate these events and when they’re happening,” he said. “Somebody says, ‘I don’t know why this scene doesn’t work,’ and you say to them: ‘It’s very simple. It should have happened 10 pages earlier. Then it would have worked.’”The final shooting script for “Raging Bull” was “more or less” what was submitted, Mr. Schrader said, though Mr. De Niro and the director Martin Scorsese made further changes during filming. “The only way you could get a final draft of that screenplay,” Mr. Schrader said, “would be to transcribe it from the screen. As opposed to ‘Taxi Driver,’ which is actually quite close to the script.”

Bunin

2011-12-28T09:17:00.003-07:00

In fact, all of us who live on earth together during a particular time and who experience together all earthly joys and sorrows, seeing one and the same sky, loving and hating, ultimately, the same things, and everyone, down to the last man, doomed to one and the same execution, the same disappearance from the face of the earth, all of us should harbor for each other a feeling of utmost tenderness, of poignant intimacy that moves us to tears, and we should simply cry out in fear and pain when fate separates us, since ever present is the possibility that any separations even for ten minutes, may become eternal. But as everyone knows we are, ordinarily, not the least given to such feelings, and we often part from even those most dear to us in a way that could not possibly be more frivolous.

Ivan Bunin, Way Back When

Misfits

2011-12-26T19:21:00.003-07:00

(Roslyn) “Oh don’t be mad! I just meant that if you loved her you could have taught her anything. Because we have to die, we’re really dying right now, aren’t we? All the husbands and all the wives are dying every minute, and they are not teaching one another what they really know.”

The Misfits Arthur Miller

Raindrop Prélude

2011-12-26T00:02:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Jesus -- Full Metal Jacket

2011-12-25T16:50:00.000-07:00

Charlie Brown 80s Punk Christmas

2011-12-24T17:40:00.002-07:00

Merry Xmas from Ava

2011-12-23T09:24:00.001-07:00

I take an acting class, scene 4

2011-12-21T15:53:00.002-07:00

For the next class, we played our scenes. Again, the teacherlet the actors run through the piece without interrupting them, then asked afew questions, and next broke the work down, detail by detail. A lot of this wasspecific to the scene, and would be boring to read, unless you’re planning on workingon a scene from Angels in Americasometime soon.

But, our instructor did suggest approaches that could workunder a lot of circumstances. For example:

Play Status

This is based on the idea that in any relationship, statusrules. One person is higher status, one lower. This relationship can shift. Youfall from king to peasant or rise, depending on the dynamics of the scene. I’dcome across a version of this idea in Keith Johnstone’s classic, Impro.

For weeks afterward, I watchedmyself carefully and observed groups of people at work or play, and sureenough, if you reduce relationships down to their bones, you can see this playout as your companions lunch or you enter a boss’s office. I’d thought theconcept was crude. Then I looked around and confirmed that, yes, these statusgames do play out in real life.

Once you establish who’s high or low status for a section ofa scene, then certain behaviors can come into play. The powerful one, say,takes up more space, moves more slowly, displays stillness. The partner canshrink, scrunch up, slump.

Use or lose the props

Our instructor pointed out that props must have a function,or not be on stage. They have to work to support an action or theme, and not bethere just to cover up inactivity. If you inadvertently knock over a bowl, useit – that is, acknowledge that it happened as you would in real life, insteadof being stuck on playing through the scene as you’d rehearsed it.

Ditch the stage directions

Stage directions are usually written down after the firstperformance. So they reflect the movements and actions of the original cast orthe choices director of the first production made. They may not make sense foryour scene. Because they’re not carved in stone by the Author, you can try themout and use them. Or not. Unless Eugene O'Neill or Tennessee Williams wrote them. Then you go to theatre hell.

This was especially helpful in our scene. Some of the actions described in the stage directions didn't feel right, or I couldn't make them work. Maybe it's my problem. But having the freedom to try out other gestures in place of the ones written down made a huge difference in increasing the force and naturalness of the scene.

Two common faults

The scenes we watched mostly failed for any number of reasons. But the other scenes, as well as our scene, suffered from two common faults.

First, they were all on one level. The actors had decided on a certain level to pitch it, a certain tone, and the would stay at that for the length of the scene. It's a bit like that fourth-grade flute player who hasn't mastered crescendoes or diminuendi or rubato.
Each of the scenes were classically written. That is, they had a brief set up, rising action and a climax, with some dips and rises along the way. Like sex, actually. So, a lot of the work of the instructor centered on bringing out certain moments, adding some physical actions and varying the objectives to achieve some variety.
The second issue is more broad, but still created problems. Everyone was still too nice. Too polite. That is, undramatic. Even granted with the permission to be mean, we actors still had a hard time pushing it. This would partly be because everyone has been socialized successfully to be nice -- we're all nice middle class people who are taking an acting class, after all.
(Stars, must be so ravingly needy and ambitious that they don't have problems with being too nice. They have all experienced so much rejection along the way, that I'd guess whatever niceness they had got knocked out of them, too.)
It shows up a second, larger challenge -- how to get around your own habits of acting and presentation in the so called real world. Again, after you pretend to be something for a certain number of years -- nice, for example -- it gets hard to ditch that, to dig in and find or imagine or create the quality that the author has in mind for your character.

Christmas Tears, Freddy King

2011-12-21T15:40:00.001-07:00

Run Rudolph, Run by Chuck Berry

2011-12-21T15:39:00.001-07:00

Happy Birthday, Frank

2011-12-12T20:38:00.003-07:00

Song of the Count

2011-12-09T15:43:00.001-07:00

The new radicalism is paper

2011-12-04T16:19:00.000-07:00

The new radicalism is paper. Right? Publish it on a printed page and no one will ever know about it. It’s the perfect vehicle for terrorists, plagiarists, and for subversive thoughts in general. If you don’t want it to exist—and there are many reasons to want to keep things private—keep it off the web. But if you put it in digital form, expect it to be bootlegged, remixed, manipulated, and endlessly commented upon. Expect spiders to pick it up and use it as ad-bait on spoof web pages. The moment you put it out there, all bets are off; it’s way out of your control.

— Kenneth Goldsmith

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Feel like making love - Susanna Hoffs

2011-12-01T21:30:00.000-07:00

Hearing this song and seeing those stripperific moves reminds me of a certain moment during my gas station days. Pumping gas. Wiping windows. Checking oil. I worked with three other guys, all of us in our late teens or early twenties. All we had in common was our all-out, white-hot, dog-mad obsession with the girls, ladies, matrons, chicks, broads -- the women -- who'd pull up to our nozzles ready to be filled up.

Two of the guys were especially lurid and detailed in what they'd do with that one, there, over by pump three. Yeah, the blonde/brunette/redhead, her. The station had two lanes, full service and self service, and it doesn't take much to see a metaphor there. Pat was a skinny high school junior who had probably never French kissed a girl, definitely self service. The other guy was older than me, 23, his hair already thinning. Self service, too. The real rogue of the bunch, who was married to a pretty blonde at 19, had the vilest stories involving lesbian sisters and hair brushes and so on, but he didn't work as often as the other two. Full service.

(I wonder where that kid got those stories, because, I hope he made that shit up. But what's more disturbing -- that they could have gone done in daily life or that he could give vent to that debauched imagination. De Sade had nothing on him. I'm sure he's in prison now -- he had a real taste for petty thievery and drug dealing, and those are generally not a line into a respectable career.)

Now, working in a gas station is pretty easy. You sell car washes, keep the pumps clean, hustle over to the rare full service customer, make change. No matter how conscientious, you still spend what seem to be hours crossing deserts and deserts of pure boredom. The tedium only inflamed us more. Long hot afternoons when even the worst hag would provide some hook for a godawful Penthouse Letters style fantasy. Rendered in precise and exact detail.

So one night, it finally happened. A cinematically overwhelming opportunity, dropped by a cruel god right in our laps. July. Not long after sunset -- the magic hour of gold and lilac, even in a crap-hole garage station. The day's heat fading as we wiped the juice from the Burger King Whoppers off our lips and ketchup from our fingers.

A midnight blue Camaro convertible roared into the station, a wild-maned brunette at the wheel. She pulled up to full service, so there was no ignoring her, no avoiding her as the bell rang. She sat up on the back of the white leather seats, and looked around. And waited.

I have a theory, and I've confirmed it with a few friends. There's maybe five -- maybe seven -- times in your life when you see a woman so stunningly beautiful that you are truly marked for ever. It's not love. It's more like stunned -- in the sense you stun a calf before slaughtering the big-eyed beast. You remember her for the rest of your life with the kind of awe reserved for the Sistine Chapel or the few perfect things life grants.

She was one.

And that song, Feel Like Making Love, was cranked up to eleven on her super-bitching thub-whumping car radio, channeling music down from the heavens. Provoking us. She even turned it up. Louder.

And she waited.

My work pals were paralyzed. Neither budged from the cash register. The job fell to me. I rolled out in my hand-me-down construction boots and my blue polyester uniform with my name in a white oval and my wannabe rebel hair cut modeled on something between David Bowie and a Joe Bob mullet, my red rag poking out of my pocket, sweaty, so godawful damp all over, and she said fill it.

My synapses flared out in an internal electric storm that, if mapped on an MRI would've looked like fireworks from a hundred thousand Fourths of July all at once. It wasn't glandular, or even retinal, her effect, it was some million megawatt zap of a current I couldn't bear up against, the song, aimed at us, of course, and now that strawberry perfume smell coming off of her and my scrounging around in my poor addled head for the open sesame, the magic word, the spell, the opener, the phrase that would somehow cross the chasm and her amusement and compel her to bring those bow-shaped lips close to mine. I thought of dark lawns, canopied beds, bank robberies, poetry in Greenwich Village, whole futures made mostly up of long nights.

Finally, I came up with something.

"That'll be $7.69, please."

Herzog via Vice

2011-12-01T20:18:00.001-07:00

Gilliam on Fellini

2011-11-30T11:38:00.000-07:00

Walking Through a Wall

2011-11-26T19:22:00.001-07:00

Walking Through a Wall, by Louis Jenkins

Unlike flying or astral projection, walking through walls is a totally earth-related craft, but a lot more interesting than pot making or driftwood lamps. I got started at a picnic up in Bowstring in the northern part of the state. A fellow walked through a brick wall right there in the park. I said, 'Say, I want to try that.' Stone walls are best, then brick and wood. Wooden walls with fiberglass insulation and steel doors aren't so good. They won't hurt you. If your wall walking is done properly, both you and the wall are left intact. It is just that they aren't pleasant somehow. The worst things are wire fences, maybe it's the molecular structure of the alloy or just the amount of give in a fence, I don't know, but I've torn my jacket and lost my hat in a lot of fences. The best approach to a wall is, first, two hands placed flat against the surface; it's a matter of concentration and just the right pressure. You will feel the dry, cool inner wall with your fingers, then there is a moment of total darkness before you step through on the other side.

When he won the Tony, Mark Rylance recited this poem instead of offering up the usual banalities:

Waster

2011-11-26T16:48:00.000-07:00

Waster from WalterFilmsProd on Vimeo.

I take an acting class - rehearsal

2011-11-22T14:45:00.001-07:00

My scene partner and I rehearsed outside of class. Rachel’s 24 or so and earning her doctorate in geophysics. She hails from the Upper West Side in New York where she’d done theatre in high school. She also has a boyfriend, something she made clear about 30 seconds into our first meeting. And she kept bringing him up when we weren’t working on the scene. So I talked about my wife. A lot. So there.

To be fair, it’s awkward to have to engage with a near stranger in an intimate way. Our scene wasn’t a love scene, but no matter what the scene’s about, your partner is the target of your attention. The concentration which you put on that person is, or should be, high voltage. Higher wattage than daily life calls for. So, you do feel a certain inhibition. But it’s exactly this constraint that you have to blast through.

Drama, after all, is not daily life.

When we weren’t talking about wives and boyfriends, the rehearsals went well. The scene itself is juicy. My character, a master manipulator and tough businessman, intends to blow off a seemingly neurotically incapacitated woman. She still wants to date him, though. The problem is, he slept with her on their first date. She took it seriously. He didn’t. So, it seems as if things are going his way, and then she turns the tables on him. His only recourse is retreat.

Rachel worked hard, and had a fine competitive edge to her. Without saying it, we could both tell we wanted to be the best in the class. Because our scene takes place in a cafe, I suggested we do it in a real cafe. This, I thought, would give us some useful images and sensations that we could draw upon. Just the mention of the idea freaked her out, so I let it drop. (I’ll make my actors do something like this though on my next show -- it should generate some real life images to draw on.)

Our rehearsals were really repetitions. I heard a director once say that rehearsal in English is imprecise. In German, the word is “probieren” -- that is, to test, to try, to experiment. In French, it’s répéter -- to repeat. The director noted that to rehearse should involve both activities, exploration and repetition.

We strictly worked the répéter side of the street. Mainly, I wanted to get over the barriers of integrating the newly memorized text with the action of the scene.

As I said, Rachel worked hard. She’s also a bit shy, so it was much easier to run the scene than to make conversation. So, no wasted time. Again, I would feel lost, then connected to the line of the scene. But even during simple run throughs, you could feel the rise and fall of the scene, driven by its language.

We ended. We felt ready for class, and ready for the inevitable questions that Teacher would put to us.

What I learned:

Rehearsal should be more than repetition. It should involve testing, trying stuff out, and mixing things up.

Die Antwoord: Fok Julle Naaeirs

2011-11-21T23:54:00.000-07:00

FOK JULLE NAAIERS from Die Antwoord on Vimeo.

Jeffery Tambor's acting class

2011-11-21T08:28:00.001-07:00

Austin Kleon took a seminar on acting from Jeffrey Tambor at SXSW last year, and these are his notes.

Miles Davis visits the White House

2011-11-21T08:22:00.001-07:00

Miles Davis' hand, photo (c) Irving Penn

During dinner, Nancy Reagan turned to him and asked what he'd done with his life to merit an invitation. Straight-faced, Davis replied: "Well, I've changed the course of music five or six times. What have you done except fuck the president?"
via

Wolves

2011-11-18T23:53:00.001-07:00

Something's cooking in the kitchen

2011-11-18T23:52:00.001-07:00

Robert Johnson: All My Love's In Vain

2011-11-18T23:50:00.001-07:00

All my love's in vain. Words of wisdom, Lloyd. Words of wisdom."Someone could have listened to that in Paris in 1937."

Led Zep live in Oz 1973

2011-11-12T23:29:00.001-07:00

IV is forty years old today. The first rock album I ever bought, and the soundtrack to many nights. So much of my past is wedded to it, I can't imagine life without it. Which may sound sad, in a way, but you make do with what you have at hand. For a few years, that meant avocado shag rug, wood paneling, backlights, bongs and the reveries that the music would induce. Everything from Viking conquest to Middle Earth to willowy girls with flowers in their hair. Led Zeppelin ceased to be cool or even admissible, but even in my punkiest stages, I couldn't bring myself to abandon the band.

Forty years. Christ.

Prince is a pop genius, part 3

2011-11-12T22:52:00.002-07:00

Prince is a genius, part 2: Raspberry Beret

2011-11-12T22:45:00.000-07:00

Prince is a genius, part 1: Nasty Girl

2011-11-12T22:36:00.000-07:00

The Passenger

2011-11-12T22:32:00.002-07:00

Iggy in 1977

Hallowe'en past

2011-11-09T15:23:00.000-07:00

via

Holy land

2011-11-09T14:17:00.000-07:00

. . .but parallel to that, I have filmed with other death-row inmates for a series of shorter films for television. Those are more focused on just one person. One of them, who was 23 minutes away from execution, got a stay. He tells me about his last trip from death row — which is in Livingston, Texas, but they don’t have a death chamber. So they’re transported 43 miles to Hunstsville, to Walls Unit, where they have a death house. And for the first time in 17 years, he sees trees. He sees other cars; he’s riding in this van. Actually, I did this trip now with a camera, because he says something very, very beautiful: Seeing an abandoned gas station, for example, or seeing a cow in a field is something very magnificent. And he says for him, it was like Israel — it was like the Holy Land. All of the sudden I look at America — the forlorn, kind of bleak part of Texas between Livingston and Huntsville — and everything appears like the Holy Land. You see, because of this project and talking to death-row inmates, my perspective has shifted somehow. And it’s not just America. If I travel from Munich to the village where I grew up, this is holy land.

Werner Herzog, via

When drag's not a drag

2011-11-06T21:41:00.002-07:00

When it's Debbie Harry in drag.

Made by Hand

2011-11-06T11:30:00.000-07:00

Made by Hand / No 2 The Knife Maker from Made by Hand on Vimeo.

Crafty and craftsmanlike short film. Blown away by the content and the form.

R.L. Burnside: Shake 'em on down

2011-11-04T13:39:00.000-06:00

Hyena

2011-11-01T22:05:00.000-06:00

Photo by Pieter Hugo

Happy Halloween

2011-10-31T20:12:00.002-06:00

Thinking about acting class -- improv and action analysis

2011-10-31T15:36:00.000-06:00

First, by improvisation, I mean dramatic improvisation within a framework. For example, you are given a situation to play -- a doctor telling Character B she has cancer. You don't have a series of lines. Your job as an actor is to pursue an objective. In this case, it might mean to comfort her or it could be to scare her -- to shock her so she takes care of herself during treatment. Either way, you follow your objective as you would in life, by making stuff up that you hope will get you what you want.

These exercises are pretty common in acting classes here in the U.S.

But my teacher in the Russian version of the Stanislavski system said they used a similar approach when rehearsing plays. Generally, the practice here is that you're given a script. You read through it, seated. After discussions of motivations, actions, obstacles and given circumstances, you get the play up on its feet. That is, you start exploring movements that support the meanings of the text while you have the script in hand. In the meantime, you're memorizing the text by rote. The next step involves getting the actors off book and completely into the movement, or blocking on stage. The directors and other actors make adjustments and refinements. This is an oversimplified version of a complex process, but you get the picture.

How Some Russians Rehearse

In the System, though, the rehearsal process is radically different. First, the director reads through the play himself, out loud. Then the actors learn the beats or the actions of the play. Once they get those down, then they stand up and improvise their pursuit of those actions on stage, without the script. The actors are working to achieve their goals as set by the script, but without the lines in place, instead using their own words and physical actions. As the most juicy or most moving or most effective strategies are tried out and tested, the play develops. Then, the lines -- the playwright's text -- come into play. The actor, having worked with her guts and brain to pursue the objectives set in the text can now make use of it as an ally.

Again, this is a crude over simplification, and my apologies go out to the very sophisticated teacher who gave me this lesson.

Juggling

I understand the rationale behind the first, more common method. It's fast, it's easier in many ways, and a set of professionals can get a whole play in shape in four weeks. Individual scenes can be done in hours, as in most television and movies, and made presentable. But I also wonder if that practice isn't responsible for a lot of the superficial work we see. Actors want to please and tend to rush to solutions. Reading text lends itself to "funny voices" -- to actorly readings that get ingrained.

This current acting class has reminded me of how difficult it is to act and deal with text at the same time. Training and practice can make that juggling act easier. But a fundamental split happens. The work isn't organic; it has less of a chance to come from the actor's own imagination and pursuit of her needs in the given circumstances.

I plan on using the latter method -- the method of action analysis -- the next time I rehearse. It places much higher demands on the director and on the actors' creativity. It may not work with actors who haven't been trained in the Russian version of the system, but I am going to experiment with it.

(Then there's the Mike Leigh/Cassavetes method of development which I purposely am not getting into here. For now.)

Mischu Vass

2011-10-28T10:53:00.000-06:00

via

16 Horsepower: American Wheeze (live)

2011-10-28T09:59:00.000-06:00

Old men

2011-10-26T15:25:00.002-06:00

Little boys chase the fire trucks

The ambulances

As they scream by.

Emergency, they cry, emergency

Dizzied by the lights, the siren's wails.

Old men don't bother.

They merely sigh,

sink

a little deeper in the couch,

Turn up the volume on the TV.

- TR

Malick's advice

2011-10-26T15:23:00.001-06:00

from the comments section:

While sitting down and eating lunch on break, I had the opportunity to chat with Mr. Malik about Filmmaking and other topics, along with his wife. His advice to me was to use Nature because it was free and always keep writing.

Read more http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/movies/2011/08/sean-penn-vs-terrence-malick.html#ixzz1VibKP3Hn

Peckinpah: Passion and Poetry, Straw Dogs

2011-10-26T15:20:00.000-06:00

So I guess there's some remake of Straw Dogs floating around out there, another installation from the Hollywood recycling factory.

Let's revisit the genius who made the first one.

Check it out, it builds. Especially around 7:48 plus . . .

Check out at 17:08, his shark grin as he says: "...Mister Williams as a penchant for his own work. I don't."

R.L. Burnside: Going Down South

2011-10-26T15:18:00.001-06:00

Check out the cement brick walls. Just like home.

Susan Rothenberg

2011-10-26T15:18:00.000-06:00

Seasick Steve: fathers and the Dog House Boogie

2011-10-25T09:14:00.000-06:00

"All the kids in America know where the guns is."

I take an acting class, scene 3

2011-10-24T16:44:00.002-06:00

To prep, I read my assigned play, Becky Shaw, by Gina Gionfreddo.The play is well crafted and a pleasure to study. I thought about my character, a tough and manipulative son of a bitch whom I liked. I spent time breaking the seats down into beats, feeling my way into his "actions" -- what he's trying get, and what's preventing him.

We started with some relaxation and warm ups. The relaxation was the standard, "relax your eyes, let go of your shoulders. . ." instruction. The teacher also lead us through physical and vocal exercises. Then we broke up to rehearse on our own. My partner and I had about 30 minutes or so. I figured it'd be best to read through it to get a feel for how the scene played with her, to get a feel for the flow of it, and then we could dive into it. We worked well, but superficially. The coordination between reading the text, listening to her, and feeling out different reactions was like a complicated game, as if I had to toss apples at a target while standing on one foot and whistling Dixie. Time flew by. Our teacher herded us back in the main studio.

My partner and I went first. No need to sit around and fidget as nervous tension builds up. Again, the point here was to simply sit across from each other, and read the text while listening to the other person as carefully and realistically as possible, within the context of the scene.

It went okay, that is, I didn't feel stupid or incompetent. My attention veered wildly from saying the text to my partner to what she was saying to reacting to what she was saying more or less genuinely to evaluating the sound of my line readings, to gauging the reactions of the audience. So, no, not a good performance. I was too much in my head to do anything worthwhile. Our teacher used the same tactics as before: asking us questions about what we wanted, how we could get it, where we were. These did help clarify things.

She suggested the "you know what I mean?/Yes, I know what you mean" exercise where you end your speech with the question and start your speech with the I know what you mean answer. It jammed the rhythm of the scene, but I could see where she was coming from with it.

It's a little strange. You have to contend with the essentially classroom atmosphere and your own eagerness (or lack thereof) to please. This is all entirely separate from living the text as written. It's not the fault of the teacher; it's the inevitable dynamic of a class.

The rest of the class followed the same pattern. People would read, she'd work the scene by posing questions, then seeing how the adjustments would play out. If the actors got stuck, she'd make a suggestion about an action or a motivation to them, through questions about the basics of the scene.

Casting

It makes me wonder about the whole idea that you can read a text and play it within a few minutes. If you're a pro, I guess you'd be able to, by dint of practice and training, cough up a scene, a performance, and let the watchers know what you can bring to the game.

And I understand the utility of it. Say, for example, you are casting a young thug. You want to find out in a minimum amount of time if David can be a convincing thug. Maybe David is a thug. Even better. You can pass him along. But the process is suspect. The ability to pick up and read a bit convincingly is different from living the part.

I remember reading about how Kazan cast his films. He'd see the person on stage. He'd make a point of seeing their actual, finished work. Then he'd hang out with them. Dinner, drinks, long walks, intimate conversations. Then he would cast them. This is the man who discovered Marlon Brando, James Dean and Warren Beatty. Others, no doubt, would've eventually seen and recognized their talents. But he found them first. Not through readings, which seem to me some rarified, fancy bullshit. I think if you had a modicum of ability, you could polish it with practice. Fifteen minutes a day, I read, should be devoted to this. That skill, I would submit, is far away from being able to convincingly inhabit another person and present that role compellingly before the camera or an audience.

Same with André Wajda. He'd haunt theaters. Then he'd note the great performances. Then he would cast, based on his direct observation of a finished performance.

Just to complicate the issue, I think monologues aren't very helpful either. You want an actor who can listen and work with other actors. A monologue is a fancy kind of masturbation. Yes, you can see someone cough up an emotion on the spur of the moment. But who does that in our real lives, or even in our dreams? Characters exist in relationships. Even at night, even without reason or pattern in our dreams, a persona does not step out to the foreground and deliver a speech. Yet, this is the basic tool. It's ridiculous. I understand the budget constraints. The time constraints.

And casting, as John Huston said, is 90 percent of the job. Get the right person in the role, and you're done.

I have cast parts successfully and less successfully. What worked best was trusting my instinct, and seeing actors work in a class over weeks. What didn't work was the traditional casting process -- inviting eager (and, let it be said, desperate) people in to a space and witnessing them tap-dancing their way into a part.

Okay, so it's a bit superficial. I signed up for it. I'm getting parts of my neurons re-awakened, and I'm dealing with the situations real actors must confront. I'm not complaining. But I am thinking there are better ways to operate that what is the standard here at the moment in the U.S.

But these aren't the problems I need to solve. I'm going to work on the part, keeping what she suggested in mind. There's a lot of value in the specific. And simply learning to keep out of my head will be worth the price of admission.

Susan Rothenberg

2011-10-24T16:44:00.001-06:00

Milieu Hostile by Thierry Marignac

2011-10-22T21:56:00.001-06:00

If you read French -- or even if you don't -- you should order this book immediately. He writes novels and reportage that are underground and elegant at the same time.

You can get it here.

Studies in Posture: Battle of the Russian Machos Edition

2011-10-20T14:40:00.000-06:00

For a short, bald guy, Putin holds up pretty well against the biker. Note that he keeps his chin down and looks up with his eyes, maintaining the strength of his presence. Just as the biker chief looks down with his eyes, rather than leaning down or inclining his head towards the politician. That way, he, too, maintains his strong position.

Putin has quite consciously built an impeccably crafted persona of a macho, a man's man. This is harder than it looks. For example, take John Kerry. He tried, and failed miserably. Putin, the spy, has an actor's sense of self-presentation that few politicians ever master.

It would be interesting to see him as a young KGB officer, working with the need to display just the exact amount of submission to his bureaucratic bosses while subtly asserting his ambition.

Antanas Sutkus

2011-10-18T21:45:00.001-06:00

Goodbye Stockholm

2011-10-18T21:41:00.001-06:00

Pink sky

2011-10-18T20:22:00.000-06:00

via

I take an acting class, scene 2

2011-10-18T20:17:00.001-06:00

I did my homework. I read Glengarry, Glen Ross a few times. I broke down my scene into beats and played around with different objectives. It's easy to understand why this is a popular play, and why actors like playing in it. The language carries you along. The stakes are high. You can identify negotiating tactics; the conflicts are clear and easy to locate.

To go a few steps further, I thought about animal imagery: rats and mean, cowardly dogs.

Class started with the teacher talking a bit about the meaning of sacred, and how we're creating a sacred space -- something set apart. Then we broke up into groups and rehearsed some more. I felt like apologizing to my partner, because Williamson is such a savage little prick. A prick with his own reasons, but still, I'd have to be a nasty piece of work to embody the character, and it seemed like a rude thing to do to such a civilized and nice guy that I'd just met.

He hadn't had a chance to read the play or to work on it, but we did a few read-throughs, and I could sense and edge hovering around or below what we were doing.

Time was up. We then read through scenes together, in front of the class. This time, though, we worked on building the world of the scene, that is, the physical circumstances of the show. So, we'd drag furniture from where it waited along the walls and make a crude set.

Building blocks

Our teacher would stop us and ask us questions: Where are you? Where's the place your most comfortable? The least comfortable? But know the difference between what's comfortable for you versus whats comfortable for your character. Through the questions -- where does the couch go? Would you have a window there? -- she would build the imaginary settings.

This invariably improved the quality of the acting. None of the scenes really took flight, but each rose up a few levels. Again, the simple questions -- who are you? What do you want? What's stopping you from getting it? How do you want that other character to feel? -- clarified and enlivened the players.

"Do you know what I mean?"

People still struggled with the text. It also completely messed up the rhythm of the scene. So, she gave a few players this exercize: Add "Do you know what I mean?" after the end of each speech. That way, they can get off book -- away from the script, and engage with the other actor. The other actor has to respond with, "Yes, I know what you mean," or "No, I don't know what you mean." Again, it moves the person off the page and into the other characters' sphere. With Mamet, it works well, because so much of his work is based on repetition. Some real behavior starts to happen.

We also did a variation of this: "Did you just say (x)?" With X being what the character just said. The second actor replies, "Yes, I said (x)." This helps train the actor to listen carefully to the other person.

Our turn came up. We set a table and some chairs. Because the scene takes place in a Chinese restaurant, I grabbed a couple of pencils to use as chopsticks. What are you eating? What are you drinking? Are you hungry? The scene went better for me this time. With a clearly defined action -- something to do -- it felt better. I could sense a groove happening, the direction the scene wanted to go to. I noticed that my concentration tended to be weak. I also tried some sense memories around kung pao chicken and beer and garlic broccoli and fried rice (the menu I'd decided on) and found that I have some serious work to do in both departments. But it reminded me of the utility of those exercises.

Still, it was rough and pretty ugly work. But the point the teacher was making was about the vital importance of building a physical world out of the tools outside of you and inside of you.

She assigned some new scenes with new partner. The plays included Angels in America, Awake and Sing, and, for me, Becky Shaw.

Lessons learned

The basic, Stanislavski questions are the best way to begin to work on a scene, to start to make it real and rescue it from stereotyped behavior. Who am I? What do I want? What's preventing me from getting it? Where am I? Why does it matter? What's my action?
Leading actors through a series of questions engages them, and makes them own their work. (If you're crafty, you can lead them through questions to the place where you want them to be -- or, at least, that's what my mentor says.)
The more actual stuff you have that fits the world of the story, the easier it is for the actor.
Furniture is your friend.
The first moment of the scene sets the tone and the vitality of the whole scene. Well begun is half done.

Momento mori

2011-10-08T12:11:00.000-06:00

Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything—all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure—these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked.

- Steve Jobs

image: Jacob de Gheyn Vanitas via

Well, who wouldn't be in love with her?

2011-10-08T12:04:00.000-06:00

Pictures of naked broads

2011-10-08T12:03:00.000-06:00

I don’t feel exploited by pictures of naked broads. I like that stuff. It’s a bad photograph or the girl’s ugly, then that pisses me off. Shit, I think bodies are great.
— PATTI SMITH

I take an acting class, scene 1

2011-10-06T14:07:00.001-06:00

The local regional theater has an education wing. I cast the last play I directed from the students in the class, and that worked well. Essentially, they auditioned for me for the length of the class. They worked hard and well, and I learned a lot about directing a play. Later, I made a good friendship out of the experience. All in all, time and money well spent.

After weighing whether this class would be a diversion from more important work --like, y'know, making a short film -- or a good strategic way to learn and build skills, I decided in favor of the class. I can still work on short films, anyway.

So I found myself in a studio with high ceilings, a wood floor, chairs and a few stray pieces of stage furniture. A fake fireplace stood against one wall. My fellow students milled around, a little awkwardly. An older man with fantastic thick salt and pepper hair introduced himself to me. The Teacher came in. She's middle aged, looking, I have to say, older than her headshot and a little tired, hazel eyes shadowed. An impression of softness in her body, but sharpness in her eyes and face.

We drew our chairs into a circle and made. A Berliner who's earning a masters in geophysics, but who loves acting and is currently performing in a Williams play. A black girl who just graduated from high school. The older fellow's a retried psychiatrist who's a class junkie, he said. Another grad student in geophysics, and two guys in their twenties, one who's very much an Actor. The Actor is effeminate, but not extremely so. S is taking the class for fun.

I wondered what the hell I got myself into. I recalled that I need to challenge myself, to stretch, to get back in touch with acting by actually acting. To make myself uncomfortable. I want to loosen up and relearn what it is actors deal with -- from the inside, as an actor. Part of me ridiculed the whole scene and found it pathetic. Amateurs. Knitters. Hobbyists. This, I thought, was the price I must pay for not working harder, earlier. I recognized this chatter as mere static. I reminded myself I have a lot to learn, and that merely performing scenes would educate my nerves and sinews in a way I could deeply profit from. That it was up to me what I learned, and that I would learn.

Mamet . . . Mamet? . . . Mamet

Next we performed warm ups -- basic stretches and few vocal exercises. The Teacher asked us if we'd heard of David Mamet, and I put in my two cents, ever the eager beaver, then shut myself up. She breaks us up into groups, and hands out scripts from different Mamet plays. She paired me with the psych.

She assinged us a scene from Glengarry, Glen Ross by David Mamet. In our scene Shelly, a real estate hustler past his prime, tries to cadge some good leads from Williamson the office manager. These leads, Shelly thinks, will help him get back in his game and save his ass from getting fired. I haven't read the play, but I saw the movie about eight years ago. I try to remember who the hell played Williamson in the movie? Ed Harris? Alec Baldwin? After a few run throughs, I remember. Kevin Spacey.

Once we've worked on the scene a bit, my partner and I have a basic question -- what do all those ellipses mean? What are you supposed to do with them? At the end of the speech, you know you're supposed to interrupt, but in the middle . . . what? I feel stupid for not knowing, but I've vowed to put the need to look smart aside. I still feel stupid. The Teacher explained that the ellipsis, the three dots, signals a shift. What kind of shift is up to us to figure out, but it doesn't mean a pause. Oh. That makes sense.

A million things happening all at once

The group reassembled in the main studio. Everyone was more comfortable with each other, conversations spilling over from the read-throughs. The teacher asked who wanted to go first, and my new partner and I nod at each other and hit the stage.

The old guy nailed it, or hit it as well as you can in a reading. His age, his slight hoarse voice, the way he leaned into me, hunched over and the text, of course, the text itself sold it.

I haven't read many good descriptions of what it feels like to act. Stanislavski, in his memoirs and his instructional books comes pretty close. When it's bad, or only half-baked, it feels like hundreds of things happening at once. You have the unfamiliar sensation of being on stage, the bright lights, the sense of watchers, and a particularly intent person, the teacher. Added to this is the desire to do well, the hope not to look stupid, and the wish to be better than the other guy. So I start clutching at things that will make it better. I listen, hard. That's supposed to help, right?

I listen. But then I'm aware of myself listening, which isn't right -- because then you're not hearing what the other person is saying, and nobody can be aware of listening, people don't do that in real life. My legs feel large and ungainly. I worry about missing my cue, so keep sneaking glances at my book. This interferes with reacting to my partner, and I feel that, too, that lack. I imagine a Chinese restaurant, and notice that my imagination's a little thin and that I lost track of what my partner was saying.

He got laughs. I figured out bits of supercilious business, little gestures, where to put my glances, and that helps. I kept going back to focus on him. A certain malice creeps in the corners of myself, and that groove feels right, the room falls away for a few seconds. I'm stuck with this whiny . . . loser. Then I'm out of it -- again, dammit! -- thinking I must be repeating stuff, and that would be boring.

I sucked. We finished. The Teacher complimented us, but especially the Psych, my partner. I felt a twinge of jealousy.

Then she asked me some simple questions: "Why are you eating lunch with him?" What does your character want?" "How does your character want the other person to feel?" Lightbulbs went off. Oh. Oh. Yeah, I want to fuck with him, to bleed him, to toy with the fucker, to bring him down, to show him. I'm dining on him, not just on Kung Pao chicken.

Now, these are obvious questions -- questions I knew myself. Questions nearly anyone knows. But when I was acting, groping around for a solution, I didn't put it together. When the Teacher asked them, they focused everything.

Then I felt a sudden greed for the experience. I wanted to hop back up and do the scene again, right away. My only comfort was that I have generally sucked early on, and that I improved. But it was time for the other team to have their turns.

The other scenes followed, with bits from Oleanna and Speed the Plow. They read well, mostly. S was particularly fluid. The Teacher reminded the other students to let the words carry the meaning, and not to act the words. To play the objective, not the emotion. To pay attention to their partner. These adjustments always worked to improve the level of the scenes.

When we finished, it still seemed early. The three hours had passed unbelievably fast.

What I Learned (and relearned)

No revelations here -- you'll read about these in any good book. But experiencing them in action drives the lesson home. It's as different as reading about kissing is from kissing itself.

- Actors need simple, clear specific questions to ground their circumstances.

- Let the writer do his job. Speak the lines; don't put them on steroids or Act Them. Just say them.

- It helps to remind actors of who they are, why they're in the scene and what they're trying to do.

- Actors need strong, emotionally rooted objectives for the scene.

You cannot over emphasize this. It's the golden key, the magic carpet, the fundamental building block.

- Phrasing direction as questions is an effective way to help the actor to a solution.

Sean Hood on what it feels like to write a flop

2011-10-03T15:09:00.000-06:00

This is a moving piece in its candor, and surprisingly inspirational in a no-bullshit way. Here's a part of it:

Unfortunately, the work I do as a script doctor is hard to defend if the movie flops. I know that those who have read my Conan shooting script agree that much of the work I did on story and character never made it to screen. I myself know that given the difficulties of rewriting a script in the middle of production, I did work that I can be proud of. But its still much like doing great work on a losing campaign. All anyone in the general public knows, all anyone in the industry remembers, is the flop. A loss is a loss.

But one thought this morning has lightened my mood:
My father is a retired trumpet player. I remember, when I was a boy, watching him spend months preparing for an audition with a famous philharmonic. Trumpet positions in major orchestras only become available once every few years. Hundreds of world class players will fly in to try out for these positions from all over the world. I remember my dad coming home from this competition, one that he desperately wanted to win, one that he desperately needed to win because work was so hard to come by. Out of hundreds of candidates and days of auditions and callbacks, my father came in....second.

It was devastating for him. He looked completely numb. To come that close and lose tore out his heart. But the next morning, at 6:00 AM, the same way he had done every morning since the age of 12, he did his mouthpiece drills. He did his warm ups. He practiced his usual routines, the same ones he tells his students they need to play every single day. He didn't take the morning off. He just went on. He was and is a trumpet player and that's what trumpet players do, come success or failure.

Less than a year later, he went on to win a position with the Los Angeles Philharmonic, where he played for three decades. Good thing he kept practicing.
So with my father's example in mind, here I sit, coffee cup steaming in its mug and dog asleep at my feet, starting my work for the day, revising yet another script, working out yet another pitch, thinking of the future (the next project, the next election) because I'm a screenwriter, and that's just what screenwriters do.

In the words of Ed Wood, "My next one will be BETTER!"

via

Before you diagnose yourself

2011-09-27T23:07:00.003-06:00

Making books cool again: John Waters

2011-09-27T18:29:00.002-06:00

The greatest movie ending

2011-09-27T15:41:00.000-06:00

From Nights of Cabiria, directed by Federico Fellini

Cycles

2011-09-22T20:40:00.001-06:00

photo by Brad Johnson, via

The widespread appeal of the Hell's Angel's is worth pondering. Unlike most mother rebels, the Angels have given up hope that the world is going to change for them. The assume, on good evidence, that the people who run the social machinery have little use for outlaw motorcyclists, and they are reconciled to being losers. But instead of losing quietly, one by one, they have banded tighter with a mindless kind of loyalty and moved outside the framework, for good or ill. They many not have an answer, but at least they are still on their feet. . . .

There is an important difference between the words "loser" and "outlaw." One is passive and the other is active and the main reasons the Angels are such good copy is that they are acting out the day-dreams of millions of losers who don't wear any defiant isignia and who don't know how to be outlaws. he freest of every city are thronged with men who would pay all the money they could get their hands on to be transferred -- even for a day -- into hairy, hard-fisted brutes who walk over cops, exert free drinks from terrified bartenders and thurden out of town on big motorcycles after raping the banker's daughter.

Hunter S. Thompson, Hell's Angels: A Strange and Terrible Saga

Queen Bitch & Eddie Cochran: Bowie Live at the BBC echoes Eddie's 3Steps

2011-09-17T10:42:00.000-06:00

Not really a copy. More like an echo.

To Live and Die in LA: Title Sequence and Interview with William Friedkin

2011-09-13T20:19:00.000-06:00

I w.as obsessed with this movie, and, while I think it's one of the best movies from a generally crappy decade, I'm still not sure why it caught my attention so deeply. Lots of good insight from Friedkin below.

Title Sequence

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

part 4

part 5

To Live and Die in LA: Wang Chung

2011-09-09T13:14:00.002-06:00

Yeah, it was the 80's all right.

Happy birthday

2011-09-07T14:25:00.000-06:00

...to Elia, Buddy and Chrissy.

Dirk Bogarde charts his character in Victim

2011-09-02T14:12:00.000-06:00

From the BFI Flikr:

On the inside cover of his personal shooting script, Dirk Bogarde picked out his scenes and tied them together. Here, we can exclusively see character Melville Farr's occurrences in Basil Dearden's Victim (1961) from start to finish.

All rights reserved by BFI Online

Kissing like he means it

2011-09-02T14:11:00.000-06:00

I hate it when an actor just can't seem to plant a real kiss on the actress. Take a cue from this couple, who later got married, had kids and grandkids.
Kiss like you mean it.

Interview with Jean-Pierre Melville

2011-08-31T15:01:00.000-06:00

I saw Le Doulos last weekend: brilliantly atmospheric, with enough plot twists to make even Raymond Chandler's head spin. Funny to see M. Melville wearing the same hat my Colorado grandpa favored.

Lately, I've been thinking about what artisanal filmmaking might mean; Melville's a few years ahead of me. But how great that would be to have your film studio right below your apartment. Just like a baker or a painter, living above the shop.

Kubrick's fan note to Bergman

2011-08-31T14:55:00.000-06:00

American youth

2011-08-30T20:47:00.000-06:00

Stormy, a dancer at the Portland, Oregon strip club Devils Point counts her money, holding some in her mouth.

The young women who work at Devils Point, a strip club in Portland, Oregon, are part of one of the largest stripper scenes in all of the United States. With more strip clubs per capita than any other city in the U.S., the industry is as much a part of daily life for young people in Portland as the neighborhood bar is. In fact, girls can dance as soon as they turn 18, as long as they don't spend time on the floor of the bar. These girls must stay in the dressing room or in the private dance room with clients.

Mist of blood: Coppola's notebook for the Godfather

2011-08-30T20:46:00.000-06:00

An open letter to Canon

2011-08-28T12:21:00.000-06:00

An open letter to Canon from safetyhammer on Vimeo.

This is pure gold: tight, hilarious and right on target.
Time to go practice with the damn thing.

"We would like to remind patron that The Tree of Life is uniquely visionary . . ."

2011-08-28T12:20:00.000-06:00

“We would like to remind patrons that The Tree of Life is a uniquely visionary and deeply philosophical film from an auteur director,” wrote the management of the Avon Theatre. “It does not follow a traditional linear narrative approach to storytelling. We encourage patrons to read up on the film before choosing to see it, and for those electing to attend, please go in with an opened mind and know that the Avon has a NO-REFUND policy once you have purchased a ticket to see one of our films.”

A cinema in Stamford, Connecticut took the rare step of displaying a poster warning filmgoers not to expect a refund if they paid to see Tree of Life and walked out. (via The Guardian)

Charisma

2011-08-25T14:58:00.000-06:00

“Hemingway gave us a haunting clue to it,” she replied. “In his obsession with the Spanish bullfights, he spoke of the lust of the crowd and its desire to feel something special, a raw authenticity, even in so brutal a setting. What he mentions is the hush that would come over the crowd at the entrance of the toreadors. The people could sense the difference between those who did it for the fame, the paycheck, and those who had the old spirit: the nobility, bravery, heart, ‘duende.’ I believe this also happens in the theater. The crowd can sense the one with the authentic message, the connection to the truth.”

via

Knuckle (reminds me of my family)

2011-08-25T14:57:00.000-06:00

A Sundance favorite, this doc follows bare knuckle fighters and three feuding families.

Can't wait.

Via

From the last entries in Mayakovsky's notebook

2011-08-21T18:43:00.001-06:00

She loves me? She loves me not?

I wring

My hands and scatter the broken-off fingers.

LIke petals you pluck from some

White little flower along your way.

You hold them up to the breeze,

They’ve told your fortune,

They drift off into May.

Though

Now a haircut

Lays bare thorns of gray,

Though my morning shave shows me

On the bib the salt of age,

I hope, I believe

I will never weaken.

Never be caught

Showing good sense.

- Vladimir Mayakovsky

(adapted by Frederick Seidel)

Punx

2011-08-18T13:34:00.000-06:00

via

Romain-Gavras

2011-08-18T13:32:00.000-06:00

adidas, boxing from ROMAIN-GAVRAS on Vimeo.

See all his videos

Attention Google

2011-08-17T15:05:00.000-06:00

How thoroughly and how radically Google has already transformed the information economy has not been well understood. The merchandise of the information economy is not information; it is attention. These commodities have an inverse relationship. When information is cheap, attention becomes expensive. Attention is what we, the users, give to Google, and our attention is what Google sells—concentrated, focused, and crystallized.

How Google Dominates Us, by James Gleick in the NYRB

Picasso was a gun slinger

2011-08-17T15:04:00.000-06:00

Cassavetes, Falk and Gazzara talk about Husbands on Cavett

2011-08-16T08:15:00.000-06:00

See also parts one and two of this interview where the boys tear the place up.

Interrogations in the Ukraine -- Donald Weber

2011-08-15T14:04:00.000-06:00

From a documentary photo project by Donald Weber.

Some, though, took time to break. One man kept denying his guilt and, in a slight to the officer interrogating him, broke into Fenya, a cant language spoken by Ukrainian thieves. “The officer was losing his grip on who had authority,” remembers Weber, who snapped a photo as the officer pressed his gun to the suspect’s head.

The moment ... lasted just seconds. But when the gun returned to the officer’s holster, everything about the interrogation had changed. The suspect began to speak with respect, and soon he confessed.

Via

I'm so vain, and I bet this post is about me

2011-08-13T19:08:00.001-06:00

It's amazing how vain middle-aged men can be. Women, supposedly, are the more vain of the two sexes. If you see how women check themselves out in store windows, you could be led to believe that. But, it's more complicated than simple narcissism because dressing is more like going into battle. The have to stand up to the fierce scrutiny of other women. When they look, it's more with a keen eye to assessing the result, and less about pleasure in their own appearance.

Of course, that happens, too. With women, it's a lovely thing, to catch them looking at themselves with the satisfaction of a baby examining its own toes. (Babies, however, do not show talons a few seconds later.)

Men have more latitude. Age is kinder to us. If you're lucky, you end up craggy and more manly as you grow old. The subcutaneous fat that leaves your cheeks fallen could be chiseling your features. Cheekbones appear, along with back hair and bristles in your ears. You look as if you own wisdom along with the grey hair. At least, you believe so. And experience itself has different levels. Some comes just by dragging your sorry ass around long enough. (Experiences really worth the living are bought by more than simple breathing.) Thus the potent male fantasy that this guy represents:

Not older. Seasoned. Yes, seasoned, dammit.

We have another advantage, at least, here in the U.S. Few guys take care of themselves at all. Women are better at that, and they have more tools that they can acceptably deploy -- makeup, dye, botox, lifts. Plus, they tend not to go bald. So when you do work in a few sit ups, change out of sweats and get rid of the baseball cap, you stand out. It's laughably easy. Just ditch the blue oxford shirt and khakis, and you're suddenly Gary Cooper.

(You have to use caution, though. Edge into dandy territory, and women will hate you, or worse, treat you as if you're their gay pal. They loathe it when you dip into their arsenal.)

Generally, men become more vain as they age in an inverse progression. With less to be vain about, they generally grow more conscious of their looks just as they're about to leave forever. They spend more time fussing over the few strands of hair left than they ever did when their hair was thick. As their torsos sag and breasts threaten to develop, they buy better clothes than their younger brothers, and better fitted, alas, so it clings to the loosening flesh. And swimsuits -- when was the last time you saw a young buff dude in Speedos (not counting the movie 300?) But your middle-aging guy seems irresistably drawn to them.

The nightmare scenario.

I've been thinking about this because I lost 20 pounds. That's enough to bring me within range of my lean college self. I actually followed a diet, the slow-carb method in Tim Ferriss' book, The Four Hour Body. So after not thinking about my appearance much beyond your simple maintenance and making sure no spinach was between my teeth, suddenly I'm almost svelte -- trust me -- and looking at the reflection in the mirror in a less functional way. I'm drawn to procedures and practices I've never considered before, other than to ridicule them. I try on clothes, even pants, to see if they fit. I compare brands. I occasionally moisturize. I resist, but the urge, unmistakably, is there.

This is scary. My hair cutter keeps talking about "coloring" my hair. And I, shamefully, listen. Will I end up like the guy in the picture above -- the character played so brilliantly by Dirk Borgarde in Death in Venice? Will I develop a crush on some inappropriately aged young woman? What other compulsions and quirks are lurking in this fucked up closet of male middle age? Seriously, I've even considered buying a red sports car -- the ultimate stereotype. But, you know, those new Mustangs are pretty sweet, and I bet I could swing a loan.

Notice me, you bitches and bastards, see me fly my Speedo flag high!

The less you have, the more you treasure it. Scarcity breeds value. Those few last hairs on the scalp, the final hints of a full bicep, a waist -- all are cause for rejoicing

Of course, this is all a flame out before the last big diet. The eternal diet where you lose your flesh, then your bones, and soon the clean bones are gone.

These precious days dwindle down.

In the meantime, this song is all about me, motherfuckers:

Looks like her dad

2011-08-12T10:43:00.000-06:00

All photos by Hedi Slimane