Spent an enjoyable quarter hour watching actor Tom Hanks being interviewed on David Letterman. Effortlessly funny and charming. He mentioned having to say no to projects (more precisely, feeling obliged to say no to projects that are awful) and joked about using "I have to promote a movie in Japan" as a foolproof excuse.
Mr. Hanks, a two-time academy award winner, is often cited as being the nicest man in Hollywood. He's currently in a play on Broadway for which he's been, of course, nominated for a Tony.
It occurred to me that an awful thing about being Tom Hanks would be people constantly wanting things of you. Can you read my script. Can you pass this on to Spielberg. Can you get me an audition. It must take an elevated, maybe even Grimleyesque, level of decency to continue to see people one doesn't know as human beings, not as takers.
In Scorsese's King of Comedy, De Niro painted wanna be comic Rupert Pupkin has a pathetic, no-talent who yearned to bite into Jerry Lewis' neck (metaphorically speaking) to become immortal - that is, famous. The character was not interested in honing in craft, in studying the history of comedy or television or humor. He didn't even seem to believe he had something of vaue to impart to an audience.
Do writers who try to palm off their scripts themselves (instead of through an agent) feel that same desperation, that need to fuel their careers with someone else's star power? Or is it similar to any other profession where you leverage any connections you may have?
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Friday, May 10, 2013
Two Minutes, Please
He wore the movie crew uniform - loose tee shirt and knee-busters. Sneakers big as a boat. "Just two minutes, please," he implored the crowd of us just disgorged from the morning metro. "We're filming a stunt. Thank you."
We pretended to grumble, we feigned annoyance, but let's be honest - watching a scene get filmed would be more of a kick than settling in to our cubicles. We weren't going to miss it.
Two minutes became four, seven, eight.... Then: Rolling!
An actor known only to his patents ran from the shopping center to a Beemer parked at the curb. He opened the door, yanked out the equally unknown driver, and sat in the driver's seat.
That was it. The crowd moved through a forest of lights and camera on the way to the action of our everyday lives.
We pretended to grumble, we feigned annoyance, but let's be honest - watching a scene get filmed would be more of a kick than settling in to our cubicles. We weren't going to miss it.
Two minutes became four, seven, eight.... Then: Rolling!
An actor known only to his patents ran from the shopping center to a Beemer parked at the curb. He opened the door, yanked out the equally unknown driver, and sat in the driver's seat.
That was it. The crowd moved through a forest of lights and camera on the way to the action of our everyday lives.
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