Mike Nichols was a great actors' director. He made some excellent camera choices, but what set him apart from his peers was his consistent facility for coaxing superb performances from his cast. Nichols started in theater as a performer and continued to direct for the stage throughout his life. He was extremely intelligent about analyzing the essence of a story and scene, breaking down the beats (especially the subtext), and helping the performers make them into living moments. If you listen to his commentaries or interviews, it's a real pleasure to hear him discuss small moments in a performance and little tricks he used on set or in rehearsal to get an actor into the right mental space. He possessed great empathy as a director, and had a fine understanding of human behavior, particularly what was going on below the surface and how it drove people to act – the indirect, circuitous, and even self-defeating ways we funny human beings behave. Watch The Graduate, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? or any of his other films, and you'll encounter wonderfully human moments – comic, tragic, or both—of poorly managed anxiety, fearful hope, constrained despair, displaced anger, petty spiteful revenge, small understated kindness, and relaxed grace. Actors and directors who take the art and craft seriously could do far worse than to study the work of Nichols (along with that of Ingmar Bergman and a handful of other directors). Even Nichols' more uneven films (such as Wolf and Primary Colors) contain some accomplished scenes that can serve as master classes on acting and directing.
Nichols confessed that he didn't love performing, that he found it draining, in contrast with his stage (and occasional writing) partner Elaine May, who thrived on it. As a result, he was extremely sympathetic to his actors and tried to support them as much as possible, especially in emotionally vulnerable scenes. My favorite interview moment with Nichols came when he was asked about his directing style (by Charlie Rose) and he spoke about these dynamics. Nichols talked about how lonely and naked it can on stage or in front of the camera, and what he tried to give his actors to alleviate that. Rose then played a clip of Kathy Bates (who justifiably received a Oscar nomination for Primary Colors) gushing about Mike Nichols – with other directors, it was often different, but with Mike, you weren't alone out there. (Brenda Blethyn said something similar in a Q&A session – if she felt her director's support, that level of trust, she could "go anywhere" in a scene.) Nichols was slightly embarrassed but moved by the Bates clip. What she said is about the greatest compliment a director can receive, and for Nichols, it was well-deserved.
“A director’s chief virtue should be to persuade you through a role; Mike’s the only one I know who can do it,” Burton said after the film was finished, a remarkable compliment from a renowned actor for a fledgling director. “He conspires with you to get your best. He’d make me throw away a line where I’d have hit it hard. I’ve seen the film with an audience and he’s right every time. I didn’t think I could learn anything about comedy — I’d done all of Shakespeare’s. But from him I learned.” . . .
“I’ve always been impressed by the fact that upon entering a room full of people, you find them saying one thing, doing another and wishing they were doing a third,” [Nichols] said in a 1965 interview with the weekly newspaper The National Observer, now defunct. “The words are secondary and the secrets are primary. That’s what interests me most.” . . .
“But what I really thought [improvisation] was useful for was directing,” he said, “because it also teaches you what a scene is made of — you know, what needs to happen. See, I think the audience asks the question, ‘Why are you telling me this?’ And improvisation teaches you that you must answer it. There must be a specific answer. It also teaches you when the beginning is over and it’s time for the middle, and when you’ve had enough middle and it’s time already for the end. And those are all very useful things in directing.”
Charlie Rose interviewed Nichols several times, and spoke about him for CBS News.
Elaine May's salute to Nichols for his AFI Life Achievement Award is predictably funny. For his Kennedy Center honors, she observed, "Mike has chosen to do things that are really meaningful and that have real impact and real relevance, but he makes them so entertaining and exciting that they're as much fun as if they were trash."
I was shocked and saddened to see that Philip Seymour Hoffman had died. He was an extremely talented, versatile and intelligent actor who made every project he was in better (seeing his name on the credits was a reassurance). His early work is notable for how he turned what could have remained small, forgettable or clichéd roles into memorable, intriguing characters. Likewise, one of many things I admired about it was that, even after he was getting leading parts, he continued to play extremely interesting supporting roles. He was a regular fixture of P.T. Anderson's films, and it's no surprise that good writer-directors sought out Hoffman and vice versa. Although he had a hulking frame, he managed to sell himself (all the way to an Oscar) as the diminutive, soft-spoken Truman Capote. He could play a snitch or a villain with panache, and showed a deft feel for comedy as well. His death at the relatively young age or 46 is a tremendous loss. A rash of fine performers have died recently, but at least Peter O'Toole, Pete Seeger, Maximillian Schell, Shirley Temple Black and Sid Caesar had long runs.
Hoffman's list of credits is extraordinary. I still need to see his directorial efforts, but the list of performances I loved is long. He plays a memorable weasel in Scent of a Woman and a suck-up par excellence in The Big Lebowski. As Scotty in Boogie Nights, his self-loathing (he's gay and smitten with Eddie/Dirk) makes him sympathetic. I've only seen clips of Flawless, but a friend of mine who adored Hoffman cited that performance all the time – what impressed her was that Hoffman didn't play Rusty as stereotypically gay or transgendered, but simply and matter-of-factly as a woman, and with dignity (more unusual in 1999 perhaps, but still). He plays a small but crucial role as the nurse in Magnolia. In The Talented Mr. Ripley, he's the one character to see through Tom Ripley's façade from the start, and he infuses his lingering stares and offhand remarks with subtle but palpable menace. In Almost Famous, he delivers a lovely, kind sermon to our hero on being "not-cool" and how embracing that difficult path can lead to becoming a good writer. He's the comic relief buddy to Ben Stiller in Along Came Polly, and he brings a goofy, fun energy to every scene he's in. His Oscar-winning performance is Capote is restrained, detailed, and engrossing. His passionate bluster as Gus in Charlie Wilson's War is enormous fun and one of the best things about the movie. In Doubt, the movie depends on him keeping us guessing, and he walks that line expertly. He and Paul Giamatti are excellent and the best things about The Ides of March. He's grounded and completely believable as worldly-wise Oakland A's baseball manager Art Howe in Moneyball. His charismatic, enigmatic role in The Master is assured and accomplished, and he plays wonderfully off his costars Joaquin Phoenix (playing Freddie) and Amy Adams (as Peggy), utterly still in the face of Freddie's manic chaos, yet occasionally exploding his own façade when challenged. The scenes between him and Donald Sutherland in Catching Fire were a joy. Hoffman was always so good regardless of the role it was easy to take it for granted that he'd deliver a fine performance and that he'd gift us with many more in the future. He will be greatly missed.
The New York Timesobituary.
The Los Angeles Timesobituary.
The Washington Postobituary, plus fan and peer reactions.
Rob Vaux's remembrance for Mania.
Rolling Stone: "Philip Seymour Hoffman Mourned Online by Fans and Colleagues,""Philip Baker Hall Remembers 'Genius' Philip Seymour Hoffman" and "9 Overlooked Philip Seymour Hoffman Performances."
Aaron Sorkin: "Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Death Saved 10 Lives."
Marc Maron on Hoffman and addiction.
Lance Mannion revisits his reviews of Hoffman's films, starting here (you can scroll through the other posts up above).
The remembrance threads from LG&M and Balloon Juice, featuring some great clips.
I was sad to see that James Gandolfini had died at the relatively young age of 51. To expand on what I've written elsewhere, I saw Gandolfini on stage in God of Carnage in 2011. The play is slighter than Yasmine Reza's other hit, Art (a comedy with moments of depth), but both plays are fantastic actor showcases. Gandolfini and his costars (Jeff Daniels, Marcia Gay Harden, and Hope Davis) were all great. Gandolfini always gave a very natural, grounded performance. The nuances, shifts and tiny beats in his longer speeches in The Sopranos – normally with Dr. Melfi – really were a joy to watch. He made it look easy. (In the Loop is another of my favorites.)
Justifiably, his most famous role was Tony Soprano, the crime boss and central figure of David Chase's TV show The Sopranos, which became a cultural phenomenon. The character Tony Soprano was smarter (and definitely shrewder) than most of his fellow gangsters, but it was the little touches of human insight – along with the refusal by Chase and Gandolfini to truly sentimentalize the character – that really made him great. (Roy Edroso writes well about this.) Tony was in the bulk of the scenes in almost every episode. Gandolfini essentially had to carry the series, sell the whole affair, and boy, did he. It's not as if he was just playing himself, either – he famously said, "I'm a neurotic mess. I'm really basically just like a 260-pound Woody Allen." To perform at the level he did – and sustain it – requires a serious dedication to craft along with superb intuition. The Sopranos became such a hit it might be easy to underplay or even forget how much of a coup it was for an actor who wasn't terribly well-known and didn't look like a typical leading man to get that part, and how uncommon the role itself was.
Let's take a look at two scenes. You can consider them and everything below minor spoilers. Several people linked and discussed this one (alas, the image is slightly distorted):
What's your reaction? For me, I'm drawn in, even seduced, and then pushed out. The beats/shifts are well-written, and Gandolfini hits them beautifully. This is a quintessential Tony-Melfi scene. He tells a story, it's somewhat funny but has a hard, even cruel edge, yet he shows surprising insight… only to undercut that at the end. The structure even mimics that of a joke, with Melfi giving the setup for Tony's topper at the end. If there's an audience surrogate in the series, it's Dr. Melfi; like us, she's observing Tony Soprano, and thinks she understands him, and may even become sympathetic, but may just be getting conned by a sociopath. (This becomes an explicit concern of hers late in the series.) Tony often shows these moments of striking insight into human nature and his own past conduct, and as an audience, we can marvel at this, even admire him, and think that he might change. But Chase and Gandolfini don't let us off that easily. What's Tony's last jab about, mocking Jimmy? Is he just regressing, unreflectively slipping back into familiar behavior, and making a joke he's made dozens of times before to get a laugh? Is this covering behavior, Tony rejecting his momentary vulnerability (but also his own insight)? Is there any real change, let alone progress? Laugh at the last gag, and you've become complicit. More likely, you feel disappointed in the briefly-insightful Tony mocking Jimmy again – and that means you've been seduced, perhaps conned, and complicit in a slightly different way. Either way, most of us keep watching.
"God is a luxury I can't afford." It's a fantastic character line in Woody Allen's great film Crimes and Misdemeanors, and it fits many of the characters in The Sopranos, perhaps most of all Tony and his wife Carmela (Edie Falco). Many critics (especially Emily Nussbaum) have commented on the scene where Carmela seeks counsel from a psychiatrist about their marriage, and is sternly warned to take her children and leave her current life, one of comfort built on evil. ("One thing you can never say, that you haven’t been told.") It's a striking, memorable scene. But not surprisingly, Carmela balks at this advice. She's willing to make some sacrifices, perhaps, but not that much. She wants to make a bargain. She's very much like her husband in this respect. In the very first episode, and for the bulk of the series, Tony Soprano doesn't truly want to change his way of life, certainly not to abandon his life of crime – he just wants his panic attacks to stop. Similarly, it's arresting to see the mafia dinner late in season 1 after seeing the entire series; so many of the characters are eventually killed off. This life takes its price. And Chase and Gandolfini don't let us completely off the hook as viewers, either.
Here's another great scene from late in the series:
Again, it's a well-written scene (and that shouldn't be overlooked), but it's also simply a superb performance. Straightforward emotion is relatively easy to play, but emotion under restraint, a character in true turmoil, wrestling with something, switching tactics, bargaining, anger at his son and Melfi but also self-loathing and guilt, losing it briefly and pulling himself back – that's really something. As an actor, Gandolfini is grounded, real, in the moment, fully present, and this makes Tony Soprano dangerous, sympathetic, and human. Not every episode had a scene this strong, but more than a few did, and most of them had scenes that came close. The Sopranos could boast a fine ensemble cast, and had some superb writing and directing, but it depended on James Gandolfini pouring himself into the role of Tony Soprano and selling us on it throughout 86 episodes. He was the real deal.
Many great actors never get a chance at such a role, but we're all lucky Gandolfini did. (And by all accounts, he was very grateful for it. I've heard several stories about the lavish gifts he got his fellow actors after his big contract.) RIP – he left us far too soon.
Other articles and tributes:
Roy Edroso.
Slate: "The Longform Guide to The Sopranos. A useful compilation of good articles.
Matt Zoller Seitz: " A Great Actor, A Better Man."Gandolfini on Sesame Street.
GQ: "The Night Tony Soprano Disappeared."
Emily Nussbaum: "How Tony Soprano Changed Television."
David Remnick: "Postscript."LA Times: Obituary, appreciation 1, appreciation 2, industry reactions, and remembering his stage work.NY Times: Obituary, reactions, and a 1988 piece about "apartment gypsies" with Gandolfini before he made it big.
Condolence threads by Lawyers, Guns & Money and Balloon Juice.
Finally, the blog Master of Sopranos has "the definitive explanation of the end" of the series. This is exhaustive and very well done. (Honestly, when I watched the end, I thought the visual syntax of the sequence strongly pointed in one direction, and the only reason I found myself second-guessing my reading was because I thought David Chase was trying to achieve an ambiguous, open ending.) In any case, a memorable piece of work.
The 2012 Screen Actors Guild Awards were held this past weekend. You can see the list of nominees and winners here. As usual, there are some worthy recipients and nominees. (I didn't watch the entire show myself, just some clips, but I'm always glad to see good work recognized.) For Oscar watchers, the SAG Awards have some predictive value, since actors make up the largest block of Oscar voters. That said, I did find this panel of a slideshow web ad hilariously appalling:
"The only award show where every award goes to an actor."
Yikes. I hoped to FSM that this was the idea of some marketing person, and not anyone at the SAG Awards, but Backstage and several other sites use the same slogan in their coverage. (Google shows the phrase only appearing in recent coverage – older webpages featuring it are merely displaying recent feeds.) I don't see how this pitch can be read as anything else but, 'no awards for boring stuff.' Where's Jenna Maroney to sneer at all the little people?
You'd be hard pressed to find any film-lover who didn't appreciate good acting (even if their conception of it was highly atypical). Personally, I love and prize fine acting, and enjoy discussing the art and craft of it, especially how a particular actor approached a specific role, or scene, or line. Some actors are lovely people in real life and a joy to work with professionally. However, all those tales of diva thespians you've heard are, um, extremely well-founded. There's an old saying that Hollywood is high school with money. Actors are the popular, good-looking kids. One of the all-time best Oscar presentations was in 2010 for the screenplay awards, as Tina Fey and Robert Downey, Jr. sparred over writers versus actors, and Downey's topper was that filmmaking was "a collaboration – a collaboration between handsome, gifted people and sickly, little mole people." It was hilarious, especially because some actors actually think this way. Some view directors and everybody else as failed, wannabe actors. After all, they are the stars – who wouldn't want to be them? While some are indeed wonderful people, actors as a class are the most narcissistic, vain and self-absorbed people involved in show biz. (Certain producers, agents and directors can give them a run for their money.) Some of this self-absorption falls into the "occupational hazard" category, depending on what school of acting one subscribes to (it can be a delicate balancing act of insecurity and ego). Still, stories of actors (and pop stars) neither understanding nor caring about what everybody else on the set does are commonplace. Hell, they're also some of the most popular show biz stories (less so among the divas themselves). Some such tales are legendary, and even mostly true. Consequently, trumpeting an awards show as "the only award show where every award goes to an actor" betrays a lack of self-awareness and just feeds the beast. Sure, that's what Hollywood stars really need, reinforcement of their worst traits! Let's encourage the most narcissistic group in Hollywood to ratchet it up several notches! That's what the public needs, too, to be persuaded that all non-acting work in the biz is of piddling importance!
It's all reminiscent of what Jessica Alba said back in 2010: "Good actors never use the script unless it's amazing writing. All the good actors I've worked with, they all say whatever they want to say." (KenLevine made short work of that.)
Indeed, who needs writers, or awards for them? The scripts write themselves. Screenwriting must be easy, because everyone in Hollywood has written a script (including actors). Directors? Films direct themselves; each actor can ignore everyone else and do what feels right, including improvising the blocking; the cameraman will adjust. Sound? Well, actors don't need to be heard. Bring back the silents. Cinematography? Some would argue that the image is what makes a film a film and not a radio play, but that's just silly. Editing? Editors are the scumbags who cut into a brilliant performance. Let it run, uninterrupted, in a ten minute closeup. Music? It's not necessary. Who can remember the scores from Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Psycho, The Shawshank Redemption, Brokeback Mountain, Tron: Legacy, or any score from Ennio Morricone? Visual Effects? Almost every one of the top grossing films of all time uses visual effects, but they're not really necessary. Production Design? My cousin Bob has a homemade alien spaceship in his backyard, we can use that. Makeup? Since when have you known an actress to want, let alone need, makeup before appearing before the public? Costumes? Well, they're not that important in "adult" films, so surely all those stodgy "costume dramas" can make do with less, too.
It's not surprising that People magazine, other gossip rags and late-night talk shows focus on actors to the exclusion of almost everybody else in entertainment. As a class, they're the prettiest and most glamorous, and American celebrity-watching is the same spectator sport as obsessing over a royal family. (There's also the schadenfreude, train-wreck appeal of some celebrities.) They are the public face for endeavors that involve (in Hollywood productions) hundreds of other people. Audiences form emotional connections with characters and the actors who play them. However, even Entertainment Weekly and similar outlets discuss directors and writers who aren't Steven Spielberg and considered "celebrities" themselves. While undoubtedly there is a group of moviegoers who only care about actors and neither understand nor care how this movie they love so much came to be, I have to wonder how large this group really is. I also have to wonder if this group was staying away in droves from the SAG Awards before, but will be lured in by this implicit promise of 'no awards for boring stuff.' (The ratings for 2012 were almost the same as for 2011 – a 2% rise, but also a slip in the much coveted 18-49 demographic.) Even relatively popular actors often can't "open" a crappy movie. A really big star can do this (that's in large part how stardom is defined by the studios), but even then, word of mouth and reviews quickly spread. Even among fans who are inclined to see everything that, say, Julia Roberts is in, they will distinguish between their favorites and the ones they feel aren't as good. (All but the most unreflective consumers have some sense of this.) Most Hollywood flicks of a certain budget level show technical craftsmanship. As for content, crap sometimes sells awfully well, but even potboilders are not all created equal, and there's also nothing wrong with a good popcorn flick (it's just not good when that's the only thing available). However, generally, a well-made popcorn flick with a big star will still do better box office than a poorly-made popcorn flick with a big star. Take that one step further – all the SAG Award nominees, which are in some cases quite popular or crowd-pleasers, do aspire to a much higher level of craft than "Ow, My Balls."
All this makes the SAG Award pitch an odd blend of pandering and snobbery. (Or, at least, an obsession with the cosmetic, and reflecting that high school mentality.) We actors know what you the people really want – US!
An actor friend of mine has said that he's never been on a (professional industry) set where the actors didn't have the easiest job. Acting can be grueling and emotionally draining. Prosthesis work or special rigs can make for a long day. However, in most cases (especially for stars on big productions) actors can hang out while everyone else is setting up the next shot. Stars have their trailers, their riders, and even have stand-ins so the DP can get the lighting right without asking the actor to be present. Some actors don't stick around for off-camera reverses shots in a given scene, and the script supervisor or someone else reads the lines. (Some actors insist on sticking around as a professional courtesy.) Basically, there's a small army of people there working non-stop to make the actors look good (using the term broadly; for someone playing a villain, "looking good," often entail being convincingly evil.)
The dynamics are much different, of course, on smaller sets and independent guerilla projects, where the lead actor may also be the production designer, or the director also is the field mixer, gaffer, dolly grip and script supervisor. (Those projects can also be much more fun.) Some high school and college theater programs insist that all their aspiring stars do some tech and backstage work, to gain a better appreciation for what everyone does. (On the flip side, some film programs insist on aspiring directors taking an acting class, since some have never done theater and are relatively clueless about the acting process.) Actors who get their success late in life tend to be cooler (not always), because they know what a crap shoot the game is. Likewise, working actors of the non-star variety can occasionally be deluded divas, but tend to be more grounded and pleasant to be around.
In any case, I hope the SAG Awards continue to honor good work, and I particularly like that they give awards for entire ensembles. However, that's also precisely why I hope they ditch that awful slogan. Theater, TV and film are highly collaborative art forms. Plus, as one of my directing teachers was fond of saying, "Love the art in yourself, not yourself in the art."
Congratulations to the Eugene O'Neill Theater Center for their well-deserved Regional Theater Tony Award! The Regional Theater award has always been one of the more interesting ones to me, because it acknowledges great theater outside of New York City, and as an O'Neill alum, I'm especially partial to this one. The O'Neill is an umbrella organization for several other programs, the most famous probably being the National Playwrights Conference, the National Theater Institute, and the National Music Theater Conference. If you've ever read Long Day's Journey Into Night, you can head over to O'Neill's summer boyhood home, the Monte Cristo Cottage, where the play is set. The Center itself is a magical place. (It really needs a better website, though.)
It was fitting for the O'Neill won this year, because a revival of August Wilson's Fences won a Tony, as did lead actors Denzel Washington and Viola Davis. Fences was the first major success for Wilson, and it was developed at the O'Neill, as were several of his other plays. (It's also probably my favorite of his plays, although there are a few I still need to read.)
Preston Whiteway's acceptance speech for the O'Neill can be seen here (2010 Creative Arts Winners). I delayed this post, hoping video of Michael Douglas' segment on the O'Neill during the main ceremony would be put online, but alas, it hasn't been. (Meanwhile, Douglas' wife, Catherine Zeta-Jones, also nabbed a Tony, for best actress in a musical.)
I was saddened to see that the great South African-born actor Zakes Mokae died (apparently back in September 2009). While he did extensive character roles in film and TV (his episode on The West Wing stands out), it's hard to think of him separate from his pioneering work with South African playwright Athol Fugard.
As for the rest of the Tonys, host Sean Hayes did an excellent, funny job, as did most of the presenters. I'm interested to read or see one of the other big winners, Red. Meanwhile, Angela Lansbury – who's 84! - received a special honor, and made some nice remarks about the importance of studying one's craft, training, and the generosity of scholarships. I hadn't known she fled London as a young woman with her family and came to New York City, all due to WWII. There, a special scholarship for Brits in her situation allowed her to continue her training. It's further testimony for the cause - Support the Arts! Good things will happen.
When Martin Luther King, Jr. went down to Memphis in 1968, it was to assist with a garbage worker's strike. Two workers had been slowly crushed to death in a garbage truck, an utterly horrible way to go. The workers moved to form a union, pushing for better wages but also some sort of safety or warning mechanism so no such accident could happen again. The mayor and other forces were, shall we say, less than accommodating.
The workers' strike is the subject of OyamO's play I Am A Man. Some background on OyamO and the play can be read here. Tavis Smiley's discussions with Memphis minister Rev. Samuel "Billy" Kyles and former sanitation worker Taylor Rogers also give important background (Kyles describes being there during King's last night).
The play was finished in 1992, and I saw one of the earlier major productions of it, an excellent one at Arena Stage in D.C. in 1995. King is a frequent presence in the play, but almost entirely as a voice coming over speakers, only briefly seen crossing the stage near the end (at least in the production I saw). The key figure is instead the head of the garbage workers, T.O. Jones, rivetingly played in the D.C . version (I'm afraid I currently can't confirm that actor's name). Despite the often serious subject matter, the play's full of humorous moments as well. I found it particularly fascinating to see all the infighting and resolutions between different groups, since, for instance, some parties wanted a more militant approach while others wanted no demonstrations at all. I saw it with a friend my age, and since we were too young to remember the actual events, it was very educational. However, this was not an 'eat-your-broccoli' piece - it was great theater, with some powerful moments.
OyamO describes Jones as:
40s, speaks with vocal, gestural and emotional ebullience. Beefy, but average height, very friendly, but also bullheaded about some things. Somewhat vulnerable, a bit fearful and not well educated, quit Memphis Public School in the 8th grade. But he's naturally intelligent – common street sense, a cajoling wit, a generous nature, a lot of heart.
The play script is written in dialect. Jones' wit and passion comes out in a confrontation at the city council, where to make a point, he points to the Memphis city seal (only low-res copies seem available, alas):
COUNCILMAN: Unacceptable! The city does not recognize that union and therefore will not entertain the showboat rantings of some so-called representative.
BLUESMAN: Rantin'! You wanna hear some rantin'? Let me tell you 'bout that city seal you got hanging over yo' head.
JONES: See dat steamboat? It brings slaves up and downriver for trading. The cotton boll? Dat's what da slaves pick ta make a few peepas rich. That oak leaf is where day tied the slave to beat him or where they hanged him. Used ta whip ya wit dem oak sticks too. Dat piece a machinery? Dat's the wheel of progress dat grine the slave up. Da Civil War ova, but we still fighting against slavery. Chop cotton for three dollas a dat or tote garbage for one dolla and sixty cents a hour. Da union come here ta finally stop slavery.
My favorite exchange is this one between Jones and Joshua Solomon, a white labor negotiator from New York:
SOLOMON: The press has got to be spoonfed. You can't ignore them when you're conducting a public strike. They'll nail you to the wall. Look, one question I have to ask. Why the hell did ya call a strike in February when garbage don't stink?
JONES: Garbage stink all the time, when you got ta carry it on yo' head.
Still, what's stuck with me the most years later is the following monologue. It was a stunner. The Arena's main stage is just that, an arena set-up, with the audience on all four sides. Throughout the play, a bluesman plays sort of a Greek chorus, making comments and playing music. Here, Jones has just gotten bad news. He's at his lowest point, even while the stakes are the highest. He's trying to rescue some scrap of dignity in the face of continual, crushing degradation. As you read through this speech, imagine it being delivered with great weight, each few sentences a separate point, with Jones slowly walking around all four sides, looking at the audience, almost imploring. The lights are low except for a spotlight on Jones. Imagine the bluesman wailing away on his harmonica in the background.
(The BLUESMAN strums a low, funky blues as the Lights and Images swift to a Beale St. Bar which he enters. JONES shortly stumbles in, now drunk. He, bottle in hand, stands swaying before the BLUESMAN. He begins dancing, slowly, dancing out of sorrow. The song's refrain goes as follows:]
BLUESMAN: THE GRAVEDIGGER IS YO' VERY BEST FRIEND THE GRAVEDIGGER IS YO' VERY BEST FRIEND HE ONLY LET YOU DOWN ONCE NO MATTER WHAT YOU BEEN
[JONES stops dancing, angrily hurls the bottle which breaks offstage. He speaks to no one in particular the following over the background instrumental accompaniment of the BLUESMAN:]
JONES: When I was toting garbage, I knowed every alcoholic in town, da ones live in da shacks and da ones what living high in the big houses. I knowed who was creepin' 'round some back doe on day husband or wife. I knowed who was taking high price drugstore drugs and street drugs. I run to the back of da house ta git da garbage and I seed all kinda womens in the window. Naked! Not a stitch on! Justa lookin' down at ole stinkin', black, empty-face me, and smilin' real big. I seed big impo'tent men in dis town beating on soft, little white womens in da back bedrooms. I heard dem womens scream and beg for mercy. I once seed a father touchin' his near 'bout growed up daughter, touchin' her where no fatha 'sposed to touch his daughter. One time I pulled a dead baby from the garbage, a little white baby, blood still fresh. Somebody throwed it in the garbage behine a fine mansion. And peepas treat me like I stink. Nothin' stinks worse den the da garbage dat da garbage man leave behine everyday.
[Jones staggers out.]
I'm sorry my description can't do it justice, but if you had seen this one performed, it'd have stuck with you years afterward, too. Jones has a later, bitter monologue after King is killed, remarking that all they got was an eight cent raise, "eight shiny pennies" and "not even thirty pieces of silver" for King. He finally puts on a brave face and urges the striking men to go back to work. When I think about I Am A Man, or King, I think about the importance of human dignity, and the cruel things we sometimes do to each other. It's a good day to remember how fostering simple kindness and connection isn't just essential — it's sometimes the most revolutionary act in the world.
Roughly a year ago now, a friend of mine had a great idea for her birthday party. She'd thrown some great bashes before, but for this one she decided to hold a talent show. It was especially appropriate since she's spent her life working in theater and film. A mutual friend suggested we perform "Who's On First?" for the occasion.
When I was a young kid, my dad used to check out short films from the local library and show it on an old projector of his. Unlike the projectors in our school, it had to be manually threaded, which could take a while. In any case, it was a great choice for birthday parties or Saturday entertainment, and meant we grew up with some of the Laurel and Hardy greats. Meanwhile, although this was just before the cable era really hit, Marx Brothers films were often shown on TV (unfailingly on New Year's or thereabouts) and Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein made it on quite often as well. (Chaplin and Buster Keaton were rarely shown for some reason, and I've never much cared for most of the Three Stooges stuff.)
In any case, it was a real treat to dig into one of the great comedy sketches. Abbott and Costello didn't originate most of their old vaudeville routines, but they were probably the best at performing them. It's also interesting that it's completely clean (barring maybe the last lines). As kids we thought the word play (and Costello's frustration) was hilarious, but adults love it too. What makes "Who's On First?" a bit tricky to rehearse is that there's no one set script. Abbott and Costello varied it a bit each time. I hunted down some of the best.
Versions
Here's the version [6:54] we would up using, from a TV appearance in front of a live audience. It's probably my favorite. This version is featured on some old Abbott and Costello specials and compilations. I taped mine off of PBS years ago, and it turns out my friend's transcript, that he had typed up himself as a teenager from an audio tape, was the same version. Unfortunately, the sound drifts out of synch on the only YouTube copy I could find, but it's still a great listen:
Here's the version [6:16] from the film The Naughty Nineties. This is the one that's in the Baseball Hall of Fame. It's probably the tightest and cleanest version available, although there's no live audience as there is for the other versions, so you won't hear any laughs. (Comedy is best seen with an audience.) The actual sketch starts after about a minute of setup:
Here's another TV version [6:09], which many folks have posted to YouTube. The video ain't great, but it's in synch and a very good version with a breakneck pace:
I couldn't find a transcript of this version.
Here's a radio version [4:28], supposedly the first time they performed it on the air. The speed is astounding:
The Wiki entry on "Who's On First?" is quite good, especially at listing variations and homages to the sketch (The Simpsons one, with Principal Skinner killing the whole sketch at the start, is a classic on its own). I also found a long but interesting pseudo-Shakespearean version:
Abbott and Costello
Many accounts say that Abbott and Costello performed the sketch hundreds if not thousands of times. I was disappointed that some accounts claim they were scared to try new material, since I'm used to the idea of great performers not being content to rest on their laurels, and some of their other sketches are pretty damn funny as well. The two were hit hard by taxes due to their meteoric success, were estranged for a time, and this interview with Bud Abbott from 1960 is quite sad. (Molière and Bulgakov had pretty rough lives, too.) All that said, their performances were truly great, for the ages and a hell of a legacy, and we can all be grateful for that.
The Sketch
I know some people hate to analyze comedy. I agree that if a comedian has to explain the joke to the audience, it's trouble. There's an element to comedy that's just instinctual and subjective, and you either get it, or you don't. And tastes do vary. I'm not going to explain why "Who's on First?" is funny. Most people understand why, and more importantly, they laugh.
However, for performers, writers and directors, comedy sometimes does require more scrutiny and more work. I'm going to write a bit about the sketch itself and the experience of rehearsing and performing it. Feel free just to enjoy the videos, and stop reading now, if you like!
Perhaps the most interesting part of studying versions of the script was discovering that it's not really one set routine. It's a set of "subroutines." For most of the sketch Lou Costello took the lead and Bud Abbott played off him reactively. Even if the exchanges were fairly set, when you realize the exact script wasn't fixed, Abbott and Costello's performances become even more impressive, especially given their speed. Robin Williams in his coked-out days comes close, but damn, they're quick.
The exact content of the "subroutines" varied, and their order could even vary slightly in the middle, but roughly it goes:
Intro Setup (this varies from version to version) The Roster (Abbott lays out the roster a few times) Who's on First (the core gag) What's on Second (they start riffing on the 3 basemen) Paycheck (How does the first baseman sign his name?) The Outfield (Why and Because) The Pitching Staff (Tomorrow and Today) Naturally (Costello tries to sum up, gets even more confused) Finale (Costello tries to finish — I don't give a darn)
In the version we recreated, for example, you can hear Costello bulldozing over Abbott to push the sketch to the Paycheck section, but it all works.
The Rehearsal Process
There's a saying that everyone believes he or she is a great lover and has a good sense of humor. Needless to say, they're not all right. There are various theories about comedy floating around, but for my money (and I could go on at some length) some are horribly narrow and simplistic, most of all because there are different forms and styles of comedy.
Still — and this is something some "method" actors don't get readily — writing, directing, and acting comedy can at times be very, very technical. For writers, after the basic scene works, there's still a process of revision and word choice, paring things down to be tight. For directors, there's the matter of staging things, and working on the overall rhythm of a scene, the shifts, builds and reversals. And for performers, there's above all comic timing. Some forms of comedy require more of an "internal life" or can benefit from that, but in most cases the external mechanics have to be set first. That's especially the case for physical comedy and sight gags. Some actors don't have innate comic timing, but can memorize or respond to a rhythm. Similarly, when it comes to line delivery, sometimes the best way is apparent right off the bat, and sometimes finding it requires trial and error. All that's part of the process. (I do have a few stories about actors deliberately screwing up comedic bits that had gotten big laughs, all in the name of "acting," though!) I don't pretend to be a master of comedy by any stretch, but I have written, directed or performed in a fair number over the years, so I'm fairly aware of my limitations — and slighter talents — in that arena. (My stage fright used to be so bad I used to want to run off screaming right before going on, and while it's much better now, I prefer directing, and would say I generally still enjoy having performed more than I enjoy performing itself, and certainly more than waiting to go on.)
In any case, since my buddy's the better actor (and quite good), we quickly decided he'd do Costello's part. While Abbott's part ain't easy, I have to say for my money Costello's is much harder. He leads almost everything. He has far more verbiage, and if you listen to Lou Costello, he speaks with amazing rapidity but perfect diction. It's very impressive.
After running the scene a few times at the first rehearsal, I found the best way for me to learn the piece was to listen to it over and over and over again (my former blogmate Jim Swanson was kind enough to make me a MP3 from the YouTube video). I listened to it at home and in the car, and it took me about a day to get it memorized. There are a few tricky, snag spots, but I actually found it surprisingly easy, perhaps because for Abbott, much of it comes down to, "If Costello says this, you say that." For Abbott's part, I found it could be helpful actually to visualize the baseball diamond and the names of the players at each position. Costello's asking him questions, and as the straight man, he's just answering them straight.
I was a bit worried that studying the sketch this intensely would rob it of its humor for me, or alternatively, that I'd crack up during the performance. There's also the threat of drying up on a line, or just sucking. It'd be a crime to butcher such a great sketch. At the second rehearsal, I was concentrating so hard on getting the responses right, I wasn't cracking up at all. At the third, though, when we were both off book, and looking at each other, playing off each other, it was much harder to keep a straight face (for me, at least). The sketch is just so damn funny and the disconnect between the characters so ridiculous. And Abbott has to play it straight! (The British have a great expression for breaking character — "corpsing.")
In any case, I'm a big fan of drilling to get the fine timing and the rhythms down, and with this sketch, the responses have to be so lightning-fast, they really need to be automatic. And on the comic timing thing — I found it very educational just listening to Abbott and Costello over and over again, in my case paying special attention to Abbott's choices (mostly as quick a response as he could manage, pouncing as soon as Costello was done, but with some notable pauses in the Paycheck section, when he sets the rhythm briefly). Damn, they were brilliant on that front, and I think anyone who really wants to get down comic timing should study them, Sid Caesar's show and some of the other older acts, along with their favorite stand-up comics, sitcoms and comedy films.
Performing
Talent Show Birthday Night featured plenty of singing, with the birthday gal's parents and brother singing tunes, her daughter and other former students performing pieces she'd taught them, her young son MC-ing, many friends and guests performing, a young kid doing a Shakespeare monologue, a young woman with a Mohawk doing a hula dance... The atmosphere was inviting and encouraging, an everyone-join-in mood, but I have to say, plenty of folks were quite talented and memorable. In our case, we went with our own names versus Abbott and Costello, and apart from one brief snag in the sketch performance, it was rapid-fire and went over very well with our admittedly friendly, captive crowd. We received some very nice compliments, but of course no one can touch Abbott and Costello doing it. It was a wonderful, lovely night, actually, and a splendid time was had by all.
Two added, bizarre notes. Knowing the birthday gal, we figured she'd like the sketch, but she gave a big gasp when she realized what the sketch was (that'll give ya a momentary fright!). It turns out it's her all-time favorite, or right up there. What was even crazier was her mother had actually gone out with Lou Costello a few times as a young woman! We had no idea. Small world.
In any case, I felt like providing at least one lighter post today. Thanks to all the great comedy writers, directors and performers, and thanks to those adults wise enough to introduce their kids to that material and the beauty of a good laugh.
In Shakespeare's "King Lear," a powerful man comes to a tragic end because he surrounds himself with flatterers and banishes the friends who will not varnish the truth to please him.
Several controversies in the past six years of the Bush administration -- including two in the news last week -- bring Lear to mind. From discrediting a covert CIA officer whose husband had criticized the invasion of Iraq to having the Justice Department find out which U.S. attorneys were "loyal Bushies," from sidelining a general who said more troops would be needed in Iraq to silencing government scientists who advocated action against global warming, from sniping at an actuary whose numbers didn't square with the administration's health-care cost projections to belittling those who warned against using inhumane techniques against detainees, the Bush administration has regularly evinced a with-me-or-against-me attitude to criticism.
[...]
There are two important differences, however, between ordinary people and the powerful. Kings, presidents and CEOs get to decide who surrounds them and what they will hear. Even those leaders who invite critics into their circle may not hear contrary views because the bravest of employees can find it difficult to tell their bosses things they do not wish to hear.
It’s a great, short piece, worth reading in its entirety. This blog has explored the connections between Shakespeare and current events before, including the knaves of King Lear and (back in October 2005) the lack of fools and frank advisors to tell Bush the truth:
Regardless, no one seems "foolish" enough to be an "honest broker" with Bush, who accounts depict as increasingly angry and frustrated, blaming everyone around him. No one has said to him what he has so sorely needed, something in the spirit of:
See better Lear, and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye. — Kent to Lear, King Lear, 1.1, 161-162
In King Lear, virtually every character is either a fool or a knave. However, these terms contain multiple layers. In Act 1, scene 1, Lear banishes his youngest daughter Cordelia and Kent for being honest. The loyal Kent returns to serve Lear disguised as Caius. In Act 2, scene 2, as Lear’s herald, Kent confronts the rude knave Oswald, who serves Lear’s eldest daughter, Goneril. After delivering one of the great torrents of insults in Shakespeare and tangling with Oswald, Kent is thrown in the stocks, a serious breach of etiquette, even after the tussle. The villainous Cornwall, husband of Lear’s second daughter Regan, remarks on Kent:
CORNWALL This is some fellow, Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he, An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth! An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends Than twenty silly ducking observants That stretch their duties nicely. [2.2, 92-101]
Shakespeare is being ironic here, because Cornwall, a knave, is calling Kent, who is a loyal fool, a knave — for being honest!
In Act 2, scene 4, Lear arrives, and is shocked to find Kent in the stocks. Their first exchange veers towards comedy:
KING LEAR What's he that hath so much thy place mistook To set thee here?
KENT It is both he and she; Your son and daughter.
KING LEAR No.
KENT Yes.
KING LEAR No, I say.
KENT I say, yea.
KING LEAR No, no, they would not.
KENT Yes, they have.
KING LEAR By Jupiter, I swear, no.
KENT By Juno, I swear, ay. [2.4, 11-21]
Lear storms off to confront his daughters and their husbands. While he is gone, the Fool is left with Kent, and shares with him a highly ironic, multilayer lesson.
FOOL We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there's no labouring i' the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men; and there's not a nose among twenty but can smell him that's stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it: but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.
That sir which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form, Will pack when it begins to rain, And leave thee in the storm, But I will tarry; the fool will stay, And let the wise man fly: The knave turns fool that runs away; The fool no knave, perdy.
KENT Where learned you this, fool?
FOOL Not i' the stocks, fool. [2.4, 66-85]
On the surface, the Fool is mocking Kent for being loyal to Lear when it’s obvious Lear's fortunes are falling. A clever, self-interested courtier will grab “a great wheel” such as Lear in good times and drop him in bad. But as the fool says, for this advice, he “would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.” The self-interested knave “who serves and seeks for gain” will abandon friends and lords in trouble, but the fool will “tarry” and “stay.” (The use of “wise man” in line 81 is extremely ironic.) As the Fool says, “The knave turns fool that runs away; / The fool no knave, perdy.” The seemingly clever and clearly selfish are idiots and scoundrels, while the honest and loyal, willing to weather out the storm together with those who are suffering, are anything but. The rest of the play acts out these important themes, as suffering rains on the just and unjust alike, and fools and knaves stand revealed.
The Fool speaks truth to power, but he gets away with it and doesn’t get thrown in the stocks because he’s so clever. He speaks in the form of jokes, jibes, and multilayered, cryptic statements, and knows his audiences expertly. Kent is a good man, but it’s the Fool who would make a highly skillful political operative for the good guys. The challenge for the honorable is to cultivate more of these people, principled but savvy.
In terms of King Lear’s fools and knaves, almost all pundits are knaves, certainly all the unrepentant war hawks. Not that Bush ever deserved a position of greatness, but many of the neocons abandoned him in the pages of Vanity Fair last fall before the midterm elections. Still, while most neocons have criticized Bush, they have not abandoned their mad, disastrous cause — these are ambitious knaves, heedless to what’s best for the country, viler than even Goneril, Regan, Cornwall and Oswald. They are adolescent, armchair Macbeths, “bloody, bold and resolute,” but only with other people’s lives and bodies.
Cheney is more like mad king Leontes in The Winter’s Tale, seeing enemies everywhere and ordering harm upon those who love the country, willing to slay his own child out of fear, rage and paranoia.
Libby is not a true fool. He is loyal to Cheney, it’s true, but a fool is both loyal and honest, and Libby has repeatedly lied in the service of evil men and evil causes. In addition to his starring role in Plamegate, he playing a key role in manipulating the pre-war intel and selling the war, to Judy Miller, to Colin Powell, and in a thousand other ways. Similarly, Rove has not told the truth to Bush, even if this has stemmed at times from self-delusion. Bush is not a fool; he is a idiot, and a selfish, knavish one at that (the GOP’s conceit that Bush was the best man to be President of the United States brings new meaning to the term “pathetic fallacy”). Lear’s tragedy is to banish those who, out of love for him, tell him the truth. Bush not only banishes those who tell him the truth, at times he seems not to recognize the truth on the rare occasions it’s spoken to him in the first place. An incurious, impatient man of the slenderest gifts, hopelessly in over his head, Bush is happy to be handled, and as Ron Suskind argues in The One Percent Doctrine, doesn’t want to know what’s going on. It seems unlikely that ever in his life he will achieve the self-realizations Lear does in Act 4, scene 6, when he reflects:
They flattered me like a dog; and told me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say 'ay' and 'no' to every thing that I said!--'Ay' and 'no' too was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are not men o' their words: they told me I was every thing; 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof. [4.6, 96-105]
In the film The Madness of King George (based on Alan Bennett’s play The Madness of George III, and starring Nigel Hawthorne) Dr. Willis ponders how remarkable it is that any monarch should grow up sane, surrounded by people who always tell him how wonderful he is. The character Thurlow also captures this sentiment when he remarks, “It takes character to withstand the rigours of indolence.” Vedantam’s article touches on this when Dutch social psychologist Roos Vonk relates a Dutch proverb: “Powerful men and beautiful women never get to hear the truth.” It’s no surprise that The Madness of King George directly quotes King Lear. It’s also no surprise for those who love Shakespeare’s play to see how many parallels the Bush administration evokes. As Vedantam concludes:
Greenstein said history would have to rank how Bush compares with other presidents in aversion to dissent, but said there is little doubt Bush has hurt himself by shutting out people who disagree with him -- as King Lear also did.
"Shakespeare is one of our great social scientists," Greenstein said.
There is another reason the Lear analogy may be particularly apposite. By the end of the play, with death and disaster all around, Shakespeare makes sure you understand that King Lear's tragedy was not just his own.
Vedantam is correct to a point, but he might be holding back due to tact. Inflicted tragedy is not the same as self-induced, and in King Lear, suffering stems from human agency, not divine forces. Lear learns, at great personal cost and cost to the country, the depth of his folly, but only comes to these realizations because he undergoes the punishing trials of the storm. Bush’s bubble, constructed with his willing approval, has protected him from any possible storm, and “he hath ever but / slenderly known himself.” [1.1, 298-299] The tragedy of Bush, surrounded by knaves and yes-men, is that he has no interest in seeing the ‘true blank of his eye.’ He has banished all honest brokers; his bubble is Fool-proof.
