It's weird how you can go into something with all the best intentions, and the whole thing just ... fizzles.
I've had this experience enough times now to know it's a part of life. Part of the cycle of life, I should say. We're born, a lot of stuff happens, we die. It's kind of important to remember that we're not the stuff that happens, lest our errant identification and projection lead to pointless, wheel-spinning suffering.
In other words, I am not The Felties. And I'm really not that baffled or upset that I couldn't pull it off.
Looking back over past posts on this blog, I see some insightful reaching and charming naivete. I had just turned 30 when I started it, and was just beginning to feel that "Oh shit I better do something with my life" desperation that has since become as ubiquitous as a persistent ringing in the ears.
Between shows at Playhouse Disney - Live On Stage!
I left Disneyland earlier that year, and was casting about for something resembling a career as a puppeteer with very little success. I shot a couple of pilots, worked with some incredible people, but could not find my footing.
Performing Mi-Ka, one of the Teenie Tones
I tried to make my own thing happen. That was The Felties. Working with some of those incredible people, I made pretty significant strides. But--and this is very important--I had no idea what I was doing.
The Felties had become way too precious to me, so rather than going the rough-and-tumble route with the precious, I tried to teach myself everything there is to know about producing a webseries with a little thing called Disembodied Animal Head Theatre. I made six episodes of the show a decade ago, and not one of them has been viewed more than a few hundred times.
Tex, the host of Disembodied Animal Head Theatre
Inexplicably hosted by a rubber chicken with a bad English accent, a variety of animal head "snapper puppets" acted out bits and pieces of Shakespeare. The animal heads are in storage today; the rubber chicken has disintegrated into nothing.
Maybe not quite "nothing," but the rubber has degraded beyond repair.
I learned a lot with DAHT. Mostly, I learned that--in the internet parlance of that long-gone era--the cake is a lie. If you build it, they most certainly will not come. I also learned that one person acting alone can only do so much.
Cheese Pizza, aka "Cesare Piazza," one of the stars of DAHT.
So what to do about The Felties?
The evolution of Mimey, from the first puppet to the last.
One of the folks I worked with post-Disneyland saw my video tests of Mimey and Clownie and proposed we do a show with just the two of them. Again, my high esteem for the characters trumped any effort to bring them to the screen that wasn't exactly what I had envisioned in my most fervent daydreams. I'm the first to say I'm a dummy. This was a talented collaborator actively expressing an interest in making something happen, and I backed away from the table.
I actually did storyboards for the first "Mimey & Clownie Show" episode.
I returned the Stan puppet to the brilliant puppet builder who built him, fulfilling a nine year-old request he made back when it became obvious I had no idea what I was doing, and The Felties wasn't going to happen. This was me turning a corner, I think.
Stan, a screengrab from his camera test.
But I still have Mimey, Clownie, Dully, and a secret desire to see this long-dead project spring to life.
Mission creep set in around these parts, and since I'm sure most of the people checking out the puppet stuff don't give two shakes about my opinions on religion and politics, I'm moving all that stuff to impolitetopics.wordpress.com.
The Felties will continue to me about pop-culture related stuff, personal happenings, and maybe even that puppet series that I all but gave up on a few years back. Considering the emergence of Kickstarter and other crowdfunding sources, perhaps I can whip together a budget and finally make something more than crappy video tests with the AMAZING puppets Russ built.
Also, it would be nice, at long last, to pay Russ back for the work he did. If he's still speaking to me.
This is my little contribution to the ever present problem of "HOW THE HECK DO I PUT ARMRODS IN THIS DARN THING?!" My wife and I have been using this technique in Project Puppet puppets over the past few years, including puppets we've used in our burlesque lives (hence "Snapper Rods.")
It's not a perfect solution -- a perfect solution costs more. Instead,
this is a relatively quick and easy solution that won't bust the bank. It is so quick and easy in fact, you will must likely figure it out when you read the materials list. Let's get started!
MATERIALS:
Unfinished wooden finials. At JoAnn's they call these "candle cups," they come four to a pack, and cost a couple of bucks. These accommodate a quarter-inch dowl rod.
A quarter-inch dowel rod. (Bet you didn't see that coming!)
Black hockey tape.
Paint. (Black spray paint and acrylic paint to match your puppet.)
Thread. (I recommend Silamide or some similar 2-ply waxed nylon thread. )
THE STEPS:
1. Dry fit the dowel rod into the finials. You may have to sand down the end of the dowel rod just a bit so it will fit well.
2. Paint the finials to match your puppet. You don't have to paint the entire thing, just the surface with the hole and over the ridge. I use double-sided tape to hold those little suckers in place while I paint them.
3. Take a seam ripper to the bottom of the puppet's hand, opposite the thumb. You want to open up a space just big enough to allow you to squeeze in the bottom of the finials. (I suppose you could just not sew this part when you make the arms.)
4. Pop in a finial on each hand!
5. Stitch that sucker in. Start on one side, get as close as you can to the finial, wrap the thread around the indented part, and continue the stitch on the other side. Make it tight. Try to turn the finial -- it shouldn't spin freely.
6. Cut the dowel rod down. They usually come 36" long, which is ridiculously long for a Project Puppet puppet. I usually cut one in half, making two reasonably long armrods. Your mileage may vary.
7. Spray paint your armrods black.
8. Wrap the handle end with hockey stick tape. Wrap about two and a half-three inches. I get all fancy and add a ridge by twisting a length of the tape, wrapping that around the stick, and covering it with more tape. It looks like this when I'm done:
9. Insert the armrod into the finial. Make sure you grasp the bulb end of the finial with one hand as you insert the dowel rod with your other hand. Ta-da! You're done.
FINAL NOTES:
You may note that the hand is a little floppy on the dowel rod. If you want to get super fancy, you could build a wire armature for the hand, tying the finial into it so that you have more control over the hand itself. I've experimented with this, but I haven't figured out the perfect (or "close enough") solution. If you figure something out, let me know!
Red and I went to Vegas over the weekend to teach ("Props 101" for me, "Down and Dirty" for her) and perform at Cha Cha Velour's Live Burlesque in Las Vegas show. The classes went great, and the show was awesome -- packed house, very receptive audience, and we got a wonderful compliment after the show from burlesque legend Dusty Summers. That was Saturday.
The Friday night before, we went to see Blue Man Group.
My thoughts and impressions, in no particular order:
The show has bits that date back to the very first BMG performances. Catching marshmallows thrown across the stage with the mouth, "fancy dinner party" with Twinkies, etc. This are the "radio hits," the stuff the audience is expecting to see. And they still work.
They do this new thing with steam and smoke rings. It's visually arresting, but they haven't quite found the story yet.
If you go, (and you should) you MUST be there for the preshow procession. The energy is incredible.
During the "fancy dinner party" bit, one of the Men cracked up. It was slight, and he hid it well, but I saw the unmistakable smile form on his blue face. The audience member did something unexpected, and he reacted. It was a beautiful moment to witness. That a performer can do show after show, day after day, and still be surprised by an audience volunteer tells you how awesome this show and these performers are.
There were many times I felt like a kid. The orgasmic dance party at the end was overwhelming. We were second row, dead center, so we were right in the middle of the flashing lights, streaming paper, and large bouncing balls. I felt eight years-old.
The subtext behind the bits -- the "message," if you will -- sneaks up on you. There is a point behind all the mania; a commentary on how connected yet isolated we all are.
Their explanation of synapses in the brain blew my freaking mind.
We did the dinner and a show option through the Monte Carlo, and our tickets were fantastic. There is not a bad seat in the house, so if you can't afford the pricier seats, worry not.
If doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results is insanity, what do you call doing different things each time and expecting the same results?
Not only is it hilarious -- and it is possibly the funniest intentionally funny thing I've seen on YouTube in a long time -- it serves a far deeper purpose. From the Africa for Norway website:
Why Africa for Norway?
Imagine if every person in Africa saw the “Africa for Norway” video
and this was the only information they ever got about Norway. What
would they think about Norway?
If we say Africa, what do you think about? Hunger, poverty, crime or
AIDS? No wonder, because in fundraising campaigns and media that’s
mainly what you hear about.
The pictures we usually see in fundraisers are of poor African
children. Hunger and poverty is ugly, and it calls for action. But while
these images can engage people in the short term, we are concerned that
many people simply give up because it seems like nothing is getting
better. Africa should not just be something that people either give to,
or give up on.
The truth is that there are many positive developments in African
countries, and we want these to become known. We need to change the
simplistic explanations of problems in Africa. We need to educate
ourselves on the complex issues and get more focus on how western
countries have a negative impact on Africa’s development. If we want to
address the problems the world is facing we need to do it based on
knowledge and respect.
"The real question is: if it is liberty we seek, should most of the
emphasis be placed on government reform or trying to understand what 'a
virtuous and moral people' means and how to promote it." - Ron Paul
The revolution is happening, whether you like it or not. It's happening on the internet. It's happening in crowd-sourcing and mutual aid; it's happening with Occupy Sandy and Kickstarter, with Bitcoin and the Creative Commons.
Regarding the secession petitions: Don't be ridiculous.
First of all, a serious secession movement doesn't start by politely asking the President to please consider allowing a state to secede. It's obvious to me that these petitions are just a way to give the President the finger, by "forcing" him to make an official statement about what amounts to general crankiness.
And the response petition? "We Petition the Obama Administration to: Strip the Citizenship from Everyone who Signed a Petition to Secede and Exile Them." Ha ha, I get it. "You can't break up with us, we break up with you!" Very funny, guys.
Look, if the people who signed the secession petitions are serious -- and I have no doubt some of them are -- they're just going about this all wrong. You don't solve statism with the state. You'll just wind up with more state.
You do it by heeding Ghandi's advice: "Be the change you want to see in the world." You do it by opting out, by exercising your unalienable rights, and by seeking out and setting up camp in every inch of freedom you can find.
But some people would rather thumb their noses. Hey, it's a free country.
The Revolution will not be a "revolution" per se, but rather an evolution, as more and more people develop and launch alternatives to the state. I remembered this in the shower this morning, a news item from February of this year:
One of the company’s three co-founders, Yancey Strickler, said that Kickstarter is on track to distribute over $150 million dollars to its users’ projects in 2012, or more than entire fiscal year 2012 budget for the National Endowment of the Arts (NEA), which was $146 million.
In all fairness, Stricker goes on to say, "Maybe there’s a reason for the state to strongly support the arts." Maybe there is. Personally, I believe in a separation of Art and State. As JFK once said (emphasis added):
Art establishes the basic human truths which must serve as the touchstones of our judgment. The artist, however faithful to his personal vision of reality, becomes the last champion of the individual mind and sensibility against an intrusive society and an officious state.
1) Kathleen Kennedy is firmly in charge of Lucasfilm. This is a good thing.
2) Disney may actually manage the brand better than Lucas. Disney gets nostalgia. Sure, they've been known to wring the life out of beloved classics (I believe the term "suckquel" was coined to discribe the direct-to-video sequels they produced of Disney animated classics. And what's the deal with the Tinkerbell movies?! A talking Tinkerbell?) But hey -- Guillermo del Toro is working on that new Haunted Mansion film. As much as the sequels suck, Pirates was a pretty genius move. And the Epic Mickey games shows that they are at least cognizant of how inherently cool their legacy properties are. And with a guy like John Lasseter running around doing his best impression of Walt, there is some great potential here.
3) It's not just Lucasfilm, it's also ILM. Once upon a time Disney was at the forefront of big, special effects-heavy, live action family films. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Mary Poppins, etc. Maybe having this sort of access to ILM will facilitate a return to big screen family spectacles! Maybe.
4) Seriously? Disney has bought out another company? They own Spider-man, Kermit the Frog, and now Luke Skywalker. It just seems so ... Imperial.
5) I wonder what this will mean for the culture of fan-fiction and fan films that exists around Star Wars. Disney is a copyright heavyweight itching to put the pinch on infringers. Will be interesting to watch.
6) Episode 7. I can't ... I just can't think with this right now. With the right writers and directors, it could be everything that the Prequels weren't. But ... I just don't know.
7) At the end of the day, we need more Star Wars, Mickey Mouses, Spider-Mans, and Kermit the Frogs. A big company can be ossified; independant artists have the freedom to fail and suceed on their own terms. I know people who could be the "next" Lucas, Disney, Lee, and Henson. Or rather, the "first" Pire, Meeks, Kadlecik, Yavnieli, etc. I'm happy to see Star Wars continue on under the wings of a company that actually produces watchable movies. At the same time I know that the bigger and more centralized media companies get, the more opportunities there are out here for those of us who aspire to great things, especially with the technology and distribution options available to us.
[NOTE: Here's yet another draft that's been sitting around, waiting to be published. I've held back because this is pretty grumpy, even for me. I feel I should add a disclaimer to stuff like this: This isn't the final word. My opinions and attitudes are constantly evolving. This is just where I was back in June of this year. Fortunately, only about three people ever read this blog.]
Entrainment is the Enemy of Art.
Or, to put it another, William Blake-esque, "Proverbs of Hell" way, "Entertainment! Not Entrainment!"
3. (Life Sciences & Allied Applications / Zoology) Zoology to adjust (an internal rhythm of an organism) so that it synchronizes with an external cycle, such as that of light and dark entrainmentn
Now, a hymn:
I want to be different, like everybody else I want to be like I want to be just like all the different people I have no further interest in being the same, because I have seen difference all around, and now I know that that's what I want I don't want to blend in and be indistinguishable, I want to be a part of the different crowd, and assert my individuality along with the others who are different like me
And to conclude, the sermon:
This is my "personal" blog, i.e. not the theatrte blog (whose name I'm omitting so as to avoid the Googlebots). The theatre blog has taken on a life of its own. People actually read it now, and so I'm beginning to feel that I can't be as candid as I used to. That's a sad thing for me, because it has always been a place where I can honestly say what's on my cranky, cantankerous mind. In short, the entrainment has begun. Oh, I'm not a part of the clique--and there is a theatre clique in this town. Every subculture has its cliques, its cool kids; its criminals, basket cases, jocks, brains, and princesses. But I am on the, if you will, "fringe" of the local theatre subculture. And somewhat like the little kid who noticed that the Emperor was buck-ass naked, I find myself biting my tongue at what has become an annual circle jerk-cum-theatre festival. No pun intended. People will have their fun, and people will be entertained. Of course they will, and this is good. At the same time, I can't help but roll my eyes at the complete and utter failure of yet another theatre organization to live up to its name. In this particular case, it's the "fringe" part of a particular festival whose name I'm also ommitting so as to avoid the Googlebots. Please open your Wikipedias to the entry on "Fringe theatre". Thus spaketh the crowd-source:
Fringe theatre is theatre that is not of the mainstream. The term comes from the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, which name comes from Robert Kemp, who described the unofficial companies performing at the same time as the second Edinburgh International Festival (1948) as a ‘fringe’, writing: ‘Round the fringe of official Festival drama, there seems to be more private enterprise than before’. The term has since been adopted by the Edinburgh Festival Fringe and thence by alternative theatres and alternative theatre festivals.
"Not of the mainstream." "Alternative." Granted, in this town any live theatre is the "fringe" of mainstream entertainment. But that's not the point of a fringe festival, now is it? There are some daring souls making some daring theatre, but the fringe moniker is largely innacurate, and is the sort of myopic ego-stroking that turns me off from the theataaaaah. "Look how risky we are! We have swear words and/or violence in our play!" And don't get me started on the one-person shows. Don't even get me started.
But so long as people are being entertained, what do I care?
Yes, what do I care indeed. Hence, posting this here rather than over there. The fact is, I don't fucking care. It hits me in cycles, I've observed. I joke about how my relationship to theatre is just like Chaplin's in Limelight. "I can't stand the sight of my own blood, but that doesn't stop it from pumping through my veins."
In my case, I can't stand the theatre, but that doesn't stop me from pontificating about it. Or maybe, finally, I just can't stand the theatre.
Have you ever committed to cleaning and organizing something -- the garage, your desk, your finances, whatever -- and once you start digging into the mess you discover that things are far worse than you suspected? I'm having that experience right now as I re-break Pin-Up Girls as a screenplay.
For the past week I have been engrossed in a very important question: What is the story of Pin-Up Girls? I know the plot, but what is the story? I blame John August and Craig Mazin. I discovered their podcast, "Scriptnotes" and have been soaking up past episodes like a ShamWow. Episode 39, "Littlest Plot Shop" hit me at around the same time I began outlining PUG. Thus spaketh Craig:
Well, when you go through a plot like that you get a lot of “what” questions, like — what happens? This woman seduces a man to save a guy to do a thing. So, what happens next is what bad writers are constantly asking: what happens next? And I think good writers are always asking: why should this happen next?
I know the events of PUG. I know the "whats"; what are the relationships, what happened to Scotty, what does Helen do in response, what does Ruby do, etc. And I may have actually spent some time asking and answering "why," but not nearly as much as I should have. The fact is -- and I'm obsessed with this concept right now -- PUG is a plot without a story. Or perhaps a plot with a weak story. Either way it's functionally the same.
The worst part is, story is related to theme, or as Mazin puts it, "central dramatic argument." From episode 23 of the podcast, "The Happy Funtime Smile Hour":
But the reason I made it up [the term "central dramatic argument"] was because the word “theme” can be distorted when we talk about writing screenplays and theme. Some people can use the word theme the way we should probably use the world motif like brotherhood, or justice, or bravery. Those are motifs. But they are not actually useful when you are writing a movie. What is useful when you are writing a movie is what Aristotle, going all the way back to Poetics, called “unity.” And that is, at its core, an argument, and what I call a central dramatic argument: an assertion that is the answer to a question, that you could agree or disagree with, but ultimately is at the… It is when people say, “What is this movie really about?” It’s about that.
Why is that the worst part? Because I'm an idiot. From the original PUG pitch document:
[Regarding theme] I have to defer to the great Polish theatre director Jerzy Grotowski. In his book Towards a Poor Theatre he wrote:
I do not put on a play in order to teach others what I already know. It is after the production is completed and not before that I am wiser.
It is very difficult for me to discuss the themes of a work-in-progress; I'm almost superstitious about this. I can, however, give you a sense of where I'm going. "Pin-Up Girls" deals with comunication and miscommunication, and the effect this has on relationships. Further, it deals with the new-found freedom that American women encountered during World War II, and how this altered traditional gender roles. Personal responsibiity and artistic responsibility are subjects that always interest me as a writer.
Waa-waa-waaaah ...
Two things: Jerzy Grotwoski's lifetime goal was to remain poor, and I know better than to write things like the above. Maybe not when I actually wrote it, but certainly now. It occurs to me lately that the point of storytelling is sharing what we've learned about our basic humanity. Storytelling (I believe) sprung up out of a basic need to share experiential knowledge. "How Not to get Killed by a Wooly Mammoth" was an early box office smash.
It's probably time I get over my bad self and become more willing to share my own observations and experiential knowledge of life.
In closing, John Carpenter:
Every great work has something that’s thematic about it. Not a message, because I don’t think movies do messages very well. They fall flat. Socially, I mean, some great films were made back in the ’30s and ’40s and you can see that they were placed in the time they were made, but their themes are for all time. The biggest thing is the story, but within that you need some thematic element that gets the audience going, that reaches out to them.
04 January 2012
Support PuppetVision: The Movie
"Using interviews with and performances by over sixty puppeteers from at least fifteen different countries, this film is going to share amazing work by amazing artists and have them talk about how they create it and why."
I've never met Andrew Young in person. We are longtime acquaintances via the internet and the wild and (literally) wooly online puppeteering community. I have tremendous respect for Andrew -- his PuppetVision website is a well-tended, thoughtfully edited clearinghouse for international puppetry news. His plan for a documentary of the current state of the art is a movie I want to see.
And you should want to see it, too. Puppetry is a vibrant, sophisticated theatrical artform. There is much to be learned from the artists who make it happen, and Andrew is uniquely positioned and qualified to bring their stories to the screen.
Let's help Andrew make his film happen. His fundraising deadline is coming on quick. Please visit his IndieGoGo page and kick him a few bucks: PuppetVision: The Movie.
Some thoughts on Arthur Penn's Penn & Teller Get Killed
"You know what I'd like? You know what would be great? I wish someone were trying to kill me. ...I mean, wouldn't it be great? It'd give focus to your life. All that excitement. All that James Bond secret agent stuff going on -- It'd be great. I wish someone were trying to kill me." - Penn, in a heavy-handed moment of foreshadowing (note who's doing the killing, above.)
Chicago, late 1980s, in the basement of the Nazarene parsonage, I flipped the family set over to PBS and caught the last half of Penn & Teller Go Public. It was the sort of serendipity that only happened pre-internet. I was fascinated by what I saw, and the names (and that ubiquitous ampersand) were seared into my memory. I tore out to our neighborhood Hollywood Video Store not long after, desperately seeking what I just saw on videocassette. Hollywood had a huge section devoted to "Special Interest" titles -- mostly documentaries, nature shows, and gay/lesbian fare. There were some live performance videos, and a whole lot of faded boxes with "PBS" on the front. Surely I would find Penn & Teller smiling back at me from those shelves.
I was shit out of luck. I must have searched those shelves five or six times, sinking into a further depression with each look.
We moved to Wyoming shortly thereafter. No Hollywood Video in Laramie, but we had a rather bitching high school library. I began searching out articles on Penn & Teller, printing out whatever I found in the (surprisingly) extensive microfiche archives. I still have those articles hanging around somewhere. In one, Teller gets teary eyed recalling his childhood. In another, Penn talks about how they got their start in Renaissance faires. One article talked about their current tour: Penn & Teller Go To Hell, and how it was an appropriate name for a tour that followed their motion picture debut, Penn & Teller Get Killed.
A motion picture. About Penn & Teller. Starring Penn & Teller.
After a few months in Wyoming, we moved to Little Rock, Arkansas, where we lived for a couple of months. Then it was on to Shreveport, Louisiana, where I was able to finish out my sophomore year in high school. Along the way I picked up a copy of their book, Cruel Tricks for Dear Friends and a used copy of Penn & Teller Get Killed on VHS.
(Today a few minutes with Google turns up all the above and more. Maybe I'm just becoming a curmudgeonly Gen-X'er, but knowledge about something seemed to mean more when you really had to work to get it.)
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Does that make your empty, godless lives more worth living?" - Chris Durang as a crazed pastor, quoted from memory.
I watched the hell out of that VHS tape. I still have it, and it's in really bad shape at this point. Sound is horrible, picture is ... well, about what you'd expect for a twenty year-old VHS tape that has been watched over and over past the point of memorization. Some people quote Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I can recite Penn & Teller Get Killed in my sleep. Subsequent viewings opened up all sorts of things I missed when I was younger and dumber: playwright Christopher Durang playing "Jesus Freak". Jon Cryer in the briefest of cameos. Tom Sizemore in a bit role. James Randi in a bit role.
The movie closes with thick dramatic irony: a slow helicopter shot pulling back from Penn & Teller's final resting place and the sound of a continuing parade of suicides as Robin Gibb sings "I Started a Joke." A perfect cinematic moment just about ruined by Penn's voiceover.
"Now we've actually killed ourselves and there's no taking that back. And this whole pullback, this is not us going up to heaven. We're just dead. I mean, those are suicides, frowned upon by every major Western religion." - Penn, in the unnecessary closing voiceover
Only, they were not both suicides. Teller killed Penn. And he deserved it.
If you don't know, the movie is basically an escalating duel of practical jokes between Penn & Teller, beginning with a scene in the airport:
"Here! Take my underwear! I will go to Philadelphia naked!" - Penn, blowing a gasket.
It's not long before the practical jokes begin touching on Penn's deathwish from the opening scene in the movie. Teller stages an elaborate long con (which gives the guys an opportunity to debunk psychic surgery in a major motion picture) culminating in a manic monologue of ... well, of Penn Jillettian grandeur:
After this grand and cruel practical joke, we know Penn is going to hit back, right? Teller has unleashed not just a simple gag involving putting things in and taking things out of Penn's pockets, but a vast conspiracy involving Penn's girlfriend and a number of actors who are completely in on it. Logic -- particularly storytelling logic -- demands that Penn completely outstrips his partner's practical joke.
And so he does. Arthur Penn does a pretty good job of hiding the strings here, to a teenage version of me at least. I went along with the ride. I took the storytelling at face value, and figured that a psycho had indeed set his sights on Penn. Now, much older and perhaps a little wiser, it seems obvious what is really going on.
Which makes this bit of dialogue especially troubling, after a gunman fires (and misses) at Penn:
"Let me tell you something mister. That had better be a
blank at that window, and a squib behind that mirror, because if you
hired someone to fire off a real gun between us, I don't think that's
funny. Actually a even a blank and a squib is only mildly funny. This is
not a knee-slapper. This is the end of the joke."
As it so happens, it's not a blank and a squib. Point of fact: Penn HAS hired someone to fire off a real gun between them!
The end of the joke, indeed.
At the end of the movie, when Penn reenters the "psycho's" apartment in a party hat, carrying a cake -- at that moment, Teller is perfectly justified to shoot. He's in fear for his life. And you know what? After orchestrating an over-the-top scenario that results in the psychological torture of his partner, Penn deserves it.
(How over-the top? The "psycho" details in throw-away dialogue how he booked his role as an acting gig like no other, one that required him to literally become the "psycho," keeping Penn's hair style and the one red fingernail even when off the clock. How much do you suppose that sort of job pays? Penn pulled out all the stops.)
It slowly dawns on Teller. He pulls a bag over his head and, laughing gleefully, says "No hard feelings" before blowing his brains out. A suicide, I would argue, that was essentially engineered by Penn.
The joke voiceover at the end is completely unnecessary. Penn has created the James Bond secret agent stuff that he wanted, and he gets killed by his closest friend. In a way, it's a happy ending for Penn. And Teller's suicide is the punchline to the darkest joke imaginable.
"I started a joke, which started the whole world crying. Oh, but I didn't see that the joke was on me." - the BeeGees, poignantly.
08 November 2011
25 Insights and NaNoWriMo
Boy howdy, is this blog ever dusty! When was the last time I wrote something here ... July?
Well in my defense, I've been blogging my ass off at Mad Theatrics. For all the good that does me. No, seriously, it does me good. It's been very therapeutic to take "The Things We Think and Do Not Say" and say them, in public. What had been the fodder for personal arguments between friends (and occasionally "frenemies" -- but hey, "with friends like these," right? >:-) has become blogging material. And I think I may have finally said all I need to say on the subject of producing equity waiver theatre in Los Angeles. (Only took a year to get all that out of my system.)
It's November and that means it's time for NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month! I have no time for this, which is why I decided to do it. My novel is an idea that I've been picking away at since around 1998. I've never really committed anything to paper regarding this particular idea, instead letting it percolate. After sitting on it for thirteen years, it feels good to finally air it out. And the writing is going remarkably easy so far.
A friend on Facebook, Giles Timms (who's incredible animated short Manifestations was part of the "Something Awesome Animated Film Festival" that Phillip Kelly and I produced at the old theatre company) may not be participating in NaNoWriMo, but a link he posted this morning has fortuitous timing. 25 Insights on Becoming a Better Writer is the name of the article, and it's jam-packed with awesome insights, such as:
2. Steven Pressfield: On starting before you're ready…[The] Resistance knows that the longer we noodle around "getting ready," the more time and opportunity we'll have to sabotage ourselves. Resistance loves it when we hesitate, when we over-prepare. The answer: plunge in.
16. Neil Gaiman: On feedback...When people tell you something's wrong or doesn't work for them, they are almost always right. When they tell you exactly what they think is wrong and how to fix it, they are almost always wrong.
24. Joyce Carol Oates: On persevering...I have forced myself to begin writing when I've been utterly exhausted, when I've felt my soul as thin as a playing card, when nothing has seemed worth enduring for another five minutes... and somehow the activity of writing changes everything. Or appears to do so.
Fantastic stuff!
14 July 2011
Jury Duty
[NOTE: Back in March of 2010 I had jury duty. Here are some observations from that time.]
You know what's depressing? The two long lines of people with court dates wrapping around outside. Before the day is through, I may find myself sitting in judgment on one of the people standing on line. That's heavy.
How do you get to Superior Court? What sort of crime?
* * *
Overheard a judge:
"It's like a Punch and Judy show around here. People beating on each other."
So that's the sort of crime that makes it to Superior Court. That and traffic cases.
It's a light day today. According the the Jury Room lady, they usually have 20-30 cases going. Today it's 5 cases in 3 courtrooms. Usually there are around 100 jurors, but only about 65 jurors showed up today. Odds are pretty good I'll get selected, but that's fine. The court is closed for Cesar Chavez Day tomorrow, which means I can go to work and get some stuff done. The average case runs 5 days, so I'll be fully done (hopefully) by next Thursday.
There are posters around the room with pictures of celebrities ranging from Camryn Manheim to "Weird" Al Yankovic under the words "Jury Service." These noted celebrities served, and we should feel proud to be among their number! Well, whatever, but it is kind of cool to know that "Weird" Al served. (Can you imagine being up on an assault charge and seeing his curly mane in the jury box?)
* * *
I checked in with my boss at lunchtime. The office is not burning down, contrary to her fears when I told her I wouldn't be there today.
I ran across to McDonalds for lunch. I'm fairly certain they haven't changed the grease in their fryer since the OJ Simpson trial. Fried food typically tastes ... well, fried. But it's a BAD sign when fried food all tastes the same. I mean the McNuggets taste like the french fries taste like whatever else they fry. There's an H. Salt Fish and Chips in the valley that has that problem. The hush puppies taste like fish and the fish taste like fries, etc. More accurately, everything tastes like a pastiche of everything. So I have a bit of the ol' "McBrick" going on right now. (Gah ... even the coke was flat. How does that happen with a fountain drink?)
Outside the courthouse is a plaque commemorating the start of Billy Graham's career as a street preacher on the corner of Hill and Washington. I tried to take a picture of the plaque for dad, but the writing doesn't register on my camera phone.
So I'm waiting again. It looks like the first batch of jurors they called were about half of us, so I suppose if they call for more (and don't settle the cases before trial -- a definite possibility) I will most likely get called up in the next batch.
* * *
I'll be back on Thursday morning for more jury selection. A few observations:
1. Court reporters are saints. I hope they are well compensated for the non-stop, straining to hear mumblers, catching every word WORK.
2. People are freaking cagey when answering questions in court. We've been well trained by TV and film.
JUDGE "So you work in real estate?"
JUROR "Yes."
...
JUDGE "Tell me a little about that."
...
JUROR "I work in real estate."
That's an exaggeration, and not a real conversation that I heard today, but you get the idea.
3. Jury duty is like taking out the garbage. No one wants to do it, but avoiding it isn't really an option.
I don't think I'll get away with live blogging on Thursday, so I'll share my thoughts after I get home. Assuming I'm not chosen for the jury, that is. If I'm chosen I have to swear some sort of blood oath to not talk about anything until after the verdict is answered.
[Sure enough, I was chosen for a jury. It was a case involving indecent exposure. In the end, we the jury found that it was likely to have occurred, but the evidence presented did not prove the defendant guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. So, innocent was the verdict and the guy walked.]
13 July 2011
And What Have I Learned?
[NOTE: Originally published on Facebook on 1/18/2011.]
On the eve of my thirty-sixth birthday, I am reminded of the immortal words of Marsellus Wallace:
"Night of the fight, you might feel a slight sting. That's pride fuckin' with you. Fuck pride! Pride only hurts, it never helps. You fight through that shit."
The past year has been interesting. Wonderful, fulfilling, devastating, frustrating and ultimately triumphant. Life is a learning process. Here are a few things I've learned:
1) Jump feet first into the horrible. Dirt washes off and scars add character. Living with anxiety and indecision in the face of the great unknown is not a life worth living. It's better to rip the band-aid off; to roll-up your sleeves and dive into the stinky. It's the only way to get to the root of what's ailing you. Deferring judgment only works so long -- and ultimately doesn't work at all!
2) Tried and true "got your back" friends are priceless. Taking the time to work at creating those relationships is incredibly important. Having a cohort. "Cohort" derives from Latin and means "from the same garden." The people you grow up with define you, challenge you, make you a better person. I could not be happier with the garden I'm in (and I look forward to growing old with you people.)
3) Again I am reminded of what should be the obvious: Communicate. Compare notes. Don't let someone convince you of another's guilt without verifying it for yourself. Don't jump to conclusions without extending the same benefit of a doubt you'd hope people would extend to you. Count to ten. Breathe. Communicate.
4) It is TOO DAMN EASY to hide from what you KNOW you're supposed to be doing. It's easy to find yourself in a cul de sac, driving in circles, kidding yourself that you're getting somewhere while the scenery never changes. "Cul de sac" is French. It means "bottom of the bag," and refers to a literal dead end. You (and by "you" I mean "I") have to to assess where you are, where you've been, and (perhaps most importantly) where the hell you're planning on going. You know that old Lennon quote, "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans?" Well, there's "making" plans, and there's following through on the execution of those plans.
When I first got my license, I thought it was a funny joke to occasionally "freak out" behind the wheel and scream, "WHAT AM I DOING?!?" As if I had suddenly forgotten how to drive. Every now and then, I think it's important to freak out a little and scream to yourself, "WHAT AM I DOING?!?" If you wake yourself up to discover you're doing donuts in a dead end, it's time to change direction.
5) I miss my dog. A lot. Life is precious, memories are important, and it's okay to be hurt. Being hurt means you felt something to begin with.
6) FUCK PRIDE. Like Mr. Wallace says, it only hurts, never helps. I'm not saying don't be proud of your accomplishments, I'm saying don't be obstinate. Or to quote someone who doesn't drop the f-bomb:
Arjuna is to do the best he knows
In order to pass beyond that best to better.
How can we prescribe our neighbors to be perfect
When it is so hard to know our own heart?
The pacifist must respect Arjuna
Arjuna must respect the pacifist.
Both are going toward the same goal
If they are really sincere.
There's an underlying solidarity between them
Which can be expressed:
Each one follows without compromise the path upon which he finds himself.
For we can only help others to do their duty
By doing what we ourselves believe to be right.
It is the one supremely social act.
[-- "Sojourn of Arjuna," by Future Man of Bela Fleck and the Flecktones.]
Concentrate on your work, do your best, and bend like the reed, grasshopper.
7) My greatest strength is my relationship with Pamela. She's the "got your back friend" to end all. She's a strong, determined woman who inspires me to get off my ass and do what I do. I'm a lucky guy.
So there you go. Thirty-five years in the bag! I can't wait to see what thirty-six has in store ...
12 July 2011
Frenchmen, Minstrels and Hot Tubs -- Oh my!
[Note: Originally posted on Facebook, August 9th, 2010]
The Jazz Singer is an embarrassing milestone -- embarrassing because the climax of the flick has Al Jolson in blackface, emoting through the song "Mother of Mine, I Still Have You". As for the milestone, this being the first full-length movie with sync dialogue: The shift from title cards to sync sound still holds considerable impact. I can understand why people flocked to this movie back in the day. It's overly sentimental, overtly racist, and not a little creepy at times (Jakie Rabinowitz and his mother at one point elicited a shout of "Get a room!") Yet the intertitles have a poetic simplicity, and the story of an artist who finds his place of worship before a Broadway audience certainly appealed to this heathen.
Not to make excuses for it, but there is a thematic necessity for Jakie to put on a mask when he becomes Jack Robin, jazz singer, especially the mask of another race. He is turning his back on his own race and culture, pursuing a musical form that was originated by African Americans in the South. He is literally covering up the authentic with a mockery of what he idolizes. Although handled clumsily and with too much melodrama, Jakie's return to his own culture and racial identity as cantor for Yom Kippur is the logical progression of his story. Performing in blackface should be the low point for the character, where he demeans himself and the people whose music he loves by literally coating on a horrible falsehood. Jolson's blackface performances are not presented as "buffoonery." There's an emotional accessibility in the singer, a "cry in his voice," an honesty on display that undercuts the overt racism. His redemption is found immediately after this scene, at his father's deathbed and in the synagogue, his clean-shaven face conspicuous among the bearded Rabbis. He finally actualizes himself through the marriage of his racial and cultural roots to the man he aspires to be. That's powerful storytelling.
Unfortunately, the movie doesn't end at Yom Kippur, and the filmmakers leave us with the image of Al Jolson in blackface, on bended knee, extolling his "Mammy." Ugh. Yes, at the end of the day, it's still a minstrel show; an abhorrent artifact of a thankfully bygone era. However it is such a rich and complicated time in history -- particularly for the arts and pop culture -- rife with dramatic potential, don't be surprised if a certain dramatist wades into those controversial waters in the not-so-distant future.
Hot Tub Time Machine is itself a time machine. This movie is a throwback to a simpler cinematic time, when onscreen heroes could do stupid amounts of drugs with no ill effect, break the laws of physics with wild abandon and get the girl in the end despite all odds and logic. It's incredibly stupid and lots of fun. Ample nods to Back to the Future and assorted 80s fare ("A bet's a bet, man. I want my two dollars!") simmer throughout without ever turning the movie into a cheap string of pop culture references. The cast is perfect, and John Cusack hasn't been this plugged-in since ... Fuck. When was the last time I cared about John Cusack in a film role?
Craig Robinson is one of the best things to happen to screen comedy in a long time. The man has timing like a Swiss watch and a delivery that sidles up to you like a hot prom date (I should know -- I married my hot prom date). He is beyond ready to pop, and a smart producer would line him up in his own star vehicle, like now.
So there you have it, a weekend of movies on DVD. The good, the bad and the funny.
11 July 2011
A Theory About Superman and Batman
[Note: It seems I hardly ever blog here, opting instead to post notes on Facebook. With Google+ and the possibility of linking this blog to a social network on the horizon, I thought I might dig deep into my Facebook notes and share some of my pithy, witty observations with the world at large. You're welcome.]
An off-handed joke/observation yesterday ("Do you suppose Superman ever asks Batman to carry his ID for him? Because ... you know ... no pockets.") got me to thinking.
Why does Batman tolerate Superman?
Young Bruce Wayne watched as his parents were killed by a common street thug and was raised by his eccentric, English butler in a cold, empty mansion. Kal-El was a baby when a natural disaster took out his home planet, and was raised by loving adoptive parents on an idyllic Midwestern farm. Batman dedicated his life to avenging his parents' death, traveling the globe to train with the best -- to become the best. Superman is endowed with super powers by our yellow sun. Batman has to continually condition his body to stay in tip-top shape. If Superman is ever feeling rundown or flabby, he can sprawl out in the sun for a few hours.
(Seriously -- if Superman's strength is such that he can lift a 747 over his head, where does he go to work out? There aren't enough free weights in the world.)
To preserve his secret identity, Batman has to pose as a bobble-headed, billionare playboy. 180 degrees from the man he truly is. And Superman? The overgrown boyscout poses as a naive Kansas farmboy. What a stretch.
And for all his hard work, the people of Gotham call Batman "vigilante," and occasionally press their police to bring him to justice. The people of Metropolis call Superman "champion," and erect statues in his honor.
How can Batman stand to be in the same room with Superman?
Because when Batman sees Superman, he sees a massive tool. (Pun intended.)
Think about it: Batman can't fly, so he has a bat plane. He can't stare at a set of fingerprints and divine the identity of the person to whom they belong, so he has a bat computer. He carries a variety of bat-tools wherever he goes in his utility belt. There are a lot of things Superman can do that Batman can't: He's a walking x-ray machine, for starters. He's a handy body shield. Super speed and flight makes him the best "go fer" in the world.
There is something Batman has that Superman lacks: Intellect. Consider: Batman can't deflect bullets with his bare skin. He can't afford to walk blindly into a room and take on all comers. He has to strategize, often on the fly. If Superman were locked in a sealed container with a ticking time bomb, he'd have a couple of options: 1) Use his super strength to bust out or 2) wait for the bomb to go off, brush the dust off his costume, and fly away. Batman, on the other hand, would have to use his keen mind to defuse the bomb or break himself out.
The radiation of our sun gives Superman god-like strength, but not necessarily god-like intelligence. Even if the potential for god-like intelligence is there, what would motivate him to develop it? Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive -- and he didn't have to work a day to become that way. Being able to leap tall buildings in a single bound does not automatically imply an ability to complete a crossword puzzle.
As a criminologist (perhaps the greatest living criminologist) Batman has studied psychology. He would know how to manipulate Superman to get what he wants. Superman is guileless and bald-faced. Batman is nothing but guile, hidden behind his lead-lined mask.
Well, we're not really prop comics. We're not a couple of Carrot Tops up on that stage. No sir, what we do is refined ...
(C) 2011 by Markus Alias
Maybe not so much "refined" as dignified and high-brow ...
(C) 2011 by Markus Alias
Tell you what, let's skip over definitions for the moment and get to the heart of the matter: Props. It makes sense that we would use quite a few props in our bits. I love making them! They happen to be good for a laugh or two on their own, so what the hey? Anything that contributes to the quality of entertainment is in.
I take great care in making props. That especially goes for the things I build for Red Snapper! Few things pain me as deeply as a crappy prop onstage at a burlesque show. It is easily avoidable, but you have to take the time to get it right in advance of the performance.
I've blogged about this before, but here's some more insight to my process. Not because I'm the ultimate bad-ass when it comes to prop building, but because I do know a couple of things that may help prevent prop disasters from happening.
Mr. Buddy and I do a routine to "Whale of a Tale" from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Each verse is about a different woman, and the ill-fated romance experienced with her. For the first two verses, Mr. Buddy puts on a different colored wig and ... well, he does what Mr. Buddy does. (If you haven't seen us live, take my word for it: He's pretty spectacular.)
(c) 2011 by Markus Alias
As you know, comedy happens in threes. The third verse changes things up, as we go from mermaid to beautiful captain's wife to ... Harpoon Hannah. The idea was for Mr. Buddy to emerge with a mask of some sort that would embody this (un)lovable hag. We debuted this song as part of a set dedicated to the conceit that we were stranded on a desert island, hallucinating the audience and club around us. So the mask had to embody that tropical island feel, and look as if it could have been made by the sorts of things you find in such an environ.
Harpoon Hannah would be a tiki mask. Pretty obvious, huh? I did my research, basically Google image searching "tiki mask." I sketched down some ideas, basic face shapes and what not. I paid attention to color.
It begins with a sketch. Ninety-nine-point-nine-eight times out of a hundred, it starts with a sketch.
What do we know about Harpoon Hannah? Let's look at the lyrics:
Then there was Harpoon Hannah
Had a face that made you shudder
Lips like fish-hooks, and a nose just like a rudder
Since I kissed and held her tenderly
There's no sea monster big enough
To ever frighten me!
A pretty clear-cut description! So long as I make her hideous and give her that nose and those lips, everything I need to communicate to the audience is covered. Filter all that through the visual research, and sketch:
Lips with fish-hooks poking through them, and a nose just like a rudder.
At this point I should reveal a huge secret of the prop-building game: Resourcefulness. The week I built this prop, I was broke. I literally had to build this thing with whatever I happened to have lying around Casa de Snapper. Granted, Casa de Snapper tends to have more crafty odds and ends lying around than your typical home. The point is, I knew what materials I had at my disposal, and I kept those limitations in mind as I sketched the mask. I even surveyed what paints we had and used that info to inform my color choices.
I knew I had a small grass skirt somewhere (I thought it was black). Voila -- hair. The brow and lips needed a certain sculpted look. I had three-quarter inch sheet foam with my puppet building materials. Voila -- brow and lips. I figured I could make the fish-hooks out of bits of a brass-colored clothes hanger, bending the bits into the right shape and gluing short strands of fish line to the ends.
I didn't have any bamboo for the stick, but I had a pretty thick cardboard tube that I could convincingly paint. So what to use on the mask itself?
Here comes another confession: I used cardboard. I hate cardboard, I really do. Yes, it's lightweight and sturdy, but it's difficult to disguise the distinctive lines that the corrugation produces, and it soaks up color. It so happened that for this particular piece, those drawbacks were advantageous. First, the mask was going to be slightly curved, and the corrugation would help it look carved. Second, a duller appearance after painting would help sell the wooden look -- not to mention the ugliness of Hannah!
Happy with the sketch, I set to work. Here's the final product:
A couple of noticeable differences: She has eyes and she has no teeth.
As it turned out, I had far less white paint than I thought I did! So, goodbye teeth. I also decided to give the girl some peepers, to not just let Buddy's eyes show through. With that heavy brow line, the eyes would be mostly in shadows anyhow. I covered the eyes (from the inside of the mask) with buckram, and painted the pupils with some red glitter paint I had lying around.
Here's the same mask in performance:
(c) 2011 by Markus Alias
You can see the faux-bamboo stick a little better. The entire mask was assembled with hot glue, by the way.
Something else I did with the finished piece that's not in the sketch is I went to town with a black marker to punch out certain details. You gotta figure the audience will be at least six feet away from your prop, and it needs to read to the back of the house. So many props in burlesque shows miss this one basic thing: Can the audience clearly see it and understand what the hell it's supposed to be? And they have to be able to tell at a glance.
So that's the process from idea to execution. Harpoon Hannah has held up remarkably well. She's three years old and is used as much as any of our props (if not more.) Not bad for something I cobbled together from a bunch of stuff lying around the house!
