Thursday, December 22, 2016

Oopsie!


I saw Frank Zappa in concert in Sydney in 1971. It was very strange. A good friend of mine, Norman, bought up a whole row of tickets about six rows back from the stage and gave them out to all his friends. I was given two.

The night of the concert, I stopped at Tummie's, my favorite bar and restaurant, for a drink or two before going. I was hoping to see a chick I knew to invite her to the concert. No luck, but a waitress in the bar introduced me to a pregnant girl, saying that she had been recently dumped by her boyfriend and might appreciate the attention and the diversion to break her out of her depression. What the heck! So I agreed, asked her and she accepted.

I got to know her a little during the drive to the concert and decided I quite liked her even to the point of asking her out for a later date. We arrived at the concert a little late. The only remaining seats in our row were between Norman and his sister, Diane. I sat next to Norman, my date sat next to Diane. I was really enjoying the show but every time I checked on her, she seemed tense. When intermission came, she asked me to take her home. I was seriously disappointed but did as she requested.

After a long silence, she finally told me why she wanted to leave. It turned out that Norman's sister, Diane, was the girl her ex had left her for and her ex was sitting on the other side of her.

Way to go, Daniels! Lets just divert this damsel in distress from her depression and make a good impression in the process!

Need I say I never saw her again? I never got to see Zapp again either.

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Recently, in the comments to the Rex Parker does the NY times crossword puzzle blog, someone mentioned the wooden acting in the library scene in Gone With the Wind. That produced a bevy of comments. Another person speculated that I might have some thoughts on that subject. As it happens . . .

When I used to work the Southern California Renaissance Faire™, at one point I became interested in  stage acting and got involved with a group called A Crye of Players. That got me looking closely at the way Shakespear wrote his plays. It dawned on me that the Elizabethan actors employed what I would call the "Itsey Bitsey Spider" school of acting. Something more like Ian McNiece's form of oration as the News guy in the HBO series Rome. His gestures come, perhaps, from Aristotle's The Art of Rhetoric. Ther is very little stage direction beyond entrances and exunts in Shakespear's plays.

In high school, my girlfriend and I did the "Good morrow Kate" scene from Taming of the Shrew. We were told to ham it up and have a lot of fun by the teacher. For the life of me, as a high school student, I couldn't figure out what she meant, Nothing was called for by the script. Well, maybe a little tongue waggling at the line: "What, with my tongue in your tail?" Which line had been omitted from our prepared script handed out by the school. We got a paperback copy of the play as I'd managed to lose mine so we added the line back and got the only laugh from the class (and a gasp from the teacher, Mrs. Schwimley) when we did the performance. I have seen that scene performed in many ways since, mostly as slapstick buffoonery which I just don't get. Sure, it makes the scene visually interesting but most of the grabbing, tugging and pulling just seem to run contrary to the expectations of a first meeting between a man and a woman.

From my RenFaire days I also knew that there was no TV or radio for entertainment and music, unless one made it for oneself, was difficult to come by. The main evening entertainment, say around the dinner table, was conversation, the wittier the better. In Shakespear, most of the really good action takes place off stage and is reported by actors dashing on stage. I submit, Shakespear's theater was primarily conversational. Really, really dull to a modern audience unless they are lovers of rhetoric, poetry and language generally.

I've heard actors swear that Hamlet's "Speak the speech, I pray you . . . " speech advocates something akin to Method Acting, I just don't buy it.

I'm not going to go into performance practices in the intervening years because I haven't studied them. I'm going to jump to moving pictures. Simply put, silent movies were all about pantomime. The characters couldn't talk so they had to express the dialogue through gesture and "body language". Not very convincing forms of acting though early audiences, being rather naive, ate it up. Perhaps the very best actors of that era were Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keeton with their deadpan performances.

With the advent of talkies, the overstated gestures and postures slowly melted away. Eventually, Konstantin Stanislavsky and his method turned up. The Actor's Studio, espousing Stanislavsky's teachings, soon followed. This gave actors the ability to try out new things without the pressure of commercial productions. Acting began slowly to improve but not every actor embraced the "Method".

I remember reading and article written by Richard Burton about his love for Elizabeth Taylor and how much he learned from her. During the filming of Cleopatra, Burton was being very much the stage actor. In scenes he played with Liz, he would think that she wasn't doing any acting at all and that the results weren't going to be very good. Later, watching the rushes, he felt she had blossomed. Eye movements and tiny ticks in closeups spoke volumes to him and he began tempering his acting accordingly.

Many actors had stage experience then, the early days of the talkies. Gone With the Wind was made in 1939, twelve years after the advent of the talkies and ten years before the creation of the Actor's Studio. It is no wonder that some of the acting was a bit wooden. It has taken many years for films to reach the present level of sophistication in acting. The actor's needed to learn and the directors too. The current crop of performers have an entirely different set of examples to draw from.

As Yoda might say, "There is no acting, only doing."

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Australia, The BLT And Me

For a while in the early 1970s, I used to visit friends who lived in Forster on the coast of NSW about 200 miles north of Sydney. They had a private beach. They had free-range chickens. They had a couple of acres planted as a vegetable garden. It was a lovely place to be and they were lovely people to be with. Sometimes, it seemed like I was commuting between there and Sydney on weekends.

I recall one Sunday, when I was driving back down south, being rather hungry. There was a café I knew of on the way and I stopped there. I'd had a sudden craving for a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich, something I hadn't thought of in years but there it was, bright in my imagination. Of course it wasn't on the menu there or anywhere else I'd eaten in Australia. I'm not sure anyone had even thought of it. When the waitress asked me what I'd like, I asked if they could make a BLT. She, of course, had no idea what I meant so I explained and asked if she thought they could make one. I was very specific as I described it saying that all the details were important, especially that the small bone-like thing needed to be removed from the bacon and that the bacon needed to be over-cooked to the point of crispness. She went to the kitchen to ask if it could be done and returned to tell me that I'd have my sandwich shortly.

I don't remember what sort of lettuce they used but I suspect it was romain. The sandwich was very good, the bacon done just right so that it broke as I bit into it instead of having to tear it with my teeth which would have pulled the sandwich apart. Satisfied after my little lunch experiment, I headed back down the road.

That craving was one of those odd things I get from time to time where something will stick in my mind and will stay there until it's satisfied but then will not come up again for a long long time.

Some time later, a month or two maybe, I stopped at that café again to get a hamburger with no beetroot. As I looked over the menu, I was surprised to discover they had added "the BLT" with a nice description of "mayonnaise, crispy bacon, tomato, and lettuce on toast."

Now I wasn't the only American in Australia at the time, not by a long shot. I'm sure I wasn't the only Yank to have a nostalgic craving for a BLT. I'm not silly enough to think I introduced the BLT to Oz but I know for sure that I introduced it to one café along the highway between Forster and Sydney. When I returned to to Australia in 1989, I did notice the BLT on the menus of various places I ate the featured sandwiches.

Monday, January 18, 2016