Foxy Friday night reflections

Friday night at Fabs.  It's been awhile. Or as the locals would say, it's 'bin' awhile.  Pronunciation joke.  Nevermind.  My seventh month in Los Angeles has sped past, Beaten Hearts opens in less than a week and May is barely a heart beat away.  I awoke this morning to a text message from friends in Paris announcing the birth of their first child.  Congrats, Marit and Elias!  I wish I could be there but I have my own (stage) baby to deliver.

Ah, the jazz band has arrived - a Friday night fixture at Fabs - I'd forgotten about that.  Groovy.  Or grouse, as I might have said when I was fourteen.  I went on the public record with 'grouse', back when I was in the Royal Children's Hospital having spinal surgery and was interviewed by Today Tonight's predecessor, Day by Day (oh dear, that'll date me).  I was asked what I thought of the hospital and the nurses.  "Oh, they're grouse," I affirmed, smiling.  That was in the first two weeks when it all still seemed like a big adventure.  Somewhat discombobulating to consider that I have now lived longer since those back operations than I had up to that point.  Don't ask me how much longer!  No woman in L.A. over the age of 30 will admit to anything above 32.  OK, so I'm 29.  Prove me wrong if you dare!

I'm rambling, but so what.  Deal with it readers, this is my blog.  Had a fight with my Fox news-watching roomie the other night.  I usually avoid the living room when she's watching it, but I was hanging out my laundry on a clothes rack to dry so I was stuck there for a few minutes.  Tried to close my ears and keep my mouth shut.  Failed.  You know, I don't even really remember what they were talking about, but it was the same old shit.  Something about the amount of money Goldman-Sachs contributed to Obama's election campaign and how he should give it back.  Like they didn't hedge their bets and give just as much to the Republican party.  Whatever.  All in that obnoxious, bullying, self-congratulatory tone of voice; I simply have a visceral reaction to it.  They could be saying chocolate is delicious and I would be grinding my teeth at their tone.  Anyway, Gina quite fairly had a go at me for spoiling her enjoyment of a program she likes.  She's right, I should have kept my mouth shut; there's no way to argue a point when in essence I'm objecting to a tone of voice and instinctively bucking against some of the broad statements being made.  Don't worry, we made amends.

Thank goodness for Jon Stewart, an antidote indeed.  Here is his hilarious, uproarious riposte to Fox stalwart Bernie Goldberg's response to Stewart's show, in which he - Stewart - makes as much fun of himself and his audience as he does of Goldman and Fox News.
Jon Stewart - The Daily Show

Which, apart from making me laugh long and loudly, also made me wonder if there are any right-wing comics out there.  Common sense tells me there must be.  But where are they?  Certainly the likes of Hannity, O'Reilly and Goldberg seem unable to laugh at themselves or tolerate being laughed at.  Not that they are are comics (although I can hardly take them seriously).  They seem mostly to laugh smugly about how clever they are, but the smile soon twists to an uncomfortable smirk when criticised or questioned.  Horrifying to think that this show is apparently one of the most popular across the United States.  What the hell am I doing here?  I guess I'm just a raging liberal with my head in the clouds.  Which is probably why I watch Weeds.  Mary Louise Parker is so AWESOME.  So is Justin Kirk.  Such a smart, funny, subversive show.  I'm currently watching season 4 on Netflix.  Instant download rocks.

Alex and I have signed up for a series of four workshops with film director, John Swanbeck.  He is specifically teaching creative acting techniques for camera.  Very interesting and effective.  He talks about how the camera creates illusion and we as actors need to know how to collude with that; how to use our imagination to create active imagery in our heads - visualisations - which instantly make an on-camera performance more alive, more focused and more intriguing.  He doesn't discount the importance of scene analysis and other actor preparation, but shows us shortcuts and tools for enhancement.  Very useful, especially when you consider that due to the nature of TV and film making (and auditioning), you don't always have the luxury of the other actor - perhaps the star of the show - being right in front of you feeding you lines when it comes time for your close-up.  So your performance can't rely on what the other actor gives you - such as in stage work, where that live exchange is part of the electricity that is created.  So Alex and I are acquiring a few more tools for our actors' toolkit.  It's an abstract way of working, quite a mind-bender for someone like me with a predominance of theatre training and experience.  However, it also ties in with what Vinny teaches us about being active in a scene, finding a preoccupation through which to filter our intentions.  Sometimes you can't be physically active, so you have to find a way to be mentally active.  John is teaching us a few new tricks; the trick to the tricks though, is choosing very specifically.

Gushing and rushing

Whoa dudes, I totally owe you an update! 

The last couple of weeks have been a blur, what with filming, job hunting and Beaten Hearts business.  I also scored a short contract job writing letters and editing web content for a local interior designer.  Never rains but pours!  Oh, and I've signed with a commercial agent - yay! 

And Gina is moving out in May so I'm seeking a new roommate too, which is great cos I didn't already have enough to do.  Actually, Gina has been helping with that; she doesn't want to leave me in the lurch and the apartment will remain leased in her name - I'll be subletting - so she has an interest in seeing the room successfully occupied.  She's been a delightful roomie, apart from her attachment to Fox News.  For a well-travelled, liberal, crystal-loving Californian, she is pretty conservative in her politics.  Fox News (I use the term 'news' lightly) drives me BONKERS; the presenters yell and talk over each other like a bunch of bullies, they hammer away at the viewer with their opinions - big government is bad, Obama is fiscally irresponsible and inexperienced and is responsible for the recession (excuse me?? how short term are your memories??), the new Health Plan is a disaster - and they edit video footage in such a way as to support their viewpoints, often completely misrepresenting the truth.  It's obnoxious and I simply have to stay out of the room when it's on.

But onto happier topics.  As anyone who has been seeing my status updates on Facebook might be aware, Beaten Hearts is a constant delight; my director, choreographer and fellow actors are enthusiastic awesomeness personified; I'm really excited about the show - gushing much? - and can't wait to show it to everyone.  So, dear LA-based readers, get a wriggle on and reserve your tickets now!  Go on, don't drag your heels like a recalcitrant teenager, pull your finger out and use it to call our booking line (818) 902-9818.  It's a teeny tiny theatre, reservations are already rolling in and you'll kick yourself if you miss out.

Must dash, apologies for the brief - albeit action-packed - blog today but Beaten Hearts is all-consuming.  So I could keep raving about the show and give you a list of things on my To Do list, but why bore you with the drudgery of producing?  Anyway, most of you are in Australia so you're no help whatsoever. Still love youse though.

Ciao for now!

Character study

Gotta tell you about some of the characters at my gym.  It's in the heart of Studio City, so there's a lot of industry types around; tough-looking old guys who look like former boxers (or actors who play former boxers or mafia heavies), diminutive blondes of indeterminate age, buff trainers and goofballs.  They mostly keep to themselves; hey, we're all just there to work out, we're all a little sweaty and dishevelled, we're all checking out our form in the mirror to a greater or lesser extent.  And then there's the Chatty Brit.  I see her there every time, on the cardio equipment, giving her lungs a workout.  Chat chat chat.  Non-stop.  Chatting to the person next to her, chatting to someone walking past.  Sometimes she finds herself with a temporary absence of audience and she looks around, like a meer cat, eagerly seeking out eye contact with her next set of ears.  No mean feat while keeping up a cracking pace on the treadmill.

Sometimes a little old man or little old lady will wander through with a little wheelie gym bag, looking a little bit lost on their way to the change room.  I've never seen them wander back out again; whether this is because it takes them so long to change and make their way out to the cardio room, or they just get completely lost on the bowels of the building (there is a rather intimidating, underground cave-like weights training room into which I've never ventured beyond the stairs before scurrying back up into the light), I guess I'll never know.  There is a tiny, white-haired lady - let's call her Birdie, for that is what she brings to mind - who I've seen a few times, bright eyed and just as talkative as the Chatty Brit.  Birdie, however, doesn't wait to catch your eye before she starts talking to you, she just commences with whatever is on her mind.  On my way out of the change room one morning, she started telling me all about her exercise routine.  Today she spent 20 minutes on the treadmill, but yesterday she did some light weights and is feeling a bit stiff, so just the treadmill today, but not too fast, she likes to come three times a week and on the other days she goes for a walk...

The guy on the desk is another kind of character.  He's a black dude in his 40s or possibly 50s.  It's hard to tell; afterall, black don't crack and he never even cracks a smile.  It's like he can't believe he's been reduced to the indignity of sitting on a reception desk and he's annoyed at everyone who comes in because that's yet another person to witness him in this humble position.  And then there's big buff Mike, the friendly personal trainer, who is also in his 40s and who loves to rant about the young guys who want to look as fit as him without doing the work.  The regular attendees of my weekend step class are another breed.  I think I'm the only one under 40, possibly the only one under 50; they've been doing this class for 15 years or more and woe betide anyone who attempts to take their spot in the room.  They're a friendly bunch who cheerfully acknowledge their obsessive need to stand in the same place in the room week in week out. 

Lastly, there's the meaty dude with a gormless grin and a double chin who just has to say hello to everyone; he quite gregarious, let's call him Greg.  He doesn't seem to actually work out much, he just stands around the cardio equipment, trying unsuccessfully to chat up the chicks.  Most just keep their eyes on the video screens and their iPods plugged in until he waves down an ill-prepared woman, or gets lucky with the Chatty Brit.

Cougar town?

No, not the execrable Courtney Cox sitcom (sorry Courtney, it's not you - you're darling - it's the show).  I have an issue with the word, to being with, something which has been loudly debated among friends, male and female.  The weird thing about the adjectival noun 'cougar' is that young men regard it as a compliment, while some women - myself included - find it vaguely offensive.  It's aggressive, predatory.  To me it implies a sexually voracious woman who seduces men at least 20 years her junior.  Seduces?  Devours.  It also calls to mind a woman trying hard to look half her age.  Perhaps these are outdated notions of the older woman/younger man pairing, somehow considered less acceptable (and less common) than the older man/younger woman pairing which we see all the time, sometimes to positively creepy degrees.  Michael Douglas, I'm looking at you.  You too, Hugh Hefner - just because you've made an industry out of it, doesn't make it right.  Maybe I should just 'get with the program, sista'.  But wait a second, here's another bugbear; there's no equivalent term for men of a certain age on the prowl for much younger women.  Because that's still considered more 'normal' and therefore doesn't warrant a special name.  AND, it seems now that a woman needs only to be over 30 to be described as a 'cougar'.  Hot and over 30.  Good grief.  So I still don't know whether to be flattered or annoyed to be described as that particular type of feline.  Both.

Ok, rant over, let me backtrack.  It's been a VERY busy week for this little displaced actress.  Three Beaten Hearts rehearsals, including one in the theatre - yay!  We took some happy snaps: ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce The Cast!

L to R: Max, Suzanne, CC, Alex & James

Yes, I am wearing a tiara.

The show is coming together beautifully, thanks for asking, and we'll have our sexy postcards within the next few days.  Watch out, Los Angeles, Mrs Bosoms is coming!

On Wednesday I drove to Long Beach, about 35 minutes south of Los Angeles on the freeway (with light traffic) to film - finally - Don't Drink the Bong Water.  It's a comedy about a couple of stoners trying to light their bong and being visited by an assortment of crazy characters, including yours truly playing a possible call girl/Super Nanny type.  If there is such a thing.  Anyway, Delilah (for that is her name) terrorizes one stoner into the corner like the naughty boy that he is, while paralyzing the other with a spiked cup of tea and then stealing his trousers.  None of it makes much sense but it's enjoyable nonsense.  The two guys playing the stoners were very cute and one of them was outrageously flirty.  I mean, really.  Let me give you a mental image: olive skin, green eyes, luxuriantly long brown hair, tattoos on his back, roughly my height (if not shorter), 25 years old.  A cheeky urchin.  I was flattered and highly amused.  He described me as a total c-word (NOT the four-letter one, the one discussed at length in the first paragraph!) except for the bit where I turned him down.  Hence my confusion about the term.  Never in a million years would I describe myself that way.  He meant it as a compliment, so I'll take it as such, but what the??

Friday night I headed downtown to a supermarket to film a couple of scenes for Greeters, the latest project of USC film student Jerry, who cast me in his short film Lost Girls last year.  Greeters is about an old codger who works as a greeter at a Walmart-style store who decides, 20 or so years after his divorce, to get back on the dating scene.  I play one of his workmates.  It was a late night shoot because we had to wait until the store was officially closed before we could get in there.  Funny playing a supermarket supervisor, recalled my days at Safeway!

L to R: Garrett (old codger #1), Jerry (our gigantic director - no, he's not standing on a box, he's really that tall), CC and Geoff (old codger #2)

The sign in the background reads "Liquor & Health Care" - a curious combination.  Shelves of shampoo and shower gels faced off with wine, beer, spirits and a variety of awful-looking concoctions calling themselves flavoured wines.  That's right, merlot with a dash of blackberry syrup.  Or strawberry syrup.  Or chardonnay with mango.  Hideous, awful, stomach-churning.  I'd rather clean the shower with it than drink it.  Anyway, this was a really fun shoot.  We've another scene to shoot next week, which was actually scheduled this week but was cancelled when Garrett got delayed on the set of a commercial where he was employed as High Hefner's stand-in.  Yep, Old Codger #1 himself is Hef's size and height.  As you see, he's only about my height.  Garrett had a lovely time out at the Playboy mansion, although the only birds he snapped were the feathered variety.