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!
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
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!
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.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Less is more, more or less
Picking up where I left off last week, on Sunday I bundled Sophie onto a bus to the fabulous Getty art museum while I squeezed in a step class before rehearsing with Jerry again on his short film. After a day of activity, in the evening we got too comfy to go out, instead improvising a hearty salad from leftovers in the fridge, washed down with a cold beer, trading travel stories with Gina. Monday morning Sophie and I went to a diner for breakfast (french toast with bananas and walnuts - Sophie; blueberry oatmeal pancakes - moi) and then Gina took her on a tour of some of the leafy, monied parts of L.A. while I went to a Beaten Hearts rehearsal. More fun with Murphy, finishing the choreography for Love Song in Black. In the evening, Soph and I went out to the local Mexican bar, El Torito. It's right across the parking lot from good old TVI (referred to by some as the Evil Empire), where I studied during my first visit to L.A., and is therefore a kind of personal, pop-cultural landmark. Later that night I dropped Sophie at LAX from where she embarked on her next adventure.
The rest of the week was a blur of rehearsals, production meetings and workouts, punctuated by a visit to my eyebrow lady for some maintenance. Celebrity sighting for the week was Brian George, better known as Babu Bhatt from Seinfeld (he of the agile, finger waving admonishment). He's looking more like John Mahoney these days than a hapless Pakistani, and "blessed" me when I sneezed - ah, hayfever! On Sunday I completed my voiceover reel, thanks to the invaluable help of Regi; coach with flair, technician with mad musical skills, patient friend. The reel sounds professional and pretty damn good; a mix of my natural accent and American samples with a variety of commercial copy from 'slice of life' to seductive to insanely, annoyingly happy. Now the quest for a voiceover agent begins!
This afternoon - Sunday in L.A. - I attended a workshop with Alex, who had been invited by one of her acting coaches. It was an on-camera class with a film director, a free sample experience before he begins a formal series of workshops. He handed out two-person scenes, but due to the number of people in attendance and the time constraint (only two hours) not everyone got the chance to get up and work. Alex and I did, however. Now, I'm not a total novice to working on camera, but I've much less experience with it than on stage and I know I need more practice. I sure felt it today! The less you do, the better it looks - providing there is something active going on in your mind. Thoughts read. The audience might not know what the thought is, but they'll know you're thinking something, and that's intriguing. Man, my face jumps all over the place; even when I think I'm doing nothing, it's too much. At least it was today. Alex, however, did great. Unfortunately, in today's "sampler" class, we didn't have the opportunity of watching back tape of our work and seeing the adjustments made (as will be the case if we sign up for a series of classes) but we were able to watch everyone else who got up in front of the camera as it was being projected onto a sizable screen just above the actors' heads. I want to sign up for this guy's class.
The rest of the week was a blur of rehearsals, production meetings and workouts, punctuated by a visit to my eyebrow lady for some maintenance. Celebrity sighting for the week was Brian George, better known as Babu Bhatt from Seinfeld (he of the agile, finger waving admonishment). He's looking more like John Mahoney these days than a hapless Pakistani, and "blessed" me when I sneezed - ah, hayfever! On Sunday I completed my voiceover reel, thanks to the invaluable help of Regi; coach with flair, technician with mad musical skills, patient friend. The reel sounds professional and pretty damn good; a mix of my natural accent and American samples with a variety of commercial copy from 'slice of life' to seductive to insanely, annoyingly happy. Now the quest for a voiceover agent begins!
This afternoon - Sunday in L.A. - I attended a workshop with Alex, who had been invited by one of her acting coaches. It was an on-camera class with a film director, a free sample experience before he begins a formal series of workshops. He handed out two-person scenes, but due to the number of people in attendance and the time constraint (only two hours) not everyone got the chance to get up and work. Alex and I did, however. Now, I'm not a total novice to working on camera, but I've much less experience with it than on stage and I know I need more practice. I sure felt it today! The less you do, the better it looks - providing there is something active going on in your mind. Thoughts read. The audience might not know what the thought is, but they'll know you're thinking something, and that's intriguing. Man, my face jumps all over the place; even when I think I'm doing nothing, it's too much. At least it was today. Alex, however, did great. Unfortunately, in today's "sampler" class, we didn't have the opportunity of watching back tape of our work and seeing the adjustments made (as will be the case if we sign up for a series of classes) but we were able to watch everyone else who got up in front of the camera as it was being projected onto a sizable screen just above the actors' heads. I want to sign up for this guy's class.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Rehearsals, thrills and a visitor
This week kicked off with a fabulous rehearsal for Beaten Hearts. Cindy brought in a friend who is a professional actress/dancer/choreographer to choreograph 'Love Song in Black' and the transitions between each play. Murphy was great; brimful of energy and ideas, working within the limits of our dancing abilities. 'Love Song' really came alive and we had a ball. The transitions will also take the form of different dances, echoing the stories they precede and tying the whole show together. We are truly privileged to have Murphy on board, adding to the collection of talents which will make this show - like it's first incarnation in Melbourne - so special.
Something else that made this week special was going to the screening of an independent film. The film, called 'Blue' was written by Don Wallace, the husband of my roommate Gina's niece. It's part boxing movie, part crime drama with a nod to Romeo & Juliet. Produced on a micro-budget, it's an impressive piece of work; well-written and acted, tough and lean as a boxer. The screening was to attract distributors and I hope it does because it deserves to find an audience. The real thrill came from meeting Mathew St Patrick, one of the stars of Six Feet Under, who is an old friend of Don's. He was very down to earth and lovely (not to mention weak-at-the-knees gorgeous), and I had a nice chat with both he and his assistant, a young British guy. I didn't have my camera on me, so had to make do with the camera in my phone (hence the graininess of the image). Did I mention I was thrilled? I look like I'm about to jump out of my skin with delight.
This week I also had a couple of rehearsals for a new short film/pilot show written and directed by Jerry White, with whom I worked on 'Lost Girls' back in November. Lovely to be invited to take part in his latest project, plus he's far more organised than the 'Don't Drink the Bong Water' guy - a project which has been delayed due to one of the leads pulling out, at this rate it will never get off the ground. Jerry's idea for a TV show centres around an elderly man who decides after several years of celibacy to return to the dating scene. You may be relieved to know I play a workmate, not a prospective love interest.
On Friday I met with Cindy to discuss music for Beaten Hearts. We spent a couple of hours listening to various tracks and discussing Cindy's ideas for the transitions between each play. Then I had a Skype date with Tiffany, always a pleasure my dear! Later that night, cousin Sophie from Ballarat arrived in L.A., on route to South America. My first official visitor! Sophie has been travelling in India, so she and Gina had lots to talk about. We made a cosy bed for her on the sofa, where she was swiftly joined by Milo the cat. On Saturday morning I dragged her out to Theatricum Botanicum, an open-air theatre in a beautiful wooded area about 30 minutes drive from home, where I auditioned for their summer repertory season; Midsummer Night's Dream, Hamlet, The Three Musketeers and Masterclass. I did my temper tantrum Capulet monologue from R&J - "God's bread, it makes me mad!" - which was fun. Fingers crossed!
In the evening we met up with another friend of mine, Tatiana, for a bite to eat on Sunset Boulevard. We took the scenic route through the Hollywood Hills and along the famous strip, a neon-lit avenue of music venues, nightclubs, bars, restaurants and high-end fashion boutiques. Then we continued along to the quieter end of Sunset for a drink at The Cat and Fiddle, an English pub with a fabulous, leafy courtyard augmented by fairy lights and surrounded by Spanish-style buildings that add to the atmosphere. We've been enjoying delightfully warm weather over the past week, so although it was cool in the evening, it wasn't uncomfortably so and we happily sat in the courtyard with our cocktails.
Something else that made this week special was going to the screening of an independent film. The film, called 'Blue' was written by Don Wallace, the husband of my roommate Gina's niece. It's part boxing movie, part crime drama with a nod to Romeo & Juliet. Produced on a micro-budget, it's an impressive piece of work; well-written and acted, tough and lean as a boxer. The screening was to attract distributors and I hope it does because it deserves to find an audience. The real thrill came from meeting Mathew St Patrick, one of the stars of Six Feet Under, who is an old friend of Don's. He was very down to earth and lovely (not to mention weak-at-the-knees gorgeous), and I had a nice chat with both he and his assistant, a young British guy. I didn't have my camera on me, so had to make do with the camera in my phone (hence the graininess of the image). Did I mention I was thrilled? I look like I'm about to jump out of my skin with delight.
This week I also had a couple of rehearsals for a new short film/pilot show written and directed by Jerry White, with whom I worked on 'Lost Girls' back in November. Lovely to be invited to take part in his latest project, plus he's far more organised than the 'Don't Drink the Bong Water' guy - a project which has been delayed due to one of the leads pulling out, at this rate it will never get off the ground. Jerry's idea for a TV show centres around an elderly man who decides after several years of celibacy to return to the dating scene. You may be relieved to know I play a workmate, not a prospective love interest.
On Friday I met with Cindy to discuss music for Beaten Hearts. We spent a couple of hours listening to various tracks and discussing Cindy's ideas for the transitions between each play. Then I had a Skype date with Tiffany, always a pleasure my dear! Later that night, cousin Sophie from Ballarat arrived in L.A., on route to South America. My first official visitor! Sophie has been travelling in India, so she and Gina had lots to talk about. We made a cosy bed for her on the sofa, where she was swiftly joined by Milo the cat. On Saturday morning I dragged her out to Theatricum Botanicum, an open-air theatre in a beautiful wooded area about 30 minutes drive from home, where I auditioned for their summer repertory season; Midsummer Night's Dream, Hamlet, The Three Musketeers and Masterclass. I did my temper tantrum Capulet monologue from R&J - "God's bread, it makes me mad!" - which was fun. Fingers crossed!
In the evening we met up with another friend of mine, Tatiana, for a bite to eat on Sunset Boulevard. We took the scenic route through the Hollywood Hills and along the famous strip, a neon-lit avenue of music venues, nightclubs, bars, restaurants and high-end fashion boutiques. Then we continued along to the quieter end of Sunset for a drink at The Cat and Fiddle, an English pub with a fabulous, leafy courtyard augmented by fairy lights and surrounded by Spanish-style buildings that add to the atmosphere. We've been enjoying delightfully warm weather over the past week, so although it was cool in the evening, it wasn't uncomfortably so and we happily sat in the courtyard with our cocktails.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Hello sunshine
Another week flown by; I can't believe I've been here six months! Incredible. The job hunt continues, still no joy there and I confess it's making me anxious. Aside from that life is good; rehearsals for Beaten Hearts are a joy and the production side of things is keeping me busy. I'm also proofreading my roommate Gina's novel, which is very interesting and engaging; in short, a good read. I'm tidying up her punctuation and grammar along the way. I like to take the manuscript to a cafe and sit in the sunshine with a double espresso and my red pen. It's rather pleasant and a kind of advertising; after all, in this town, having a coffee can be a networking opportunity and I've had more than one person ask me what I'm doing and then we have a chat about writing and editing, and sometimes exchange cards. You never know who might lead to what or what might lead to who.
On Friday I auditioned for a commercial agent, so fingers crossed. There were lots of hopeful actors waiting in the lobby, and they whipped through us efficiently, calling three actors into the inner sanctum at a time. Then one by one we were ushered into a very small room - really tiny, it may once have been intended as a bathroom - in which I had to stand right up against the closed door to deliver my audition to camera. The audition was a piece of commercial copy provided by the agency, a unisex piece with a few nice beats/changes of thought and pace to play. I went in with my best Standard American accent and I have no idea whether or not I fooled the guy, as no chit chat was engaged in. He didn't even introduce himself, it was all business; got your headshot? ok, stand there, look at the camera, when you're ready; ok, thanks, profiles please (this means turning left then right, to display my regal profile) and goodbye.
Saturday night I went out with Gina for a bite to eat at the local Mexican restaurant, El Torito, and then on to the local cinema to see Tim Burton's take on Alice in Wonderland. It was an enjoyable bit of escapism, although not as dark and twisted as I've come to expect from Mr Burton. Helena Bonham-Carter absolutely stole the show as the Red Queen - Off with their heads! - and Johnny Depp was delightfully disturbed as the Mad Hatter. Stephen Fry and Alan Rickman's velvety tones lent the Cheshire Cat and Blue Caterpillar, respectively, a delicious authority. All in all though, the film felt like a mash-up of Lord of the Rings, Labyrinth and Charlie & the Chocolate Factory; lots of digital special effects, psychedelic dreamscapes and a Quest. We've been here before and I found myself tiring of the computer generated scenery, longing for an authentic landscape and some genuine interraction between characters, uncluttered and undistracted by prosthetics and special effects.
We're back on Daylight Saving time in L.A., after what seems like only a couple of months without it. Spring is in the air (and hayfever along with it) and summer will be here before we know it.
On Friday I auditioned for a commercial agent, so fingers crossed. There were lots of hopeful actors waiting in the lobby, and they whipped through us efficiently, calling three actors into the inner sanctum at a time. Then one by one we were ushered into a very small room - really tiny, it may once have been intended as a bathroom - in which I had to stand right up against the closed door to deliver my audition to camera. The audition was a piece of commercial copy provided by the agency, a unisex piece with a few nice beats/changes of thought and pace to play. I went in with my best Standard American accent and I have no idea whether or not I fooled the guy, as no chit chat was engaged in. He didn't even introduce himself, it was all business; got your headshot? ok, stand there, look at the camera, when you're ready; ok, thanks, profiles please (this means turning left then right, to display my regal profile) and goodbye.
Saturday night I went out with Gina for a bite to eat at the local Mexican restaurant, El Torito, and then on to the local cinema to see Tim Burton's take on Alice in Wonderland. It was an enjoyable bit of escapism, although not as dark and twisted as I've come to expect from Mr Burton. Helena Bonham-Carter absolutely stole the show as the Red Queen - Off with their heads! - and Johnny Depp was delightfully disturbed as the Mad Hatter. Stephen Fry and Alan Rickman's velvety tones lent the Cheshire Cat and Blue Caterpillar, respectively, a delicious authority. All in all though, the film felt like a mash-up of Lord of the Rings, Labyrinth and Charlie & the Chocolate Factory; lots of digital special effects, psychedelic dreamscapes and a Quest. We've been here before and I found myself tiring of the computer generated scenery, longing for an authentic landscape and some genuine interraction between characters, uncluttered and undistracted by prosthetics and special effects.
We're back on Daylight Saving time in L.A., after what seems like only a couple of months without it. Spring is in the air (and hayfever along with it) and summer will be here before we know it.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Oscar week
Well, hello March, what are you doing here so soon? What did you do with February? Or more to the point, what did I do with February? Well, the month sped by with auditions, classes, rehearsals and job hunting. You know, actory stuff. And Oscar research - at least as much of it as I was able to muster.
**Spoiler alert: the ceremony has ended in Los Angeles and I cannot help but discuss the event.**
I confess, I still have not seen Avatar and perhaps never will. Neither have I seen Precious; I think I'd like to at some stage but I fear it will be traumatic, so I want at least one friend to sit beside me with a bottle of wine so we can cry and gasp and drink away the pain together. I did see The Hurt Locker and was happy to see it win over Avatar. I was even happier to see Kathryn Bigelow win best director - the first woman EVER to do so. Having Barbra Streisand (nominated best director for Prince of Tides about a hundred years ago - oh alright, maybe 15 years ago) present the award kind of gave it away. Would they have dragged Babs out of seclusion to present the award to James Cameron (who, thankfully, has had a haircut since the Globes)? I think not. I still say District 9 was a better, tighter, edgier film than The Hurt Locker - which was pretty tight and edgy - but alas it never had a chance. I eagerly await the next film from director Neill Blomkamp, though, whatever it may be.
Darling, deserving Jeff Bridges won best actor - and our hearts, if he didn't already have them - and gave a lovely, warm speech in which he acknowledged the influence and encouragement of his parents, and the talents of the other key players in the film, Crazy Heart. Which I have seen and loved. Bridges is magnificent in it. Sandra Bullock was the hot favourite for best actress and indeed clasped the small, golden bald man by the end of the night. I really wanted Meryl to win, but you gotta love Sandra. Possibly the most interesting moment of the night was when the director of the winning best short documentary film began his humble acceptance speech, he was suddenly steamrolled by a large, determined woman who proceeded to garble her own Very Important Message. Since she was not removed from the stage, and the man holding the statuette did not verbally protest, one must assume she had some close association with the film. But it was weird and rude. The man was clearly surprised and none too thrilled by the interruption so it had presumably not been planned that she would join him onstage. With the strict time limits on speeches, he never got another word in. Shortly afterwards, Ben Stiller appeared in elaborate Avatar-style blue make-up (complete with shiny, black wig and long blue tail) to present the make-up award. The delicious irony of this was that Avatar was not nominated for make-up (I guess it was mostly CGI). Even better was Stiller's ad-lib that he promised to stand at a respectable distance from the winner so as not to diminish their moment of victory. It was clearly a swipe at the party-crashing woman. These moments enliven an awards show, which is a good argument for alcohol to be served to attendees; loosen things up a bit.
My favourite addition to the Oscars - I think it was introduced for the first time last year - is the tributes made to the best actor and actress nominees by past winners and colleagues. There is something genuine and moving about they way they speak of and to these talented people which always brings a lump to my throat and a tear to my eye. And often to the eyes of the nominees.
My Oscar research this year was aided and abetted by Netflix. I am officially addicted to this super-convenient service! Pick a film or TV show online and have it delivered to your door. Better still, some of them are available to stream and watch instantly on your computer (or TV if you've got a fancy one all tricked out with the latest gadgets and connected to the net). So I watched Up, another triumph from Pixar; and In the Loop, a whip-smart British political comedy; went back in time to watch Streisand and Redford in The Way We Were, a charming film of a kind that doesn't seem to get made anymore - what, a romantic drama in which the protagonists don't end up with each other? Actually, come to think of it, that's one of the things I liked about Up in the Air; the execrable modern rom-com The Ugly Truth, watchable only due to the charisma of its stars and occasional flashes of fast, funny and surprisingly rude dialogue amidst the quagmire of tired cliche and ritual humiliation of the female star - vibrating underpants worn "accidentally" to a business dinner? Oh, what comedy riches! And the final clinch takes place in a hot air balloon? Puh-lease! I can't believe I stuck with it to the bitterly silly end. I blame Gerard Butler for being so damn attractive; he's like Russell Crowe-lite, circa Gladiator without the Big 'Tude. I've also watched the entire first season of Californication, am making headway through the second season of Weeds, sampled BBC classic Elizabeth R, and am eagerly awaiting delivery of The United States of Tara.
During the week I caught up with a theatre acquaintance from Melbourne. Chris lived and worked in the U.S. about ten years ago, even established a successful independent theatre company, and is back in town to check out the scene again and try to extend his green card which comes up for renewal shortly. We enjoyed a beer in Burbank and spoke of all things theatrical and Hollywoody. It was great to hear an Aussie accent. Surrounded by American accents all day, I don't often hear an Aussie one but it warms the cockles of my ears when I do.
Cindy, Alex and I also checked out the Sidewalk Studio Theatre together, the venue for Beaten Hearts, and met with our lighting designer, Morgan. We're thrilled with the space. It was great to walk in there again and feel the same warmth and sense of intimacy and "rightness" that this charming little theatre has for the show.
Big celebrity spot for the week was the beautiful Minnie Driver who was in my yoga class. She's tall and quite bendy.
Oh, and I've been cast in a short film for which I auditioned a couple of weeks ago; the one which was a bit of a shamozzle, where the actors waiting to audition seemed more organised than the filmmaker. Well, I got the part and accepted it. Why? It's a two-page bit, so I won't be needed for long, and it's comic and American. I want to add more American-accent material to my reel, and it wouldn't hurt to have more comedy on it too. It's called Don't Drink the Bong Water. That's all you need to know.
Over and out, chickadees, till next time!
**Spoiler alert: the ceremony has ended in Los Angeles and I cannot help but discuss the event.**
I confess, I still have not seen Avatar and perhaps never will. Neither have I seen Precious; I think I'd like to at some stage but I fear it will be traumatic, so I want at least one friend to sit beside me with a bottle of wine so we can cry and gasp and drink away the pain together. I did see The Hurt Locker and was happy to see it win over Avatar. I was even happier to see Kathryn Bigelow win best director - the first woman EVER to do so. Having Barbra Streisand (nominated best director for Prince of Tides about a hundred years ago - oh alright, maybe 15 years ago) present the award kind of gave it away. Would they have dragged Babs out of seclusion to present the award to James Cameron (who, thankfully, has had a haircut since the Globes)? I think not. I still say District 9 was a better, tighter, edgier film than The Hurt Locker - which was pretty tight and edgy - but alas it never had a chance. I eagerly await the next film from director Neill Blomkamp, though, whatever it may be.
Darling, deserving Jeff Bridges won best actor - and our hearts, if he didn't already have them - and gave a lovely, warm speech in which he acknowledged the influence and encouragement of his parents, and the talents of the other key players in the film, Crazy Heart. Which I have seen and loved. Bridges is magnificent in it. Sandra Bullock was the hot favourite for best actress and indeed clasped the small, golden bald man by the end of the night. I really wanted Meryl to win, but you gotta love Sandra. Possibly the most interesting moment of the night was when the director of the winning best short documentary film began his humble acceptance speech, he was suddenly steamrolled by a large, determined woman who proceeded to garble her own Very Important Message. Since she was not removed from the stage, and the man holding the statuette did not verbally protest, one must assume she had some close association with the film. But it was weird and rude. The man was clearly surprised and none too thrilled by the interruption so it had presumably not been planned that she would join him onstage. With the strict time limits on speeches, he never got another word in. Shortly afterwards, Ben Stiller appeared in elaborate Avatar-style blue make-up (complete with shiny, black wig and long blue tail) to present the make-up award. The delicious irony of this was that Avatar was not nominated for make-up (I guess it was mostly CGI). Even better was Stiller's ad-lib that he promised to stand at a respectable distance from the winner so as not to diminish their moment of victory. It was clearly a swipe at the party-crashing woman. These moments enliven an awards show, which is a good argument for alcohol to be served to attendees; loosen things up a bit.
My favourite addition to the Oscars - I think it was introduced for the first time last year - is the tributes made to the best actor and actress nominees by past winners and colleagues. There is something genuine and moving about they way they speak of and to these talented people which always brings a lump to my throat and a tear to my eye. And often to the eyes of the nominees.
My Oscar research this year was aided and abetted by Netflix. I am officially addicted to this super-convenient service! Pick a film or TV show online and have it delivered to your door. Better still, some of them are available to stream and watch instantly on your computer (or TV if you've got a fancy one all tricked out with the latest gadgets and connected to the net). So I watched Up, another triumph from Pixar; and In the Loop, a whip-smart British political comedy; went back in time to watch Streisand and Redford in The Way We Were, a charming film of a kind that doesn't seem to get made anymore - what, a romantic drama in which the protagonists don't end up with each other? Actually, come to think of it, that's one of the things I liked about Up in the Air; the execrable modern rom-com The Ugly Truth, watchable only due to the charisma of its stars and occasional flashes of fast, funny and surprisingly rude dialogue amidst the quagmire of tired cliche and ritual humiliation of the female star - vibrating underpants worn "accidentally" to a business dinner? Oh, what comedy riches! And the final clinch takes place in a hot air balloon? Puh-lease! I can't believe I stuck with it to the bitterly silly end. I blame Gerard Butler for being so damn attractive; he's like Russell Crowe-lite, circa Gladiator without the Big 'Tude. I've also watched the entire first season of Californication, am making headway through the second season of Weeds, sampled BBC classic Elizabeth R, and am eagerly awaiting delivery of The United States of Tara.
During the week I caught up with a theatre acquaintance from Melbourne. Chris lived and worked in the U.S. about ten years ago, even established a successful independent theatre company, and is back in town to check out the scene again and try to extend his green card which comes up for renewal shortly. We enjoyed a beer in Burbank and spoke of all things theatrical and Hollywoody. It was great to hear an Aussie accent. Surrounded by American accents all day, I don't often hear an Aussie one but it warms the cockles of my ears when I do.
Cindy, Alex and I also checked out the Sidewalk Studio Theatre together, the venue for Beaten Hearts, and met with our lighting designer, Morgan. We're thrilled with the space. It was great to walk in there again and feel the same warmth and sense of intimacy and "rightness" that this charming little theatre has for the show.
Big celebrity spot for the week was the beautiful Minnie Driver who was in my yoga class. She's tall and quite bendy.
Oh, and I've been cast in a short film for which I auditioned a couple of weeks ago; the one which was a bit of a shamozzle, where the actors waiting to audition seemed more organised than the filmmaker. Well, I got the part and accepted it. Why? It's a two-page bit, so I won't be needed for long, and it's comic and American. I want to add more American-accent material to my reel, and it wouldn't hurt to have more comedy on it too. It's called Don't Drink the Bong Water. That's all you need to know.
Over and out, chickadees, till next time!
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