That video is not safe for work, by the way. Due to its total awesomeness.
Here is a big post I wrote for Washington’s birthday in 2010.
I love my father’s quote the best: “We were so lucky.” This hurts now to post. But I will not allow assholes and criminals and sociopaths and evil racists to take away my patriotism.
Here’s a great cut. A startling cut. A cut that tells the whole story. One image to the other: Boom.
Michael Luciano was the editor of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?. He worked with Robert Aldrich quite a bit – he edited Kiss Me Deadly (that opening sequence!), as well as The Big Knife, The Dirty Dozen.
This cut. This is what storytelling is all about.
Wait. Where am I? What is being said to me? Someone help me.
These images are pretty hilarious, sans context. Or maybe it is only the context that makes them hilarious. Or maybe it’s only Michael and me who find them hilarious. Or maybe you had to be there. Who cares.
Many moons ago, I was in a production of Killer Joe in Ithaca, New York. I’ve written about that experience before, mainly in this piece about Michael, who was also in the show. To describe what was going on with both of us at that particular moment in our lives and how we came together and why we got on so well immediately – where he was coming from, where I was coming from – would require a Venn diagram that I just don’t have time for, although I did get into some of it in that piece. Regardless, it happened. Our romance didn’t last long (because of that Venn diagram I don’t have time for), although a marriage proposal did come out of the blue 5 years later – at a time when we hadn’t seen each other in years, and weren’t even in touch on a regular basis – and I threw a wrench into the works by saying Yes – heavens! what do we do NOW? – but our friendship has lasted to this day. It seemed very important to me once upon a time to ask myself WHY so-and-so played such a huge role in my life. It doesn’t seem as important now. All that matters is it happened. Sometimes people find each other.
During our time in Ithaca, three of us in the cast (there were two more who bailed: lucky them) appeared on a local cable access show (one notch up in production values from Wayne’s World) to promote the show and be interviewed by the host (I cannot remember his name). There was a local station and Michael, Laurie and I showed up at the appointed time, having no idea what we were walking into. The interview, as I remember it, as Michael remembers it, was excruciatingly long – half an hour! – and awkward. The weirdest thing though is that I – only me? It can’t be – was provided with a video taped copy of the broadcast. Which I still have. I watched it just once back when I first received it, just enough to know that it was 1. almost too unwatchably awkward to endure; and 2. one of the funniest things I have ever seen.
This moment pretty much says it all about what the entire experience was like.
The VHS tape captures a certain moment in time, in a way that seems particularly precious because it came from before everyone had videos on their phones. I have no “footage” of myself in Ithaca, or that time in my life, of course I don’t. Just some pictures, including a photo I treasure, maybe my favorite photo of me. I don’t say that with vanity, but with gratitude that the MOOD of that time – who I WAS at that time – was captured. And it was taken by Michael.
There is that experience, there are my feelings for him and that time. Maybe I am nostalgic. I have a very hard time with the past, though. Let’s just say I am grateful for that time in my life, that blazing autumn of Ithaca and Michael and Killer Joe.
I look at pictures of us, and we dress alike, we stand alike, our body language mirrors one another, our glasses are the same, our shirts were the same (Gen X grunge kids), and etc. You see this happen with couples who have been together for 10, 20 years, but after 2 weeks? We weren’t imitating each other. We showed up for that experience and recognized a kindred spirit. That’s all.
hahahahaha. We hated playing cards. Laurie and Pat – who also coupled up during the show – forced us.
With Pat and Michael.
How on EARTH did we get that close that fast? Only youth can be that free and courageous. My favorite example of this is Michael saying to me, 4 weeks into our time in Ithaca, “I think you and I are in a rut. We need to shake things up.” A rut. After 4 weeks. We sure were though. Exhibit A.
Guys, you’re young, but you’re not SEESAW young. You’re in the first flush of passion. What the hell are you doing?
There are a couple of immortal lines from the interview that have stuck with me, and both came from Michael, who could barely restrain his feelings about what was going on. He COULD NOT DO IT.
1. The interviewer said, “The show is very violent and you –” looking at me — “take the brunt of it. How do you avoid getting hurt?” I opened my mouth to give a professional answer about running the fight choreography before every show, but Michael beat me to the punch, drawling, gesturing at me, “You should see her knees.” It was so inappropriate, because he said it like, “And believe me, pallie, I have, and they’re a MESS”, and I burst out laughing.
2. The interviewer asked the three of us, “Have you been enjoying your stay in Ithaca? What do you do during your time off?” Laurie and I were both about to give professional polite answers, telling him we had done hikes, gone out to wine country, ate at the Moosewood Cafe (all true), but Michael beat us to the punch, saying, “We sleep.” Laurie and I burst out laughing, and then hastened to add our polite responses to counteract the image Michael put out there into the world. Although he was right. Everyone spent a lot of time in bed.
So many years have passed since this ridiculous interview I forgot I had the VHS copy. In packing up to move to my new apartment, I found a pile of old tapes, looking through them. (I still have a VCR for this very reason. So many of my favorite films did not make the transition to DVD, let alone streaming. Screw technology.) The entire experience came flooding back into my mind: the interviewer’s bright green socks. Michael’s sprawling posture next to me, nearly horizontal.
Michael, why are you basically lying down while you are sitting in a chair? Also, couldn’t ONE of you have worn something colorful? You look like a Victorian-era funeral.
We speak in a collective monotone as though we were announcing a death as opposed to promoting a show. The cameraperson looked like John Lithgow in Garp, gigantic, well over 6 feet tall, carefully removing her pearl clip-on earrings – CLIP ONS like my grandmother used to wear – when her headset was on. I am not saying any of that with judgment. I am saying it with celebration: Go you in Ithaca in the 90s! The bright blue background that made us look – again – like we were in a Lynchian dream sequence or about to film an extremely boring porno. Michael’s inappropriate comments suggesting a vast world of disreputable behavior behind the scenes.
Out of curiosity, I popped in the tape to watch. Only 15 seconds later, I was laughing so hard that tears were literally streaming down my face. It HURT. It has been a long long LONG time since I have laughed that hard. I couldn’t breathe. I scared my cat. Every second was funnier than the last. And nobody SAID anything funny (well, Michael did. Repeatedly.) It was more the VIBE on display. The three of us were so GLUM, so SERIOUS. Nobody really smiled. We sat in a row, all in black, clasping our hands in our lap, like Automatons of Doom, as opposed to actors excited to broadcast the show to the local audience. Who on earth would want to come out and see the play starring these gloomy-Guses?
You guys, are you promoting a show you’re in or are you trapped in the Black Lodge? I’m not clear.
Michael and I are almost identical twins. Our body language mirrors one another. But I, of course, in watching my facial expressions can see what was really happening with me. Back then, I was in tune with Michael’s extreme discomfort, his awkwardness in self-promotion, his self-conscious awareness of how ridiculous the experience was. And I KNEW how funny the experience was, and there are moments when I am looking at Michael where I can see now that I am barely holding on. I glance at him, take him in, and then have to quickly look away.
Uh-oh. Sheila’s about to blow.
Michael and I listen to something Laurie is saying. I look at my face and I see barely controlled hysteria. I am about to LOSE. IT. Of course the second the three of us got out of the TV station, post-interview, we could not – could NOT – stop laughing. It was such a relief to let it all out.
I took some pictures off my television and sent them to Michael, because I could not bear having this experience alone. He was blown away. WHAT AM I LOOKING AT. DM-ing me, “Please send me more. What am I saying?” My favorite comment from him was: “I will always be disappointed in us that we did not take the opportunity to use this as a Punk Rock Moment. We should have behaved really badly, lit up a cigarette, get offended at questions, storm off. Why didn’t we do that? It would have been legendary to the 15 people who actually saw it.” Michael’s only concession to that brilliant idea was after the interview ended, we sat there as the “credits” “rolled,” and the interviewer kept talking to us, even though we couldn’t be heard, and Michael, slumped in his chair, hand on his face, slowly raised his middle finger at the camera.
Oooh, rebel.
There’s one moment where the interviewer asks all of us about our experiences in acting before this show. (As a real grown-up now, I can hear a lot of condescension in this well-meaning man’s questions. Here we were, professional actors, in a show. And he treated us kind of like Stephen Colbert treated Eminem in that classic cable access interview.) “So is this what you want to do with your lives?” Uhm, we already ARE doing it. But anyway, Laurie gave a brief resume. I gave a brief resume. Then it was Michael’s turn. Michael was still in college. I think he had just turned 20. At age 26, I robbed the cradle. (Although Michael was a go-getter. Only a couple of years later he wrote/directed/starred in his own movie, which you all should see. Kwik Stop, I discussed here, and championed by Roger Ebert, Charles Taylor for Slate. And I wrote about it for the Ebert.com series “My Favorite Roger Review”. So Michael, all evidence to the contrary, his posture to the contrary, was no slouch. He knew what he wanted. He already had the idea for that script while we were in Ithaca, and we would discuss it. I had no doubt he would do what he said he was going to do. And he did.)
But at the time: what the hell acting experience did he have? A couple of college shows. Michael was so uncomfortable with the question, that he mumbled some answer, all as he twisted his body practically horizontally so that he was almost totally off-screen (I was DYING watching this), and from off-screen, you can hear him say – and I swear I’m not making this up – “I’ve done some kabuki.”
WHAT? I told this to Michael and he said, “Kabuki?? What the fuck.”
Wait, what is he asking me? When can I leave?
I am being forced to answer this question about what I’ve done before this and I feel like such a fraud that I can only start laughing, inappropriately, and I cannot stop acting like a weird person.
I’ve done some kabuki. SOMEONE GET ME OUT OF HERE.
Laurie was the ring-leader, trying to corral Michael in. I couldn’t do it because I was finding his behavior so outrageously funny that I feared to get involved. Laurie spoke about the play, about Tracy Letts, about the rehearsal process, and the themes of the show. I spewed some bullshit about how I liked to explore “dark stuff.” NO SHEILA NO. STOP TALKING.
Oh shit I can’t stop talking about “dark stuff.”
I sent the photo below to Michael. He responded, “Aw, that’s beautiful. Look at you buying my bullshit.”
I posted some of these images on Facebook. So many of my friends were saying, “I have GOT to see this.” “You all look like you’re about to shoot a porn film.” “Are these outtakes from Blue Velvet?”
But my favorite thing was that every person involved in that show – every cast member as well as the director – “Liked” the post, and left comments about how special the experience was.
You see? These bonds last.
To me we always look like 1. we just rolled out of bed OR 2. just came off a killing spree. You should see my knees.
My parents on their snowy wedding day. (That’s my O’Malley grandfather, known to his grand-kids as “Pop”, sitting in the background. If you’d like to see how spiffy Pop was, take a look at this treasured photo of my O’Malley grandparents.)
A thoughtful day of love, gratitude and remembrance. I wrote about my parents’ romance (and other things) in this piece for Pixar Week, of all things.
I love my family.
I reviewed American Fable, the REALLY impressive debut from writer-director Anne Hamilton for Rogerebert.com.
I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time and finally last month it happened. I sat down with my old Actors Studio acting teacher Sam Schacht to get his perspective on “Method acting,” a term I hear bandied about – particularly in the film world – and I barely even recognize what these people (who have never studied it) are talking about. Sam studied with Lee Strasberg, is a member of the Actors Studio, taught at the Studio, and now teaches at Stella Adler. I studied with him for years. I love him. A while back, I went through the notebooks I kept during the chaotic Playwriting/Directors’ Unit, run by Sam, and found myself WEEPING with laughter at the things I jotted down. Sam has a way with words.
He is a great great teacher. And really knows his stuff.
I haven’t been around these here parts much in the last 2 weeks. I moved to a new apartment on February 1 (and the move was somewhat unexpected. It all happened – finding apartment, applying, getting approved – in a 24-hour period 2 weeks before the move-date. So, yeah. Whirlwind.)
In packing up, I discovered many possessions I forgot I owned, possessions that made me think: “OOH. Time to revisit.”
I didn’t have enough wall space in my old place to hang this poster, a poster that, to me, is the equivalent of comfort food. I have more room here. I look forward to “visiting” this poster on a daily basis.
During the couple of days I spent boxing everything up, I noticed a certain … restlessness-slash-stillness in my cat, Hope. She knew something was up. I don’t know what people are talking about when they say cats don’t have facial expressions. Look at this. I know exactly what’s going on with her right here.
I call this one Portrait of Loneliness. I also call this one: Spot Elvis’ Head in the Background.
See what I mean? Maybe it’s just because I know her every move, but I look at this and all I can see is panic and confusion. A sort of taut inner ENDURANCE of impending change.
Suitcases and cats have an intimate universal connection. Again, she perched on it like a little Cornish hen, not moving, not purring. Just watching. Thinking: “This is BAD. I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s BAD.”
I took all my stuff off the walls and stacked it in my little front hallway. It was a nice tableaux of inspiration.
Goodbyes are hard. I have had this beauty for 20 years. It is falling apart, granted, but I love it so. There’s no room for it in the new place. Plus: it’s rickety as hell. A tough farewell.
What my library looks like off of the shelves. Waist-high. It reminds me of that fact that if everyone in New York came out of the buildings at the same time, there would not be room enough on the streets for them. We saw that in action during the 2004 blackout.
My good mojo T-shirt. Gift from Dad.
I made up my bed in the new place. Hope leaped upon it. She knows that “place.” But still, her body language was taut and alert. She kept looking at me. Again, I look at her here and I know that she is freeeeeeeeaked OUT. Also, she just spent a couple of hours yowling in her crate. I had to keep her out of the way. It was a tragic day for her.
Much later that night, after doing preliminary organizing of all of my stuff, I walked into my bedroom and saw this. I was so proud of her. She’s very resilient.
During the move, which was done by 5 burly (GOR-GEOUS) Russian men, there were a couple of humorous moments. I had them pack my books. I have 1500 of them. I couldn’t face it. It was so worth the extra cash. At one point, I went into my main room and a huge guy, taping up a box, says out of nowhere to me, strong Russian accent: “What’s your favorite Elvis song?” He had been quietly packing up my Elvis shelves. I told him probably “My Baby Left Me”. He said he likes “Jailhouse Rock” best. Later, I watched an enormous Russian man carry my Elvis doll – still in the ceremonious package (gift from Charlie) out to the moving van. I love incongruity. On the other side of the move, once they left, I pulled a random box to me to get started on unpacking. I opened it and saw this … First box. A good omen in the middle of what is already a dreadful year? Nah. But still: fun.
Many of you will recall the legendary day my bookshelves were built in the old place and how all of my friends came over that night to help me put away my books because I was in the midst of having the biggest crack-up I’ve ever had in my life. (I should have been in the hospital). It was an act of pure love on their part, and I didn’t even have to ask them to show up. They organized it behind my back. Finding an apartment big enough for my library (and also that I could afford) was my biggest worry. But I did it! I had to have the bookshelves dismantled by Mike (who had built them in the first place) and then put back together on the other side. Until Mike had time to come over and re-build, here is what my life looked like in my kitchen. And there were 7 boxes in the other room too. So you see the problem. The only thing I own that matters to me – really – are my books. They come with me wherever I go.
It’s this stage of packing that is the most stressful. Packing paper, piled up, to be dealt with later. The whole “Okay, we’ll deal with that later” part of packing – which is still going on for me – is the worst part.
Unpacking a box filled with my random notebooks and writing paraphernalia, I found a tiny leather day-book dated 1929 with the words “Lest We Forget” embossed on the front. My old boyfriend and I had bought it at a flea market and used it to take down all of our jokes. I forgot I had it. I forgot its existence. The morning after the move, I sat down on the floor and read through some of it. I was amazed at how I have no memory of any of these jokes but then I came to something and started laughing so hard I could no longer speak. It’s super stupid but that was our sense of humor. He and I drove cross-country. We lived in a van for months. We had moved out of our apartment. We had no address. The trip was epic on many levels, the major one being that by the time we reached California (we took 3 months to do it) we had broken up. All I remember is the slow continental-breakup. But the day-book tells another story. We were still compiling jokes all across country. Early on, we were driving through Wisconsin and decided we wanted to pull off and buy some fruit. We had a hankering for berries and apples and peaches. We went to the first grocery store we found off the highway and it was like the store in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. The store sold very little and it sold no fruit whatsoever, fresh or otherwise. We left disgruntled. And promptly made up a song about our experience, which we sang at top volume as we careened north. I’m sure Beloit is lovely. But on that day, it had no fruit, and it is for that fact alone that we memorialized it in this song. The tune came back to me too. I sang it in the shower later. I read this, weeping with laughter.
A house is not a home without
1. Elvis paper dolls sent to me by cousin Liam and
2. a 2nd edition copy of Ulysses – that would be the 1922 Egoist Press edition – after the 1st Shakespeare & Co edition – so delicate it needs its own special box – given to me by dad at the end of his life. Bookends of my world.
Bookshelf construction morning! I was in a mild state of anxiety until I could start putting my books away.
Kitchen bookshelf! Mid-re-loading!
A scary ballerina I drew while I was on hold with the Internet company.
Another re-discovery: When I was 11, 12 years old I wrote a 250 page novel – by hand – about Andrea McArdle’s rise to fame. I was a very strange and very driven child. I did some research on her back then – as much as I could without Internet – but I just made up most of it. I always assumed I’d lost it somewhere along the way. Today while unpacking, I opened a folder inside another folder and saw a very thickly packed Manila envelope labeled: I will post some excerpts eventually once I get the courage to re-read it.
I call this one Unpacking Obsession. 1. John Wayne. 2. Anne of Green Gables.
Holy shit, look what I found.
These three framed objects tell you everything you need to know about me. 1. Elvis kissing his booty call in a stairwell in 1956, photo by Alfred Wertheimer, given to me by cousin Mike. 2. The Proclamation by the Provisional Government of Ireland in 1916 after the Easter Rising, bought by me in the bookstore at Trinity College in Dublin. 3. Me in Arthur Miller’s After the Fall at Circle in the Square Downtown.
The bookshelf now loaded up in my “sitting room.” It definitely needs some work. I lost the top shelves because the ceiling here is lower, so it’s very crowded.
The first DVDs I unpacked was this box set of noir classics. One of my favorite movies of all time – Gun Crazy. Another good omen? Nah. I don’t believe in those, especially not now. But still: it made me feel good that these were the first, and not, say, Dodge Ball, although I love that movie too.
Sunrise and my fire escape.
Winter twilight outside my kitchen window. I can live with that view.
Arrow Films/Video in the UK has been putting out Woody Allen box sets, and their latest covers the years 1986-1991.
I was so honored to be asked to write the booklet essay for one of my favorite Woody Allen films, a film that doesn’t get discussed NEARLY enough when his work is brought up, Another Woman, starring Gena Rowlands in one of her best performances (and that’s saying something.)
The film also features brilliant performances, big and small, from Ian Holm, Martha Plimpton, David Ogden Stier, Blythe Danner, John Housman, Gene Hackman (he’s never been sexier), and shattering cameos from Betty Buckley (included her performance in this long-ago list) and Sandy Dennis. It’s meditative quiet Woody, it’s Woody showing his Bergman influences. It’s filled with so many harrowing closeups of Gena – closeups that go deeper and deeper and deeper into her heart of darkness.
I love Another Woman, and I’ve never written about it, so I was so happy to be asked. Writing the essay also gave me a chance to plug – yet again – the brilliance of By the Sea (I already did so here and here). Angelina Jolie probably watched Another Woman on eternal repeat during her preparation for By the Sea.
My pal Glenn Kenny wrote the booklet essay for Shadows and Fog so I’m in good company.
I can’t say enough good things about Kedi. It’s a must-see. It won’t be playing multiplexes probably. For any of you out of reach of arthouses, keep an eye out for this one on VOD. Very special.
I was excited I was assigned this one. Oh, and Supernatural fans, “Brady” – Sam’s old BFF fro Stanford – plays the villain. A villain who is also a book editor. Because of course!
My review of Fifty Shades Darker is now up at Rogerebert.com.
