Things experienced so far in LA, part 3

— Maria and Cashel came home last night and we had dinner. We drank some of the wine I had bought (Maria said, “I never spend more than 3 dollars on wine, so this is great!”) – I ate my diet lasagna – and Maria and Cashel had roast beef sandwiches, which Cashel was VERY into. Cashel had had his dreaded hip-hop class that afternoon. I asked him how it was, and he was kind of glum, “Okay” – and yet a good sport about it. It obviously WASN’T okay, but he’s doing it anyway. Good boy. I said, “Too bad there isn’t a disco dancing class, huh?” Cashel enthused, “Now THAT would be fun!” Michael would be proud.

— I had said to Maria, “I think I’m gonna go see Papillon tonight -” and Maria said, excited, “I want to come, and I was thinking of bringing Cash.” Cash, in his typical little boy way, was shyly reticent about expressing his excitement. Maria told him the story about how when she was 5 or 6 years old – her parents had taken her to see Papillon at a drive-in – she had been in her pajamas, and so had her brother – and they lay in the backseat, in sleeping bags, and watched Papillon. And she was horrified by it, she said to Cash, “It’s kind of a grown-up movie, but it’s about a guy who’s in prison and all he wants to do is get out – and I think you can handle it. I still remember scenes from it from when I was 5 and I saw it.” When Cashel heard the plot, he admitted that he thought going to see Papillon would be kind of a cool thing to do.

— Little did we know that Papillon was part of this larger festival (which actually sounds really awesome) – which originated in France – and this was the first American festival, of the same name. So there were a lot of French people there, representatives from the film festival – and they made speeches, there were little spotlights on them – they talked about the history of the film festival, and how excited they were to bring it to America. Cashel sat between me and Maria, with his little glasses on, chomping on popcorn, and clapping politely (and kind of confusedly) when everybody else clapped. It was so cute. As though Cashel were thinking: “Oh. Here’s somebody else making a random speech with a French accent. And … people are clapping … so whatever … I’ll clap … when does the movie start?” hahahaha I love that boy!!

— It was great, though – I love these small arthouses, which are committed to showing older movies, having festivals, running a week-long festival of Kurosawa movies or whatever. I love it. It’s my kind of crowd. The audiences who show up for events like this are my kind of people.

— Before Papillon – we were shown a documentary about Devil’s Island which was called, oddly enough, Devil’s Island. The director of the documentary was there (and, uhm, just have to say: he was a fine specimen of a man. A big blurpy cute French dude.) But – sadly – I was not impressed with the documentary. Maria and I talked about it this morning and had a great time tearing it to shreds. hahahahaha We obviously didn’t say to each other DURING the documentary, “Uhm … this is kind of bad …” but this morning, we admitted our feelings to each other, and then it was OPEN SEASON. Cashel was so cute, watching us tear the thing to shreds – his contribution to the conversation was, “It WAS kind of confusing.” Exactly, Cash, it was totally confusing. It is a documentary and it missed the rudimentary elements which must be included: uhm, we’re talkin’ who, what, where, why, when, mkay? Like – it was that basic. We didn’t know which island we were on at any given point, they showed us maps where we were supposed to see the islands, but we saw no islands, the story was apparently how hard it is to get permission to even go to Devil’s Island now, so the film crew had to kill time on other islands – but none of that was clear. The movie is called Devil’s Island so … uhm … where the heck is Devil’s Island in this film? I’d like to know. There was a QA with the director after the film – and he was far more interesting in the QA than his film was … He informed us of stuff, background information about the colonies, and France’s continued ambivalence about it all – which would have been great information for us to have IN THE MOVIE. He described coming across 5 graves on Devil’s Island (they couldn’t bury most of the people there because it was rock – not dirt – so the dead prisoners would be thrown to the sharks – horrible) – and he made inquiries about who these 5 men were – and one letter came back saying it was classified informaiton, but then another letter came (typical bureaucracy – the right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing) with small biographies of each of the men buried there. French director dude described how moving it was – to see these names – to see them spring to life – just from the bare bones of the obituaries – men who were forgotten by time, by history – but here they are, their names and lives, once again. They existed. Maria and I talked about that story in our morning bitch-fest – and none of that stuff made it into the movie. But it was fascinating – and THAT, to me, was the real point of the whole thing. The forgotten history of this old penal colony – not “ooh, look at me and my film crew riding around on speed boats, going scuba diving in opaque water, and aren’t I so cool …” Maria did an imitation of him, with his French accent (and Maria speaks French fluently, so her accent was hysterically dead-on): “And we found fiiiiive graaaaaves …” making her voice go into this keening sound of mourning, which was so ridiculous, and so funny – I hadn’t realized how funny it was until she pointed it out – and Cashel and I were still laughing about it 20 minutes later. Cashel was lying on the floor, behind the couch – listening to us rip the documentary to shreds – and occasionally I’d hear him start to giggle, and say, to himself, “We found fiiiiiiiive graaaaaaaaves …” hahahaha But our main point was: the story of the 5 graves is interesting! Tell us THAT in your movie!

— And after the documentary – was the QA with the director. So now, of course, it’s getting late – it must have been about 9 pm then – so Cashel and Maria ended up going home, within the first 5 or 10 minutes of Papillon – which is a really long movie. I didn’t get home until midnight, maybe later. But the questions were interesting in the QA session – about Dreyfus – and the whole split in France on that question which exists to this day (I really liked this French dude, even though I wasn’t impressed with his movie … I liked how he spoke, and I liked his knowledge and passion – too bad it wasn’t up on the screen!) … More questions, about female penal colonies, and who owns the islands now, and what it’s like for the 2 French Legionnaires who live on one of the islands to this day, and yadda yadda. I don’t know – even though the movie wasn’t great and all – it was great to be there. It was a random weeknight in Santa Monica, in an old movie theatre which has almost a vaudeville vibe, and we’re talking about the Dreyfus affair, and I just love stuff like that. It feeds the soul and the intellect. Even though it was boring (and there were a couple of times when Cashel closed his eyes – it was a picture of the guillotine – yikes) – I think Cash-man got a lot out of it. And someday he’ll watch Papillon and I personally think he will LOVE it.

— But who WOULDN’T love that movie? For God’s sake. It is so fantastic. Maria and Cashel snuck out – and I stayed.

— Oh, and Maria said, too – “And after seeing that documentary – then Papillon starts – and from the first moment – it is perfection.” So true. Those opening sequences – of the prisoners walking through the streets – the strange clanking sound of metal from the little pots in their bags, the metal pots banging against each other, their clomping feet on the cobblestones, the sea of people – the streets lined with watching people – you can see makeup on the women, furs, little hats with veils – the prestige of the colony – but strolling through them, like a grey river, are the prisoners. They are all dressed alike – little grey wool caps, and billowing grey prison garb. Their feet clomp, they are a faceless mass. This opening sequence goes on for quite a long time, if you recall. And it’s quite a long time before the camera hones in on first Dustin Hoffman and then on Steve McQueen. Which I thought was great, and perfect for the film. They are indisputably the stars – and my God, what vehicles for both of these actors – JEEZ!! – but the director was smart enough to not start out with these two guys. It starts out with the anonymous mass of men, shuffling off to go to the dreaded prison island. They are identical. Their individuality stripped away. Some are ancient and shuffling, others look like they are teenagers – but taken as a whole, they look like one mass. Gradually, though, the camera is far off – but gradually – we see a face we recognize. He is wearing big googly-eyed glasses, and has an alert kind of animal look on his face. It is Dustin Hoffman. He looks frail, bird-like, and his eyes are completely distorted by those glasses, magnified, giving him a truly odd look. A moment later, we see Steve McQueen – polar opposite of Hoffman, in terms of physicality. Big, manly, strapping – and with a craggy face – tough, yes – but with a weird vulnerability and openness to it.

— Is there anyone as compelling onscreen as McQueen? I can think of a couple others – but not many. Mark Rydell, director of On Golden Pond said something about McQueen that I completely agree with: McQueen is not really an ACTOR. What he is is a MOVIE STAR. In the best possible sense. In the way that cannot be bought, sold, taught, or cultivated. He was born to be a movie star. I can’t imagine him in a play, I can’t imagine him putting on an English accent, or wearing tights and a sword … He’s not versatile. His face is what it is … it is only one thing: the face of Steve McQueen. But let me tell you something: if that man thinks something, however brief, the camera picks up on it. If a thought flashes across his mind, it reads LARGE to us in the audience. We are literally inside of him. Dustin Hoffman is an actor – and therefore his performances can be more opaque. They are works of art – that we, the audience, can stand back and admire (or despise, whatever). Sometimes we get to go in there with him – but that’s not the kind of actor Hoffman is. He creates characters – from the inside out, or outside in – however he does it. He is interested in transformation. McQueen is not. McQueen is interested in life, the moment to moment of life. He never rehearsed. He never liked to be on the set before filming. He liked uncertainty. He liked not knowing how the door would open, he liked not knowing where the fridge was, he liked to be unfamiliar with where the props were placed, where the windows were … nothing could be planned … He liked to be totally on edge. The fearlessness of that is all over his face. We cannot help but identify with him – even though he is a big strapping movie star – He is us. I have seen many of his movies, of course – and am always really impressed with that McQueen THING – and again, I think it is very rare. He was MADE for the camera. He was a kind of taciturn tough guy in real life (with worlds of torment and anger underneath of course) – but on screen? He pulses with life and openness. He LETS US IN. So many actors do not do that. It cannot be taught. It cannot be learned. You just have to HAVE it. He does.

— I liked some of Hoffman’s work (and I’m a fan of his, in general) – but I think he overacts his character a bit. He is SHOWING us his work. He is SHOWING us his actor process: see how different I am here? My walk, my talk, my voice … All of that stuff is great stuff, and it is necessary for that part. He needs to inhabit him, he needs to be the contrast to Papillon – these two men together – the movie is almost a love story between them. It is about Papillon’s desire to escape, of course – but it is mainly about their friendship, and their devotion to one another. I am SO MOVED in the end when you see that Hoffman is there – on the nicer island, tending to his garden. It makes me feel happy – to know that they will be together again. After Papillon’s unbelievable torment in solitary confinement – which, frankly, I can’t even think about casually without tears coming to my eyes. The complete degradation of a human being. And Steve McQueen outdoes himself. Seriously. He puts other actors to shame. Other film actors, I mean. Watch him during that solitary sequence. WATCH HIM become degraded. And Steve McQueen is fucking gorgeous, he seems indestructible – we all know this – so to watch him just … fade away, and go mad … and it’s not a self-congratulatory “look at me having a great actor moment” performance. It feels SELFless. I was in tears. Looking at his gleaming silver teeth, his red-ringed haunted eyes, the way his voice got gruff and weird from underuse, how his walk changed … It’s even more devastating because we remember McQueen’s strength. We remember his unabashed masculinity. We want him to be strong. We need him to survive. He’s one of those action heroes whom we really care about, and root for. Harrison Ford, in his best action roles, has had that. Ford is so strong and masculine – to watch him experience physical agony, or to be trapped – is even MORE upsetting, because it seems to threaten our entire foundation, our understanding of the world: If HE can go mad … then how would I fare in such a situation?

— But again, McQueen isn’t playing any of that. He is just playing it from one moment to the next. Special, man. He was a special actor … I can think of only a handful of guys who could have done that part the way he did.

— There’s the moment in the small boat with the 3 prisoners (I love the little gay kid, too – he’s marvelous – completely unselfconscious performance – I tried to get his name from IMDB but it’s taking forever to load) – when gangrene has set in to Dustin Hoffman’s wound – and they know they must do something drastic, or he will die. Watch McQueen – his silent strong ACTIONS – he is never “thinking or feeling” – he is ACTING. Reminds me of my mentor’s great statement about that: “The job is not called THINKer or FEELer. The job is called ACTor.” McQueen is gearing up for what will happen – knowing that Hoffman is going to be in a lot of pain – everything gets very focused, and very fast – he gives him a piece of metal, “Bite on that” – and then he grabs hold of Hoffman’s arms – he’s reaching around from behind, holding him in place … but it’s terrifying, and awful – and every single person in that moment – every single one of the three actors in that scene – are DOing, they are IN that moment … It’s awful, Hoffman being held in McQueen’s arms, and McQueen holding onto him, gripping him, wrestling him to be still … his face, his pained focused face … he’s scared, too, but he has other concerns in that moment … and what I really got there, was how much he loves Dega. Even though McQueen is not playing that at ALL, he is playing the holding down of Dega so that the first cut can be made. It’s absolutely fantastic.

— Also, there’s the beautiful (and powerful) moment when the leper – whose face has completely wasted away – hands him a cigar. That he has been smoking. It’s a test, he’s silently saying to McQueen: I know I am disgusting to look at, and I am a leper … but I am about to help you … will you smoke on this cigar that has also been between my lips? You owe me that. And watch McQueen’s reaction. Watch how he takes that cigar, and watch him puff. Watch the look in his eyes, too. Watch what happens deep in those baby blues. It took my breath away.

— Bravo. Bravo. I could have done without the whole semi-Tahitian paradise section – which went on way too long, in my opinion – and the whole “ooh, let me now put a butterfly tattoo on the Indian chief’s chest” – and uhm, what does it all mean? Why?? There were a couple of sections I would have cut, lots of extraneous stuff … but I’m really just talking about the acting here, the emotional and physical journey of this one man – all embodied in Steve McQueen. It’s a tremendous piece of work, it really is.

— I’m still kind of processing all of it.

— Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

— The countdown to Liza begins. T-minus ….