R.I.P. Jeff Beck

“I’ve never made the big time, mercifully.” – Jeff Beck, 2018

Here’s Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page, showing up in one of the uber-mod scenes in Michelangelo Antonioni’s uber-mod 1966 film Blow-Up.

Always dug his collaboration with ZZ Top. Their cover of Merle Travis’ 16 Tons (which was then immortalized by Tennessee Ernie Ford) is in my own personal pantheon of Greatest Covers Ever.

16 Tons really shows what people always talk about when they talk about Jeff Beck: His guitar talks. It’s in conversation with the audience. It makes asides. It even cracks jokes.

RIP to a legend.

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Visiting Elvis’ cars: MG 1600 Roadster

This one was new to me – I mean, I knew OF it, because he – and Joan Blackman – both drove it in Blue Hawaii. But it wasn’t on display the other times I’ve “visited” the cars. It was so fun to see this beauty. Elvis of course drove a lot of cool cars in his movies but this is the only one he took home with him. I LOVE the dashboard! And the clutch! And the little gas tank. AND I love the teeny rear view mirror, placed low down near the dashboard. They removed the rear view mirror for Blue Hawaii because it got in the way of our seeing Elvis’ and Joan’s beautiful faces.

Elvis’ Cars
1971 Stutz Blackhawk
1956 Cadillac Eldorado
1973 Stutz Blackhawk
1975 Ferrari Dino
1956 pink Cadillac
1956 Lincoln Continental Mark

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Visiting Elvis’ cars: 1956 Lincoln Continental Mark

I think this is the car Elvis flew to Houston to purchase in the summer of 1956, with June Juanico in tow. (I get the 1956 cars mixed up sometimes.) Elvis and June stayed in a hotel room together. Scandalous! It was her first time on a plane. The whole thing was a romantic whirlwind. She recalls in her wonderful book that she woke up at night and Elvis was standing by the window looking down at the street. She asked him what he was doing and he told her he was looking at the car, parked below. He was just standing there for hours, staring at his beautiful new car.

Elvis’ whole life must have seemed so unreal to him in 1956.

Do I really own that car down there?

How has all this happened in such a short time?

Elvis’ Cars
1971 Stutz Blackhawk
1956 Cadillac Eldorado
1973 Stutz Blackhawk
1975 Ferrari Dino
1956 pink Cadillac

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Visiting Elvis’ cars: 1956 pink Cadillac

The pink Cadillac Elvis bought for his mother (even though she didn’t want it and even though she couldn’t drive).

Branding wasn’t invented yesterday. The pink Cadillac was part of his “brand”. It was a famous car at the time – and he knowingly winked at his audience by changing the lyrics to “Baby Let’s Play House” (“You may have a pink Cadillac …”).

It’s like Buddy Holly engraving his leather guitar sleeve with lyrics to one of his songs. Self-referential pose, signalling: “I am here, I am me, I am different from everyone else, yes you know me and I know you know me and the grownups don’t get the joke, they don’t even get that it IS a joke, so fuck them.”

I love that this fluffy pink cupcake of a car is being tailed by the ’73 Blackhawk, one of the meanest-looking most sneeringly macho car in the joint.

Elvis’ Cars
1971 Stutz Blackhawk
1956 Cadillac Eldorado
1973 Stutz Blackhawk
1975 Ferrari Dino

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Visiting Elvis’ cars: 1975 Ferrari Dino

Elvis was 6’1”. How did he fit his legs in this thing?

Sometimes I see these cars as a version of the pathetic fallacy. They are cars as psychological projection, and subconscious mirroring, mirroring of the driver – his wants, needs, desires, self-projection, but also mirroring of the atmosphere out there in the world. When the look and the atmosphere of the cars change, it represents a change elsewhere. Outside and inside are not just connected, but the same. In the 70s, there is no more Kandy-Kolored Tangerine Flake Streamline Baby. This isn’t just a design change. It’s a societal change. The ’50s kids are grown up. Look at the steep slant on that hood. No more fins. Sleek, compact, and tough.

Elvis was – like everyone else – reflective of his time, but he also always looked ahead. He always wanted the newest thing. He loved this shit so much.

Elvis’ Cars
1971 Stutz Blackhawk
1956 Cadillac Eldorado
1973 Stutz Blackhawk

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Visiting Elvis’ cars: 1973 Stutz Blackhawk

At the old location all the doors of this beast of a car were open so you could see the bright red leather interior. But it’s enough to know it’s there. You’d see this car pull up behind you and you would get out of the way. You’re a gazelle, this car is a lion, you have to accept it’s no contest. I LOVE the back of it. Accidental self-portrait included.

I am no gearhead but the cars are my favorite thing to visit at Graceland. I love objects. It’s legitimately hard for me not to touch them. As is obvious from the photos, I peek and peer at details. I like to look at things the person in question actually touched and used. Their spirit is still there. I literally had to walk away from Alexander Hamilton’s writing desk, on display at the New York Historical Society (founded by the man himself) because I did not trust myself to not leap over the velvet ropes, sit myself down, and press my cheek into the smooth wood. And stay that way for an hour.

The 1973 Stutz Blackhawk is the car he was driving when the last photo of Elvis was taken on August 16, 1977. So it has that extra meaning as well.

I can’t get close enough.

Inadvertent self-portrait in the Blackhawk’s massive grille.

I wonder if my itchy fingers in re: objects comes from growing up with dad who was a rare book collector. He’d show us his finds, carefully leafing through the delicate pages with his long fingers, pointing out details, explaining context. Objects like this are not just objects. They have life in them, they are connections to a life lived, to history itself. Dad made such objects seem magical and precious.

Elvis’ Cars
1971 Stutz Blackhawk
1956 Cadillac Eldorado

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Visiting Elvis’ cars: 1956 Cadillac Eldorado

Another old friend. The surreal 1956 Cadillac Eldorado. This gleaming beauty always makes me think of the famous Tom Wolfe essay “Kandy-Kolored Tangerine Flake Streamline Baby.” He details how cars had moved into their Surrealist Art phase. Cars were symbols from the beginning: symbols of mobility, freedom, status, sexual liberation. In other words, abstract ideas. Even then, though, the design was practical. They weren’t personal statements. But then came the Surreal phase when cars were still symbols but the symbols were harder to decipher. They came from a very specific sub-culture. Art for art’s sake, basically. Let’s fuck around with design. Let’s exaggerate everything. Let’s shout our individuality, our freedom, let’s dominate the road, let’s pepper our cars with meaningless fins and curves. This Eldorado is in that tradition.

There are so many stories associated with this monster. My favorite: The car was white when he went to look at it. Elvis was eating purple grapes, and he smushed them on the hood. He asked the dealer, “Can you make it that color?” They could and did. It’s purple with white detailing. I love the little antenna.

How does one TURN in this thing?

Elvis bought this one just as his fame exploded. He was well-known in 1954, 55, but then 1956 happened. 1956 was a whole other level, unknown to human fame until that point. This car is all ABOUT that.

This car meant a LOT to the guy born in a sharecropper’s shack, who lived in a housing project not even a year before.

Elvis’ Cars
1971 Stutz Blackhawk

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Visiting Elvis’ cars: 1971 Stutz Blackhawk

I just came back from a trip to Memphis. It started out with me being laid low by a gigantic flu. I got a Covid test. Negative. I lay in bed all day, watching movies, and finishing Jessica Mitford’s Hons and Rebels, feeling cursed and lonely. I’m in Memphis and I can’t go outside. But I guess it was a 24-hour thing because I felt better the next day. Weird. I didn’t do much other than walk, sometimes 5 miles a day, sometimes with a destination, other times not. I haven’t been to Memphis since 2018, when I came for Indie Memphis, and gave my talk on Elvis’ movie career, and so it was good to be back. I wasn’t going to go to Graceland this time, but I did want to go visit Elvis’ cars. I love the car museum. But then I had second thoughts. The cars are right across the street from the house. I might as well just go on a tour again. So I did. First tour of the day. It was a chilly windy grey day. This is my third time visiting Graceland at Christmastime. Maybe it’ll be my new tradition. At any rate, after going through the house, I went and visited the cars. Since my last visit (2013 – !!), the visitor center has been expanded (understatement), and now it’s a whole Elvis village. I don’t really care for it. And the museum is in a different location, and at first I balked. I loved the old museum, its darkness, its glamour, its coziness. This new museum was huge, basically like a huge floor in a car showroom, which is exactly what it is. HOWEVER. After wandering through, I came around. There’s so much more space. You can actually walk around each car, seeing it from every angle, which you couldn’t do in the old smaller space. I had a blast, inspecting each of these cars. They’re amazing. So I’m going to do a little series of posts for each car.

First up, Elvis’ 1971 Stutz Blackhawk. A monster.

The 1971 Stutz Blackhawk is my favorite in the collection. I miss it as though it’s a person. I look forward to seeing it as though it’s lunch with a friend. It’s so TOUGH, so NASTY looking. The badass exhaust pipe emerging from the body of the car looks like it could come alive at any moment, like the alien coming out of the bowels of the spaceship in the last scene of Alien. It’s always good to see this BEAST.

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Elvis: People just know about him

My niece Pearl, aged 9, to me, out of the blue: “Isn’t it funny that everyone knows who Elvis is? Even I know who he is. I knew about him when I was 3. People just *know* about him. Isn’t that funny?”

Whatever that is, it’s not fame. It’s something else.

Happy birthday to the twin who lived.

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R.I.P. Sam Schacht

My acting mentor and friend Sam Schacht has died. I’m so mournful. How do you talk about someone who made such an impact? Who was so wonderful? I love you, Sam. Thank you. Thank you for all you gave me. You live on in my head: your comments, observations, your support, your attitude towards work, your dedication, your humor! Since the news came of your passing, my FB feed has filled up with people sharing memories, crying, mourning, laughing.

You were one of the best teachers I’ve ever had, certainly the last best teacher. (Eerie that my first great teacher also just died.) I am so grateful, too, that you became a good friend. You were one of my champions – you SAW me – and I really needed it at the time I studied with you. I know I’m not alone. He taught generations. The outpouring has been amazing. My last communication with him was last year. I reached out to see how he was doing in the Covid era. He said he was doing fine, holding tight. We then discussed our shared love of Kristen Stewart. Sam always had good taste. He was such a good man, and a GREAT teacher.

In 2017, irritated at critics pontificating on “the Method” and “the Studio” when they clearly didn’t know what they were talking about – I got an idea and reached out to Sam. I was listening to these smart people make generalizations or just get things wrong – and they were wrong with such certainty! – even down to the most basic shit like calling Montgomery Clift a “Studio” actor which he wasn’t at all. Facts matter. Brando wasn’t a Studio actor, either. Brando studied with STELLA. There’s a DIFFERENCE. Just ask Lee and Stella. A whole WAR was fought about it. Research exists. I grew up steeped in this stuff and spent years AT the actual Studio so I thought Okay, well, stop bitching about it, let’s interview Sam about the Method and actually put some clarity into this situation from someone who actually knows this stuff firsthand. He and I met up at his office on a rainy night and talked for a couple of hours. It was so fun! It was difficult editing it down but I am proud how it came out. And it’s even more meaningful now, because except for his various professional positions – as teacher, as Dean, as whatever – there aren’t any articles about him, or interviews. And so my 2017 interview with him is 2nd or 3rd on Google when you Google him. This is not about me: why I mention this is because his former students have obviously been Googling him and they trip over my piece, and they’ve been emailing me thanking me. This is so meaningful for me and makes me even MORE proud – and glad – that I decided to interview him, to get him on the record about the Method, which he devoted his whole life to.

So here’s my interview with Sam Schacht:

Living Truthfully Under Imaginary Circumstances: Sam Schacht on Method Acting

Some photos from Sam’s career as an actor:


In the off-Broadway revival of True West, with Gary Sinise and John Malkovich. (It was also filmed. Seek it out. Sam, to me: “They were very good to me.”


Listening to Faye Dunaway in Puzzle of a Downfall Child


Puzzle of a Downfall Child


With Walter Matthau in Elaine May’s brilliant A New Leaf

And I’ll end with Sam’s own words. He was one of the most quotable people I have ever known.

I used to keep a notebook during acting classes. I took Scene Study with Sam. I took his private class for years. And then, during school, there was the insane rambunctious PD Unit (the Playwriting/Directors Unit) – which took up the entirety of Friday afternoon. We all dreaded it. It was DREARY and STRESSFUL, simultaneously. People were all working so hard, and there was so much creative work going on at such a fast speed the mood got slap-happy, especially since Sam headed up the PD Unit. Sam was always all about the work but he was also a very very funny person. He did not stand on ceremony, he did not suffer fools and he also didn’t coddle. But the atmosphere in there was so free-wheeling and safe that he could basically say to you after you did a scene, “Okay, that stunk” and you could be like, “My God, I know, please help me” and then he would help. It wasn’t precious. He wasn’t hurtful or dismissive. Every single thing he did had the goal to make you better. You literally would not survive 5 seconds in Sam’s PD Unit if you had a huge fragile ego. He could be rough, but it was always with a purpose. So. Here’s another tribute to this man who meant so much to so many: a small portion of Sam quotes (with some supporting cast members from my equally funny classmates) from the PD Unit:

“A half-hour where you stink is no great shakes.” – Sam

Sam: “I wanted people to be ready to bring in work today—”
Barbara: “Oh, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Okay, everyone, settle down. We have 2 striving artists up there yearning to be free.” – Sam

Sam: “Not everything is Hat Full of Rain.” (SUCH a good comment. Never forgot it.)

Sam: “Working on this play is like trying to revive a 2nd rate dead horse.”

“Anything can be good. If it’s good.” – Sam

“If there’s any poetic dimension to this, it escapes me.” – Sam

“She’s not a waif physically. She’s a waif emotionally.” – Sam – on This Property is Condemned

Playwright: “Then why these scenes in this specific order?”
Sam: “I have no idea.”

“Tom, you fuck-head, listen to me!” – Sam

Actor who finished a scene where she was supposed to play a professional singer, and she had sung a song. She declared: “I am a soprano.”
Sam: “I don’t care what you call yourself. The high notes stink.”

“Do whatever you want to do. Just don’t have a rod up your ass and think you’re playing Shaw.” – Sam

“Cast well, and then shut up.” – Sam, to the directors

“All the plans that you think you’ve made may be just delusions on your part.” – Sam

“I know I’ve been manipulating you, but I think I’ve been helpful to you.” – Sam to Barbara
Barbara: “You have.”

“It looks like your soul is adrift in the wrong play.” – Sam to actor

“You talk a little bit like a French art critic.” – Sam to Rich

Two actors finish a scene. There’s a pause. Then Sam says: “This was a bore.”

“You act like you have parentheses around you at all times.” – Sam to an actor

Sam: “Renee Taylor, in reality, is larger than life.”

We read German Lullaby – we finished. There was a long long pause. Sam turned to Lesley : “Lesley, you should be very proud of yourself for what you have created.”

Sam on subtext: “It is the subterranean tide pulling us forward.”

Sam on issues with the PD unit: “The main issue is the bored actors.”

Sam to me and Jen: So how are you 2 Irish broads doing?
Me: We were just sitting here appreciating you.
Sam: Oh – really? (he got all excited – stretching his arms)
Me: Yeah. You’re not afraid of anything, are you?
Sam: No.
Me: I can tell. Have you worked really hard to get that?
Sam: Yes.

Sam to the directors: “Actors at their best are fantastic creatures. If you give them the correct stimuli – character, circumstance, objective – and then Get Out of the Way – they can work miracles.”

“Relaxation should not be a spectacle.” – Sam

Sam, at one particularly low PD Unit point: “Who do I have to fuck to get out of here is what I want to know.”

Sam: “I’m just trying to keep my spirits up.”

Sam: “You know who originated this part? It was Geraldine Page.”
Kara, interjecting: “I bet she sucked!” (Sam lost it.)

Sam: “Fences is a masterpiece of structure.”

“Speaking of surly and disrespectful, where is Kara?” – Sam

Sam: “If you do a high-class piece that lays an egg, no one will think: ‘Boy, that’s a high-class broad.’”

Sam to D.: “To whatever degree you can get it up, try to create some authentic misery.”

Sam: “Method acting the stereotype is eyeballing your partner, mumbling, breaking up your sentences in illogical ways. You can be 100% full of shit and be a Method actor.”

Sam: “I studied with Strasberg for 21 years and I never felt that gave me the license to be an asshole.”
Mike Z.: “So where’d you get your license then?”
lol again: Sam just totally lost it.

“The PD … boring or otherwise …” – Sam

“While she’s making all this money on a soap opera, she can do her creepy parts off-Broadway.” – Sam on being practical as an actor

“Don’t try to pull yourself together. Fall apart.” – Sam to K.

“I feel like a two-bit whore. Next!” – Sam on a grueling day where we had to get through 6 scenes

“I don’t think it’s self-indulgent unless it’s self-indulgent.” – Sam on crying in stage

“Are you a spy from Juilliard?” – Sam to B.

Sam: “If you’re stuck in a scene, just remember: Every scene is either Fight or Fuck. Choose. See where it gets you.”

“You were doing some oddly inappropriate emotional work …” – Sam to Tom – lol

“Here we are … in the hallowed halls of ivy …” – Sam

“I’m totally confused from an organizational point of view.” – Sam – who was the head of PD, remember.

“Totally uninhibited. No apologies. Go.” – Sam after working for some time with an actor – telling them to start the scene again

Liz: “Every woman in this room has gotten their period –”
Sam: “I don’t want that kind of talk here.”

“Do you want to speak, Richard, or are you just breathing?” – Sam

“Life is short. Keep moving.” – Sam

Sam on bad Method acting: “I’m flopping around honestly in my moments.”

Sam: “The punchline is ‘The cocksuckers are throwing paper clips’ – so you can work your way backwards from there.”

Sam: “If you really go after your objective, that takes care of the pacing.”

“Go out, say the line, and get the hell off.” – Sam

Sam: “Trust yourself. Don’t be conservative. Go out on a limb.”

Sam: “It’s always a mistake for an actor to fight his own instrument. It is like a violin saying, ‘I wish I was a piano.’”

“Get Strasberg out of your ass and think about somebody else for a second!” – Sam

Sam to an actor: “So I saw that you had such ecstatic oneness with the part that you were barely in the room with us.”

Sam: “The scene lays a royal egg. And I’m thinking: This is not what Stanislavski had in mind.”

“And if you’re a talented prick, who needs you?” – Sam

Sam: “Lee Strasberg always used to say – your trump card is always the disaster that’s befalling you in the moment.”

Sam, after watching a particularly bad series of scenes, “I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience.”
Mike Z.: “You’re lucky.”

Rest in peace, Sam. The world already doesn’t feel the same without you in it.

Posted in Actors, Personal, RIP, Theatre | Tagged | 14 Comments