Desensitized by Porn

I have worked on all types of movies for many different companies. Multi-Million dollar movies released on thousands of screens and little no-budget indies that went nowhere. Usually the former are longer term jobs and the latter are things I do for a few days to pick up some extra cash when I have down time.

But thankfully I have never really had to slum it. Never worked on an infomercial. Only did one short stint in reality TV. Nor can I say that I have ever worked on soft core porn like the stuff you find on Skinemax. But I have worked on Hard Core Porn. Well, sort of...

When I worked on the TV series “Weeds” there was a scene where Kevin Nealon and Justin Kirk are watching porn together. And they needed playback. The Post Production Supervisor (who was a woman) called a porn company and they said that we could use anything from one of their films just so long as we gave them a credit at the end. They then sent over a whole slew of DVDs.

The Post Super sifted through a bunch of movies and found a scene and gave it to me and told me to cut together the playback. It had to look like it was a promo. And obviously I had to choose more “R-Rated” pieces. So I digitize the entire scene into my Avid and get to work (after warning my co-workers).

About ten minutes later the Post Super comes into my room and immediately averts her eyes and screams out, “Oh my god!” I don’t know what she is freaked out about. She scanned through all those movies and chose this scene. So she knew what I was doing and is obviously not a total prude.

I glance over at my monitor. The image is frozen on a giant close up of a woman’s genitals. I immediately close the sequence and apologize. After a moment, I realize, “I’ve been working in Porn for only ten minutes and already I am desensitized!”

Now there is also the fact that I worked on Vincet Gallo’s “The Brown Bunny.” But that is another story...

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To Be (a fan) or Not To Be (a fan)

I worked on the very last film that Carl Reiner directed. First of all let me say that Carl is the coolest cat. I can’t say enough nice things about him. Totally low key. Totally down to earth. Extremely friendly. Always mellow. And extremely sharp. He has an amazing memory and recall. Look up the word “Mensch” in a Yiddish dictionary and you’ll see Carl smiling back at you.

To give an example, Carl told us how the “Soup Nazi” episode of Seinfeld was based on an actual place in Midtown New York. I did not know that. A few months after the movie was finished, I was planning a trip to NYC to visit my parents. So I called Carl to ask the name or location of the actual “Soup Nazi.” Carl said that he thinks that it is International Soup Kitchen and that it’s around 55^th and Broadway. But wasn’t sure. So he said, “You know what? Hang on. Let me call my nephew on the other line and get the exact information for you.”

The “nephew” that Carl was referring to is George Shapiro, the executive producer of Seinfeld! So I reply, “Oh, don’t bother. I have a name and a general area. That’s enough. I can ask some friends and I’m sure I can find it.” I did eventually go there (that location has since closed down), and let me tell you first hand, it was just like the episode. There was a line around the corner. Everyone followed the rules. No one spoke. And it was some REALLY GOOD soup!

As many of you probably know, Carl’s best friend is Mel Brooks. Now I love The Dick Van Dyke Show, The Jerk, and All of Me, but if you were to X-Ray me you would see that Mel Brooks’ films are in my bones. When I first moved to California I joked that “I was raised a neurotic New York Jew on a steady diet of Pastrami, Woody Allen, Bagels, and Mel Brooks.”

One day at work the phone rang and I picked it up. “Hello this is Mel Brooks calling for Carl Reiner.” In a split second lines started zipping through my brain.

I’d say you boys have had enough beans.

It’s pronounced Fronk-en-Steen.

Hey everybody, guess who has High Anxiety!

My name is Lorenzo Saint Dubois, but my friends call me LSD.

Liquid Schwartz!
No!

And that's just the tip of the iceberg. These lines zip through my brain like a series of runaway trains. I suddenly have another memory and what comes out of my mouth is... “Hold on a second, Mr. Brooks. Let me get him for you.” What I suddenly remembered was getting admonished on my last job for not being professional enough especially on the phone.

Later that day as we were walking from lunch back to the office I tell Carl what my instinct was when I picked up the phone. Carl bellows out, “Oh, Mel loves it when people quote his movies back to him. You would have been on the phone with him for hours!” It was like straight out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon where Elmer Fudd’s head turns into a Donkey’s. There are times to be professional and there are times when it is okay to just be a fan. The trick is knowing when to trust your first instinct.

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Rejection Never Felt So Good

Spring 2007. I am at a party. Not a House Party. Not a Frat Party. Not a Cocktail Party. Nor a Dinner Party I am at a Hollywood Party. It’s a fundraiser at a swanky house in the Hollywood Hills. Out of the corner of my eye I recognize someone and do a double take.

It’s Jessica Biel. She saw my head turn and looks right at me. Dammit. She noticed me noticing her – so now I have to acknowledge it. I quickly decide to made a joke out of it.

“No. No. No. It’s not what you think.” I say, “I’m working on the Sony Lot and down the hall from me is the music editor for that new Adam Sandler movie you’re in. So whenever I go to the bathroom or get coffee, I see your face on the TV monitor in his room almost every day!”

“And here I am in person.” She replies with a big smile. I was surprised. I had to pull something outta my ass real quick and felt my idea was pretty bad as the words were coming out of my mouth. That must be the same reaction she gets all the time from fans who are used to seeing her on TV. But she doesn’t seem phased.

So we start chatting. And she is surprisingly down to earth. I ask her where she grew up and we chat for a bit about Colorado. She was extremely honest and forthright about which of her co-stars she liked and disliked. In fact, her candor slightly shocked me. There is no sense of pretention or being lost in a hermetically sealed bubble. Which is doubly shocking.

Stars tend to put up walls around them. They don’t know why someone is talking to them. I could be interested in her only because she is famous. I could be trying to use her. I could be slightly insane and think I am talking to one of the characters the she has played. Extremely beautiful women also keep people at bay. They are so used to getting hit on by every horny guy that some get weary. She is both and I only feel vibrant friendliness.

Something I didn’t realize at the time (and don’t really know if it affected how I reacted to her)... but I had never seen any of Jessica’s movies or her TV show. I only knew of her. None of the characters she had ever played were influencing my perception of her. So I was able to react to her with a clean slate.

The host of the party tries to get everyone’s attention to make an announcement and our conversation ends. A little later I am looking over items in a silent auction. One of them is to go to a movie premiere with Jessica Biel. As I am looking at it, I hear, “You should bid on that.” I turn around and it’s Jessica.

Now the reality is that I don’t want to bid on it. But I can’t say that. So I make another bad joke, “Oh, I don’t know, the paparazzi sees us out together and your boyfriend gets upset and beats the crap out of me. I don't think so.”

She smiles and says “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Now under certain circumstances this could be a signal from her. But my spider-senses are not tingling. Also, while Jessica is a very attractive woman, she doesn’t really Rodger my Hammerstein. When I met Amy Adams by comparison, her beauty was so radiant it nearly melted my eyeballs. Hey, we all have different tastes. I tend to be attracted to highly educated career women and not date women in the entertainment industry (there is more to life than music, movies, and TV). I don’t really get caught up in the cult of personality.

So once again, I make a joke out of it, “What? You’re single? That’s a crime against humanity!”

“It’s been a year now.” (She was referencing Chris Evans).

“Hasn’t your publicist been setting you up on dates with hot young Hollywood Hunks?”

“Yeah. She’s tried, but you know how things work out.”

I am rambling a bit and hyperbolizing my shock. I rapidly spit out, “I would ask you out, but I’m only below the line so I know you would never go for a guy like me. But there must be a line of successful, wealthy men who will treat you right.” Actually, I did not get all those words out.

Jessica is sharp as a razor blade and didn’t miss a beat. No sooner were the words “ask you out” out of my lips before she gently put her hands on my arm and cut me off while I was saying “Below the line.”

“It’s not that. But I did just start seeing someone and I kinda like him.”

I switch gears and down shift into a more serious mood. “Okay, that makes sense. So you’re ‘dating’ someone but he hasn’t moved up to the label of ‘boyfriend.’”

“Yeah. That’s about right.”

“Okay, that is okay. That makes sense. No crime there.” The conversation fizzles and she walks away. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was talking about Justin Timberlake.

While walking away, I replay what just happened in my mind and realize something. I just got rejected by Jessica Biel. However, I never really asked her out. But if you are going to get passed up for someone else... JT is formidable competition. We all have days where we are off our game and every guy gets shot down at some point. I got shot down by one of the most desirable females on the planet. Rejection never felt so good.

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Celebrities are Human too Part II

September 2008. My best friend from college is getting married in three days. But right now I am working my last day on an Ashton Kutcher film. I have a lot of work to do and got off to a late start. But the office is in Hollywood, so I go to Melrose and Cahuenga  for lunch at my favorite Tacqueria.

At the end of my lunch, I notice a tall brunette at the counter. As she turns to sit down, sparks of recognition go off inside my cranium. Spinning through the rolodex in my brain, I think I’ve landed on the right card. But I am not certain. This is going to nag at me for the rest of the day. And I have a lot of work to do. Damn!

She is by herself and appears to be texting someone. I go up to her, “Excuse me. I hate to interrupt, but are you the singer in the band The Donnas?” For those of you who don’t know The Donnas were one hit wonders back in 2003. Their song “Take it Off” got a lot of radio and MTV airplay. I bought the album and liked it. I also bought their next album and went to see one of their concerts (but I must admit, the fact that it was a free show bolstered my choice).

The woman replies, “Yes. I am”

“Oh my god! I am a psycho big fan of yours. Do you know how much of your music I have on my iPod?” I punctuate that sentence by pulling the plastic and glass rectangle from my pocket. She thanks me and I am satisfied. She is who I thought she was. But I continue, “I even have your newest album, Bitchin’.” She is clearly impressed. They left Atlantic Records and released that album independently. I neglect to mention that I only listened to it once since downloading it.

A wave of embarrassment flickers through my being. I appear to be a gawking fan. Being star struck or obsessed with fandom has never been a part of my makeup. I feel the need temper it by saying, “You guys are from the bay area, right? That’s how I heard about you because I went to Berkeley.”

“Oh my god. I went to Berkeley too. For about a minute.” She asks my name and I actually have to ask the same of her. I am still standing next to Brett, and she says, “Would you like to sit down?” gesturing to the opposite seat. It’s my last day on the job. I have a ton of work. I got off to a late start. Tomorrow I get on a plane for New York and still haven’t packed. I just spent a half an hour eating my lunch. I really should get back to the office. But....

How often does a complete stranger invite you to sit down with them?

How often does a beautiful woman invite you to sit down with her?

How often does someone famous invite you to sit down with them?

How often do you get a chance to talk to an artist you are actually a fan of?

Well this is a no-brainer. I’ll stay in the office until midnight if I have to. I take the seat. Early in the conversation Brett realizes that I am not really a fair weather fan of her band and says, “Oh you must come to Desert Moon!” I ask her what it is. She explains that it is a meet and greet and concert for their fan club out in the desert halfway between Joshua Tree and Palm Springs. They perform two sets and the songs are voted on by the fan club. It was the weekend after next.

I retort, “Hey, I’m a fan. But I’m a male and I’m in my thirties. I’m not a member of your fan club!” I don’t think I have ever been a member of any fan club for anything. Brett explains that the tickets are now open to everyone and that fan club members just get a package with stickers and junk. I explain, “Well tomorrow I’m getting on a plane for New York to go to my best friend’s wedding. So that is what is immediately on my mind. I’ll be back in about a week. So I’ll try to be there. But I can’t make any promises right now.”

Long story short, we had an amazing conversation. It ranges from growing up, to Obama and people who don’t travel, to therapy, to the music and film industries, to movies and music themselves. It is unequivocally the best conversation I have had in two years. Since my last girlfriend dumped me. Very early on I knew I was gonna ask her for her contact info and wanted to stay in touch.

But here is the funny part. Even though Brett was totally engaging and is extremely beautiful – I was not hitting on her. Because the entire time I thought she still lived in the bay area. I sat down out of curiosity. And while it was not in my conscious mind, I think that I unconsciously recalled my lost opportunity with Jerry Garcia. (See Part I). It wasn’t until the very end of the conversation that I learned that she and her entire band had moved to Los Angeles. But by this point the dice had been cast.

We were still talking long after she had finished her meal when my cell phone rings with a call about work. I end the conversation by saying, “Look. I’ve really enjoyed talking to you. You’re an amazing conversationalist. I’d love to stay in touch. Could I get your email address or something?” There is a pause and I realize that I am screwed. So I get really duplicitous. “Or let me give you mine. After all, I could be some psycho stalker.” Usually that guilts someone into giving their information. But she is unfazed.

I give her my email and say I hope to hear from her that I will try to make it to the concert. After getting back from the wedding, I found a friend to drive out to the desert with me. Brett did remember me and was friendly. She claimed that she told her mother about me. I didn’t get a whole lot of face time with Brett at the concert. It was like when you go to your friend’s wedding. You shake his hand, congratulate him, and move on because he has a million things to do. However, I did meet her mother (who was rather aloof), her father (who was extremely aloof), and her brother and his girlfriend – who was actually very friendly. But no further connection was made.

Hindsight is 20/20. And going over it in my mind, there were a few hints she dropped in that lunch. When Brett first invited me to sit she said, “Is this how people meet?” Also later she was telling me a story and said, “I went there with my boyfriend... at the time.” But I am not interested in a woman who lives 400 miles away, so I am not clueing into the signs. I am just being friendly. By the time it came out that Brett lives in Los Angeles, I had already been written off as just a fan. It’s not like she met me on a film set or at a Hollywood party where I am automatically vetted as a peer. The cliché is correct. You don’t get a second chance to make a first impression.

Most people develop crushes on Rock Stars in their ‘tweens. Mine came twenty years late. Talk about a late bloomer!

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Celebrities are Human too Part I

Jerry Garcia died on 9 August 1995. I had seen him live in concert three times. Twice with the Grateful Dead (one of those times with Bob Dylan) and once with The Jerry Garcia Band.

But in the fall of 1993 I actually met Jerry. Sort of.

I was working at Saul Zaentz's Fantasy Studios building in Berkeley (I had just graduated from Cal). Walking out of the building I saw Jerry in the parking lot who was entering. I had met famous people prior to this. But in my experience so far, while they like compliments, they also want to get on with their lives.

As he passes, I say, “Hey! I dig your music. I’ve seen you live a few times.” He says thanks and asks something. I mention how The Dead were really big at my high school.

“Oh Really, where are you from?” Jerry asks.

“I grew up in Princeton, NJ.” I reply

“Oh, really. Yeah I got busted in New Jersey once.” Jerry says. I am a little flabbergasted. I didn’t expect to still be here. I thought it would be over by now. “The whole thing was a circus with the press and the judge. I had to buy the DA a Mercedes, but I eventually got off.”

“And I’m sure the world of music was happier as a result.” I quip, not knowing what to say.

“I don’t know about the world of rock music. But I was a lot happier!” Jerry notices that I am carrying a few rolls of film. They were scratched prints of film trailers I found in the trash. One of them was for the movie Last Action Hero. “Are you a filmmaker?” Jerry asks.

I didn’t know how to reply to this question. Partly because it was unexpected. And while I had made some shorts in video and 16mm, I did not really feel comfortable calling myself a filmmaker. “Cause you know I’m a filmmaker too.” Jerry adds. I remember having heard something about Jerry making his own films. I mutter some kind of half assed reply and get out of there.

After I leave, I realize what just happened. I was so pre-programmed with the belief that he would just want a quick, “Hi. Hello. Thanks” based on all my previous celebrity encounters - that I was not able to comprehend that maybe he wasn’t busy and did have time to chat and was interested in talking to me. It never even entered my mind as a possibility.

Even my quip about “the world of rock music.” I was talking to him like a rock star and he was talking to me like a human being. Jerry Garcia wanted to have an actual conversation with me! And I blew it. Damn.

Two years later he was gone. I learned an important lesson, but I still wonder what would have happened if I had been able to expect the unexpected.

Part II coming soon...

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