Simon Fraser (IV)

I think it’s possible to let your problems work for you. They can affect how you tell a story, but any story can be told any way.

The simplest possible method to tell the story is for you yourself to deliver the story directly to camera. And there’s even different ways of doing that – video/film diary, home video/movies, various styles of news report, documentary/mockumentary, etc.

That’s the simplest. Everything else is an expansion of that.

Q AND A with director Randal Kleiser on the death of film and the rise of digital format technology on the Internet and in other media, including its use in George Lucas’ “Star Wars Episode 2: Attack of the Clones” and virtual reality entertainment.

Since graduating from USC in 1968, Randal Kleiser has directed films for the such companies as ABC, Paramount, Columbia-Tristar, CBS, MGM-UA, Universal and Disney. His 1995 theme park film, “Honey, I Shrunk the Audience” is playing Disney pavillions on three continents. In 1999, he segued into made-for-Internet narrative, directing 7 webisodes for an early-blooming DEN (Digital Entertainment Network). In 2000, Kleiser began consulting for USC’s immersive training simulation (virtual reality) R&D shop, Institute for Creative Technologies. His first theatrically-released film was “Grease”.

This Q AND A was conducted on 06.09.01 by Simon Fraser.

Q: As a director who has primarily worked in a celluloid medium, how have digital formats altered your relationship with the camera?

A: Well, you can experiment a lot easier with digital formats. I just got this VX-1000 and I think differently; like in the car, I was driving along, thinking about doing a film, a short, like in a half-hour, where I would put the camera on a tripod and play both parts and do something about some twins who are thinking about killing someone. Just to see what that would be like. The idea that you could just — knowing everything I know about screen direction and acting and directing and photography — to be able to put it all together in a couple of hours, do a little short and do everything without anybody else and have it make sense.

You know, like the reason I’m interested in Flash is just being able to do something without having to ask anybody or get approvals or have them tell you how to do it. All the freedom that most directors would like to have is now becoming something that we can have.

Q: How has made-for-Internet and other forms of digital content affected how 24fps feature film content is produced?

A: The digital stuff has really made it possible for many people to do things they could never have gotten off the ground before. Such as “The Anniversary Party” which I’m going to see tonight. Jennifer Jason Leigh is an actress I’ve worked with and she’s very intense. She, I think, got the idea for this by doing “The King is Alive” by the Dogme people over there and witnessed how it’s done and said, “Well shit, I could do this myself.” And she did. I can’t wait to see it.

John Bailey shot it. I went to school with John and I visited the set when they were shooting. It reminded me very much of film school, especially with John shooting it. But everybody was kind of like — it was the size of a film school project and had that vibe of everybody just doing it cause they wanted to. Rather than, you know, “Where’s the catering truck and I can’t wait to go for the weekend in my Winnebago, water skiing.”

Q: What are some of the challenges you have faced in made-for-Internet filmmaking?

A: It’s really a primitive form of filmmaking. But I must say that AOL has a very good streaming system and that looks almost like regular television. When we did “The Royal Standard”, I think maybe we had three people out there who could see it. This was in ’99. And even today, there are very few people who get really good reception. Although I did see BMW’s films, with John Frankenheimer, who broke all the rules that are taught in terms of shooting for the Internet. You know, you’re not supposed to move the camera or have fast motion. He broke everything and it all worked, at least with my DSL.

It has to be like a commercial. It has to be short, sweet, fast, pack a lot of stuff into the frame in a short amount of time. I think that’s probably, you know, MTV started the short attention span, and commercials, and the Internet is perfect for it cause people don’t have a lot of time to sit around and watch the screen anyhow. I mean it’s not designed — you’re not comfortable when you’re sitting in front of a computer. Y’know, you don’t lay back and watch a three-hour movie.

Q: What cinematic differences exist between a digital format for a theatrical market and a celluloid format for a theatrical market?

A: I don’t think there’s a difference, when you’re working with HiDef 24. I’ve done some experiments in that and it’s just like a movie. I went up to ILM and saw some of “Star Wars 2″ projected. And it looks just like a feature film. There’s no difference. The scene I saw was a couple standing in sunlight against a lake in Italy and the sun is bouncing off the lake and silhouetting them. And it looked totally like a 70mm film. It was just amazing; so I don’t think there’s a difference there.

In terms of the Internet, well, based on what I saw with John Frankenheimer’s work, I don’t think there’s a difference there either now.

Q: What are some of the pre-, during and post-production pitfalls of digital layering of subject matter?

A: You have to work with story boards so you know what the final result is that you need and you work in whichever layer you’re working on. It’s very very much like working in PhotoShop; you can work your layers there. I’m just learning that now and I’m fascinated by it.

In terms of shooting digitally, working with green-screen or blue-screen, you can do the same thing you can do in PhotoShop. I was up with George Lucas, watching him edit “Star Wars 2″ and he’s done the whole movie that way. I’d say 80% of the all the shots in the movie are done with just a floor and actors and a blue-screen, with dots on the blue-screen for tracking purposes. And then he just layers, layers, layers, all of them together. He showed me how he did it; it was just amazing.

And it’s the type of shooting that will become more and more useful in the future. It’s perfect for a sci-fi movie but I just think those elements are going to be used more and more in the future.

Q: With the introduction of Sony’s HiDef 24p digital camera, the frame rate between film and video has been balanced. What is the next major challenge in the convergence of these two media?

A: It seems to me that celluloid is a doomed medium. There doesn’t seem to be enough reason to hang on to it when the end result is as good or better than using that expensive medium. Digital projection doesn’t have any weave, it doesn’t have any scratches, it doesn’t have any splices. And it looks rock steady and sharp. Digital shooting is very very inexpensive. You can get 80 minutes for $50 or something. I don’t remember the numbers, but even that will come down. You don’t have to wait for the developing. I mean, it’s all pointing towards the death of film and it just seems like it makes sense.

One would think that IMAX would be the savior of celluloid. However, I saw a demo at Universal’s IMAX of HiDef 24-frame projected on to an IMAX screen. And it wasn’t great but it wasn’t bad. And this is 2001. I can see in 2010 that it’ll be as good as 70mm or IMAX. Cause it’s just a matter of getting more information, more bytes, projected digitally on to the screen, it’ll look just like film. So I don’t think there’s a chance that film will continue.

Q: How does a virtual reality medium affect the film making process from conception to delivery?

A: Virtual reality. Basically, you’re trying to create an environment that seems real so you’re dealing with smells and sights and sounds and feelings and wind and all that stuff. Story is not usually the primary goal of that here at the early part of virtual reality. It’s more like trying to create something that’s real and believable, as the main thrust. And then figuring out ways to use it.

Because right now, the technical stuff is so complex to make that happen. The studies that are going on at USC’s Institute for Creative Technology are really in depth. They have people working on sound, where they can, with two speakers, they can place a sounds behind you or above you using all kinds of algorithms.

Picture-wise, they are working on Cinerama-type projections where there’s no peripheral. It’s all completely covering your eyes from all directions. And they’re working on some flat-screen kind of, projections on to flats so that you have a physical shape and then the texture is projected on to it.

So all these different ways are ways that are not headsets but they are — you walk around and see and feel and experience these environments. And then, the primary goal is for training soldiers so they don’t have to have giant sets, basically. They have those right now where they put on test exercises where the soldiers have to go in and take over a village. And they’ve built the village and they have guys playing one part and vice versa. And they set off live ammunition and they blow things up and they have helicopters coming in.

All those things are expensive and they can only do it once every so often. But with virtual reality, you could do it all the time or whenever you want. So that’s why they’re funding this research.

An interesting part about it is because they are funding the research, the research is being done. And then it can be adapted for educational use or entertainment use. Theme parks or education.

One of the things that I’ve done that’s sort of in this virtual reality field is the attraction that’s playing at all four Disney parks, called “Honey, I Shrunk the Audience” where the audience is seated in like, maybe 500 seats that are all on one platform that moves together in sync with the screen. There’s things that tickle the audience and spray them and winds that blow and all that kind of stuff. It’s kind of like George Orwell’s ‘Feelies’ from “1984″, the book. And that’s sort of like a primitive form of virtual reality. But all this technology is going to make it very very real now.

My brother, Jeff, just finished a ride film for Busch Gardens which is one of these virtual reality experiences for like 60 people at once. It feels like they are shrunken into a little box and these regular-size people are huge and everybody’s wearing 3D glasses. The motion base moves as they carry the box around and show it to people. These big giants come and look in and they’re carried up a hill on a horse. And then a griffin flies them around. It’s opening in a few weeks at Busch Gardens and it’s all digital, all done in the computer, no film, no actors, sort of like “Shrek” in 3D. And this is a really good example of trying to create that.

Also, at California Adventure, there’s a new thing that they’ve been working on which is where you sit in a chair and you fly — it feels like your hand gliding and you’re really in front of a big screen that envelopes you so you can’t see the sides. And they have things like when you fly over the orange groves, they pipe in the smell of oranges and things like that.

These are the beginnings of that whole field that will get more and more sophisticated.

When Friedrich Nietzsche declared that “God is dead”, in no way did he imply that humanity give up on its quest for the enigma that haunts us all, the indescribable feeling of reverberating viscera. Glory is glory. Grace is grace. Always.

Movies have a similar effect on most people on this planet as their feign of emotion, challenge and journey strike the common chords that drive humanity. The escapism of entertainment is debatably necessary to keep us sane (or insane depending on which side of the debate you would find yourself). The power of the voice, the stage, the screen, is second only to the power of the audience.

With great power, as the old saying goes, comes great responsibility.

As an artform, movie-making is unique in that it requires the talents and skills of a few artists to a few hundred artists. The process of making a movie requires thousands upon thousands of manhours of not only hard work and great effort but also of training (years and years of training and learning from one’s experiences) and a focus of one’s character. Actors are actors because they have no choice. Writers are writers because they have no choice. Animators and set designers and cinematographers are what they are because, as artists, THEY HAVE NO CHOICE. Anyone with a muse is a slave to it, whether they like it or not.

However, you now no longer need to be an artist at all to create art. The years of training spent by such remarkable actors as Meryl Streep, Marlon Brando, Julianne Moore, Warren Beatty, Jessica Lange, Gary Oldman, Vanessa Redgrave, Om Puri, Catherine Deneuve, Toshiro Mifune, Liv Ullman and Sean Penn was all for nought. Their talents are now pointless. It is truly a Brave New World – NOVELTY, CELEBRITY, COMMODITY.

How did this happen? When did it all go amiss?

Today.

Hollywood died today and with it, all our self-possessed dreams of captivating the hearts of humanity.

A new website has reared its oh-so-ugly and malignant head today – www.whowantstobeamoviestar.com. The retarded brainchild of a “winning combination of industry professionals and major entertainment companies,” Who Wants To Be A Movie Star? asks the most self-indulgent question ever posed to the movie-going public – what is the price of your dream?

Through an affiliation with Yahoo Auctions, you (Yes! You!) can bid on and win “lead and supporting roles in a feature-length motion picture with guaranteed distribution”.

A press release issued by the film’s P.R. firm states that “Thomas Edison once said that genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration, and now we’re giving you the chance to prove it.” BULLSHIT! You (Yes! You!) are being given the chance to DISPROVE Edison. You don’t need to spend years of hard work and effort and PERSPIRATION learning how to hone your talent and skills. TALENT AND EFFORT ARE NEGOTIABLE. All it takes is money and a mouse click.

What exactly is a “winning combination of filmmakers, web experts, entertainment executives and business professionals”? Since the site only premiered this week, what exactly is it that this particular combination has won? Other than my f*cking wrath.

The “About Us” section of the website claims that “We will also have the satisfaction of making history by blending together the power of the Internet with the magic of Hollywood and creating something new and exciting.”

Oh my, where do I start?

The satisfaction of making history?! I make history every morning I wake up! I make history with every trip to the bathroom! I make history with every step I make, every breathe I take, every orgasm I fake! So do you, so does everybody. At this very moment, every person on this planet is making history. Are you satisfied?!

Is that the same “magic of Hollywood” that had one of the finest screenwriters of our time, Robert Towne, writing MI:2, the most awful piece of drek that has been force-fed to the movie-going public in the past year? Is that the same “magic of Hollywood” that is running scared from the industry-wide effects of The Blair Witch Project? You bet your ass it is. Keep running, fothermuckers.

Yeah, I want to create “something new and exciting” too. Let’s put on a variety show. I’ll get the funny hats. Shit or get off the pot! Or simply get off the pot (i.e. grass, marijuana, weed, spliff).

In the website’s “Partners” section, it states that WWTBAMS “represents a paradigm of collaborations between new media powerhouses and entertainment entities.” Wow, that sounds like such an attractive creative cesspool. Facelessness never sounded so good.

Who will the “lucky winner” be? Whoever you are, they’re going to give you the job and YOU’RE going to pay THEM.

I would like to take this opportunity to urge every rich and highly untalented bastard on the planet Earth to hike the bids as high as they can so that this “film” can die the horrible death it so generously deserves – by being as financially successful as it possibly can. Straight to Hell, boys; do not pass Go.

Stanislavski is dead. Long live Stanislavski.

Addendum: shortly after this was published, the director of WWTBAMS Tony Markes invited me to view some of the post-production process. I replied, accepting his offer, but I never heard back from him. I’m not sure what happened to the movie. Or its “stars”.

The freeway wound through neighborhoods of broken dreams, its border walls brightened by the mid-afternoon sun which burned through the haze of exhaust perennially consuming the Los Angeles basin. Palm trees stood tall, their arms bouncing gently in the air. A non-fatal car accident had brought the northbound traffic on the 405 to a stand still – thousands of imports, hogs and pickups sat in line for the two-lane conduit past the crash.

A mile back, in an S.U.V., perched the Producer, frowning as he looked out ahead of him. Within the air-conditioned environment of his bastardized Land Rover, all he could hear were the cries of the woman on the other end of the carphone — speakerphone, “ON”.

The Producer sighed.

“Did you hear what I said?” asked the tragic young woman on the speaker.

“Yes, yes,” the Producer quickly responded, “Listen to me, I don’t know why you’re reacting like this. You’re perfect for the role and, ah –”

“But Peter said I didn’t have the depth.”

The Producer rolled his eyes and inched the vehicle forward the few feet the traffic would allow. “Forget what Peter said,” he calmly reassured her. “He’s the director – he’s only one cog in the wheel. And lemme tell you, it’s a pretty big wheel. If I say you get another shot at it, then you get another shot at it. You’re a Playboy playmate for crying out loud!”

BEEP-BEEP went the carphone, interrupting the Producer’s advocation. “Donna, stay on the line,” he told her. “I’ve got another call.”

The Producer tapped the “CHANNEL” key on the pad, initiating his next problem.

“Yeah?” the Producer began.

“Ira?” came the quiet squeak of another young woman.

“Hello! Who is this?” asked the Producer.

“It’s Lisa,” came the emotive reply.

“Lisa, hi, how are you?” The Producer remembered her from the party the other night in that suite at the Marmont.

“I’m terrible. I’m so terrible,” she burst forth with a hiccup.

“What’s wrong?” asked the Producer, though he had always preferred to know what’s right. Sushi, for instance, was always right.

“Everything!” she responded, her voice cracking like a log split by a French-Canadian lumberjack named Gaston. “I auditioned for Peter and I thought it went really well, y’know, but when I asked him, he said — he said — he said that I didn’t stand a chance in Hell. What does that even mean?!”

“Look, Lisa,” the Producer said, inching his vehicle forward. “He’s just the director –”

“I’m talented,” she shrieked.

“I know you are, Lisa,” he tried to calm her. “I wouldn’t be talking to you otherwise.”

Meanwhile…

Meanwhile, the Director emerged from behind the old oak wet bar on the bottom floor of his home nestled in a corner of the Hollywood Hills. In the gruff middle-aged taskmaster’s right hand was a double scotch on the rocks, not an uncommon sight at 3PM on a Tuesday. In his left hand was a sleek black cordless phone. He casually tapped in a number as he crossed his office/den to the leather chair and rosewood desk by the window.

The Director placed his glass of booze down on a cork coaster, reclined back in his chair and finished dialing. A busy signal. The Director pressed a series of numbers and listened again.

The computerized voice of a woman crackled through the connection, “The line is busy. You will be notified by special ringing when the line is free. Please hang up now.”

The Director pressed the “END” button and put the phone down on his desk. He sipped his scotch and looked out the window at the glorious flora which filled the canyon. He spied someone on a deck several hundred yards away. From beside his desk, he lifted a pair of Bushnell’s. He put them to his sockets and squinted to see the white bikini-clad sunbather.

“Hello,” he whispered to himself, “Back for more, are you?”

The phone chirped from the desktop. The Director remained glued to his subject. Another chirp from the phone. He laid the binoculars down on the desk and shook his head in amazement at the firmness of the hotchie mama across the way.

After a third ring of the phone, the Director picked it up.

“Ira?” he immediately asked.

“No, it’s Steve,” came the disappointing voice. The Director had been playing cat-and-mouse with Steve, the Writer, since the blue pages and they were already on to the goldenrods.

“What the Hell have you done to my script?” asked the Writer. It was not the first time the Director had been asked that question.

As is usually the case with members of the trade, the Writer went on to answer his own question. “You’ve totally rewritten the ending,” he explained. “Instead of an insane asylum, the main character ends up operating a midway ride at a county fair.”

“What’s the problem?” asked the Director, without much concern for the answer.

“She’s an insane mass murderer,” iterated the Writer. “Insane mass murderers end up in insane asylums!”

“Have you ever seen a midway ride operator at a county fair?” postulated the Director.

“That’s not the point,” argued the Writer, not truly knowing whether there’d been a point. He continued, “As far as I’m concerned, this rewrite is completely unacceptable and if this is the movie you’re going to make,” he demanded, “I don’t want my name in the credits.”

The Director picked up his binoculars again and returned his gaze to the sexy young thang on the other end of the lens.

“Peter?”

“Uh-huh,” groaned the Director.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yup,” concurred the Director, unwilling to play ball with the high-maintenance scribe.

“And?!”

BEEP-BEEP is the only response the Writer heard as he paced around the Ikea decor – Bachelorossen to be precise – in the high-ceiling living room of the two-bedroom apartment on Beachwood Drive which he shared with one of those roly-poly actors from TV commercials.

“Aw Christ, hold on,” muttered the frustrated Writer to the barely present Director, “I’ve got another call.”

The Writer clipped down on the lever of his rotary dialosaurus, dipping down into the waters of ancient telecommunications only to come back up for…

“Hello?” he began.

“Is this Steven Shedbit?” asked a sultry velvet voice.

The Writer was taken aback, his most regular reaction to the providence of a sexy-sounding woman uttering his name. It couldn’t possibly be a collection agency.

“Yes. This is, this is heem,” he mumbled the words.

“Hi,” she said invitingly, “This is Penny Gingerbimbo. I’m going to be playing Jezebel from your script.”

The Actress. Ever since the Writer had read a biography of Arthur Miller, he had lusted for the Actress on every production in which he’d taken part. “Conquest-by-word”, he called it. But there was still the matter of the Director on the other line. Art! Art must be maintained above sex drive!

“Penny, yes. Listen, Penny, I’m on the other –” He didn’t get that far.

“I was reading through your script — great script,” the Actress interjected, “and I noticed that there’s an awful lot of swearing…” The Writer knew what was coming. “… and I was thinking…” The Actress always took a moment after saying this, before continuing with, “Maybe she could be a little friendlier.”

For the Writer, the answer was simple. He’d read the how-to’s and taken several courses in script structure, standard character arc, the 37 basic dramatic situations. He knew the archetype better than anyone, having spent much money on the real thing.

“She’s a hooker.”

“What?”

“The character of Jezebel is a whore.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause – his was of undying patience, hers of confusion.

“I thought she was a nun.”

“She has sex with men under the pretense of sex-for-money then she kills them,” said the Writer, preparing to name off plot points one, two and three.

Oh…

“Oh, I guess nuns don’t do that,” said the Actress as she reclined on her cushioned patio chair, bathing in the yellow rays which fell to her deck. Bug-eyed shades concealed her peepers from the harsh sunlight while a skimpy white bathing suit revealed her pre-fab body to the same.

From the earpiece of her Nokia came the noise — BEEP-BEEP.

“Oh Steven,” she said, “There’s another call. Hold please.”

She pressed the “CHANNEL” button and continued like the good secretery she once was.

“Hello, this is Penny.”

A nasal middle-aged voice entered the earpiece of the Actress’ cellphone.

“Hello, is this…” A paper flapped in the background, then, “Penny Gingerbimbo?”

“Yes. This is Penny,” she repeated, already wanting to get back to the Writer and the direction of her arc.

“Hi, Penny, this is Sidney Vine,” he introduced himself. “I’m the Executive-in-Charge-of-Production on ‘Killer Hooker Fury’.”

The Actress thought, “Writer? What writer?”

“Oh hello, Mr. Vine.” She did not know how important the man on the other end of the line truly was, but she knew enough. For instance, she knew his title had four hyphens. She knew he was ‘studio’, all the way, to the max.

“Please,” he instructed her, “call me Sidney.”

“Okay, Sidney.”

“Great. Penny, I’m calling to congratulate you on getting the part of Jezebel.”

“Oh, yes, thank you, Sidney.”

“And… well, to be blunt, I think we should get together for drinks. Maybe discuss your role.”

Meanwhile, back in the bumper-to-bumper parking lot improperly named the San Diego Freeway, the Producer had finally calmed down one of his crying women.

“The role involves nudity, y’know? And I think –”

“I do nudity. I’ve done tons of nudity!” the woman revealed, though it was hardly a revelation.

“Lisa,” he cut to the chase, “as far as I’m concerned, you’re the only one who can pull this role off. Let me talk to my people and we’ll set up another meeting, okay?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Alright. I’ve got to go now, I’ve got traffic all around me, travelling at a very high rate of speed,” he said, inching his vehicle forward at 2MPH and returning to the first P.Y.T. crying to him over the carphone.

“Donna?”

She was gone; nothing but a dial tone. The Producer clicked off the phone.

Temporarily deflated, with traffic at a dead stop, the Producer glanced out the passenger window at the knoll beside him. A recent work of graffiti had been sprayed on the border wall. It took the Producer a moment to translate the stylized font of the message which read, “Cova Yo Ass” [sic].

It took a moment to sink in but the Producer was soon dialing a number on the carphone.

The reflection of a mirror…

The reflection of a mirror in a bathroom reflecting the reflection of the mirror opposite it reflected in the mirror of a bathroom. Atop the clean smooth marble surface of the counter around the sink sat a soap pumper, a small bowl of mints, a condom dispenser and a think pile of aspiring actress’ photographs from which one could browse while conducting one’s business. The hand towels hanging by the door were emblazoned with the initials “S.J.V.”. Sitting on the toilet, his slacks crumpled to his ankles, was the Executive-in-Charge-of-Production, conducting his business with the Actress on his phone headset while he conducted his business on the head. He was looking at her headshot in his southpaw.

“Are you familiar with the Beverly Hills Hotel?” he asked her.

There was a knock at one of the executive bathroom’s two doors. The more accessible door. The Executive gently cupped the mouthpiece of the headset in his fist before barking, “Dammit, Bernie, I’m on the f’cking phone!”

From behind the door came the shellshocked voice of his assistant. “Sir, you have a call from Ira Gray on line two.”

“Tell him I’ll call him back,” shouted the Executive.

“He said it’s an emergency, sir,” said the muffled assistant.

“Hold on!” the Executive ordered with extreme prejudice then calmly returned to the Actress in the palm of his hand. “Penny, will you stay on the line? I have to take this call.”

“Sure,” she said, displaying immediate loyalty, “I’ll be here.”

The Executive leaned forward and pressed the “Line 2″ button on the cordless waistpack clipped to the belt around his ankles.

“Ira, I’m in a meeting,” lied the Executive. “And we’re in pre-production. What could possibly be the emergency?”

“No biggie,” responded the Producer through the phoneline. “Sidney, listen, if anybody asks, we’re still casting for Jezebel.”

“What are you talking about? We finished this morning,” the Executive reminded him.

“I know, I know. But if anybody asks, we still are.”

“Who’s going to ask?” asked the Executive.

“Nobody,” the Producer assured him. “But if anybody does, then ‘Yes, we are still casting.’”

The Executive dropped the Actress’ headshot on the marble floor and scratched his head. “Ira, I’ve got Penny Gingerbimbo on the other line,” he told the Producer.

At the exact same moment, the Director was still sitting in his leather chair looking through his binocs at the attractive subject (who had recently been getting the attention of many men). She too had a phone to her ear.

“Who are you talking to?” asked the Director, to her, to himself, to the silence at the other end of his own cordless phone. Then, a click, and…

“Peter?” asked the Writer, returning to the Director, impatient with the Actress’ absence.

“Uh-huh,” replied the Director, the lens never leaving his eyes.

“I’ve got Penny Gingerbimbo on the other line and now SHE’S trying to rewrite my script!” the Writer complained to ears which had long been deaf to talk of integrity. Instead, the Director expressed jealousy.

“Why the Hell is she talking to you? Hang up on her. Now!”

Then came a long BEEP.

“Steve, hang up on her and come back to me, hold on,” the Director told him, then clicked a button on the phone, taking him over to his second line.

The computerized voice of a woman crackled to the Director, “The line has become free. Your call is being placed.” The line began to ring.

Back in traffic…

Back in traffic, the Producer explained the emergency to the Executive in a logline. “There’s still two more actresses I need to see,” he said into his carphone as he slowly glided past two crunched cars, an ambulance, three police cruisers and six towtrucks hustling for action on the 405.

“But we’ve already cast Penny,” the Executive reminded him, again.

And another BEEP-BEEP from his speakerphone caught the Producer’s attention. The LED display read “Caller Unknown”.

“I know, I know. Just hold on a second.”

The Producer clipped the Executive before he could continue and blindly took his next incoming call.

“Yes?”

“Ira, it’s Peter,” began the Director.

Fortuity at last! thought the Producer. “Peter, great!” he exclaimed. “Listen, if anybody asks, we’re still casting for Jezebel.”

“I cast Penny Gingerbimbo this morning.”

“I know that!” uttered the Producer, becoming more frustrated with the world. “But if anybody asks, we’re still casting.”

“Jesus, Ira!” The Director complained, “I’ve got Steve Shedbit whining about script changes, now you’re telling me we’re still casting… I’m trying to remain calm!”

Executive outweighs Director, thought the Producer. “Peter, I’ve got Sidney Vine on the other line. Give me two seconds.”

“Wait, Ira –” was all the Director could get out before the Producer returned to the Executive.

“Sidney?… Sidney?” asked the Producer as he accelerated out of the traffic jam, free again.

Of course, by this time, the Executive had returned to the Actress. “Penny?” asked the Executive from atop the warm padded cushion of the toilet seat.

But he’d missed her by a moment. Needing to talk to someone – anyone – about her role, the Actress had returned to the Writer she’d had on hold. “Steven?” asked the Actress, her skin toning in the sun.

There was no response from the Writer who was on his other line, waiting for the Director to return to his call. “Peter! Peter! Come back and talk to me, Peter!” he said to himself, helpless.

And for one moment in time, one brief but ubiquitous moment, a sound could be heard eminating from every office, every loft, every apartment and home, every warehouse, production house, soundstage, photo studio, every agency and law firm in the City of Angels. The sound of a sigh, a release of air aimed to relieve the tension of everyday life. The defeated gasp of desperation. For one moment, everyone in Los Angeles was frozen in stasis. Suspended from a phonepole or satellite dish. On hold.

With the phone still glued to his ear, the Director slouched back in his chair. He took a sip of his scotch and shook the ice around. “I should move to France,” he told himself. “They’d respect me in France.”

The Producer sped northbound, past the Getty and upward through the Sepulveda Pass. He glanced at himself in the rear-view mirror and affirmed to his reflection, “All you’re asking for is two Playmates at once. Is that so much? You can do this.”

The Executive pulled on the last bit of an already-empty roll of toilet paper. “Bernie!” he screamed to his dim assistant, “Bring me some fucking toilet paper!!!”

“These people know nothing about art,” the Writer warned himself as he took a fresh hit of kind bud from the honeybear bong he’d been given by a friend who was an animator on The Simpson’s.

The Actress flipped through several pages of the Writer’s script. As she skimmed over one key scene, it finally and graciously dawned on her. “Oh yeah,” she said aloud, “she is a whore.”

Originally performed as a comedy sketch, The Rivoli, Toronto, 1997