I Got To Be in Pictures!

I’m in a movie! A real movie with a director and cameraman and “action” and “rolling.” And a line person and locations and extras and multiple takes. This is my newest New Thing in a while!

It’s called Next to North, and it’s the brainchild of Rebecca Casselman. It’s the story of an Alaska woman returning to Alaska to heal from a Lower 48 divorce. I play GAT (Great Aunt Tonka):

Late 60s Woman

She is called Tonka because she gave Tori a Tonka truck when she was little. Gat is fun-spirited, always bringing wonder and laughter to the family. She lives out in the bush with her man Joe, only coming into town for supplies every few weeks. She is visiting to lend support to Tori and love on her great-great nieces. She likes to crack jokes and forgets to have a filter when in ‘society.’

Boy, that’s a real character stretch!

It all started because I ran into my friend Jane while hiking, and she mentioned being in some indie films. Jane and I both worked at the library, but we also did theater acting. Next thing I knew, Jane told me to call Rebecca, with whom I Zoom-auditioned, and I got the part!

Jane, Linda, and I know each other from the theater world – acting on stage. Acting where you learn your lines in the script and your character develops from one scene to another. Where your lines go in order.

“In order” is just not what movie making is about.

So sometimes, I’d be in a T-shirt for a summer scene, but afterwards I’d be in long sleeves for a prior fall scene. But that’s not the big adjustment.

Let’s say I’m saying two sentences to the two adorable great-great nieces: “I don’t live here, remember? I live out in the Bush with Joe.” So, theater actor that I am, I think I’m going to say them and hug the girls and work my emotions for leave-taking and the rest of my lines.

But someone yells cut and Darius the cameraman moves over my shoulder or over the girls’ shoulders or from the kitchen. And we do it again. And someone coughs and we do it again. And the director and cameraman confer and we do it again. Forget that I have three more sentences that are supposed to come right after with emotional content.

In theater, you have to remember that every audience is seeing the play for their first time, so you have to be fresh with every repeat performance. Here, you have to be fresh with every repeat line. And recover where you are for the next line.

So what you think they’re getting is a chopped-up, fragmented mess of lines and script. Except Darius tells me that the average shot is only seven seconds long, that I should check on my next TV show.

Oh, wow, he’s right! A man running: two seconds on his shoes, one second on a passing window, two seconds on his sweating face, one second on his looking over his shoulder, two seconds on what’s behind him, two seconds on him long-distance, etc. etc. But somehow our brain puts it all together seamlessly.

I have new respect for the editor of movies.

And for what they call the Continuity Person.

One day, Linda and I are in an autumn card-playing scene. Then, for a few days, we’re in the summer. Then we’re back to the night of the card-playing, but I think Linda is in the wrong shirt. After grappling with our Third Third memory capacities, Linda goes home to her laundry pile and returns to the set with the right shirt. We’re pretty sure.

Never mind where the tea cups were placed!

It had been quite a while since I’d acted. And suddenly, there I was with a group of actors again. You share a stage and a script and a schedule in a collaborative work of art. Everyone wishes everyone well because you share this production and you want it to succeed and you need everyone to succeed.

Movieland gives you a chance to inhabit a different world, to take a break from this one. You share lots of waiting around time – as yourself – in between the role you’re adopting. There’s something about putting on a role deliberately: because then it’s clear when you take it off. In Real Life, that’s not always clear. But for a time, with acting, you take a break from yourself, too. What a relief.

Heroes or Goats?

Like a lot of us, I was watching the Oscars Sunday night. I saw the Great Mistake in the announcement of the winner for Best Picture, and while it was just one moment, it set me down a winding, philosophical path.

NOT, as one commenter put it, “Don’t let the 80-year-olds do it anymore.” In my sympathetic Third Third, I think, “That could have been me,” and I cringe at the jump in people’s minds to feebleness. I felt bad for Warren Beatty; the whole thing did made him look feeble and confused. He had a reason to be confused (so he passed the problem to Faye Dunaway).

My friend Steve focused on something else: he marveled at the graciousness on display:

“The mistake was acknowledged immediately and openly and the response was all so adult, so gracious, so harmonious. … Our news has been so dominated by three-year old tantrums lately, that this is a wonderful relief, and we should all be glad for the error, just to see how decent people behave.”

But my friend Marie had a different take:

“So, if Warren Beatty knew something was wrong, why didn’t he say something? At that moment, he had the opportunity to correct a mistake but didn’t. … Let’s promote taking responsibility where we can. When you see something or feel that something doesn’t feel right, say something.”

That reminded me of an interview I read a long time ago with Philip Zimbardo, the Stanford professor famous for the prison experiment where the “guards” ran amok with their newfound power. He was trying to account for the one person out of 100 who does the right thing.

Zimbardo was once sitting in the front row of a presentation when he noticed the speaker having difficulty, so he interrupted – just before the speaker collapsed. As he puts it:

“Essentially, it’s shame and guilt: you have to live with the guilt of not doing what you should have done vs. the shame of doing the wrong thing. All my life I’ve done things to make people laugh at me, and playing the fool means when the time comes I don’t care if people laugh.”

“…when the time comes, I don’t care if people laugh.” I disagree that you have to “play the fool” to prepare for this, but you do have to prepare yourself. Maybe as pre-teens, we’re too caught up in the fear of ridicule, the pressure of the peer group; but we’re in our Third Thirds now. Are we willing to risk embarrassment? We live in a world of “see something, say something” – are we ready? Can we all do it?

Sometimes I think I was born with a big mouth. Friends might have a hard time thinking of me as “reticent.” Yet I have uncomfortable memories of the times I balked, times I imagined all the eye-rolling I’d get for making a fuss, and so I abdicated. Like Charlie Brown, “I could have been the hero ... instead I’m the goat.”

It comes back to what Marie talked about, taking responsibility and speaking up. Zimbardo calls them “everyday heroes,” the ones who move from passivity to action. We can’t know how we’ll react in an emergency, in confusion, when faced with injustice. We can’t know if we’ll be gracious when a mistake is made.

I’m sure Warren Beatty is kicking himself. We can all take that as a cautionary tale and hope we’re ready when our test comes. But we can’t lose sight of heroes when they do emerge; the La La Land heroes took the microphone and volunteered their congratulations to Moonlight. Yes, they were adult and kind and generous.

I’m practicing my “see something, say something” muscle, right along with my squats.

All the world's a stage

I sit in the movie theater and see the adds for Fathom Events, the classic movies that will show for a day or two. I say to myself, “Oh, that looks interesting,” and then I go home and forget what days they were showing. I’ve done this forever. I’m not even sure what “Fathom” is.

Eventually, though, I signed up to receive emails and discovered there are whole lots of Fathom Events that I never knew existed. Monday night, Robin, Julie, and I saw The Shakespeare Show in honor of the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare’s death. (I didn’t know he died on the same day as his birthday.)

It was put on by the Royal Shakespeare Company and was hosted by Dr. Who and Donna. (That was the real draw for me – David Tennant.) There were extraordinary bits of Shakespeare’s words, of course, but there was also music, ballet, even hip-hop, comedy, and film – all inspired by Shakespeare. I didn’t know Duke Ellington wrote a whole album (Such Sweet Thunder) after being enthralled by Shakespeare. I’d never heard Cole Porter’s “Brush Up Your Shakespeare” … sung by two tough guys.

It was two glorious hours of artists doing their art. They were so very, very good. Clearly the hit of the evening for me was Ian McKellen in Sir Thomas More confronting a mob that was opposing immigration and rejecting the strangers arriving in their land. Or was it the most exquisite ballet I’ve ever seen, the one between Othello and Desdemona? No, I think it was Macbeth’s three witches … done in Zulu from South Africa (Umabatha) and as Japanese theater in Japan. Miraculously, they worked cross-culturally; they were Shakespeare, but they were also African and Japanese.

Oh, there were so many takes on “to be or not to be.” Every time something new happened, I’d think, “Oh, remember this so you can tell Tim,” and then something else would captivate me.

I don’t write theater reviews. I don’t blog about seeing a great movie, reading a great book, or finding a new series even though those happen a lot, maybe even more, in the leisure of my Third Third. Those experiences don’t count as New Things; they’re the continuing facts of my life. But this was something else. There must have been twenty separate vignettes or performances, all of them flawlessly done. What a tribute! In recognizing Shakespeare’s contributions, they were showcasing what artistry there is in adapting his work, performing his work, making it fresh and new.

There were only about twenty people in the audience so it looks mostly undiscovered. But this is the exciting part: they’re doing National Theatre Live in which they bring London’s stage performances to the screen. Julie’s already bought her tickets for October and November, the Benedict Cumberbatch performances. I’m starting with the one in June.

Sometimes, in my quest for New Things to make sure I don’t get stale, I have to hunt them down. I have to extend myself, search it out, expend some energy. Other times, it might be right around the corner – a hidden secret – and I miss the clues. This one may have been right around the corner, but for an evening, I was in Stratford-upon-Avon.

The grapes of ... New York

My first order of business was getting a New York Public Library card. Now, after two days, I realize I’d better leave some time for reading or else my feet are going to break. I have covered ground! One block of interesting things leads to another block of interesting things. By the end of the day, my feet are screaming.

So my second order of business was getting my Metro Card. But that was also because of the grapes.

I love my grapes. I can go through a Costco 4-pounder in two days. So here I am in Midtown Manhattan. I stopped a man with a dog and asked where a grocery store was: “Right on the corner.” It was a little fancy, but it wasn’t till the checkout line that I realized how fancy: $11.62 for two pounds of grapes!

So the next day, I Googled “Costco.” There was one in Manhattan, in East Harlem. I could take the #6 subway to 116th Street (where I could also visit the Hot Bread Kitchen, one of the sites for New York’s best challah and a women’s employment bakery to boot). I’d load up at Costco with my daypack and big cloth bag and take the M-15 bus back. Too exciting for words!

I got off in East Harlem and realized this is the New York I love: ethnic, “un-sanitized,” full of nooks and crannies that aren’t designer clothing shops. There are real things, like real grocery stores. And even the Costco was a little different: it has Jewish food. I stocked up on Gabila’s potato knishes. The food ladies had samples of … Marinated Wild Alaskan Salmon, 6 pouches! I realize that I’m going to be cooking in servings rather than meals; I think that’s how New Yorkers eat, or at least how they shop. I don’t have all my ingredients, and though the kitchen is well-equipped, it wouldn’t even be able to hold my spice rack from home.

Four pounds of grapes = $9.99

Back at the apartment, I decided I’d look for the East River for a running route. So instead of turning left out the front door, I turned right. I was in Dag Hammarskjöld Plaza, where on Wednesdays, there’s a Greenmarket … with the Hot Bread Kitchen! I looked around the corner, and it was the United Nations! I am right on the corner of the U.N.! No wonder it’s Dag Hammarskjöld Plaza! I looked back, and there was The Trump World Tower. And condos starting at $2.1 million. Oh, yikes.

Still in search of the river, I turned left and the street sign said “Beekman Place.” No, NOT Beekman Place! In The Way We Were (the only movie I have seen four times), glorious, brash, Jewish lefty Barbra Streisand discovers that husband Robert Redford has had an affair with a wealthy, WASPy woman whom she calls “Beekman Place.” I am living right off Beekman Place! Horrors! No wonder their grapes are so expensive.

So I have to neutralize my proximity and head downtown, towards the Lower East Side. I made it to Kalyustan’s acres and acres of spice store. I just needed oil and vinegar but that took hours of browsing hundreds of bottles, types, and ooh, that looks interesting over there. Then I had to hustle to the library for my first author program.

As I walked back to the apartment – feet just screaming yet again – I noticed a crowd on the sidewalk. A fruit vendor was doing a fiery business. Of course, he had grapes for $1 a pound ... and they looked just like my Costco grapes, in the same packaging.

I have a month to learn how New Yorkers do things.

Where were you in 1977?

You know what December 18 is, don’t you? The day Episode VII of Star Wars hits theaters? How could you not?

How about this: where were you when you saw the first Star Wars? (Is this on the same level as where were you when President Kennedy was assassinated?) Star Wars was a phenomenon for us Third Thirders. Sort of like Harry Potter is for our kids (and us), but even more so. We were the children of the space race, the fans of the original Mercury astronauts. We watched Star Trek, and we were primed for the release of Episode IV.

I still remember: it was 1977, and my assignment was to wait on line at the Coronet Theater in San Francisco. [Yikes! I just Googled “Coronet Theater,” and found LOTS of people writing about seeing Star Wars there. Photos were taken of the line and they’re asking people to look at enlarged images and find themselves. This is like Woodstock!]

I was living with my boyfriend around the corner at the time. To this day, I have no memory of why we knew we had to see the movie. Maybe it was the trailers, but my job was to get on line early and hold space. I don’t think lines really formed for movies back then. The whole thing was very out-of-this-world … and so was the movie!

From the opening sequence, we were enthralled. It was spectacular on so many levels. I remember walking home, pumped with adrenalin, enthusiasm, appreciation for a job so well done.

I’m not a nut-case Star Wars fan. I never bought a light saber, never wanted to be Princess Leia, would never wear a costume to a movie theater. Nevertheless, I remain a permanent devotee of the Force and believe absolutely in a Force that our instinct and gut can access, but I think I may have believed that beforehand anyway (what with all my high school science projects on ESP). I still recall the image of Luke finally trusting in the Force.

So I excitedly turned to Tim, told him about my theory that Star Wars is to us like Harry Potter is to Sophie’s age range. His eyes sort of rolled, and he said, “Maybe for you.” What?? “But you were into the Mercury 7 astronauts exhibit when we went to the NASA Space Center.” “Yeah, but that’s not Star Wars.” It’s not??

So I guess this isn’t universal; I won’t even tell you about the friend of mine who turned to me at a Star Trek movie and said, “Wasn’t there supposed to be an R2D2 in it?”

Oh, but for me, it was all about space, the final frontier. I still have my scrapbook of John Glenn newspaper clippings. As kids, when we got a giant cardboard box from an appliance, one we could fit inside, we’d shout out instructions to roll, yaw, or pitch. Before I moved to Alaska, I went to hear Sally Ride speak. Afterwards, Jean-Luc Picard, Data, and Deanna Troi entered my life. Asimov’s Foundation series. And yes, there’s even Galaxy Quest.

I am scared of heights and have no wish to ever, ever, ever go into space. I don’t even like flying in planes. It was never about actually DOING it. It was about IMAGINING it. Even vicariously.

So now, I’m imagining the treat in store for me after December 18, and in preparation, I’m watching episodes I-VI over again. (Okay, this is maybe sounding a little over-the-top. I would roll my eyes at me if I weren’t me.) I’m checking DVDs out one-by-one from the library – and getting a whole lot more out of them thanks to pause and rewind. With subtitles, I can even figure out what that wretched Jar Jar Binks is saying.

I’m ready for the Big Screen. Are you? 

Am I a Senior Citizen? Are you?

When I realized I could get senior citizen tickets at the movie theater, I was deliriously excited. Some theaters put the eligibility for senior pricing at 65, but my local theater puts it at 62. I don’t think I expected to be carded for senior pricing, and I wasn’t, but still, I waited till I was completely legitimate. Occasionally I wonder if I could have gotten away with it earlier, but I wasn’t going to try.

And why not? If it was just about saving money, trying earlier shouldn’t bother me. And it’s not like I’m so stringently law-abiding that I’m not above stretching things a little. I think I could have handled the embarrassment if someone took issue and wanted to see my license, but still, I won’t try passing for 65 in the 65-and-older pricing places.

Mostly, I think it has to do with paying my way. That getting cheaper movie tickets is some perk I’ve earned by doing whatever I was doing while the years were accumulating. To get my cheap tickets early would be like cheating the system.

But then I found out that one local movie theater defines senior citizen as 60 and over. Oh, no! I’ve been overpaying there for two years!

This is completely crazy. I take up the same seat in the theater as a full-paying person. Why is there a discount for seniors? Is it to encourage us to spend our leisure hours watching movies? Is it an acknowledgement that we have leisure hours? And the different eligibility ages: is this some kind of theater war for the senior citizen dollars?

Now I may fully exercise my senior status for movie tickets, but you will not find me parking in the new senior citizen spaces at Loussac Library. So why do I claim to be a senior citizen in one case and not in another? Well, at the Library, there’s a presumption that the close-to-the-entrance spaces are needed because someone might be infirm or have other difficulty walking. I don’t. I’d feel like I was parking in a handicapped zone or something.

In almost all situations – except movie theaters, I guess – I would never consider myself a senior citizen. I cringe at the thought of someone else considering me one, and I suppose there’s a lot of ageism involved in that – both mine and society’s. As my mother once said when asked why she was still working at 70, “Right now, I’m a head of department. The minute I quit, I’ll be a little old lady.”

When Pew did a study of old age, the average answer for “When does old age begin?” was 68 … unless you were 68. Then only 21% of respondents said they were old.

So I looked up “senior citizen” in the dictionary and got this: “Elderly persons, usually more than sixty or sixty-five years of age.” Elderly?!? Elderly???  Talk about a loaded word. If the movie theater posted “elderly discount,” I wouldn’t even try to get a cheaper ticket.