shoop and the 25 random things

Since you're totally sick of these from Facebook, I thought I'd import these from my Facebook page. Twenty-five things about me that will give you no insight whatsoever.

1. Now that I've lived more years than I'm probably going to live, I'm drawn more to long-form improv. I think it's the whole "getting out of my head" thing--horrible cliche, but I'm too intellectually lazy to describe it better.

2. Sometimes I don't realize I've accomplished something kind of cool until someone points it out to me. For example, I've turned my dissertation into a book, and it's due out tomorrow (I use my advance copies as coasters). And somebody told me, "That's really amazing!" And I thought, "Well, yeah, maybe it is..."

3. I believe you get signs and signals throughout your life, but unless you're really spiritually evolved or something like that, you don't connect the dots till later. For instance, when I was a kid, I remember this cartoon book where a kid is answering the phone and saying, "Dad can't come in to work; he's feigning illness today." So "feign" became one of my secret favorite words. When I first met my now wife, she used the word "feign" in a sentence, so I just kinda knew. Of course, it could have been a coincidence.

4. Sleep apnea sucks. I think a good night's sleep would be kinda neat.

5. People mock me for feeling more loyalty to the University of Pittsburgh (grad school) than to Georgetown (undergrad). It's just that at Pitt, I had the undergrad career I always wanted.

6. Most of my play ideas lately involve death and disease. Kinda gross.

7. I like Obama, but I'm keeping my middle name.

8. I'd like to do more research on George M. Cohan, plays that have to do with trials and justice, and plays that involve the I.W.W. (Industrial Workers of the World) in some way.

9. I like marriage. I got married kinda late (just before I turned 38), and I'll bet my parents thought I was gay.

10. I miss Dad (we lost him right around Labor Day, 2007).

11. I was an extra in "I'm Not Rappaport." I was not Rappaport. I think you might be able to see the top of my head, but I wouldn't swear to it.

12. Some years back, one of my plays was produced, and I got a call from someone introducing himself as the character in my play--"Hi, Mike, this is Simeon Pickett." I can't speak for all writers, but I think fictional characters calling me is kinda freaky.

13. Yes, I wrote a play with a character named "Simeon Pickett."

14. I also wrote a play a long time ago with a character named "August Rush." Years later, there was a movie called "August Rush." I guess dumb character names just kind of make the rounds, like other bad ideas.

15. Currently, I have a play that's a semi-finalist in the Hidden River Arts Playwriting Competition--it's called "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)." It's about neither Istanbul nor Constantinople.

16. Speaking of "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)," years ago I was watching one of those Doo-Wop specials that run on PBS stations during pledge drives, and I saw four older gentlemen (who turned out to be The Four Lads) singing "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)." And I thought, what are these old guys doing covering a They Might Be Giants song?

17. Sometimes, it just takes me a while to get it. This comes from being very literal. A friend of mine once said, "It's difficult to be subtle with you." And she was right.

18. If a familiar candy introduces a new flavor or new style, I have to try it. Like the M&Ms with strawberry, or the Snickers with almonds. Once I saw Snickers with "special yellow nougat." I had to have it immediately. Turns out yellow nougat is just yellow, but my curiosity was satisfied.

19. Biggest laugh I ever heard was when watching a rough cut of Beauty and the Beast at Lincoln Center. It was when Belle's father grabs Cogsworth's pendulum and starts messing with it, and Cogsworth huffily says something like, "Release that, if you don't mind." It still makes me laugh.

20. See, the pendulum was phallic in nature, so it was like Belle's father was grabbing... never mind.

21. The second biggest laugh I ever heard was while watching "Angels in America" in New York. One character, referring to Roy Cohn, asks, "Who's the biggest closeted queen in New York?" And his friend responds, "Koch?" But that's a New York joke.

22. Show I most wish I could have been in: "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown." Maybe I'll direct it someday.

23. I haven't watched "Inside the Actors Studio" in a long time, but I used to like it when they asked guests their favorite swear word. My favorite was Holly Hunter, because her favorite swear word was "c***sucker," except with that lisp of hers, it came out "c***shucker."

24. Kid actors don't impress me much. Maybe I'm not being fair, but I'm inclined to think that if a child under 12 or 13 or so gives a great performance, it's the director's doing.

25. Only part I've ever played that I'd like to play again: Matt in "Talley's Folly." Especially since that was college, and now I'm more like Matt's age.

There you have it. I'll try for more substance next time, but no promises.

shoop gives of himself

I spent about five days working with Acting Without Boundaries, who work out of the Haverford School in Haverford, PA. It's handicapped actors putting on an abridged musical--in this case, "The Sound of Music."

This post should be incredibly heartwarming, but there are two problems: I don't write "heartwarming" very well, and I don't, as a general rule, get into heartwarming situations. Mostly, I wanted to speak when spoken to, do what I was told, and try not to fuck things up too much.

(Note: I don't much like profanity in blogs, but I will occasionally use "fuck" as a verb. I think it's a waste as a modifier. For example: what a shame. What a fucking shame. See? Didn't add anything useful, did I?)

Actually, there was one heartwarming moment. One of the young actors, a blond girl in a wheelchair, took a look at the backdrop--a big, panoramic view of the hills that are alive with the sound of music--and said, "I would like to visit the Alps."

"I would, too," I said--yessing, but not yes-anding, as improv pros would point out.

"I would take you," she said to me.

"Thanks," I said. "That's sweet." And it was.

The thing that amazed me was everyone's attitude. The handicapped actors--mostly physically so, but some with discernible learning delays--all wanted to learn their lines letter-perfectly. They would repeat as many times as necessary until they had it. I've directed a few times, and I'd probably strike a deal with Beelzebub to get actors with that kind of attitude. As for the director--well, this man had the patience of at least a couple of saints, and you could throw in a few saint-nominees for good measure. He inspired, he cajoled, he coaxed--and, so far as I knew, never condescended and never lost his respect for the youngsters--never lost it, period. He was responsible for putting 15-20 handicapped actors through their blocking, their costumes, their mikes, and their paces. The play I directed that's going up now has 5 non-handicapped actors, and they were enough to make me pull out my increasingly salt-and-pepper hair. To put it mildly, it puts things in perspective.

I wasn't 100% successful in my quest to not fuck things up, however. I was assigned one costume change for the young lady playing Maria. "You're assisting me?" she asked, with the social accuracy of one skilled in spotting incompetence. Sure enough, during one of the performances, I managed to make taking off her sweater, cowl, and apron into an ordeal long enough to delay a major entrance. For the second performance, I did better, but I also had help. It would seem that the handicapped do not necessarily benefit from my presence.

Still, a good way to get out of your head is to go help people. Even clumsy efforts to help are surprisingly appreciated--that doesn't happen often in life.

shoop and the indispensibles

One of my myriad old bosses once told me that no one is indispensible. And he was probably right. What I'm examining today has to do with Hollywood--or as Bullwinkle used to pronounce it, "Holllly-wood." Movie stars--once upon a time, one of main reasons we went to a movie. Do we still go see stars? And who do we see? Who can't we imagine the movies without? Are there any indispensible stars left? Or is it all franchises, brand names, and niches? I have a few ideas about what stars are left.

Meryl Streep--like her or not, she's the only one we've got, and we go to see her to see what she'll do next. Now in her 60s, her unique combination of heavy-duty Method and heavy-duty Brecht is impossible to duplicate. It's a matter of the way she "disappears" into characters, yet you always are aware that Meryl Streep is doing the disappearing--the accent, the hair, the make-up or lack of it. It's the same sort of port-o-Brecht that Laurence Olivier used to carry around with him--you always knew it was Olivier, no matter what he did, and he damn well wanted you to know it. She's not only the only one who does it, I think she's the only one who would want to do it. And that's why we go see her.

Tom Hanks--yes, "Angels & Demons" is "underperforming" at a little over $130 million (nothing like inflated costs and expectations), but it's also killing overseas. And Hanks still has something in reserve, which he trots out occasionally on talk shows and stuff like The Colbert Report--a twisted sense of humor. Hanks could, and possibly will, reinvent himself with the right director.

Will Smith--he's not around this summer, but he's one of the few people around who can pretty much guarantee a big opening right now. He's equally comfortable in prestige films and middle-of-the-road comic stuff. And I think he's going to get more interesting as he gets older.

Julia Roberts WAS indispensible. Who else could you root for more consistently in the movies, whether she was a good-hearted hooker, good-hearted runaway bride, good-hearted muckraking attorney's aide, or a good-hearted woman trying to sabotage her best friend's wedding. That's what critics of Roberts never got that we fans did--we weren't rooting for her to undermine the wedding, we were rooting for her to wise up. And she does in the end. But she's having trouble negotiating early middle-age--she might have to disappear for 10 years, like Audrey Hepburn, and then come back in the remake of "Robin and Marian."

John Cusack could have been indispensible--he was unpredictable as a young actor. That combination of blankness and alertness meant that you never knew everything about him. Lately, though, you do know everything. Which is a little boring.

Anne Hathaway might make it to indispensible. She's following a similar path to Julia Roberts, but she's already showing signs of greater versatility (plus there's the singing). At any rate, it'll be interesting to watch her try.

I invite my imaginary readers to present their own candidates.

Next time: shoop gives of himself.

shoop and something lighter for twelfth night

I was lucky enough to catch the Public Theatre's production of Twelfth Night in Central Park last week. There are many reasons to recommend it--including Anne Hathaway's lovely turn as Viola. That's not a surprise, though--Hathaway's been doing terrific work for years, and she might just become one of Hollywood's few indispensable personalities (a subject for later). And besides, how can anyone with the same name as Shakespeare's wife not kill in Shakespeare? So, yes, she's great--she even gets away with a totally goofy, non-scripted "Yes!" when she tops Feste at some wordplay--but that wasn't the big surprise for me. The big surprise was that I laughed--heartily, lustily, and often, at Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek.

I've seen Twelfth Night a few times. I've even been in a production--as that classic supernumerary combo, the Sea Captain and the Priest. And, to be sure, I've had to read the play, and write about it, a few more times. And I have never, not once, laughed at Sir Toby and Sir Andrew. I've seen lots of talented people play them, I've read the footnotes so I get the jokes--but nothing. These guys just aren't funny. And Shakespeare devotes pages to their discussions about wacky dances, drinking, and venereal disease, while the story takes a rest. So why are they funny in this production?

It's deceptively simple--Daniel Sullivan, the director, uses what every director needs--more than a concept, more than a Unifying Idea, more than a lot of frou-frou to show how clever and deconstructive he or she is. He uses common sense. If these two clowns are talking about goofy dancing, then they should demonstrate it. Some directors are clever enough to get that much. But to demonstrate it properly, they need musicians and music. So Sullivan provides the music, and the foolish dancing becomes funny, natural, and inevitable. The other part of the equation is a little harder to pin down, because it involves the two actors--in this case, Hamish Linklater and Jay O. Sanders as Sir Andrew and Sir Toby, respectively. Linklater goes for something resembling "random deadpan"--lines like "I am a great lover of beef" come from, and arrive, from nowhere, and somehow Shakespeare becomes funny like those funny moments in Chekhov where characters will come up with something for no good reason, let the other characters think about it, and then let the line drift off into the ether. Sanders is the hale and hearty one, who finds the vulgar in the gentleman, and the gentlemanly in all that's base, gross, and vulgar. They're a great team, and they provide a great time.

It's nice to be reminded why one cherishes theatre. I was lucky enough to be reminded last week. I hope that sort of thing happens to you, too.

shoop and hard-earned love

This one's about cats. Specifically, our cat, Dostoyevsky. He wasn't ours to begin with; our friends had to move from Erie, PA to Waco, TX, and they were afraid their senior-age (then 13) cat couldn't stand the trip. Plus the cat wasn't getting along with their new daughter, so one of them had to go.

Understandably, Dostoy (or Dos, or as my sisters-in-law like to call him, Dos-Equis) didn't take to us immediately. He would claw and nip at us, and turn away, annoyed. Gradually, he was able to train us. And he's come to love us, on his own terms--cats and Charles Foster Kane have that quality in common.

Now, I like dogs, too. And we all know the differences between dogs and cats. There's a reason Old Yeller, Beethoven, and Marley (or Beethoven the 8th, or as I like to call him, That Darn Dog) aren't cats. But if a cat deigns to put up with you, and even show occasional affection, you know you've earned it. After all, Dostoy swats at my nephew and hisses at my niece, and generally treats visitors very shoddily. And sometimes, when we fall short of his desires, he'll still swat at us, too. But every now and then, he'll touch his head to my hand. That's it. No rubbing against me, no licking, and only very restrained purring. It's a little like when Dustin Hoffman touched Tom Cruise's head in Rainman--a huge gesture, and hard-earned. Dogs can be unconditional in their love, faithful, and everything Owen Wilson emotionlessly intones over the Marley and Me soundtrack, and that's just fine. But love from a cat? You have to earn it.

Next time--shoop and something lighter for twelfth night

shoop and the smug-com

I just saw "Away We Go" with the missus, and we had a pretty good time--actually, she had a better time than I did. My lovely wife was able to achieve total identification with the the two leading characters, a somewhat directionless 30-something couple who try to find a place to settle down to raise their soon-to-arrive child. I could not achieve total identification, because aside from some specific problems I had with the characters and the story, I could see early on that I would be watching a smug-com, and not one of the few really good ones.

A cursory peek at google tells me that I've invented this term, which is fine by me. By "smug-com," I mean a comedy that scores its points through one or two main characters who are much smarter, have more integrity, and are just plain cooler than everybody else in the movie. The arc of a smug-com puts the lead characters in situations where they confront any number of cartoon ninnies and nitwits, and then gives the characters time to reflect upon how stupid the nitwits are, and how cool they themselves are. (The term "quirky" usually pops up a lot in reviews of smug-coms.) To paraphrase a very apt description from the NY Times review of "Away We Go," smug-com heroes wouldn't like you. They'd look at you with thinly disguised disdain and disgust, and then make cool jokes about you when they left. Smug-coms can appeal to large numbers of people who see themselves as too cool for the room. While I find the overall smug-com premise a major drag, I think there are a few that work, and at least one that's a classic.

I'd date the first smug-com right around 1965, the year "A Thousand Clowns" was released. Jason Robards is Murray Burns, a happy, hyper-verbal non-conformist living as responsibility-free as the guardian of a young nephew can in New York City. Robards is the smart one; everyone he meets is a moron--or someone who needs his happy guidance. The movie sounds reprehensible when I describe it that way, but it works (this one is the classic). The first reason is Robards--great actor, showing some strain, perhaps, from shooting this movie during the day and performing Arthur Miller's "After the Fall" at night, but charming as hell recreating his Broadway role. The second reason is screenwriter (and playwright) Herb Gardner's terrific dialogue--Murray's rants are hilarious and profound. Finally, the key to what elevates a smug-com above its inherent smugness--the movie is brave enough to call Murray on his attitude. That's important--that doesn't mean silly strawman characters telling the smug hero he's wrong (that happens a lot in this movie, as well as in most smug-coms), but the MOVIE ITSELF calls his attitude into question--is he selfishly endangering the welfare of his nephew? The decision Murray makes leads to one of the great freeze-frame endings--funny and sad, fundamentally right, but with no little regret.

"Away We Go" ultimately fails because the two smug heroes are vindicated in their smugness without serious question. It comes close, once, when the heroine asks, "Are we fuck-ups?" If the movie had delivered an honest answer to that question--which is "yes"--it, too, could have achieved greatness--or at least, very good-ness. Other noteworthy smug-coms follow:

"Home for the Holidays"--this time, Holly Hunter and gay brother Robert Downey, Jr. (in my vote for his all-time worst, most out-of-control performance) are the only ones who know which end is up, as Hunter prepares to spend Thanksgiving with the family. This movie scores off clueless supporting characters with sometimes shocking cruelty. Right-wing in-laws sit down to dinner and start intoning, "Cash is king"--because that's what fiscally conservative people naturally do at Thanksgiving dinners. We get to laugh at the crazy, flatulent aunt, who cuts the cheese twice for the heroes' (and ours, presumably) amusement, and we get to laugh at the sad-sack maintenance guy who's had a crush on the heroine since forever. To be fair, the film almost redeems itself in the last five minutes, when we get to see everybody's idea of their greatest day ever--it's a sudden and cleansing burst of humanity, but it arrives a bit too late.

"The Family Stone"--a lot like "Home for the Holidays," but with that crucial difference--the movie calls the smug Stones on their behavior. They treat the Sarah Jessica Parker character with unspeakable cruelty, but we also get to see that the family is acting out of love (this is how smug people love each other). I think this one was largely underrated--it's worth a look.

"American Beauty"--When the pot-smoking (and dealing) next-door neighbor tells off his catering boss, Lester Burnham, the lead character, says with something approaching awe, "You're my new hero." When this movie ended, I had two new heroes, one real, and one fictional. The real hero was actor Kevin Spacey, who found a way to infuse both his "loser" character and the smug-com in general with fresh attitude--the character takes a perversely smug pride in how total a loser he's become. And the fictional hero--Lester Burnham, who undergoes a worm-turning transition that's funny and gratifying as he tells all of his tormentors (including his family) where to get off. The movie would have been great fun if it had stopped there, but Lester and the movie go one step further--they call his new-found freedom into question as well, with the idea that Lester's still missing out on something deeper and greater. Whether Lester figures it out just in time or a little too late depends on your perspective. Okay, I'm going to go ahead and call this one a classic, too (and yes, Sam Mendes directed both this movie and "Away We Go." Clearly, he works the smug side of the street).

As for the smug-coms in general, well, it's easy to shoot fish in barrels. Self-knowledge, and putting self-knowledge into action, is a lot tougher. The great smug-coms don't settle for the easy.

Next time: shoop and hard-earned love

shoop and the geek bullies

More about bullies--this time, geek bullies. (Note: in case it is not already obvious, I consider myself a geek.)

Pre-internet, the only way a geek could get to be a bully was through role-playing games. Because as history has taught us and continues to teach us, someone who's bullied goes in one of two directions. They either commit to the idea that bullying is wrong (roughly 5-7%), or they become bullies themselves the first chance they get (everybody else). And how do geeks (most frequently the victims of conventional, give-me-your-lunch-money-you-punk bullies) become bullies? Through fantasy, geeks can become dungeon masters, kings, wizards, kick-ass warriors. Which is the ultimate fantasy for many geeks--they get to abuse people. They gain fear and respect, friends, and admirers--they get to win.

The internet opened up many more avenues for geeks to become bullies--they start their own blogs, and then abuse people through geeky put-downs. It is perhaps not surprising, though somewhat depressing, that geek bullies tend to be even more thoughtless and abusive than the Bluto-bullies. This phenomenon is partly due to what makes most geeks in the first place--that place in the brain in charge of empathy doesn't work. If you were to ask a geek, "Do you realize how insulting and abusive that statement is?", the probable response would be something along the lines of, "How is that abusive? All I'm saying is...blah, blah, blah, *snort* *fart*."

(Doubtless it is thoughtless of me to add snorts and farts to hypothetical geek dialogue, but that's just how I imagine it.)

That's why *Role Models* is such a brilliant movie. It exactly nails the geek mentality in a positive way, and it astutely dissects what makes a geek bully. The main geek (the invaluable Christopher Mintz-Plasse, an even better movie geek than the immortal Eddie Deezen) uses role-play as an avenue for his imagination, a chance to give his nobler self an outlet--and as an escape from an all-too-ignoble world. Mintz-Plasse represents geekdom at its best. What makes *Role Models* so unique is that we get to see geeks at their worst as well, in the person of King Argotron (Ken Jeong, also giving a peerless performance). The "King" is the geek with power, and he's quick to abuse it--he's the quintessential geek bully. The spectrum of geekiness is rich and full in this movie, even playing with viewers' expectations--"villains" in the game turn out to be just fun-loving geeks, as the Paul Rudd character discovers when he leads his heroic raid against the king and his henchmen. Do yourself a favor and see it, if you haven't already.

Next time: shoop and the smug-com.