Jeff Bridges, you torture me so

This week I'm writing a little bio documentary that will appear on cable. This is relatively fun, with the exception that I'm holed up in my basement. And that is making me come to Jesus on the fact that while for some people, working in your pajamas with no real boss is a dream job, and while I've successfully done that before and for extended periods of time, my natural demeanor requires more human interaction.

The assignment works like this: big studio tells me they want a ~ 3 minute bio thing with photos and movie clips set against voice over about an individual's acting/directing/whatever craft. They tell me who said individual is (in this case, Jeff Bridges) and then which 3-4 of his movies I will use, the idea being that they will run this little 3 minute thing on their cable station before they run one of said movies.

As this is my second of such gigs, I am beginning to get the idea that the movies they select are only the most terrible and most forgotten of any actor's cannon. I am beginning to get the idea that said studio primarily owns only the most terrible and most forgotten projects in filmdom.

As a result, this means that I have to not only watch said terrible movies, but then I have to spend like days with them watching them over and over and selecting clips from them. Yes, I know, a true First World Problem. But anyhow.

The terrible movies in this case are: Thunderbolt & Lightfoot, Rancho Deluxe and Wild Bill. I hadn't heard of them, either. I have now spent several days locked in my basement with these movies and interviews with him about these movies and it is appearing to have an unfortunate effect on my psyche.

I think, however, the thing that depresses me the most is that said studio has a policy of requiring that I do things like comb the internet for YouTube videos of interviews with said actors and whatnot to find out the information I need in lieu of just going right to the horse's mouth. I can't help but think it would be much more efficient to call up said actors' agents and say things like 'Big studio wants some quotes for a thing on their cable station' and hope said agent will go, 'ok' and set it up. Evidently big studio doesn't think so.

Ah well, it's a cherry gig anyhow. What the @#$ am I bitching about?

The delectable Mr. Hawke

Last night I had a dream about Ethan Hawke. I do not know why I dreamt about him, but eventually my psyche was purging the leftovers of the crush I had on him when I was 19 and thick on the throes of my greasy man phase.

I interviewed Mr. Hawke last year when his film adapation of his novel, The Hottest State, came out. I've heard that sometimes he can not be the best interview, but he was quite game and up for it this time--likely because it was an indie that he directed from a book he wrote, so he obviously really cared about the project.

However, while we were waiting for them to set the cameras and all that, I mentioned to him that my grandmother's best friend, Gertrude (of course), was the grandmother of his friend -- the playwright Jonathan Marc Sherman--a friend with whom, amongst other things, did a quick cameo in The Hottest State. When I was in high school, I'd seen (and loved) this play by Sherman called Women and Wallace--fairly autobiographical, about a guy whose mother kills herself when he's a child and the ripple effects it has in his life, his relationships with women, etc. I saw it at Festival (aka The New England High School Drama Festival--a competition for the drama nerds such as myself) and immediatley loved it.

Well, fast forward a couple of years and I discover that Sherman, this playwright I totally revere, is Gertrude's grandson. Gertrude, whom my grandmother had shlepped me and my cousins to visit all the time as kids. What's more, my aunt was actually besties with his mother and was even in her wedding--the very same mother who did kill herself and inspired the play, etc. etc. Oh, how it all comes full circle.

So, I give a very abbreviated version of this to Ethan Hawke. He initially is skeptical, asks me where I'm from (Boston), Gertrude's last name, etc. When I have provided sufficient info, he suddenly realizes I'm legit and goes, 'That's why he's always so into the Red Sox!"

Then we do the interview on camera, he's lovely, blah blah. And when our four minutes are up, he is so psyched to get right back into talking about JMS--gets up out of his chair to keep talking to me, walks me out, tells me how great a playwright JMS is, that he had a bit of a writer's block for a while, but has finally just written something else great the he (Ethan) is going to be directing in the fall, that I should come see it, etc.

In short, it was pretty damn cool. I promptly got my car out of valet and called my best friend from high school and gushed about how nice he was to me. Another one of those days you wish you could package up in a time machine and send back to your angst-ridden teenage self so you know things will work out.

Doogie Howser you're my hero

Even though I've gotten used to doing this, it's still fun when you get to meet someone you watched on TV or in movies a zillion times when you were a kid. Witness: Doogie Howser, with whom I had a 1:1 for Harold & Kumar 2.

The general junket format for this one was roundtables, so we got to talk to the writers (funny), Harold (aka John Cho) whom we barraged with Star Trek questions (he's playing Sulu in the JJ Abrams remake), Neil Patrick Harris (ie Doogie himself) and also Rob Corddry (formerly of The Daily Show).

It wasn't exactly like getting to meet Ewan McGregor or anything (whom I still haven't interviewed, and thus cannot die fulfilled yet), but it is still trippy and fun. Ah, watching Doogie do useful things with himself and then type up his diary on that old dinosaur computer while I was trapped in dull suburbia. Those were the days indeed.

And it's days like the Harold & Kumar 2 junket that make me feel like the world isn't a terrible place, as not only did I get to chat with sir Doogie, but I had an exclusive with him, too. He had a cold, but was doing his best to be game and was very nice and normal. Sadly for me, he wasn't nearly excited enough when I told him I used to stage manage his boyfriend in college (his bf is David Burtka, who was in a couple of my MUSKET shows in college), which is weird because when I told Ethan Hawke that his friend was my grandmother's best friend's grandson, he basically wanted to talk to me about that for an hour. What? Not every celebrity is the same? Shocker.

Aside: I actually saw Rob Corddry a couple of weeks later at a MOTH show in Hollywood that he was judging. I marched up and told him that I'd been at the H&K junket, and he was very nice and happy to chat with me and we stood around small talking over drinks while we waited for the show to begin. This is my insane life.

Getting by with a little help from your Friends

A few months ago, I covered Run, Fat Boy, Run. I was excited to see the movie because it had Simon Pegg in it, and, well, not surprisingly, I'm a fan of Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz (I do have taste, after all).

Here's the trouble with that, though: Pegg didn't write/direct/produce/etc. Run, Fat Boy, Run or anything else that he usually does with his stuff. He just starred in it. As a result, it is not the signature Simon Pegg stuff you'd expect, and it pretty much kind of sucked.

BUT! There was still junket fun to be had. Pegg as nice enough at the roundtable, kind of more resigned than you'd expect from someone known for his whip-smart humor. Also, he clearly had had some colored hairspray put on his head by a makeup person to fill in his balding-ness for the cameras. But I chose not to mention that to him.

Then we got t meet the writer, Michael Ian Black, whom you may recognize from Reno 911. Let me say this about Black: he is weird. Just an odd bird. His jokes weren't funny, he was more just a sad case. A rather huge downer meeting him. Maybe this is because his movie blew.

But then things improved. Why? Because we got to meet, oh yes, David Schwimmer. That is to say, Ross from Friends. Schwimmer has been trying his hand at directing things around town since Friends ended, and that includes Fatboy. Unfortunately, he isn't nearly as gifted at directing as he is at playing everyone's favorite innocuous hard-up, much-divorced lover of Jennifer Aniston (have I mentioned the movie wasn't good?). But still, getting to sit two feet away from frigging Ross Geller is pretty insane, and he was totally nice.

The craziest thing was, he was possibly the least remarkable of all the Fatboy folks we interviewed that day. In fact, everyone actually paled in comparison to Thandie Newton (Beloved, Crash), who was the love interest in the movie. The thing about Thandie Newton is
A. she is ridiculously gorgeous and B. always seems very serious, ice queeny on camera.

Well, guess what? Only one of those things is true in person. That is to say, she's still inhumanly gorgeous, but the woman is absolutely hilarious. You would never know it from how she is cast on screen, but dear lord. She immediately let loose with a string of expletives that would make even me blush, and then told lots of sordid stories about the gross pranks she and Simon Pegg would play on each other (culminating in her putting candy bars and dirty underwear in his toilet to make it look like someone pooed in there). I am still reeling. She absolutely stole the show, and was delightful. Schwimmer who? That's what I say.

The trouble with Miley

Did I really just say that when you call up places and say you are from Very Important Magazine, they put you through and offer you pots of gold? I lied.

At least, I lied if you are trying to get through to Miley Cyrus. In addition to the Twilight article I was writing (see previous post), I was also writing a profile on Miley Cyrus, teen temptress of Hannah Montana fame.

Once again, for those of you fortunate enough not to either have or be an 11-year-old girl and, like me, disparage most things Disney, I will put it in our terms: Miley Cyrus is the teenaged daughter of the Achy Breaky Heart guy (ie Billy Ray Cyrus) who now has this amazingly craptacular show in Disney Channel that makes 12-year-old girls positively lose their minds. She plays a normal everyday girl (Miley "Stewart") who happens to be a secret pop star (Hannah Montana) by night. Very believable. It must be said here that even I have to admit she has a good voice and her music is sort of catchy, but the show is another story.

If you like anything like 'decent acting' or 'having to think' and do not want to live in a whitewashed millennial version of Ozzie and Harriet while at the same time having your inner self-esteem brainwashed by the evil Disney marketing execs that dress Cyrus in outfits that magically make you think 'I must look like that or else I will suck', then this show is not for you. If, however, you are an elementary school girl who is primed to receive the messages that you must wear our special brand sparkly belt with your leggings for your life to ever be satisfying, then this show is your crack.

In short, in the 2 years since Miley Stewart came on the scene, she has taken over the universe Britney-style, and if her periodic slightly naughty pix that show up on the internet from time to time are anything to go by, she will ultimately have a Britney style melt-down as well.

But I digress. The point is, I had to interview her for this article. We knew, since she is the queen of the universe, that even though I was writing for Very Important Magazine, I'd have a bitch of a time getting ahold of her. Initially that seemed okay, and we figured that quotes from a Disney exec would do. But as time went on, my editor realized that my Miley piece was going to be the lead of the section, in which case getting real quotes from her would be ever more important. Doesn't look vg for the VIM if their lead article is a write-around, after all.

So I'm emailing Disney, her publicist, her agent, I'm name dropping the editor, I'm begging, borrowing, stealing. I'm saying very reasonable things like: this is one of VIM's biggest issues, she's the lead story, it raises money for charity, and I only need five minutes of her time on the phone. And I'm getting: radio silence.

Finally--several days after the original deadline, mind you--the editor and I batter them into giving me 'emailed quotes', which I take as the green light for the publicist to just make stuff up. Which I'm fine with, as long as I have their sign off on it and I have something I can use. They still take SEVERAL MORE DAYS to get me even these, with me still pestering. Then they finally get me the quotes --only answering a couple of the questions I said were 'musts' and ignoring all the rest--of course--and they are utter garbage. They are one liners, totally facile and predictable. I say things like, 'How have things changed for you over the year' and she says things like 'Visiting sick children in hospitals is a blessing.' Terrific. Thanks. Now can you do me a favor and thank Jesus and your mom? Oh wait, you did.

Ridiculous. Editor and I managed to squeeze out a couple of useable sentences from it with much work, but it was ridiculous. It's not 'her' fault, I'm sure, but it makes me look forward to the day she is on Fat Celebrity Dog Food Eating House 3088.

Catherine Hardwicke, Queen of the Universe - Heir Apparent

This week I got to do a phoner with Catherine Hardwicke, the director of the upcoming world-taker-over-er, Twilight.

If you do not know what Twilight is, then you are neither a teenaged girl nor a horny housewife. Since I think being neither of those is a good thing, then I will tell you that Twilight is a series of books about a prenaturally responsible teenaged girl named Bella who falls in love with a vampire. In short it is: tween porn, and the books have successfully managed to knock Harry Potter off the shelves, so you can imagine that the movie will take over the universe (assuming it is not an hour and a half of a vampire farting) with equal vigor.

The fans of the book are of the completely Star Trek, Star Wars, fanatical, insane 'No, Edward Cullen died in 1887 not 1886, you moron' variety. But instead of getting out more, they are busy cutting up construction paper in their basements to make daisy chains counting down the days until the movie hits the theaters (Wait, no one has done daisy chains since I counted down the days to George Michael's birthday in 1987? Oh well.)

Anyhow, so the movie is going to be HUGE, and Catherine Hardwicke is basically going to go from being a tiny indie movie director that no one paid much mind to to 'Will you please bring the blue Maserati around, Jeeves? The red one doesn't match my outfit.' She has directed three movies before this one--Thirteen, Lords of Dogtown, and last year's Nativity Story and has basically been able to go low profile. Not so much anymore.

For that reason, I got to profile her for a big-name industry magazine, which means that when you email anyone's people and say, 'I want to interview X' they say, 'Are you sure you only want X? We can also give you the head of the studio and the Princess of Canada if you would like.' So that's nice. I got a half hour on the phone with her, which is basically unheard of for dinkier outlets such as I usually write for.

She is very cool and chill and 'yeah, man' and happy and in no way acted like she was sick of answering the same questions over and over. She also called me from what must be her cell phone. This is the second time someone has called me from their private number (normally the handlers connect the calls through lots of blocked lines and hotel suites and whatnot) and neglected to block the number. So now, in short, if I feel like calling Catherine Hardwicke to hang out or trying to get her to buy someone's Girl Scout Cookies, I have the direct line. I have a feeling once she becomes Queen Twilight, this won't happen anymore.

The Holy Grail

As I believe I may have said before, the pleasure of covering a lot of smaller films is getting to meet the bigger talent that will trot out to push their independent projects. One of the biggest cases of this was El Cantante, the horrible Hector Lavoe biopic that starred J-Lo and her man Marc Anthony.

As we sat around the table waiting for her Highness Jennifer Lopez to arrive, I heard stories from the other journos who have interviewed her before. It seems the bootylicious one has been known to be rather a diva before, and has pulled attitude on more than one occasion on more than one of my friends. Someone even told a story of J Lo shoving her (in her defense: my friend was obviously standing in her way). So, I was scared.

Luckily, we had Good J Lo that day, and she was in a very nice mood, cheerful, on time, pleasant, etc. She even joked with one reporter who asked her a question about possibly being up for a Quentin Tarantino movie (or similar) and having her music video be an audition for it. She was wearing a crazy shiny lame type short dress that looked great and was done up to the nines in the hair and make up department, too. It was insane thinking that I was sitting across from someone who was just a couple of years older than me but was clearly in another stratosphere of the universe (note: for further feelings of this, please see any entries I ever post on Charlize Theron). Also, she was, like, weirdly proportioned differently from me. She has kind of a giant head. Not on a terrible way. Just in a 'maybe we're not the same species sort of way.'

Doing the math, I think she was actually probably already with-twins at that time, so I personally attribute her good mood to her impending family. Of course, this is just my random assumption for which I have no real basis.

Weirdly, the bigger story for me that day was Marc Anthony. I have long loathed him. For no good reason, mind you, but the fact remains. I have always found him puny and hideously unattractive, plus I not so secretly suspect he totally controls J-Lo through some fucked up sort of mind meld behind the scenes. Well, turns out, he is, like, Mr. Charisma. In the course of the 15 minute roundtable interview, he succeeded in totally changing my opinion of him. He was totally funny and affable and personable. Maybe he was working his mind meld on me. Still, the movie sucked, but whatever.