Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: Stardust
The place to be
Humans are meme* sponges, and none are spongier than children. In first grade, I got infected by the fame meme. I vanted to be a star.
If only Cintra Wilson had been a playmate on my street; she might have inoculated me against the fame virus. As it was, I fell under Hollywood’s spell. I saw a want ad in the TV guide for child actors and I bit.
When I was four or five, I spontaneously broke into song at our local pizza parlor, where they had a real live piano man. I belted out “Home on the Range”; I was the original karaoke maven. (My wife would call it budding exhibitionism, and she’d be right. Hmm. Exhibitionism. Isn’t that what blogging is all about?) Bottom line, I loved having an audience.
As I recall, I got a job from my first casting call, a major role in James Whitmore’s upcoming TV series, My Friend Tony (January to September, 1969). If you follow that link, you’ll learn the following:
When he was in Italy shortly after the end of World War II, John Woodruff was almost pick-pocketed by a very young street hood named Tony. Years later, a fully grown Tony arrived in America to join John as half of a private-investigation team.
I was that very young street hood! See? I’ll bet you always wondered where you’d seen me before.
I only had to do one thing for this role: pick James Whitmore’s pocket. I recall that Whitmore was a royal creep who couldn’t be bothered to learn my name (I was ‘the kid’). I also recall that in the story boards for my scene, everything appeared in silhouette. I figured the drawings had to be in silhouette because the director hadn’t met me yet and didn’t know what I looked like.
When the show finally aired, the whole family watched it. There I was in the opening credits — where I would be week after week for the show’s whole run — a tiny silhouette in the uppermost fifth of the screen trying to pickpocket a slightly larger silhouette.
Fame. But it got better. Before long, I would find myself sitting nearly naked in Eva Gabor’s lap.
You know, I’ve always wondered why I can’t ever manage to catch MY episode of Green Acres on television. The answer is easy: six seasons, 170 episodes. As best I can tell, mine is episode 145, “The City Kids”.
Here’s my Green Acres insider FAQ. Since the kids at school only ever asked me two questions, this will be short.
Q: Did you meet Arnold the Pig?
A: No, I did not get to meet Mr. the Pig.
Q: So I bet you think you’re pretty cool, huh?
A: Well, yes, actually —
Q: Dontcha, punk, ya little shit —
A: Okay, the Q&A is over now . . .
For Green Acres, my role required that I run around the Douglases’ living room with a giant candle holder and get myself stuck up the Douglases’ chimney. (Is there something oddly phallic about that, or is it just me?) Once I’m stuck up the chimney, the other kids tug on my legs to pull me out, and they pull off my pants by accident. When they finally get me out, my face is all smudged with soot.
Hmm. Are you laughing yet?
After the director got himself a satisfying take, I ran off the set. My main thought was to get my pants back, but Eva Gabor intercepted me, plopped me on her lap, cooed madly at me, and tried to wipe my face clean.
My mother was no help at all. She was so ecstatic to find me giving Eva Gabor a lap dance that she hung about, basking in Eva’s starlight, gushing how much she loved her in Gigi.
I’d really, really like to say I grabbed myself a bit of stellar action, a fistful of Hooterville Hooters, as it were, but sadly, I was embarrassed as hell sitting half-naked in some strange woman’s lap. Yet another example of me passing up an opportunity to score.
So: did I go on to become the youngest Brady? Did I get to play Eddie’s father’s son, or the littlest Munster? No, although I could have become a model for the star of MTV’s The Head:
Yup, I became a nine-year-old creep, a genuine prick. Couldn’t understand why the other kids weren’t as impressed with me as I was.
I may be misremembering this, but I think the camel-back-breaking straw came the day our teacher announced that a boy in one of the other first grade classes had died in a dune buggy accident. I waved my hand, and when the teacher pointed to me, I said, “Well, at least he’ll get his name in the newspaper.”
Based on that, my parents decided that this fame thing had gone a bit too far. That was the end of my acting career, except for my starring role in our first grade class’s production of Chicken Little.
Weird thing is, I never really missed it.
D.
*”Memes are the basic building blocks of our minds and culture, in the same way that genes are the basic building blocks of biological life.” – from Meme Central.
Better definition: memes are infectious thoughts or ideas. “Blueberries are blue” is not a meme. “M-m-m-my-Sharona” is (if you hum it and get other folks to hum it, too). Courage is not a meme, but a code of chivalry is. Religion is the Typhoid Mary of memes.
P.S.: Bare Rump is back. I thought about having her meet up with Seymore Butts on his casting couch (what — you don’t think Seymore would be interested in a hot new actress named Bare Rump?) but Karen says Bare Rump has too much integrity to appear in a porno. Ergo, Bare Rump’s Diary remains PG-13 (weeeell, occasionally R) for the time being.
Walken in 2008
Yippee! It’s more than a Technorati rumor. It’s true: Christopher Walken will run for president in 2008. Let’s examine his credentials, shall we?
But first, some background on how America chooses its leaders. Ronald Reagan rose to the highest post in the land thanks to the fact he looked so good playing opposite a chimp. Arnold Schwarzenegger did about as good as a non-native born citizen can do because he showed his naked tush in Terminator. Fred Grandy played Gopher on the Love Boat. How can you not vote for a guy named Gopher? Sonny Bono used to be married to Cher. How can you not vote for a guy bright enough to divorce Cher?
The list goes on and on. Fred Thompson parlayed a Hollywood acting career into a Senate seat. He then parlayed an acting career in the Senate into an even bigger role, D.A. on monster hit Law and Order. Next pole vault, the Oval Office, but Fred hasn’t announced yet.
Don’t forget Sheila Kuehl (from Dobie Gillis) and Clint Eastwood (who debuted as the uncredited ‘lab assistant’ in the 1955 chick flick, Revenge of the Creature). And don’t ignore Bill Clinton, best known as the Cigar Smoker in Devil in a Blue Dress, and Dubya, who is such a fine actor no one seems to realize he isn’t a Texan.
Back to Christopher Walken. I love this guy. I really do. And I’m not being sarcastic, either. Wherever and whenever he shows up, he’s riveting. He played Diane Keaton’s suicidal brother in Annie Hall, and a nut job in Deer Hunter. See? Already, he has a more credible military record than Dubya.
My all time favorite Christopher Walken role: not Max Shreck in Batman Returns, but the Angel Gabriel in The Prophecy and its sequels. If you haven’t seen this movie, see it. The Prophecy has a screenplay to die for. Two great quotes, which I’ve borrowed from IMDB:
I’m an angel. I kill newborns while their mamas watch. I turn cities into salt. And occasionally, when I feel like it, I tear little girls apart. And from now till kingdom come… the only thing you can count on… in your existence… is never understanding why.
Catherine: Go to Hell!
Gabriel: Heaven. Only Heaven. At least get the zip code right.
Catherine: It’s all the same to you, isn’t it?
Gabriel: No. In Heaven, we believe in love.
Catherine: What do you love, Gabriel?
Gabriel: Cracking your skull.
And if that exchange doesn’t get your vote, nothing will.Disclaimer: over at the Huffington Post, they’re still trying to figure out if this is a hoax.
D.
Natalie Portman — shaved
I’m still curious whether outrageous name-dropping can bump traffic. Didn’t work using ‘Scott Savol’, but then, I guess he’s old news.
The Sunday New York Times has a cool story on the film V, an adaptation of Alan Moore’s graphic novel from the 1980s. The movie is slated for release in November. (You might need to subscribe to their site to read the article — I’m not sure.) Natalie Portman, head shaved, plays V’s apprentice, Evie.
The NYT story, by Sarah Lyall, makes a good point:
“In today’s skittish atmosphere, it takes a certain courage – or foolhardiness- to make a film that might be seen as endorsing terrorism, or at the very least, bomb-fueled anarchy. At a time when many studio films avoid what might offend, the makers of “Vendetta” have stepped out onto a lonely limb.”
My question: when will someone make a movie out of Moore’s other classic, Watchmen?
D.
Paging Miss Manners
Have I mentioned my raging crush on Olivia Hussey?
‘Twas Olivia’s Juliet (in Franco Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet) who first made my heart race. How, how could she speak words of love to that pasty-faced, mealy-mouthed Leonard Whiting? Let’s just say I’ve gotten very good at squeezing my eyes shut during Whiting’s stage time. Also, I’ve developed a preternaturally good sense of timing during the balcony scene, allowing me to unstop my ears for Juliet’s, “Swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon.”
Juliet was a sweetie, but it was Olivia’s Mary who won my eternal love.
Here, I was going to run off at the mouth about how Romeo and Juliet is Juliet’s tragedy, and Jesus of Nazareth is Mary’s tragedy; but then I realized I don’t know crap about Romeo and Juliet, nor do I know much about Christianity. Sure, I read the Gospels in college, just to prove a point to Weyton Tam (a high school friend who was certain I’d convert if I read the New Testament), but when you get right down to it the story doesn’t stick to me. I’m sure I’ll get the details wrong — on R&J as well as Testament II — and I’ll have to fall back on that WEAK excuse, “It’s my blog and these are my opinions, even if they are based on my imperfect memory of the facts.”
Well, I don’t need anyone’s help to make me look like a fool, least of all my own.
So instead of drawing ill-advised parallels between Mary and Juliet, I’m going to change the subject and ask your advice on a tangentially related matter.
A patient called in a few days ago, asking for medication for a recurring problem. I phoned in a prescription for the same medications I’ve used in the past — the same ones which have helped her repeatedly — and I had my receptionist squeeze her into the schedule ASAP. Today.
“Hi!” I said. “How are you feeling?”
Her boyfriend, she said, took her to his pastor, who “laid on hands and healed me”. (Mind you, she’d started the medications the day I phoned them in.) As I proceeded to examine her and pronounce her well, she said, “Oh, thank you, Jesus. Praise Jesus. Thank you Jesus.”
I kept a civil tongue. “Whatever works,” I said.
“Have you been saved?”
Not even a I hope you don’t mind my asking but. There it was, in my lap; and you know, I’m tired of saying, “I’m Jewish,” only to be told condescendingly, “Oh, you people are very close to God,” or, “The people of the Book! How fortunate for you!” How good for me, even if I am going to hell.
Instead, I stupidly went for the funny line. (And it wasn’t even all that funny.)
“Trust me, I’m beyond salvation.”
I might as well have bent over.
“Oh, Dr. Hoffman, no one’s too late for salvation. Never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever.” You get the point.
But, honestly, what am I supposed to say? I’m a Jew (even if I am agnostic, which my rabbi says is perfectly okay — I have a Jewish ethos, and that’s all that matters. Hey, he’s Reformed). I don’t believe in salvation, the divinity of Christ, the resurrection, heaven, or hell. I’m unconvinced as to the historicity of Christ. I appreciate the Christian philosophy as embodied in the Sermon on the Mount, but that’s as far as it goes. If I were forced to convert, like one of my conversos ancestors, I’d become a Jeffersonian Christian.
I’m sure there’s a correct answer to my question. Much of Miss Manners’ book is devoted to polite responses to rude questions. I’ve even read an earlier edition of her book, but — and I know I mentioned this recently — I have a memory like a sieve.
Maybe next time someone asks if I’ve been saved, I should say, “Yes, thank you very much; the Archfiend Himself has drawn my blood, and I have signed my name upon his parchment; yea, I walk with Belial, with Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies; I cavort with the Prince of Light and Darkness, the Foul Redeemer, the Monarch of Hell; and he has cleft me with his member, cold as winter’s ice, and left his mark upon me. How about you?”
I mean, if I’m going to be funny, I might as well be funny.
D.
Violet survived her squeezing
If you were to ask me, “How could anyone hope to improve on Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory”, I wouldn’t say, “Have Tim Burton direct the remake.” But hey, that’s a great idea. I’m a Tim Burton fan, although I must say his latter day movies have never quite matched the promise of Frankenweenie. And I wouldn’t say, “Cast Johnny Depp in the role of Willy Wonka,” even though that’s a great idea, too. I remember Depp from his 21 Jump Street days. He was just another pretty face. Who ever thought he had an edge? And yet, unlike wussie twenty-somethings like Matt Damon or Josh Hartnett, Depp has consistently chosen meaty (and dangerous) roles. To name a few: Dead Man; The Ninth Gate; Once Upon a Time in Mexico. (And then there’s Pirates of the Caribbean, proof that no one bats a thousand.)
No: I would say, “Kill off all the Oompa-Loompas.”
Me hates the Oompa-Loompas. There’s something deeply offensive about beating the viewer about the head and shoulders with a message, any message. Guess director Mel Stuart felt it essential that every last two-year-old get it.
But on to the point of today’s blog: where are they now? I am happy to report than none of the Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory kids ended badly. Hey, not all child stars follow the same paths as Danny Bonaduce, Dana Plato, or Todd Bridges. Take me, for example —
Oh. That’s another story.
Here’s the run-down.
Michael Bollner (Augustus Gloop) is a tax accountant in Munich.
Paris Themmen (Mike Teevee) works as a business manager for Disney. He had an uncredited roll in The Big Lebowski.
Denise Nickerson (Violet Beauregarde) gave up acting in 1978 and became a nurse. Her acting career is also notable for her involvement in a musical production of Nabokov’s Lolita.
Julie Dawn Cole (Veruca ‘I want it NOW’ Salt) is the only one of the five who is still in the biz. Julie is my personal favorite. A quick IMDB run reveals she has been very busy in the TV world.
And (drum roll) . . .
Peter Ostrum (Chuckie himself) is a farm animal vet in Upstate New York. Here’s his full story.
Tim Burton’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory opens this July. Yippee!
D.
Darth Yawn
I’m not a Star Wars fanboy. Never was, never will be. Sure, I saw the first three as a kid (and had the good taste to despise ewoks even then), but when Lucas started grinding the cash cow with Episode 1, I read the reviews. Feh. Not even Natalie Hershlag* could get me off my ass & down to the theater . . . and this, despite the fact she was just as cute as she was in The Professional, but grown up now. I’ll wait until Alan Moore’s V for Vendetta comes out; Natalie plays Evey.
Back to the story that should have died long ago in a galaxy far, far away. It’s bad enough Walmart defines science fiction as ‘that which has Star Wars in the title’; now, Blogger — my host — persists in posting a link to Darth Vader’s Blog on its ‘Blogs of Note’ list, even though Darth has thrown in the quill. This evening, I popped over to see what Darth is up to, and discovered that he wrote his last post nearly two weeks ago. As of this writing, Darth’s terminal entry has racked up close to 600 comments. 600 comments, my minions, and for what? I defy you to read that Sith bastard’s blather without falling asleep. Will someone unplug his respirator — please?
I had stopped by before. All this resentment has been brewing for some time, let me tell you. This isn’t merely the ire of a non-fanboy left out in the cold, the one kid who doesn’t get the joke. It’s the fact that I do get the joke, and it isn’t as funny as it could be. Not by half. It enrages me, seeing a great comic opportunity pissed away.
(Aren’t there more important things in the world for me to be upset about? You betcha, but this isn’t a political blog. I understand there are already a few of those out there in the blogosphere.)
But I have plans. Oh, do I have plans. And I won’t have to rip off anyone’s creative product except my own.
Watch this space.
D.
*Natalie, Natalie. Why did you have to take a shikseh name like Portman? Think of all the Jewish boys who would not have given up looking for Jewish brides, simply because they knew there were girls like you in the Jewniverse?
The dust that makes the stars shine
We watched the first few minutes of Blade Runner this AM on Satellite. (Gotta love Leon: “My mother? Let me tell you about my mother.”) As the credits scrolled, I thought about William Sanderson, who played lonely replicant engineer J. F. Sebastian. Karen and I once sat next to him in the coach section of a 747. Then as now, Sanderson was better known for his role as Larry on the Newhart Show (Daryl & Daryl’s brother), but I pumped him for information on Blade Runner. Yes, he thought a lot of the movie, too. No, he’d never read P. K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, but that didn’t matter: Ridley Scott hadn’t read it, either.
I was in med school at the time, working on my MD/PhD. This really seemed to impress him. So we sat there, shooting the bull, each impressed with the other, two guys with crappy self-images stroking each other’s ego. Well, maybe I’m projecting onto Mr. Sanderson . . . still, it struck me at the time that this fellow didn’t have an arrogant bone in his body.
Check out William Sanderson’s page on IMDB. He’s been busy. I wonder sometimes whether character actors get more work than the big boys and girls.
From William Sanderson, my thoughts wandered off to another character actor, Ian Wolfe. Don’t know the name? His filmography on IMDB lists 200 appearances, and that’s not including over 80 ‘notable guest appearances’ on TV. His career stretched from 1934 to 1990, when he made his last appearance as “Forger” in Dick Tracy. I remember that when he died in 1992, one of the local LA news anchors quoted Wolfe as having once said, “I was the dust that made the other stars shine.”
Still not ringing a bell? Here’s a picture. And if you don’t recognize him now, you’re really too young to be reading this blog.
D.