Happy Birthday Mr. Beatty, Pt. 2

Soooooo.....

Where were we. Flash forward to the making of "Bulworth," which Mr. Beatty wrote and was directing and starring in. I got called to do some background work for five nights in South Central.

For anyone who doesn't know, background actors aren't treated very well in my business. They are more often than not thought of as living, breathing props that can simply be shoved into place and not afforded any consideration. Frankly, many (and I mean MANY) of the people doing background work are crazy and a lot of them make the life of a 2nd A.D. (Assistant Director) miserable. SO as a result, I suppose they get treated badly. But there are also those that act professionally and aren't crazy and unfortunately get lumped in with the rest. I was one of those (of course!)

So, I reported to set for the first night's work, camera ready and wardrobe in hand. At the time my hair was short and dark and the look was getting me quite a bit of work. It was still light outside but we were told not to go anywhere without a security escort due to the, uh, nature of the neighborhood. I went through wardrobe, where they chose an upscale suit. When the A.D. came around, I was picked as one of the cabal of reporters in the scene. Then we settled in for a looooong wait. Finally, as the sun was setting, we were all called together outside. Usually, as background, you are told little if nothing about the context of the work you are asked to do (props, remember?) But this time was different. The 1st A.D. called us all together "Our director is going run down the scene for you."

And Warren Beatty strolled over and introduced himself to the crowd. There were over 100 background that would be working for the next five nights, in the climactic scenes leading up to the end of the film. If you've seen the movie, these scenes take place in front of Halle Berry's character's family home after the press has discovered that's where Bulworth has been hiding out and with whom. Warren ran down the movie's premise and the work we'd be doing for the next week. He wanted us to be a part of the process. He gave us direction and he asked for our best. And you know, everyone (with the exception of a few too crazy to keep it together) really rose to the challenge. For five nights, we were all working together to help Mr. Beatty get what he needed. Amazing. I'm not going to lie, I was impressed. I've seen low rent directors with no track record and no pedigree treat everyone like shit.

But, it gets better...Next, the reporters were being placed in the scene. There were probably 20-30 of us. Mr. Beatty went around to each one of us. "Hi, I'm Warren, what's your name?" and he'd shake our hands and look us in the eye. Now, here's the kicker. Once you told him your name...he remembered it. And called you by it for the duration...That's how Mr. Beatty has been seducing America for years, people. By being a human being who treats every contact as one of value. For the first time, I regretted not sleeping with him. Imagine what that experience must be like!

I got my SAG (Screen Actor's Guild) card courtesy of Mr. Beatty. On the 2nd night, while blocking another piece of the scene, he threw me a line. They had hired a couple of actual reporters to speak all of the 'reporter' dialogue but he thought it seemed weird to have the rest of the reporters not speak. So we said "Marion, throw out your best question." Sadly, I can't remember what it was and it never made it into the movie but I got elevated to day player rate and got my card.

So it happened, on night four, on about hour twelve of an eighteen hour night, I found myself relating the Beverly Wilshire Hotel incident. He had no recollection of it, of course but when I told him that I had politely declined, he looked me up and down with narrowed eyes and pursed smirk. Then, as his DP called him away, he smiled and said "Good for you. Good for you."

We've crossed paths again in the last several years. And I'm happy to say, he's still that same gallant, charming, roguish, present man. And he still remembers my name...

Ah, regrets, I've had a few.

Happy Birthday Mr. Beatty, Pt. 1

In the 70's, Warren Beatty was not only a big giant movie star but the reigning Cock of the Walk. His sexual exploits were legendary as he made his way not only through the pantheon of his A list co stars but models, maids, socialites, wives, waitresses, daughters of friends...In 1976 he was still living in his long time digs atop the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. If you were a young girl with dreams of f**cking the great Warren Beatty, you went and hung out in their lobby. And that's how, on a summer evening, I ended up accompanying my best friend Eve* from our provincial little hamlet of Manhattan Beach, to stake out the Beverly Wilshire Bar. (*not her real name)

Having Warren Beatty as their well known tenant upped the hotel's profile and also drew a clientele of older, well heeled men who were hoping to snag his cast offs. In turn, this also lured more hookers...or "escorts" as they liked to be called. So the bar was a potent mix of horny young girls, hornier old men with money and money hungry working girls.

Before we go any further, let me point out that the 70's was when sexuality really opened up for women due to the availability of The Pill and we were all a little sluttier for it. But I was only there as Eve's wing man. I had no desire to f**ck Warren Beatty. He was too pretty. And he was f**cking everything that moved! But Eve really, really wanted to f**ck Warren Beatty and she didn't want to stalk him alone. So there I was in my Halston knock-off gamely trying to drink a dry martini without pulling a face. After being hit on by a couple of the deeply tanned, horny old boys, Eve and I were approached by one of 'the girls'...who I guess must have been having a bad week...she came over and in low tones tried to threaten us out of there. I offered to introduce her to the old horn dogs since they all seemed to be there for the same purpose. Except of course, I was too naive at the time to realize that old horny guys with cash are still going to try for the 'bargain' - being nubile young girls you can "buy" for a couple drinks and some appetizers - rather than a hooker who, no matter how attractive is still...well, a hooker.

Just as the hooker was starting to get a little loud with us...enter Warren Beatty. The minute he entered the lobby, a jolt of electricity went through the place. That energy entered the room ahead of him. As was apparently his M.O., he popped into the bar to 'peruse' before retiring to his suite. The hooker stopped, mid diatribe, her mouth in a perfect blow job "O"...I'm not sure if Eve was speaking. If she was, the pitch was one only dogs could hear. She was pinching the underside of my upper arm which brought tears to my eyes...I looked from her to the hooker, wondering what the hell was going on. Then from behind me I heard "Hi girls" and I turned around to find myself face to face with HIM.

His face was composed in that famous arrogant smirk and the hair was "Shampoo" era. I thought Eve might pass out because her grip on my arm was loosening. He smiled politely but dismissively at the hooker. If she worked there regularly, they probably recognized each other. But again, I was too naive to realize and kind of tossed my hair at her as if to say "haha, he doesn't want to talk to you, hooker!"

Mr. Beatty didn't sit...he stood between us at the bar...our knees pressing into his hips. There would be no lobby bar courtship, no drinks and small talk. There was a rhythm and routine to this transaction. "Would you like to come upstairs?" I immediately said "no thanks" and started to explain that I was only keeping Eve company. Somehow, Eve finally found her voice and said she'd love nothing more than to go upstairs. But for him, this was supposed to be a package deal. Both of us or none. I wasn't having it. It was actually starting to freak me out a little inside. Here I was, arguing with hookers in the Beverly Wilshire bar and being propositioned for a menage a trois by the hottest, handsomest movie star of the day! Eve actually started crying because I was ruining her Warren Beatty moment. Warren offered to have a private word with me while she went to repair her make up. "We can just send her home if you want." That wasn't what I was expecting to hear. Suddenly, there was a metallic taste in my mouth...fear, no doubt - which I think I managed to hide under my "moxie." I've always been big on moxie whether to my advantage or my detriment.

I still didn't want to f*ck him but part of me was secretly thrilled that it was me he wanted. Me and Faye Dunaway, Catherine Deneuve. Diane Keaton, Julie Christie, Natalie Wood, etc, etc, etc.
As Eve made her way back to her seat, I told him "no thanks" once more. With a little nod and that smirk, he left...just like that. Poor Eve was beside herself. I never told her what he said to me privately. That would have made her hate me even more. And she stopped being my friend that night.

Needless to say, I wasn't a Beatty convert after that. But many years later, while working on "Bulworth", I became one...

Stay tuned for Pt 2, tomorrow.

TRUST

Today's entry is going to be somewhat disjointed but as a fun little exercise, I'm going to try and tie it all together somehow. Here we go...

Less than eight days after winning an Oscar, Sandra Bullock's world has been rocked again but in a vile and nasty way.

I have a kind of sixth degree of separation with Sandy (as tout le Hollywood calls her). First, we share German ethnicity. Unlike me (who kept it under wraps) she was always open and proud of her German mother and heritage. Second, I was a production executive at 20th Century Fox TV when she was cast as television's version of Tess McGill in Working Girl. She was a last minute replacement for then BIG star Nancy "Facts of Life" McKeon and this was gonna be her "big break". In what's become known as her signature ethic of hard work, humility and kindness, she charmed and wowed all of us. And btw, she never believed the hype. The show was predictably awful but it did put her on Fox's radar and on the path to movie stardom. That was 1990. After a little movie called "Speed" shot her into the stratosphere, she became one of America's sweethearts and has remained such. When she met Matthew McConaughey on "A Time to Kill", sparks flew but their friendship lasted long after. I later worked with Matthew on "The Wedding Planner" and remained in contact with him and his partner Gus for quite a while. When Sandra began dating Jesse James, her friends (including Matt and Gus) were all very concerned for her. From the outside looking in, concern seemed like a good idea.

Six years later, on Oscar night, it seemed like the sweet, satisfying culmination of both her career and her personal life as she accepted her award with Jesse sitting proudly in the front row. I felt such joy for her then, because it looked like she had beaten the odds. And Jesse had become the poster boy for bad boy turned good man.

When Sandra told Barbara Walters that before Jesse, no one had ever had her back before, I for one knew how valuable that is and it gave me hope. My own little heart was just starting to poke it's head out - like a turtle out of it's shell - finally feeling like it might be ready to trust someone, if that someone came along...then...WHAMMO. The fucking around is bad enough. The fucking around without a condom is heinous. But the broken trust. That's the one that's gonna leave a mark. A collective mark on everyone who looked at the lady and her biker and thought "If they can do it, I can do it."

Fess Parker has died. Honestly, I haven't thought about him in a loooooooooong time. And all the obituaries keep talking about "Davy Crockett" which was a little confusing to me at first. Because I knew him as "Daniel Boone". It was the only show I was allowed to watch as a 10 year old (besides "The Wonderful World of Disney") and even then, it was always a nail biter as to whether my parents would capriciously take that privilege away from me at the last minute.

Once, in an incident that was probably the beginning of my trust issues (aha!), my dad put me out of the house in my underwear. It was summer and we were eating dinner. I can only assume I was in my underwear because it was hot...or - come to think of it, my mother may have made me eat in my underwear so I wouldn't splash spaghetti sauce on my clothes...I swear to you, that just popped into my head. Being fastidiously German, she'd think of something like that. Frankly the summer heat/underwear at the dinner table scenario never made sense to me before...but I remember him grabbing me by the upper arm and forcing me out onto the front porch - slamming the door behind me. As I sat on the stoop, the feelings of fear and humiliation washed over me. I remember praying none of my friends would see me out there. It's hard to play off white underwear and undershirt as anything but what they are...suddenly, this thought popped into my head "Daniel Boone is on!"That spurred me into action. There was no time to waste. I marched myself over to the next door neighbor's house...Now these neighbors and my parents had an uneasy relationship. They were German as well but considered "lower class" by my parents. The man liked his drink and used to cut holes in our hedges. They had two daughters. One who routinely butchered the violin every afternoon and the other, who we called Ilona Balona, famously caught the crotch of her baton twirling outfit on fire trying to straddle a flaming baton (the original fire crotch!)...so, I can only imagine the secret satisfaction the woman felt when she came to the door and saw me standing there in my underwear, lower lip a quiver. She didn't let her feelings - whatever they were - show on her face as she let me in.

I asked if I could watch Daniel Boone with them and to their credit, they were very kind to me. The man pulled up an ottoman for me. The woman offered me a t-shirt. Both daughters came out of their room to join us and for awhile we all sat and silently watched Fess Parker. During a commercial break, the woman asked me what had happened and I told them. Near the end of the episode, the woman must have gone into the other room and called my mother because before long, she showed up to collect me...and she was angry. Angry that I had dared leave the porch, angry that I had embarrassed them by airing our dirty laundry to the neighbors and angry that I had sat there and calmly watched Daniel Boone. But, I wasn't calm inside. I was scared and embarrassed and MAD. And my trust had been broken...I'm just glad that I had Daniel Boone to propel me into action that day. Thanks for that Fess Parker.

A friend recently pointed out that it's no wonder I love TV so much now...because I was never allowed to watch it. Which is probably true. And that love led me to work in the business...which has led me to my current predicament...one that many of us are sharing. Shrinking business, runaway production, blah, blah blah...which brings me to this non sequitur...there's a potential job, a movie in the offing...it's not real yet, they may not get the budget where it needs to be, they may not get all of their financing...but it has potential because it involves someone who knows me and what I can do. We've worked together successfully in the past but had a falling out over a year ago...mostly due to my feelings of betrayal. We've very recently started speaking again and now this potential job is out there and I am wrestling with just being able to trust (tadaa!)...So I'm on my way home last evening - driving against the sun and zoned out -

suddenly the sun flashed brilliantly off the roof of the car in front on me - dragging me back into the present moment. As I blink and refocus my eyes I notice the license plate on that car.


It's from the state where the movie is supposed to shoot...and at that very moment, Journey's "Don't Stop Believin" begins to play on my radio.

TRUST.