Thursday, June 16, 2005

Il operaio fra gli operai

I believe that translates as the worker among workers. I'm fully prepared for it to be idiomatically incorrect as I do not admit to being fluent in Italian (nor English for that matter).

When I began this blog a few long weeks ago, I considered the fodder and folly to be wholly external. It was the world that was presenting annoying commonplace obstacles to the realization of my genius. Don't think for a minute that that arrogance is lost on me. Though it was entirely lost on me until very recently, a gross shortcoming for which I am trying to humbly account. I can't tell you exactly what happened, let's just say as I bent over the pond I couldn't stir the water in such a way or tilt my head to get the reflection I needed, so I took a lingering glance at what was really there. I didn't like what I saw and I acknowledged that it wasn't the first time that I saw such utter selfishness.

Rather than a complete retreat, to which I've consigned my life many times, I decided to stand firm and face truth's reckoning. I must not be seduced by the thought that this was some white light transformation, the flicking of a switch between dark and light. It is rather a reostat, moving from the dark to the dim. Dim to the solipsistic is very bright indeed. In the dimness, I see not a self-centered vision of, "Ain't in grand the wind stopped blowing", to genuine faith that, though I have but a tiny idea of the true brightness I seek, trudging forth will slowly bring a luminosity heretofore unimaginaed.

The lofty prose is befitting. Deal with it. Please. I would appreciate your patience. I need to learn patience. I need to learn a lot of things. Principally that I don't know everything. That you have something to teach me. Fellini learned from Rossellini. He wrote for him and even acted in The Miracle. My initial thought is that I too must find a worthy master to whom I will apprentice. Not a bad thought, but with what amounts to a fairly pessimistic outlook, I'm not sure anyone but a legend would suffice. Problematic to be sure. If I change my perspective ever so slightly, I could perhaps recognize that Fellini likely made the world his master and learned from it with true genius as is evidenced in his most humanistic work. So how did an ogre like me choose Fellini?

Admittedly, I simply like the way Finding Fellini sounds. I think the term Felliniesque, like surreal, is a giggle in its overuse. I absolutely admire the truth of his discovery and reconciliation of the external and the internal. His images are brilliant. Maybe too there's a humanist inside this oversized bulk of flesh. I hope so.

Yesterday I worked on a commercial as an actor. I fought symptoms of sabotage along the way. I managed to avoid it this time. On so many film sets, I have either disappeared or been the crazy-maker, judging the skills, talent and efficiency of all. I went into this one eager to have the experience. The experience of being a principal on a low-budget, though national, commercial. Of working in Portland. Of being directed by someone that did not initially impress me. (Who turns out share my exact birthday, August 23, 1967)
Of being a worker among workers.

Here's out it went. I showed up on time. I found the AD and said hello to the client, director and producers. I went to wardrobe. They weren't ready for me so I went out to set. I said hello to the DP, to whom I am acquianted. He was chilly and I couldn't help but think it had to do with me. He couldn't possibly be stressed and preoccupied with the task of shooting a commercial. I sat and chatted with the craft services girl about Glasgow, where my wife was born and this girl had lived for six years. I saw the lead actress arrive with Starbuck's for the director, producer and client. I saw her act like a star. I stopped myself from voicing my disdain out loud. I got called to wardrobe. I hated the initial options. I made a face to the director. A face that said, not my choice, but whatever you want. It was a tight sleeveless number that made me look like a "bear" marching in the gay pride parade. Remember Philip Seymour Hoffman's shirt in Boogie Nights? I was glad the client didn't like it. I changed clothes in front of the client. I let myself be looked at. It was the wardrobe they were judging. I was clear on that. But it didn't come easy, I have to admit. We did our blocking. I liked the woman playing my wife. She was a good actress. I worked with her. I acknowledged her talent and let it support me. Again I'm afraid I must admit that my first inclination was to assert my talent. I judged a lot of things. I fought myself a lot. But I put a good face on it for a change. It felt good to be a professional. And I didn't have to lurk about announcing it all goddamn day like the surly prick I've almost always been in the past.

I have an audition for a student film at the Art Institute today. A short. A zombie short, no less. Can you believe it?

I'm still waiting for somebody to pinch me.

Ciao amici,
nc

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