Wicked Little Town

Right Place, Right Time? Wrong Question.

The myth of Lana Turner's discovery at Schwab's Pharmacy, with its faint whiff of sexual predation, is ingrained in the public imagination -- particularly among the busloads of newcomers to L.A. who may have never heard of Lana Turner but think they've got to find the right parties to crash, the right gyms to join, the right bars to hang out at, to be similarly spotted.

It's a fantasy about as substantial as a movie-set façade, of course. It's true that connections, friendships and chance encounters play a crucial role in most actors' careers, but so do talent, experience, training and representation. And usually the surest way to be "discovered" by those seeking the next star, or at least the next highly employable actor, is to be caught in the act of acting, as Mercedes Reuhl once put it.

Los Angeles Magazine reporter Dave Gardetta recently got flamed, or at least well-crisped, by the righteous actors on the popular bulletin board Wolfesden.net. His offense? A long post asking Wolfesdenizens for stories about "the outrageous, the pathetic, the surefire, the questionable choices, the long-haul investments of time and the pratfalls that may or may not lead to discovery," as part of the magazine's February "Actor's Issue." Specifically, he wanted actors to name names of everything from industry-heavy dog parks to dance clubs, from temp jobs to yoga studios, that had been proven to be Schwab's-like in their discovery success rate. He even had the temerity to ask, "What dogs attract producers?"

Wolfedenizens weren't amused. "Getting discovered? Go read a book and learn how it's really done," snapped Eitan Loewenstein. "Your article would be interesting... perhaps in Ohio or Maine," wrote Brad Blaisdell. "The 'Old Hollywood' is dead... The things you're talking about are desperate, and being or appearing to be desperate in this town is the kiss of death. It gives off a stench that can be smelled for miles." Actor Assaf Cohen wrote Gardetta an "open letter" urging him "not to go forward with your sensationalist story about how to get 'discovered' in Hollywood. Besides being insulting to all the hard-working actors (yes, many of us work very hard at our profession), it further perpetuates the stereotype of the dumb actor who relies on blind luck to become a star."

For his part, Don Raymond corrected the famous myth: It was actually at the Top Hat Café that Turner ran into Billy Wilkerson, owner of The Hollywood Reporter, who recommended her to an agent he knew. And casting director Billy DaMota, who's seldom quiet about any controversy, lectured Gardetta on the "false hope" conveyed by the Lana Turner legend, tut-tutting, "Being an actor is a process, not a party. Even Lana Turner pounded the pavement, just as millions of actors have done since."

I should say that I enjoy Kit Rachlis' new, improved Los Angeles Magazine, particulary the cutting-edge reporting of Amy Wallace (though admittedly her cuts have come pretty close to the bone). And I admired their last special "Actor's Issue," which managed to be bigger on myth-busting than myth-peddling while remaining reasonably fun in the bargain. Here's hoping Gardetta can strike the right balance.

Hands Down, Career Up

Nashville native Jenny Rainwater tried out the L.A. acting market a few years back and didn't get very far: a few community theater productions she didn't even want to invite friends to.

Her subsequent move back to the Nashville area might have seemed like a retreat, but in fact it turned into another route back into the business. She was doing commercial and voiceover work in the Nashville market when she had "the most unstressful audition in the world": a hand model gig for a commercial for the U.S. military.

"I was so ho-hum about the whole deal," Jenny recalled. "I got to the set and saw that they had wardrobe and hair/makeup people. I thought, Hmmm, something's up."

Up indeed: A production manager came with her Taft-Hartley form to upgrade Jenny to an on-camera principal. (The Taft-Hartley waiver is just about the only legitimate way for non-union performers to work on a SAG project; they must join the guild on their next union job.) One job later, Jenny was a card-carrying guild member -- just before her return move to L.A.

It's almost as if this would-be hand model didn't have to lift a finger to get her break -- just move 2005.9 miles away.

Money Shots Net Dividends

The primetime soaper "Skin" may have been cut, but there are still a million stories in the naked city -- that is to say, our local porn industry. One day last year, when the writing team of Kirk Pynchon, James C. Leary, and Mike Meredith had reached a dead end on a feature script, Meredith started joking about a title he had for a film: "Stunt Cocks."

They couldn't stop riffing on the idea. Now, a year later, the 8-minute DV short "Stunt C*cks" -- starring Leary and Pynchon as Bill and Earl, two likeable lugs who provide the "money shots" when male stars can't finish their work--has been making film festival rounds and recently landed the writing trio literary representation at Metropolitan Talent for one of their feature scripts (not about porn but about rock 'n' roll).

Another of the team's feature scripts is set in an early '80s skating rink. That last-days-of-disco era has been a regular source of inspiration for them: Meredith and Pynchon's silly breakdancing musical "Poppin' and Lockdown" played at the 2nd Stage Theater in 2000, and a sequel is slated as a late-night offering next spring at the Actors' Gang, where Pynchon is a member.

Actually, he would think twice before calling himself a "member"; since "Stunt C*cks," Pynchon confessed, everything he says sounds like a double entendre.

Runaway Jury Duty

"Why does the jury system pick on self-employed persons?" is one of the FAQs on the L.A. Superior Court's jury website. It goes on to assure readers that "jury selection is entirely random." But actor/writer Brad Slaight suspected he was somehow being singled out, because he'd received a jury summons only a year ago and received another one recently -- the minimum time allowed between summons under stiff new California regulations regarding jury duty.

Slaight's suspicion only sharpened when he got to the courthouse and faced the judge in the jury selection interviews. After watching several people get off the hook by saying their employers wouldn't pay for jury duty time, Brad's plea was dismissed out of hand.

"I said, 'Your honor, I'm an actor. I'm not working, but I need to be available,' " said Slaight. " 'One audition could mean a year's salary for me.' The judge didn't buy it."

Though he was later dismissed by the defense lawyer during jury pool selection, he wondered (via a popular actors' bulletin board) if this was a case of "profiling." Actor colleagues reported similar cases.

Slaight said he understood the logic of cracking down on L.A.'s once-porous jury system. But he still felt unfairly singled out, and said he would write a letter to his elected representative, perhaps stressing that with rampant runaway production, L.A. actors don't need yet another obstacle to pursuing their livelihood.

Maybe Slaight can take comfort in the opinion of one city attorney I spoke to, who said that from a prosecutor's perspective, he tries to eliminate actors and other creative types from his juries. Thespians make bad jurors for the prosecution, he said, because they're more likely to engage in "scenario writing" -- meaning that instead of accepting the simplest circumstantial version of events, which is often the prosecution's case, thespians will craft or imagine complicated alternative possibilities.

Especially actors who've appeared in "12 Angry Men."

No Rest in Bucharest

"Romania is the Tijuana of the Eastern bloc," said actor Christian Leffler. More specifically, he means Bucharest, where he spent three weeks last summer "kicking ass and chewing scenery" as a bad guy in the horror/thriller "Madhouse."

"There are lines painted on the street, but nobody pays attention to them," Leffler said. "You'll see some Mercedes and Eastern European cars we never see in the States, and then a horse-drawn cart." More like Tijuana is the sense that "everything is available, if you're willing to ask and willing to cross that line." The women, he said, "all dress like prostitutes -- they wear next to nothing."

And the Golden Arches are "a godsend, because the food there is so terrible." Leffler said the cast took to feeding its hotel-provided food ("meat and cheese that just didn't taste right") out the window to a pack of feral dogs and instead subsisting, in his case at least, on the relatively safe diet of beer and pasta.

He didn't sleep much for the first week and took to phoning castmate Jordan Ladd in the middle of the night to tell her he was watching a "Charlie's Angels" rerun and noticing the resemblance to her mom. Also in the cast was Leslie Jordan, like Leffler an L.A. theatre trouper, who would take off on a train for days to explore the country when he wasn't needed for shooting.

For his part, Leffler -- best known for his award-winning stage work at the Evidence Room and for playing Phil Spector in the Sonny & Cher TV movie--stuck around Bucharest, marvelling at the contrasts among Old World charm, "Blade Runner"-esque commercial architecture, and follies of the Ceacescu regime. He also tried to suss out everyday Romanian life: One local who worked on the film told him she made the equivalent of $170 a month--and paid $100 in rent.

Maybe she gets by on the McDonald's dollar menu.

Borba's Non-Automatic Transition

Andrew Borba has learned to "never say 'never ever' ever." In cockier days -- when he was studying drama at NYU, perhaps, or working on a cushy repertory contract at Oregon Shakespeare Festival -- Borba had told friends, "I'll never ever ever go to L.A. unless someone paid for my plane ticket because I've got a part." But then he married a development executive from HBO, had twins, and finally committed to making the stage-to-film transition.

How's it going, then? Despite some casting directors seeming "skeptical that I didn't come here when I was 18," things have been moving for him: He recently landed his first national commercial, which afforded him the financial freedom to direct a virtually non-paying 99-Seat production of Hamlet at Theatre of NOTE; he landed a part on Alias and this week read for a role on The Practice (both with famously theatre-loving casting offices). In his late 30s, with leading-man looks that suggest a balding Eric McCormack, Borba remains upbeat.

"It's like Han Solo says when he goes into the meteor shower: 'Never tell me the odds.' If I looked at the odds, I wouldn't still be in this business."

Have Guitar, Will Star in Sci-Fi

Versatility, and a good sense of humor, can take you far in this town -- or at least to some unexpected places.
Actor/troubadour Sean Galuszka works in an administrative position at Disney by day, while by night he performs his original Jeff Buckley-esque songs and rambles at such venues as Molly Malone's (this Sat., Oct. 11, at 9:30 is his next appearance). He'll have to get some time off from work next week, because he starts filming as the lead in a York Entertainment cheesefest called "Alien 51." No less a personage than Heidi Fleiss plays a villain, and as Sheriff Sam Cash, Galuszka will get to enunciate such immortal clunkers as, "This thing's on us like O.J. on Nicole!" (Where's Mystery Science Theatre when you need it?) Galuzska has done some gigs that combine his talents -- last year's turn as a hobo Feste in An Appalachian Twelfth Night at the Globe Playhouse, and a guest spot on the short-lived, underrated series "Miracles" as a guitar-toting drifter, for which he composed an original song. No word on whether Sheriff Cash will pull an Andy Griffith and pick some tunes on his porch.

Ageless Pixie Dust

I was trying to remember the first time I saw actress Pamela Gordon onstage in L.A., and I couldn't do it. Was it at the Padua Hills Playwrights Festival? At Theatre of NOTE? At the Evidence Room? At the Lost Studio? I realized I coudn't recall the first time I saw her onstage because, from whatever that first time was, she immediately looked like she'd always been there onstage. She was a link to an imagined past--a past we could imagine by looking at her, for, though she was obviously a little older than many of her theatre colleagues, she was also somehow ageless--a little girl and a little old lady. And all woman: Of her riveting performance in Dennis Miles' peculiar, Albee-ish "Destronelli" at NOTE, I believe I even referred to her in print as "sexy." She was a little coy around me after that.

These are the thoughts that went through my head, among many others, at Pamela's funeral service today at Mt. Sinai in Burbank. It was a relatively sudden death from complications of emphysema. Her son Marcus and husband Mark memorably spoke, as did Evidence Room artistic director Bart DeLorenzo; a fellow actor read an amusing tribute from playwright Robert Fieldsteel.

Near graveside, while waiting to ritually shovel dirt on the coffin, Pamela's former teacher Martin Landau observed a spider constructing a large web--a peculiar detail which, strange as it sounds, is exactly the sort of thing Pamela would have loved.