UGO has been sending me on a lot of movie-related press junkets and screenings, and so far, it's certainly been a great experience. Juggling two different types of writing styles, those being what I do here and what I do for them, has taken a bit of getting used to, but practice makes perfect, and perfect plus strangers equals Balkie, so the end results are fantastic. I try not to make too big of a deal about it here on the site because, well, I guess it seems like the professional approach. Silently though, I'm giggling over how cool the opportunity really is. All writers will tell you that any experience is good experience - Hell, if you decided to write your weekly grocery list in a creative fashion, you might end up with gold. For people like me - too irresponsible to go down a normal career path and too disinterested to make a degree a major priority, anything we can add to our little resumes help.
One of my last assignments was to cover the premiere of Unfaithful, that new Richard Gere movie, here in NY. More than anything else, my goal was simply to get some comments from the passing stars about whatever question I was able to throw at them. This is a far cry from what I'm usually doing for them: press junkets, where the actors sit with a group of 6-12 reporters for a half hour each basically making small talk and answering questions with the most lengthy responses they can dream up. Some of the actors are terrific at this - stretching out their answers with personal stories and anecdotes that nicely kill the half hour without any silence blocks. Others, well - either they'll give one-word answers, or they'll be lumped into a press junket with a much bigger star and none of the reporters really have anything to ask them to begin with. Examples: the room lit up and the conversations didn't stop for a full half hour when a group of reporters and I interviewed Sandra Bullock. But when I was part of a Deuces Wild junket, our last interview for the day was Balthazar Getty, who really had a bit part in the movie and hadn't done much else really of public interest for a long while. Let me tell you - that was one awkward thirty-minute block. He ended up leaving early after realizing we couldn't think of any other questions for him. I would've tried to alleviate things with the classic boxers-or-briefs inquiry, but sadly, I'd already seen Lord of the Flies and knew the answer.
Plus, remember that How Bizarre song by OMC? The real stupid one? Well, as soon as Getty walked into the room, I immediately entered a mental fit where I put 'Balthazar' in the stead of 'How Bizarre' and kept repeating the updated song in my head for fifteen minutes straight. By the time I came out of the nigh-coma, it was a week later and my friends made me promise to never hum anything again.
Anyway, while I'm pretty used to doing junkets, this was my first premiere. As things progressed, it became clear that interviewing the rushing stars would've been almost impossible without screaming my head off, so I opted for a lamer approach: photography. My digital camera was nothing compared to the giant Olympus machines all the rest of the press held, but I had an advantage -- my film didn't need developing. Choke on that you sordid little starfuckers.
Because there's really nothing in these photos that lend themselves to a full feature on UGO, I figured I'd walk you through the night and tell you a little bit about what went on. We're also gonna play a little game when we get to the pics of the various celebs and do-gooders: what I should have shouted at them, if I had any kahunas.
I guess we should start at the beginning.
The drive into the city was pestilent as usual - the lead-up to the Brooklyn Bridge completely bumper-to-bumper with ten trillion people assumedly on their way to the Fans of Ruffage diet convention at the Jacob Javitz Center. I don't know if I'm just cursed with bad timing, but no matter what time I'm trekking in, 9 AM, 1 PM, 8 PM -- there's always traffic. On days like this, where time was of the essence, sitting in a standstill just makes you a total wreck. I don't know how normal people deal with this everyday. No wonder St. John is still in business shilling his Wort.
It's funny how you look for things to divert your attention when you're in traffic so you don't kill yourself. Traffic is the automobile's happy hour, where the ash trays get cleaned, the radio station presets get taken care of, and the rearview mirror adjusted over and over till the sprockets because so loose it just falls in your lap. Since my car is such an unsalvageable piece of shit, I didn't bother with that stuff, instead looking out my side window for entertainment in the wait.
What's that big blue thing off in the distance?
Why, it's a giant inflatable monkey boasting a sky-tinted hue! Blue ape action! Thank God for small favors - until I saw that monkey, I was getting pretty damn annoyed with the traffic.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that apes alleviate aggravation. That's why Joe Pantoliano was so happy in Congo.
I arrived a little early at the Ziegfeld Theater, so they threw me in this little blocked-off concrete park behind the red carpet till showtime. Since I had no idea of the etitquete, since I was alone while everyone else was in groups of 3-5, since I mistakenly overdressed for the event - I was a little nervous. I wasn't sure if I should be checking in with someone, or networking, or just sitting on a bench pretending to read the production notes. Fortunately, at around 10 minutes to the premiere, I finally realized what I should be doing: running at top speed back to the parking garage because I forgot both my micro tapes and the batteries to my recorder in the back-seat.
Through some grace of the heavens above, I made it back on time. The guy working the parking garage was nice enough to point me in the general direction of my car, which ended up being somewhere in the center of the Earth's mantle. It was hot down there, and the thought of becoming a sweaty mess became a very real issue. I suddenly stopped all movement and wondered if the back of my grey button-down had some infamous driplets of sweat stuck to it - the kind you see on other people. Bad people. Luckily, I was safe. Of course, it would've been nice if the parking garage guy gave me my keys before I ran all the way down there.
Thank God my windows open if you push on them hard enough.
Honestly, these premieres look a lot more grandiose on television. They're not as immense as you might think. It looks like a bigger deal when you see it because of all the fans and pedestrians who file in behind the fence, shouting and snapping away on their Kodak disposables. I was stationed towards the end of the red carpet - meaning that by the time the stars actually got to where I was, they'd already taken 65,000 pictures and dodged even more questions. Now I've gotta tell you - I know the conception is that the reporters are the ones who really dig around to get their jobs done, but after seeing the photographers in action, I was impressed. These guys would sooner kill one of the stars than leave without a picture of 'em.
After a few minutes, it was clear that I really wasn't going to be able to interview many people. The cast of Unfaithful were game for one or two quick questions, but obviously, their attention was going towards the television cameras rather than a kid with a mini-tape recorder and a red schoolbag.
I didn't want to let the opportunity go to waste, nor did I want to waste it by only getting a few scattered comments from people who weren't even always audible. Frantically, I switched gears from an interviewer to a photographer - a very bad photographer with zero credentials and a shitty-by-comparison camera - but a photographer nonetheless.
In any event, here's the pics, and the people I saw. I must be pretty terrible at this because I only recognized half the people there, the others I took photos of because it seemed like that was what we were supposed to be doing. In any event, here they are - with captions of what I should've shouted to 'em:
(Nancy O'Dell, Access Hollywood)
* Is that a talisman around your neck? I love talismans. * The jacket - leather or pleather? * Are you friends with Vincent Schiavelli?
(Steve Valentine, Crossing Jordan)
* Snakeskin shirts are so '97! * Are you Dracula?
(Unknown Woman Who Looked Very Familar)
* There's holes in your shirt. Fix them. * Hey, see if that girl behind you is a post-diet Marsha Warfield, will ya?
(Frank Langella, pretty famous actor I'm a semi-big fan of)
* OH MY GOD, YOU PLAYED SKELETOR IN THE LIVE-ACTION HE-MAN MOVIE! * Who kissed better, Whoopi Goldberg or Evil Lyn? * Aren't you Count Dooku?
(Frank Langella, take two)
* Frank...FRANK...I'm over here! * Jesus Christ man, LOOK AT ME! I rented The Magic Balloon for Christ's sake! * SAY SOMETHING IN YOUR SKELETOR VOICE!
(Frank Langella, the finale)
* ALLEG NAL! ALLEG NAL! (I figured he may only respond to people who spoke backwards) * Didn't that woman you're with tell Pee-Wee that his wallet was in the Alamo? KILL HER! * Frank I'll see you after the movie, okay?!
(Joan Rivers, Supreme Gossip Queen)
* Joan, you trendsetter - swamp camouflage rocks! * Do the seventeen bracelets you have on each have a magical property, like the Mandarin's rings? * My mother still wears your jewelry!
(Dominic Chianese, 'Uncle Junior' from The Sopranos)
* Fuck shit cocksmoker piss firefly crap douchebagger! * Is Jackie coming back as a ghost like Big Pussy too? * Aren't you the guy from the chicken commercials?
(Dominic Chianese, kissing Joan Rivers)
* Ewww Dom, now you've got cooties. * GET A ROOM! * I wish I was Joan right now. In a platonic way.
(Dennis Hopper, relatively famous actor)
* Dennis, I loved you in Super Mario Brothers! * Who's your favorite boss character from Zelda? Mine's Digdogger! *Texas Chainsaw Massacre II was even better than the first! Seriously!
(a giant, living box of C-3P0s Cereal, of Star Wars fame)
* Finally, some real talent! * Your delivery is better than Zack Galligan's!
(Richard Gere, the premiere's main attraction)
* Are you? Are you? * What's that your hear, Richard? Is a gerbil burrowing?
The full cast of Unfaithful got together for some pics, too. The young kid from Malcolm in the Middle is with them, so either he's in the movie or he's Diane Lang's date. Either way, when the poor kid walked out onto the red carpet, he looked like a little boy lost in the woods. If I was his age, I think I'd be less frightened looking up and seeing a bear than Frank Langella, so give the kid credit for being so devoted to the promotional aspects of his work.
Most of the press I've met were pretty cool, but damn, some of the photographers are downright obnoxious, going as far as heckling and jeering anyone who didn't feel like taking a thousand pictures for 'em. There's also the special group who feel like, since they know an actor's name, and because their part of the press, it obviously means they've got such naturally established rapport that there's nothing wrong with screaming at the top of their lungs for one of the stars to come to them, even when they're in the middle of an interview or conversation with their peers. Now I know these things are a photo op and really not much else, but just being there for an hour or so really shows you the downside of stardom. If these people aren't all smiles and totally agreeable for a split second, they're labeled as tight-assed jerks whom everyone needs to religiously hate.
If I was a celebrity, I'd probably pretend to be blind and mute so nobody could label me 'unfriendly' when I don't feel like having each one of my teeth photographed from six different angles.
(Chad Lowe and Hillary Swank, Happy Couple)
* Hillary, 90210 was easily your best work. * Chad, I've never seen any of your work. * But I'm sure you're better than your brother. * Hey, you guys were obviously made for each other. * I mean it. * Why do both of you glow like that? * Say, are either of you Wiccan?
Adrian Lyne was there - the director of Unfaithful, and the smash hit, Fatal Attraction. I don't particular care about either movie, but this is the guy who also directed Jacob's Ladder, easily the scariest movie I've ever seen - one that scarred me for around seven months, making me afraid of subways, mirrors, and Tim Robbins in general.
That was pretty much it. They all file into the private theater, the crowd dissipates, and the press either goes home or sticks around to complain for a few minutes. Personally, I had to run back to the garage before it hit the top of the hour and I got charged 55 grand for three hours worth of parking. Oh yeah, a midget also walked the red carpet, but he wasn't famous. Amazingly, he got a bigger reaction than most of the celebs, and five times as many pictures, so I guess being a star takes one of three things: talent, nepotism, or in the midget's case, genetic betrayal.
PS, Martha Stewart was supposed to be there, but she pulled a no-show. That's the last time I buy her towels.
