The Knack
by Tom Fulton
It is in the twilight mind; the 20 second consciousness between sleep and stumbling into the bathroom on a New York morning that the actor remembers his dreams - not the bizarre Freudian screenplay of the night before, but the sentient hope that first seized him when he first stepped on the stage in an important role. As the fuzz of midnight is washed away, and he peers into incandescent mirror, being first blinded by the day and then mocked by his reflection, the voice of joy and naiveté whispers: "I had a dream.."
There are bags now under his eyes. His hair pokes, struggles and thins in youth's opposite direction. Hang-overs don't come easy anymore. The belly of desire is sagging to a weight which doesn't succumb to sucking in. Breath is sour. A sudden image of applause - no - of drama school - no - of a dear friend, now lost in the crowd, reminding, assuring this listener "he is the finest actor I know. One sure to make an impact in the American Theatre."
The tee-shirt is wrinkled and yellowing - pull it off. smooth the hair with a splash of liquid chlorine, smelling mildly of algae - sudden picture of a pond and a grassy bank where the writing was done - where the dreams were molded - where the sun rose and shone all day on a human possibility - a muscular capsule of potential.
Now the sun reflects off brick walls and blue sky is seen in square glimpses between glass and stainless steel.
The mirror flashes back an angle of youth - there he is - I recognize him! Thank God! By the long reach of his dream - the purity of his original intent - by his love of the theatre - by his Art. Work! God, to work! He dreams of working. A season of roles with a company of actors he admires; working under a director whose vision is generous, challenging, inspirational. Perhaps directing himself. Rekindling the hope of a humane theatre. He dreams he might become an artist someday. No, not someday, now - for a moment, he is Art.
The phone rings.
Don't answer it, let the machine do it.
"Blah blah blah at the sound of the tone. "Hey sleepy-head. Got a good one for you today. Its a national! That's N-A-T-I-O-N-A-L. That's big bucks for you and a little for me. .Ha ha. They're looking for an ex-jock type - to soap up in the shower. I told them you have the perfect chest! 2:00! Six-of-Us-Studio on West 19th - you know the place.. Be there or be square."
2:00. Good that's 4 hours. Still have time to relax a little - take a shower. Step in - hot - burn away the vague anxiety. Soap up. Practice for the audition. Flexing chest and arms. Hair's too thin. Chest though is proud, not a trace of gray or age - definition of a 20-year-old - well almost. He hopes he gets it. National, big time, it'll be his third. Money is superb - superb! There’s the reward! Little carrots dangling from satellite dishes across the country.
Grandma can see it in Little Rock. Everyone will gather round, quickly run from the kitchen, drop the books, hurry in from mowing the lawn! "It's Sonny. He's in the shower! Look! There! Where? Where? Oh darn. You just missed him. He's gotten thin. He has to get thin or he won't get work Grandma. Well, he's too thin. Maybe it was the TV. I wonder when he'll be on again?"
Plums, dividends.
Naked and clean now, he throws back the curtains, opens wide the windows. No one can see and if they can, so what. He listens to the caterwauling of the voice student every day across the alley - they can deal with his naked cleanliness; his walking manhood, primeval being that he is. Alone in a crowd, fending for himself, throwing off the yoke of childhood and growing up. He has become wise in the way of nature. He has learned the rules of the game. It's "The Business". He makes his living in "The Business." And he is no sucker for another showcase.
"There are rules. There is a Union! There are Casting Directors." His voice rumbles from his chest; the clear deep tones of a "voice:"
"There Are Agents out there, son," he intones, stretching his arm around an imaginary apprentice. "They want to milk you friend. My advice to you is, let them! If you give them your left teat, they'll let you keep your right. And – you - will - prosper! That is IF you got the "chops". You gotta have the "chops" too. Well, it's a jazz term- you know, the musical panache! The beat! But let me teach you, naked man, don't be done in by appearances. Think about it, chop, chop."
He clamps his jaws up and down like a fox chomping down a kill. "It's really the instinct to bite down and hold on! Its not the talent, it's more! A carnivorous appetite for playing the game - yeah, that's it - you might have the teeth, but do you have the puissance to chew and then spit? Jaws! Dun dun - dun dun - dun dun. I like that! Primeval lust for success and stardom. My kind of guy - a money-maker - a commercial entity. The 'look', you know what I mean?"
He is energized. His body dry and smelling sweet of cologne, moves like a snake through his apartment. He tries a couple of Tai Chi moves - Bang the Donkey, choke the snake. "Yes, you know, oh man of the resume; Great God of the body and the smile! You have the "chops". You're the chop man! You make a living! You're the trafficker of your charm, merchant of allure, the Minister of Broadway Bright!"
Pumped up, ready to go, he leaves for his audition, resume under arm, dressed with a casual appeal. There is a cunning in his attire, a kind of smiling witchcraft that makes women and men alike take a second wondering look as he passes them by. It is an intense look of competence, a rugged beauty that is enticing by a hint of danger, and more than a splash of sexual aplomb. He fastens on to a point in space with his determined eyes and walks forcibly through the crowd, unafraid, his stance, his gait, his fine, proud head high above the crowd exuding a touch of menace. He is immune to the crowd. He manages traffic as if it were autumn leaves, kicking it aside and weaving between the flash of metal and rubber like he lived there.
He is New York! He is a comer! A fine young talent (not so young at 35, but still undiscovered and rich in hope and therefore, young.) He imagines the camera tracking along the street, following his determined stride, little lackeys with rounded shoulders and shaggy beards, dressed in turtlenecks and sweating across the chest, carrying microphones and chords, stumbling and puffing to keep up with his indefatigable energy and charm. They smile and fawn as he catches their worshipful glances but he ignores their devotion like a star, warming inwardly to the knowledge that it's there, that he is loved by strangers. The great lens of the camera turns. He can see the inward lenses coalescing smoothly compacting distance and time, reaching in for the close-up. Sun glints off the finely ground glass and the brilliantly crafted gears – the high-tech marvel constructed to pursue the image of "He". The crowd moves against him, but he smashes through.
The theme song begins as the close up moves into his face. Freeze Frame! Credits. He cant' help himself. He starts to sing in a quietly bouncing tone,
- "Start spreadin' the news.
- I'm leavin to day
- I want to be a part of it, New York, New York!
- There he practices a technique from his old voice class, sinking the back of the larynx so that the sound catapults into the sinuses and creates the fine bright sound of a clearly pitched musical voice.
When he turns the corner he nearly runs into a friend - a familiar face out of the past. Michael .. something. Quickly his mind searches for snatches of conversation - School! That's it. Acting Class OSU 1979. Runs a theatre somewhere.. where? Pittsburgh, yes! The music has stopped. The camera is gone. There is a smell of garbage and urine in the air.
"John?", says the surprised and smiling Michael.
"Michael!", he says. "My God, its a small world."
"You've got that right. Hey, you've put on a little weight there, buddy!" says Michael, laughing, clearly trying to make a joke…
Ha Ha Ha. You disgusting little prick. Look who is talking you fleshy mound of. . .
"Hey, seriously", Michael adds, "you look great. No kidding, when you came around the corner the first thing I thought was Oh my god, it's Tom Cruise! You really look like him."
Thank you. Thank you.
"Hey, it pays the bills!"
"I like that moustache." Michael rubs his hand across his own rather meager growth.
Envy. Its all envy.
"So, what are you doing in New York. You live here now?" John peers at him and then glances quickly at the clock on the bank across the street.
"No. I'm just in for the week end. I'm looking at a few new plays for our next season."
"That's right. Congratulations! I heard you have your own theatre now."
"Well, for the last 5 years, we've been making a go of it. It's modest by New York standards. But it gives me a chance to tackle some great theatre. I'm directing Hamlet next month. I wish you were around."
I bet you do. I'd like to see the kid who's playing Hamlet.
"I'd love to do Hamlet."
Michael reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded flyer. It announces the upcoming production of Hamlet. A tacky little thing – more like a plank of paneling than a brochure. He hands it to John who reads the cast list.
"It's a great play", says Michael. "Humbling, let me tell you. You'd make a great Claudius."
Hey butt-head. I play Hamlet or nothing.
John looks up, surprised and laughs a bit harshly. "I'm a little young for that, don't you think?"
"No." Michael responds seriously, "you have the power and the intelligence - much of the play is about the stalking of Hamlet by Claudius and Claudius by Hamlet. Hamlet needs an enemy worthy of him. You could be that."
That's true. Claudius does have that great speech about being rank or something. And he dies on stage. I'd like to do that.
John nods, and shakes his head. "I guess you're right. I could do that. It might be a challenge. Maybe someday."
He looks down at the program and reads it nervously. Suddenly he sees a name he recognizes. "Melissa White! She's playing Ophelia? I thought she was in New York.
Michael laughs. "She was, but the prospect of Ophelia made Pittsburgh a bit more appealing. She's good. But I doubt if she'll stay. Something about this town... "
There is an awkward pause. Michael sniffs the air and looks at the skyline. John, glances again at the clock on the bank. 1:47.
"You know you’d make a great Earl of Gurney too, John.", says Michael finally, peering up at him, little brim of hat shading his little piggy eyes.
"Yeah, I’d love to play that role.." Note to self: Who the hell is the Earl of Gurney…
John hands the program back to Michael who takes it and places it back in his pocket.
John shifts his weight and brightens. "Hey, You want to see my latest?" He pulls his resume shot out of his envelope and hands it to Michael. Michael looks at it and nods.
"So what have you been doing with yourself? Have you been working?"
"Absolutely. I'm actually making all my money now in the business. Nothing extracurricular."
"Really?" asks Michael, impressed.
That's good. But be honest now
"Well - mostly commercials, a few industrials. I did an off-off-Broadway showcase last October. It was O.K." I thought I did pretty good. I wish you could have seen it. It was called "F-It!". It was about a drifter from Viet Nam who can't get it together - you know - a kind of "Lone Star" except with a few women. Oh, you know who was in it? Remember Masha Winters? Yeah, she was O.K. Except she's gotten real fat. She played this huge bar mama. The funniest moment - you would have liked this - in the play the call her "The Bronk" and for five dollars she'll get down on all fours and try to buck you off. I played the drifter - Shemp (his parents named him after one of the three stooges) - Anyway, Shemp's the guy that finally beats the "Bronk", which means he gets to sleep with her. But in the end I don't because I respect her too much - kind of the way Jamie does in Moon for the Misbegotten. Anyway, it only ran a week. I invited a bunch of agents."
But none of them came... Never again. Never again.
"Right now I'm on my way to an audition - a national! Yeah. Soap Commercial. If I get this, I'm set for a month."
"Any other theatre plans?" asks Michael. He is interested, proud, in a way, of his school mate.
"Well, I don't know if I'm going to do much theatre right away. It takes so much time - and no one can come to rehearsal. So someone's always missing."
Warning he's thinking something negative. Save it. Pull out, pull out
"And you never know what you're getting into. I mean when I work in the theatre want the quality or I'm not going to do it"
Good, chop man. Good Pittsburg!
"My agent's trying to get me into a few regional theatre auditions; The Guthrie, Seattle, there's a Cleveland Play House next week. And I'm signed up for the TCG things."
"That sounds great. So you like New York." Michael is encouraging, not judgmental at all.
Hate it. Love it. Hate it. Love it.
"You know, it probably seems kind of strange, but I think sometimes of getting out of New York - you know - and coming back home and really doing some work.
His eyes, his eyes, see how they approve of me!
"No, it doesn't seem strange at all. I’ve always admired your talent. "
Swell my breast. Come warmth, come comfort. Get thee behind me devil doubt.
"You know that, right? Hey, I really admire you. You've come to this rat hole to work and you're making it. I love your Impotency Clinic commercial. It broke me up for a week."
Rat Hole? What does he mean Rat Hole? That's a typical Pepperidge Farm judgment. Of something he knows NOTHING about. I hate that pedestrian, cocky farm-boy attitude about sophistication. He's never tried the city. He's stayed comfortable in his cozy little town, directing plays with casts of thousands and never paying them a living wage. Oh, he's so smug in his tweed coat and GQ shirt. HA! He even has a MET button on his lapel. So he's been to the opera - or is it the museum of art?
Whatever! He' thinks this is fucking Disney Land. A scary, dangerous ride down into the bowels of humanity. He can leave when he's through with the scum, but I have to walk through it every day. And that builds Character! It's give me chops - I could chew him up and spit him out.
"You liked that commercial, huh? Everyone keeps asking me if I'm really impotent."
"Are you?" Michael laughs and then dismisses the thought with a wave of his hand and hands him a card. "You know if you ever feel like coming to Pittsburgh, look me up. We can't pay much, but we'll find someone to put you up. We have a great little space - it's ours – well practically – we’re in debt up to our ass. And frankly, if we make it through this year, it will be a miracle. We’re in the middle of a fund-raising campaign that isn’t going so well… But people like working there." He shrugs apologetically. "It's hard work. We try to keep each other challenged."
"Thanks. Hey, I'll keep it in mind. But you know it's rough for me to get away. My agent doesn't like me to leave the city. You go away for a month and you practically have to start all over again. - listen, I gotta go. I've got an audition at 2. It was great seeing you. Hey, good luck with Hamlet! It is Hamlet, right?
Friends parted. One off to auditions, the other off to a matinee. He hunkered along the sidewalks, not feeling like a cab or a subway, he walked. He had time. Thinking, thinking all the time –
He acts quietly to himself, lines rolling out of his mind from the past… "Hamlet, Hamlet, Hamlet, I have heard of your paintings too well enough, you jig, you amble you nickname god's creatures, you make your wantonness your ignorance. NO! Go To! I'll have no more on't. It has made me mad!" He nearly punches a passing pedestrian with a sharp gesture to his head.
I know the lines. After 10 years I know the lines. Blackout. Pin spot on my face. Digging deep into my psyche, I know what he means - right now in this moment I know!
"Oh that this too, too solid flesh would melt, thaw, resolve itself into a dew. .
That's all I know.
"The Pontic sea, whose icy current and compulsive course ne'er feels.. . ."
No that's not it. Damn! Never mind... The day will come... I have a top agent, and an "in" with a top casting director, they like me
Then in a deep sotto voice he speaks as if into a microphone: "An actor walks the streets of New York who will soon grace the silver screen, soon fill the legitimate stage!"
Hey, believe it. I read the Celestine Prophesy! You give it, you get it back! Karma... I have the 'knack'. I'll never forget that. Alvina Krause, oh great one! - she punched me in the stomach and winked...'you have the knack; ....you frighten me ... but you have the knack!" I just stood there smiling like a dope! I didn't know if I should thank her or run away! What did she mean? What did she mean?. Down, down, no anxiety... down!
Ah! There he is, there's my reflection dancing like light window after window...shop after shop... Nice! That little spark. Oh God! Most of the theatre I see is so dull! Where's the spark?
The day will come... "Thou must be patient..". Hamlet... I think.. yeah. Hamlet.New York! No place like it! It's dirty, dangerous, noisy, smelly, EXHILARATING! vibrant, full of life and possibility. Even if I don't work, it feels like I am. There is always the chance that tomorrow I'll land the role.
He looks up and sees the marquee on a theatre. A revival of "Cat on A Hot Tin Roof." ... Memory lane. Played Brick in college. Brilliantly.. After the show ... sitting in the back of the auditorium, the stage manager was screaming at someone named Joe.
"Hey, Joe! Who's going to clean this up!?"
Joe shrugged his shoulders. "I'll call back here before the show," he said, "and get an actor to come in and clean it up. For twenty five dollars, you can get an actor to do anything."
Joe laughed out loud. So did the stage manager. Later he learned that Joe had stolen the line from Tennessee Williams himself. But Joe's right. Tennessee is right.What won't I do for $25.00? Of course I have my limits… I can bend in the wind…but I’ll not break…
He went into his audition. "Lather up in here", said the stage manager, handing him a bottle of shampoo and pointing to a dingy bathroom, "the director want's to see you with soap."
copyright (c) 1998 by Tom Fulton