This made me happy

The sheer joy in this moment brought me to tears when I watched this this afternoon. It's funny, I can almost hear my mom saying, "that's innapropriate for a church wedding!" But really, doesn't God delight in our love and our unions? Doesn't God want us to celebrate it with unbridled passion? Plus, it's not like they chose something with crass lyrics or danced lasciviously. But enough of me arguing with my mom in my head. This made my day because it's a group of people who embraced not just the joy of the occasion whole-heartedly, but the theatrics. Wedding ceremonies are spectacles in just about every society. If you're gonna do it, go balls to the wall. Good for them! And maybe I liked it most of all because it was, as the blog I discovered it on championed it, unexpected. Love it or hate it: no attendee will ever forget that wedding.

Back from set!

I've gone and done exactly what I meant not to do. It's take me over two weeks to post again. I entirely meant to post the day after the shoot, but I went to work, then I had a show, then I had to sleep, then and then and then ... you get the rest.

For the interested parties, then, let me fill you in how my first commerical shoot in about a decade went. (Photo courtesy jasonlam via Flickr's creative commons.)

To begin with, we did not, as I originally suspected, shoot outdoors. We shot against a green screen, which I was thought would look cheesy, since my character was in the woods. However, when I saw how they were going to use the footage and that the spot would look intentionally stylized, I understood it. As it was cold outside, I was fine with staying indoors. Though, I must admit, I was somewhat concerned it may actually be less comfortable under the hot lights (and they get hot, folks) than in the February briskness.

I did as the stylist had instructed me: packed anything in my closet that looks like it could go on the "campground." As I have not been camping in years, I owned a lot fewer of those options than I had thought. I brought a rolling carry on bag worth of clothes and a couple pair of beat up shoes. When I arrived at the studio, a production assistant was outside and asked if I was Molly or Gretchen. I told her I was Molly and then followed her instructions to the green room (aka, the waiting area, not to be confused with the green screen). Immediately, I reckoned they must've hired two "mothers" or maybe two "mother-daughter" sets, they'd shoot both and then blend the two. I later found out that Gretchen was the little girl who'd play my daughter. Of course! Why would a client spend all that money on two sets? Haven't I made enough products to know that a client is going to go for the cheapest way to get a message out?

The stylist sifted through my clothes and showed me the options she had purchased and we agreed to let the director decide, after she pulled her favorites. Into the makeup chair I went, in the meantime. That was great! On the only other shoots I've been on, in which I've been in front of the camera, I've had to use my own street make up and apply it myself. And I'm not cosmetically inclined so I have no idea how it looks, in the end. It felt great having someone else paint my face. Since we were shooting in high-def, she used high-def ready make up. I've always been amazed the few times I've gotten to see makeup artists do their stuff. The face really is their canvas.

It was when I was in the makeup chair that I got to meet my "daughter." And really, I should remove the quotes. I heard Gretchen and her mother enter the green room, just off from the makeup room, and then the little girl peeked her head into the make up room to see what was going on. What I saw was the spitting image of how I've imagined my daughter would look at age 5 or 6. She was a petite little thing with the same squarish shaped face as me; bright, gentle, round blue eyes; fair skin like mine, but more akin to Honey's coloring; and strawberry red hair - the same color I had from birth to about three - blunt cut just below her chin. I had, just two weeks earlier, gotten my near waist-length hair cut to just above shoulder-length. We looked like the same character at different periods in her life. It was uncanny. When I stepped out of the makeup room, her mother did a double-take. Frankly, I looked more like her mother than her own mother did. One crew member actually thought I was her mom before I had to direct him to the real "Gretchen's mom." For the rest of the time we were both on set, I could hear people murmuring, "Can you believe the resemblance?" and "They're not even related!" (The picture is of me at 5 - when my mom used to cut my bangs. I'm still kind of blown away by how much we look alike.) So, my hats off to casting. Well done, folks. Well. Done. [insert slow clap here]

I had already decided that I was going to attach myself to the kid, before knowing who was cast. My thoughts were 1) I'll be more comfortable if I have a partner; 2) there's a good possibility that she's been on sets more recently than I have, so I could follow her lead; 3) if she's a sweet kid, she'll probably be less intimidating to me than the crew, since I'm an out of practice novice and 4) if I want this relationship to look even remotely genuine, we've gotta do some quick "bonding." Luckily, Gretchen was exactly the kind of kid you want on set: sweet, well-behaved, articulate, bright, very comfortable around adults and strangers and still full of a sense of fun. Also luckily, her mother was warm and approachable. The stagemother stereotype is nasty and, I hope in most cases, unfair, but I'll admit I was concerned about it. She was not the stereotype. This is just what her kids do - like soccer or ballet. Gretchen and I chatted and got along really well. I was so glad she was comfortable in the realm of adults. Frankly, it reminded me of me when I was a gradeschooler. I was always more comfortable with adults than kids when I was a kid. It was well into my teen years before that shifted any, and I was in college before I preferred my peers' company over that my parents' peers. Yeah. I'm a dork.

We only had a few lines each, and only one scene together. It had been a while since I'd been on a set, and I couldn't remember how many takes people normally capture. I must have done a minimum of 20 takes for each line, trying to hit various moods that the director wanted. At some point, I know I zoned out during at least one or two reads. Autopilot took over and I tried to wrest back control, but I can't say for sure that I did. All in all, though, I felt like I kept my energy up, if not my mental stamina. I hope they got what they needed.

I probably shot a solid hour, maybe a few minutes more, of footage. Though with all the lighting adjustments, my total time in front of the green screen was probably closer to 2.5 hours. That, I could deal with. What surprised me was the photoshoot. Oh, yeah. This was news to me! Apparently, they're incorporating a print campaign. It has taken me a long time to feel comfortable in front of a motion picture camera - camera intimidation always manifested itself as facial tenion, and 90% of that was easily missing this time - but a still camera ... ? Still? As in posed work? I don't mind having my picture taken candidly or a striking a quick pose with friends, but deliberately posed studio stuff? Blech! Shake it off, Molly. They're paying you. Do your best.

I had a quick wardrobe change and tried to take direction from the photographers, adjusting miniscule head-tilts and hip-shifts. "Look proud, but concerned," was the direction I remember best. Huh? I tried to contort my face for their purposes. The shot they liked best of me, cracked me up. "That's not my 'proud' face. That's the look I get when I'm in an awkward conversation at a party and don't know how to get out of it," I told them. Oh, well. It's their baby.

All in all, it was a great day. I was in by 8:30 and wrapped by 2:30. And the pay for those 6 hours, even if it was what I would normally expect based on what little I know of typical pay in this area, would've been bigger than what I'm paid in a day at my current job. However, the compensation for this project was about 2 - 4 times what I've seen advertised for similar jobs, so this means in those 6 hours, I made more than I do in a week at my desk job - working full time. Sure, I'll have to pay an ugly chunk to self-employment tax, but I'm sincerely pleased!

The spot should start airing later this month or early next around the northeast quadrant of the United States. By that I mean if you were to cut a map of the continental U.S. in four mostly equal parts, then those in the upper right hand corner will probably see this spot. Apparently, they're going to focus the heaviest airing in the upper midwest.

Now, I have another notch in my belt, another piece to add to my resume. And I have another guidepost along this path of decision-making. I'm still not sure if acting is something I want to fully invest in, but it's becoming clear to me that maybe I should revisit it more often than I have in the last 10 years and explore it again. I've always known I can't go too long without acting. I perform regularly and am difficult to live with if I'm not on the stage often enough. But I don't want to take something I love and let it become a "job." I know Robert Frost says we should aim to marry our vocation with our avocation, but I don't ever want activities I love to feel like a chore. For me, I think there could be a fine line.

But you know what? I really don't have to make that decision right now. I'm not going to project this right now. I'm going to take it all one day at a time, because all I have is today, right? And today, I'm going to rehearse, write and walk the dog: three things I love.

Maybe I was wrong

After I hit "publish" on my last post, I approached Honey and asked him if there was any book or work of art that changed his life. Without hesitation, he answered that a symphonic poem (whose title I can't recall) changed his life, and also gave me the title of a book that did, as well. The music wasn't earth-shaking, for him, but did measurably shape the way he thought about music. The novel was eye-opening for him and, according to him, changed his perception of life. Though, he admitted that I'd caught him at a moment of clarity and had I asked him the same thing after a long day of work, he'd've probably grunted and responded in non-sensical monosyllabic neologisms. When I told him I couldn't think of any work of art or book that changed my life, or measurably changed my thinking, he called me out.

"Annie changed your thinking," he responded, half in disbelief.

Because I'm a reflexive contrarian, I immediately dismissed his assertion, but he pushed it. "Before you saw Annie, you probably thought orphans were scary, or being an orphan was scary. But when you saw how all the orphans got to sing and do flips and have adventures, you got to thinking, 'maybe not having any parents isn't so bad.'" I don't think about it as having a profound influence on my thinking, he argued, because I was exposed to it at such a young age.

Score a point for Honey. Though, I contend that Annie's influence on my perception of life had less to do with her family situation and more to do with her will and resilience. And even Annie had her moments of self-doubt, which is kind of reassuring. Remember when she was hanging from the drawbridge by her fingernails and Punjab is attempting a helicopter rescue? In addition to Annie's optimism, I think that movie taught me that virtually every moment in life deserves a musical number. (Stop cringing Darla!) I'm not sure I would've deduced this with just any musical. Possibly, but damn Annie has spunk. I still wanna be her when I grow up. (Just look at my profile pic!)

So, I've been thinking this week about other works of art and books that changed my life. It's still hard for me to say any of these have been explosive revelations - most are small - but here goes nothin':

A Human Being Died That Night: A South African Story of Forgiveness - Pumla Gobodo Madikizela. I read this en route to, and during a vacation in, South Africa, 5 years ago. (One of the most inspiring travels of my life. How I long to return.) It's a moving memoir of torture and the post-Apartheid Truth and Reconciliation Commissions. Forgiveness was a huge theme in the commissions, and also in the book (hence the subtitle). However, this book was the first time I'd encountered the idea that forgiveness may not always be spiritually appropriate. Not forgiving is the opposite of what I was raised to believe. However, after I read this book, I sympathized with the notion more and no longer believe it is something every wronged person should necessarily do. Nor do I believe that it is always necessary to healing a wound.

Gandhi (directed by Richard Attenborough). Also released in the summer of 1982, this movie was probably almost as influential to my childhood as Annie. Dad took me to see it, I'm sure, because he wanted me to see a dramatization of the moral ideals he aimed to instill in us. What he didn't expect was that his 6-year-old daughter would not only sit through a 3-hour movie, but that she would fall in love with it and ask to see it again and again. (Thrice that summer, that I can recall.) Like Annie, this was so long ago, I can't recall the immediate impact. But I'm positive my aversion to institutionalized violence was influenced greatly by this movie. Additionally, because I enjoyed the story of Gandhi so much, and Dad revered him as an agent of goodness, it probably nudged me toward disallowing religious dogma to be the sole definer of my perception of, and relationship with, God. If God could use a Hindu like Gandhi to do Christlike work, then I couldn't believe he'd be punished in Hell just because he wasn't a Christian.

The Theater and Its Double - Antonin Artaud. Artaud wrote that theater's mission should be to evoke public catharsis. I agreed whole-heartedly when I read it as a 19-year-old theater student, and thought that ethic should also underscore religious worship. Might we be a kinder society if we had public spaces where we could meet and lather ourselves into a sob? It's hard to hate people when you see them a their most vulnerable and pitiful. It's also hard to dominate someone when you allow yourself to be seen vulnerable and pitiful. I still agree that catharsis, or at least perception-challenging, should be the main mission of theater. I'm more interested in storytelling these days - which originally lured me to the stage - but the higher notion of catharsis still informs my experience in a theater.

Sunday in the Park with George - Stephen Sondheim. This is one of those subtler life-changers; it's like a lover whom I discovered I loved only after years of platonic friendship. Joss Whedon, on Fresh Air yesterday, captured it best when he said that the first act of Sunday in the Park is about the burden of being a genius and the second act is about the burden of not being a genius. The first act of this musical deals with the drive of George Seurat as he works on his most famous painting, "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte." The second act focuses on his possible (and fictional) direct descendant, George, a modern/performance artist, about a century later. I suspect most artists, when we're (dare I include myself?) in "the groove" of our endeavor, can identify with the first act George. But it's the second act that speaks to me more. Specifically, the duet "Move On." There's an exchange of lines between the descendant George and Dot that always rips at my heart -

George: I've nothing to say ...
Dot: You have many things ...
George: Well, nothing that's not been said
Dot: Said by you, though, George.

I suspect every artist feels this at some time or another. How can one person have anything insightful to add to the many comments on life that have already been produced? Is it even worth opening our mouths if we're anything short of blinding geniuses? But Dot encourages him. It's worth saying something because we're saying it. Later she sings, "Stop worrying if your vision is new/ Let others make that decision, they usually do!" How many times have I gotten the note from a director that I'm too much in my head, editing myself as I perform? I need to listen to Dot! It has changed my life, subtly, in that I've stopped thinking that just because I'm a middle-class white girl from a stable, loving family in a rich, democratic country, I have nothing of insight to add. I certainly need to produce more than I currently am, but we all have stories to tell and perspectives to share. Mine isn't any less important just because it's closer to "norm."

So there you have it: a few works that have changed my perception of life. I was wrong. Thanks for calling me out, Honey.

I'm closing with video from a performance from the 1984 run of Sunday in the Park with George. It's Bernadette Peters - of whom I was afraid until I was a teenager, because of her role in Annie - and Mandy Patinkin singing "Move On." I prefer the performance we saw several years ago with Raul Esparza and Melissa Errico; her voice was warmer and he didn't seem as broad. But I can't find video of that. The song ends around minute marker number 5. Enjoy!

Culture Wars

Nothing of import to write today. Just wanted to share this video from The Onion which cracked me up. Tomorrow's election day. GO VOTE! (Even if it means you vote for McCain.)


In The Know: Has Halloween Become Overcommercialized?

Organization and Orgasms

I spent all yesterday afternoon and night cleaning up the tags on my blog. I'm hoping that the tagging system makes a little more sense than it did in the past. And, if you're interested, I hope you use the tags ... maybe I'll start using yours, then. Reciprocal scratching eh? [wink, wink; nudge, nudge!]

This morning my plan was to blog on either a movie we saw last night or on the practice of blogging itself. Both of those posts will have to wait. Today, I am blatantly ripping off JoeInVegas. Of course, I blatantly rip off Three Beautiful Things all the time, but today, I don't even bother coming up with my own content. And that's because Joe's bit was right up my humor alley. So, thanks for starting my Monday off right, Joe! (still hoping i've got this video embedding business down.)

Three Beautiful Things

1. This five-minute oscar-nominated animated short film. I'll buy it on iTunes once I remember our login.



2. Returning to the stage last night, and despite being out of practice, having a good show.

3. The gentle late winter rain of the last 24 hours.

Oscar!

It's been two days since my favorite annual television indulgence. And I have to say, this year produced some nice moments. Below are a few of my favorites in no particular order (and lets see if my attempts to embed video work!):

• seeing someone I've worked with before in the background on the red carpet (try to guess which one it is - not that I'd tell you, anyway.)
  
• Jon Stewart seemed much more at ease this time around than last
• A) that "Falling Slowly," from Once, a song that has haunted me for months, won for best song, despite how much I bloody loved "That's How You Know" from Enchanted; B) that Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova seemed truly excited and humbled; C) that Jon Stewart is such an awesome guy, he worked it out so that Marketa could come out and deliver her full acceptance speech after the commercial break (that moment reminded me how much I liked the movie, want to get to know The Frames better, and that I really want to spend more than just a long weekend in Ireland sometime.)

• seeing Amy Adams sing live. I've really liked her since Junebug, and she's growing on me. Maybe I've just got a girl-crush on her because Honey does. I think I really respect an actor more who is well-rounded. She's not just a pretty face in Hollywood. She's multi-talented.
• that a girlfriend I called after the best supporting actor award wanted me to translate the last few phrases of Javier Bardem's speech.
• that Cate Blanchett was visibly excited when Tilda Swinton and Marion Cotillard beat her out in the actress categories. My screen goddess Cate was nominated for both supporting and lead and got neither. But if you watched her reactions on the nominee cam, she was the only nom who was visibly excited that her competitors beat her out. I love that because it shows me she is an actor who realizes what she does is art, not ego.
• that Tilda Swinton (who I've had a crush on since Orlando) was whomperjawed when she won. And that Marion Cotillard, despite being the only good thing about La Vie en Rose (hell, she MADE that movie), and despite mopping up every award along the way, was still humbled and overwhelmed that she won.

• that Diablo Cody won for best original screenplay. AY-MEN! I can't even begin to describe how much I loved Juno. Plus, I love the Cinderella story of the blogger turned overnight sensation screenwriter. (Yes, Honey, I have plotted out a short to write and I will write it soon.) I loved that she wore a cheetah-print dress; that she was caught off-guard by her win; that it looked like she felt so undeserving of the success; that she choked up when thanking her family. I just really liked that moment.
• The Coen sweep. I love the Coen brothers. I've probably mentioned it before. Of their library, there's only one movie of theirs I've not liked. Though to be fair, I still haven't seen Ladykillers. Nonetheless, I think No Country for Old Men may be their dark masterpiece. It was flawless. About as flawless a movie as I've seen in quite a while. For as much as I loved Juno and really wanted it to win, it had a speedbump or two. No Country was smooth, eerie as hell sailing from lights down to lights up.
  
• Better transitions and presentations this year than last. John Travolta waltzing across the stage with dancers from the "So Close" number to the podium; Jon Stewart and Jamia Nash playing Wii tennis when the commercial break was over; Jonah Hill and Seth Rogen selling the scripted banter about Halle Berry vs. Dame Judi Dench a lot better than virtually any of the pro-duos do; Armed Service members in Iraq presenting best documentary short via satellite. I enjoyed when Ellen hosted (was that last year or '05), but I think the transitions this year were better.
• watching the loved ones of the No Country crowd when the Coens would go up for awards. Something I love is when a cast and crew really gel; you can tell they love each other when their people win. Though McAvoy and Ronan were the only Atonement cast (that I saw) in attendance, they thrilled at the awards their film got and you could see it in the way they strained to touch their winners on their way to the podium. When No Country was announced best picture, the cast all stood and hugged each other. It reminded me of the Crash cast from two years past. That cast practically had a cuddle party in the seats. But what I loved most was that the camera, when not on the brothers themselves, was trained on Frances McDormand, Oscar-winning wife of Joel (and another goddess in my cine-pantheon). Her face was red, her eyes moist and you could tell she was sitting on a gusher. She's been making movies with her husband for about 25 years, and to see her face, you can tell that she's his greatest cheerleader. I like them as a couple: shy director, fierce bad-ass actress. Plus, the one Hollywood experience I've had to date involved them, and she was so bloody nice and approachable. Hell, when I was quietly reading my book on set, she brought her husband over to me to meet me. I've never forgotten her kindness to me that summer, so I'm always happy when she and her husband do well.
• lastly: that none of the performance award winners were American. Not that I pay that much attention to that, but I know VA Gal does. And each year she likes to rant about the xenophobia of the bald, gold statuette. (Despite recent memory wins by Helen Mirren, Rachel Weisz, Cate Blanchett, Roberto Benigni, Geoffery Rush, Russel Crowe, Jim Broadbent, Charlize Theron, Nicole Kidman, Juliet Binoche, Judi Dench and Catherine Zeta-Jones to name a few.) So the fact that Europeans took home the gold in each of the four acting categories made me think: ha, ha, Virginia Gal! Where's your soapbox now? ;)