Mamet and Lithgow: The Pleasures of the City

Yesterday I finished reading the very short True and False: Heresy and Common Sense for the Actor, by David Mamet. I picked it up on a whim at the library a week or so ago.

You know Mamet even if you don't know him, a playwright and director: Glengarry Glen Ross, House of Games, State & Main (love this movie, quote it constantly), and a quick IMDB peek reveals surprises like Hannibal, The Postman Always Rings Twice and lots of other stuff.

I haven't read much text on acting or screenwriting or anything of that nature. I've been a consumer of the end product, not the what goes into creating the product. So I think I need a little more context in order to judge what Mamet is saying in this book. Though I think I can safely say the following:

1. Mr. Mamet DOES NOT WANTS Method acting.
2. Mr. Mamet believes stage to be superior to all other forms of theatrical presentation.
3. Hawkeye Fierce could not keep the phrase "smug bastard" from what passes for my mind while reading this book.

Again, while I've been exposed to some of his work, I haven't read his work. Or anything else by him. So I don't know if the tone of this book was his usual, or a variance. It seems very pedantic, very patronizing. One gets the feeling that, had he his druthers, Mamet would dispense with the bothersome actors all together and just read the plays aloud to you, allowing the True Brilliance of the Writing to overshadow the nasty foibles of the Interloping Interpreters. But maybe I'm getting him wrong.

One thing I cannot fault him for is this: he exhorts the actor to to be honest. It's an interesting choice, and one I've pondered on myself.

(In the main, any advice to be honest and direct is usually good advice. If you find it to be bad advice for the situation you are in, you should probably reconsider the kind of situations you get in. Honesty is the best policy, and fostering it in oneself is the way to go. I have to believe this, in order to believe in any hope at all for mankind.)

One way to characterize acting would be say that actors are in the business of being credible liars. The best lies, which are also the worst because you can't ever really be rid of them, are the lies which contain a kernel of truth. Enough of a hook on which to hang the rest of the story.

So it's not an incredible leap to suppose that the best liars are the ones who tell a bit of the truth. Honesty in acting may seem a contradiction in terms, but I think, I feel, that it's not.

Now, to be completely indulgent and self referential, I was engaged in an exercise of the life planning variety the other day. One of the tasks was to identify and list 5 things that make you unique--five traits that separate you from others, individuate you.

I was generally stumped, and as I'm wont to do, called my mother. She's very reliable in finding nice things to say about me.

But I did have one thought, unbidden, spring to mind at that question. And the thought was this: I'm honest.

There is a related conceit I've had about myself for some years now: I'm honest even when I'm lying to you.

And some of those who have met me may have heard this response if they asked me to tell them the truth: I'll only lie to you if you ask me to.

I don't suppose it's a newsflash to anyone out there that quite a lot of people would like you to lie to them. They just don't have the balls to ask.

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With a much needed kick in the pants from my glorious friend, the Austrian Princess, a few of us collected ourselves and made our way down to the Mark Taper Forum to see the stage production/one man show John Lithgow: Stories By Heart.

So, after finishing a tome that cried out for dedication to story, I found myself in a room with a man who wanted to explore storytelling. What a fantastic choice.

It's fair and fitting to say that I will never look upon John Lithgow the same (the 'gow is pronounced like "show," vice the "how" like way I've said it for years). His idea is simple and brilliant--he wants to tell you two stories that he had the pleasure of hearing in his youth, and tell you a little about the circumstances of his life in relation to those stories.

I don't know how many actors have done this, but to me it's pretty damn ballsy. He didn't take things written for an actor. He took actual short stories and acted them out. Wonderfully. Amazingly.

We were treated to two published stories in two acts, along with several personal anecdotes and a folk song right up my alley called "Eggs and Marrow." If I can find a copy, it's going on the same playlist that houses "Delia" and "Country Death Song."

I knew we were in for a treat when he revealed the author of the opening story was P.G. Wodehouse. "Uncle Fred Flits By" is classic Wodehouse, and sternly reminded me that I have half a series of unwatched Jeeves and Wooster left to work through. As Lithgow told the story, its easy to believe it was a family favorite. It also touched on my memories of the silly yet serious ritual of storytelling in my own family, and the incredible delight it brings us to this day.

A bathroom break and a little singing later, Lithgow unleashed "Haircut" by Ring Lardner.  It's a single person narration, which he enlivened by creating a pantomime of what the speaker's business would have been while talking. Bless his heart, he even added in sound effects. I could tell you that the story and the character are creepy and unsettling, but that does Mr. Lithgow and Mr. Lardner a disservice. They are not deliberately perverse, they are simply true, and that truth is part of the underlying perversity of America.

We dined at Fred 62 (?) which turned out to be absolutely necessary, as we were all starving and didn't know it. I was lucky enough to hitch a ride with their friend, K-Bell.

I like her. She drove past the Scientology building twice because she liked the way I spazzed out when I saw it. From the heart, I can appreciate that kind of sadistic streak in person. We can smell our own.

At that point it was very late, and she and I had one of those inane conversations on the care ride home that can only be had late at night. I'm not sure why we were laughing so much, or why I was talking so loudly. But I do know that the phrase "hand assery" was used as summary. And it made sense at the time.

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And there you have it, well more than your daily dose of required blather. Today I am a hermit. There are things I want to and need to do, but something in my mind bids me stay by the hearth and attend to matters here. And maybe that's where I will always be: stirring the coals of the home fires, while you kids are off in the world.

Just remember every once in a while to stop back by and fill me up with your stories. I'm always looking to add to my collection. And I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours.