Looking the Part...

Last year, I went to meet a director and a producer of an upcoming short independent film that was going to be filmed in the Santa Barbara area. An old friend of mine, Jennie Reinish, a very talented documentary filmmaker, who had been the director of the first professional theatre ensemble that I was in had called me to tell me that this director, Karl Mefford was interested in meeting with me to discuss the part. It was supposed to be a dark comedy, that’s all I knew.

Well, somehow I was feeling a little self-diluted. I was going to meet them at a little Mexican restaurant in posh Montecito and even though I knew that this was low budget, I was fantasizing that it was not and that I was on my way to Montecito to discuss whether or not my busy schedule could take on a part in this film. Delusional, I tell you, so please allow me to bask in it for a moment. Now if I only had a little convertible, scarf wrapped around my head and neck, my best Jackie O sunglasses, white gloves, and a little dog stuffed in my ever-tasteful Coach handbag, yipping at everything that moved. I could pull up to the outside eatery, not even get out of my Mercedes and call over to them, “Darlings! Oh Darlings! You really should talk with my agent! I simply cannot imagine having the time to squeeze your little movie in…but if my agent agrees, then what am I to do?” The entire time the dog is reading them up one side and down the other. The reality of it was, was that I was pulling up in my Jetta that had a severe key-job all over the god damn car thanks to some ignorant fucker that I hope rots in hell, and it was missing two hubcaps and some other ignorant fucker had pulled my antennae out of the roof of the car. I’m just glad that it wasn’t backfiring and spewing smoke as I pulled up. The reality continued to reveal that I didn’t have an agent, no scarf, no white gloves, no handbag, and a broken pair of sunglasses. I also had just recently shaved my head, which was NOT flattering, but was more flattering than the stupid thing that I did with hair dye a week earlier.

I walked up and met Karl and Lauren Franco (the producer) who were already seated at a table. Both of them were very nice and very excited about the film. They gave me a script, or rather a sequence of events, for it was more or less going to be a silent film. This didn’t bother me in the slightest. If you’re a good enough actor, who needs lines? Am I right? I convinced myself that this was more challenging, especially because this would be the second silent film I would be in. It all sounded like fun and I was excited.

And then…it happened. Karl and Lauren thought that I would make the perfect mob informant, the perfect snake, a nark, a weasel. This was still fine, I can do this, I thought. I said enthusiastically, “Do you want me to grow some lamb-chop sideburns?”
“No”, Karl said, “You’re fine just the way you are…”
“What if I pull my pants way up so I have a camel toe?” I said, hoping that I would have to alter my appearance in order to play a weasel.
He replied, “No…I don’t think so. I really think that you look the part.”
I continued to protest, “What about a slimy little mustache? I can grow that in no time!”
And Karl simply said, “No…I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

Damn it. Damn it. DAMN IT! It was a sad day in my world. I wasn’t nearly as dashing as I hoped. Actually, quite the contrary, I looked like a weasel and I didn’t have to change a thing. Great. It reminded me of another sad moment of awakening when a secretary at a Talent agency had encouraged me to try modeling. “Modeling, huh? Really, why thank you…”
“Oh yeah!” She said, “You could totally be someone’s dad! You know, like in a Sear’s catalog.” Someone’s DAD!? In a Sear's catalog!? You BITCH! I told her that I hated her and that I was going to set fire to her car. What a horrible, horrible woman. So, now accumulated, I amounted to a Father Weasel. I wondered how I could go on…how could I pretend that I was still interested in working in this film? This was even more insulting than that evil secretary; at least she thought that I was hot enough to be someone’s dad. And here, I torched her car! What was I going to do to these people who claimed that I was a perfect weasel? How was I to retaliate? I was growing tired of blowing people’s cars up. And I think that the police were beginning to catch on. Maybe I could send them dog shit in the mail, in like a meal box or something, with plastic utensils and condiments. Or maybe I could hide outside their homes in the bushes with pepper spray. I could wear a mask and pepper spray them, I’ve always enjoyed doing that. That sounded fair. No?

Well, as it turned out, the film went well and was loads of fun. The character that I played was an idiot, but a blast to play. He ends up getting hit in the head with a frying pan and then taken out to a desolate place, shot multiple times, then buried. Lauren kept emailing me to tell me when they were planning to film my murder. She’d say, “Now Thursday, we’re going to hit you in the head with a frying pan. And then on Saturday, we’re going to take you up north and shoot you. How do those days work for you?”

The character wore an old brown polyester suit and red cowboy boots. This was my doing. And Will had spray painted a pair of cowboy boots that we had picked up from a thrift store a beautiful glossy red. It was an excellent costume and I really did enjoy playing the character. I was a weasel and a good one at that. The film has since been accepted to the Santa Barbara International Film Festival and that’s exciting. However, on the night before it’s original premiere, I dreamt that I stepped in dog shit on the way in. So, would you believe that on the night of the premiere as Will and I were walking with some friends into the Theatre to see the film, Will stepped in dog shit and I accidentally kicked what was left over? Nice. What was that all about?

The film was fun to watch. Although, I do have to admit that the character’s murder scene was a little hard to watch, being that it was me, bound and gagged, lying in the dirt, and then shot multiple times in the head. What was harder to watch was how huge my nostrils were on the big screen. Now THAT was murder.

After the film, it’s named ‘Transfer’; everyone was so complimentary of my work. I played a good weasel and they told me so. I guess that it’s better than looking like one and then not doing a very good job playing one. It’s okay, I can take it, when it comes down to it, I’m ready to be a dad…and if I have to, I’ll play the weasel and I’ll do a good job. At least Will, our friends and our dogs think that I’m a hero. That’s what I’ll keep telling myself.