Hollywood abounds in acting schools and drama classes. Many of them are conducted by wannabe “STARS”, actors who didn’t get the breaks they expected as they pursued their own careers. And then there are those who are run by actors and actresses in the twilight of their careers. In the past twenty years or more, acting schools and drama classes (along with all the cottage industries they’ve spawned) have literally become a multi-million-dollar business. Every year, thousands of men, women and children, converge on Hollywood, expecting to make it BIG in the film and television industry. They come in droves, by the thousands. They come by car, train, plane, and even by boat from other countries. Fortunately, a “few” do make it to the top.
Unfortunately, I WASN’T one of the few. Although, I did have some degree of success as a “bit” player, during my years there in the mid to late sixties; I never held on to the so-called “brass ring” long enough to succeed as an actor. I was too preoccupied with all the drama of “living” the experience in Hollywood, so I didn’t take seriously enough the importance of establishing oneself from the ground up—-as many successful actors have by honing their craft in theatre. I wanted to skip all that and start at the top! I did join a few acting schools, and I did put a few years of serious study into the (work)—-as Susan Strasberg called it. However, the timing was all wrong for me. The post “Golden Age of Hollywood” wasn’t interested in making anymore movies that had any social redeeming value, or movies that portrayed celebrities as actors worth idolizing because of their on-screen persona. It was now a movie “business” that was more interested in “shock value” and “sexploitation” in order to sell tickets. It was also a more “youth orientated” business.
Susan Strasberg’s (acting intensive class) was a drama class I attended while living in Hollywood, in the mid-eighties; my second time around in the film industry, while still maintaining my primary career as a successful contractor. It was in her classes in Beverly Hills, that I made the most progress as an actor, in retrospect. I got serious for a change; unfortunately, that effort was “a day late and a dollar short”…as saying goes. This “vignette” is about one of those long and drawn out nights in her private drama classes. This was the night that Ms. Strasberg gave me the compliment every aspiring actor strives to hear.
Like some other acting coaches who promoted the “method” style of acting; Susan followed in her famous father’s footsteps. That “method” of acting involved the use of visualizations and natural, spontaneous reactions to any given situation or circumstance; especially drawing on one’s own personal experiences in life.
On this particular night, I broke the rules of “method acting”. I was asked to do a scene from (The Days of Wine and Roses). This was the scene where Jack Lemon (playing the role of alcoholic: Joe Clay) rummages through the green house, pulling apart pot after pot of plants and flowers, looking for the bottle of booze he hid in one of them: He’s drunk and hysterical, mumbling number counts as he methodically empties one pot after another, in an effort to find the hidden bottle. Finally, amidst all the broken and shattered crockery, he spots the bottle lying in a dirt pile. Clutching the bottle tightly to his chest, he’s laughing and crying simultaneously. He begins to drink from it as if it were some precious, life saving potion. As the scene ended, I knelt on the floor, clutching the bottle, with tears streaming from my eyes as the lights faded to black-out. End of scene. You could hear a pin drop, in the class, in the silence that followed, as the lights came up.
While composing myself after the scene, I noticed the rest of the group sitting and staring at me. Susan Strasberg was sitting in the front row seat. She had this wide-eyed grin from ear to ear. She looked at me and said: “John…this is the first time I’ve ever seen you CRY…in years! You didn’t even cry in Vietnam! What did this? What were you working on?” She went on to say: “I have seen many FAMOUS actors do this scene in my father’s class at the (Actor’s Studio) in Manhattan, but I must tell you that this is the best version of it that I’ve ever seen!” Then, the rest of the class clapped and applauded as they stood up. I stood there in front of them all and pondered whether or not to tell the class, and Susan, the truth about how I managed to get the emotion I needed for the scene.
I decided that I would keep this moment as my personal secret and one that I might eventually relate to Susan at the appropriate time and place. That evening, as the class ended and I was escorting Susan to her apartment; I stopped in the alleyway and confronted her: “I really appreciate your compliment Susan, but I would rather that you be more honest with me, rather than to encourage me with false hope….” THIS was the first time I ever saw HER get so angry. She literally pushed me against the wall and said: “John Gasparro… do you think that I would do such a thing! Do you think that I need to resort to such a tactic to encourage a student? I meant what I said and I wanted to compliment you…and now you’re calling me a liar! Please John….” She continued: “I gave you a scholarship to my class because you are the only one who does the “work” and the others try. Don’t ever accuse me of patronizing again!” I apologized and we hugged.
Driving home that evening, with my buddy Ron, we stopped at our usual drinking bar on Sunset Boulevard. As we drank beer and discussed the evening, Ron asked me why I didn’t tell the truth to Susan and the class about how I managed to get the emotional breakdown in the end of the scene. I said: “Ron…how could I tell Susan and all the others that I stopped at a Ralph’s market on the way to class and bought the biggest, and most putrid white onion I could find. And, that I cut it into pieces, mixed it with the dirt, and planted it in the bottom of the last flower pots, before the scene began. And, that I drew the dirt mixed with the onion up to my nose to arouse the emotion of crying REAL tears, as I searched for the bottle. I didn’t want to disappoint the class and Susan since they were so happy for me.” I recall Ron saying: “That was a far cry from ‘method acting’. And, if Susan’s father ever knew what you did, he would have chastised you up one side and down the other!”
I never got the chance to tell Susan about this secret of mine. She passed away a few years later on January 21, 1999 in her apartment in Manhattan. She died on the day-bed that she loved to sit on while reading. She had advanced stages of breast cancer and it had spread throughout her body. Her secretary (Gladys) told me that they didn’t know this until days later. She managed to keep her illness secret from some of her close friends. She was only sixty one years of age. Ironically, I was going to visit her in Manhattan only a few days before she died, and I probably would have told her about that “secret”, then. I wonder how she would have reacted.
I was going to say that I couldn't do that, and then I read the rest of the story. Whenever they cut onions in the kitchen, my eyes start to water. Actors who can conjure up a tear must be something special if in all the years she held the class Strasberg didn't get the kind of emotion you expressed with the help of onions.
I remember that scene well and the two of them crawling around the yard. They don't make drunk movies like they used to. But then, they don't make movies like they used to. It's hard to believe that they're coming out with a new version of the Wizard of Oz. I guess it's all about the money. Why leave a perfectly good movie stand on its own when you can rip it off for big bucks like they've done with King Kong and dozens of others.
The closest I got to Hollywood was running out of gas on the Hollywood Freeway, pulling off on Sunset and getting a lift from a dapper Hollywood type with a heavy German accent and a Mercedes to the nearest 30s style gas station––1968––those were the days.
(Richard M. Feldman) Ever since I was a young boy, the only thing I wanted to be was a cowboy. I wanted to own and work on a real ranch, with cattle and horses. Especially horses.
While I never became a cowboy, considering everything I have done
Join me as we travel together on the road called "Aging." I will be sharing my personal experiences with you and offer ideas on how we can better navigate the complex byways of our older years. Grief, healing, generations, ancestors, and more.
Copyright © 2000 by John Gasparro Jr.
