Giving my demons the year off has left me time to take care of some housecleaning, like backing up my old files to the cloud before my next hard drive crashes. About a week ago I ran across a couple of old Word files that I thought were lost forever: transcripts from something called “the Macallan Talks”. The premise was simple: two full fifths of Macallan 12-year-old scotch, a cassette tape recorder, William Salyers and myself. We would talk about what we always talked about, but capture it on tape finally so that I could transcribe it and then possibly either publish or stage it. Or at least that’s what I recall the plan was. This was over thirteen years ago, so I’m not really sure what I was thinking. All I know is that this conversation has never seen the light of day until now.
Mostly you get an ardent exchange between two friends who love talking, especially to each other. Bill and I still blather like this, whether on the phone, since we no longer live in the city, or into the wee hours over scotch and illicit cigarettes, on the now ever rarer occasions when we do manage to get together in person. What strikes me most clearly now looking over these transcripts is how little our positions have changed in the intervening years. Bill still ardently defends his “craft” against any woo-woo incursions of higher powers or purposes. I still maintain that what we do, when we do it well, matters in sublime and fundamental ways we can only barely glimpse in fleeting, incomplete flashes.
Had I made these discussions public at the time, I am convinced that they would have been dismissed as the pompous rantings of a pair of third-tier theatre artists who thought way too highly of themselves and each other. Now? Well, nothing’s changed. All of that is essentially still true (sorry Bill, at least you have a television career), but somehow I imagine (hope?) that the intervening near decade and a half gives our arguments some resonance beyond the moment. Of course, the final analysis is up to you. I publish the full first cassette side transcript at the end of this post. I will publish the second side in another upcoming post. In the meantime, some highlights from the first half:
On lying and acting . . .
(I try to start the tape without Bill knowing but he can tell something’s different about my face. I’m a horrible liar…. )
PAUL: So let's talk about lying. Is a good actor a liar or not a liar.
BILL: Well you know what Plato thought about that?
PAUL: What?
BILL: He literally thought--
PAUL: Micky Mouse's dog?
(beat)
BILL: I was about to imitate him and then I realized I couldn't.
(He laughs.)
'Cause he doesn't--
BILL & PAUL (together): Say anything!
. . . .
BILL: From what I remember reading in college, Plato said that actors should be killed because they lie.
PAUL: See I consider myself a pretty good actor and I cannot lie to save my life.
BILL: Well, I can lie but I consider them to be two separate things. I don't... I don't lie unless I absolutely have to, and I hold that to a pretty high standard. It's not about my convenience. I'll take a lot of shit before I'll tell a lie. Because of that thing we were talking about. About how it's an allowance. How responsibility comes with the power.
PAUL: Right.
BILL: And the only way I can tell a lie is to buy into myself.
PAUL: Yeah, so you involve yourself in the Dark magic.
On art versus craft . . .
BILL: . . . I think the word "art" is pretty useless. It is so subjective as to be pointless--
PAUL: Like "love" or something like that?
BILL: Exactly.
PAUL: Well, what would you replace it with? Or would you?
BILL: I'm not sure that you need the word. It's almost used to describe that which people don't have the capacity to describe another way. When someone says "art" they're either collectors talking about something that's worth a lot of money, or they are people who are moved beyond the ability to express... that.
PAUL: What about when somebody says, "The way that guy does phad thai is a frickin' art?"
BILL: he's talking about a transcendent experience that goes beyond what he understands as being the execution of... the act.
PAUL: Well, what about that? Is there something to that? I mean this "transcendent experience"-- if we don't have a name for it beyond "art" shall we not call it that?
BILL: I think it's the height of craft. When I approach a role there are a whole lot of givens. I think particularly in acting, and particular among young actors, there's a need to over romanticize what we do.
PAUL: Well, yeah... and then you get into that nastiness of Method and that whole "I-must-go-through-that-which-my-character-has-go-through" nonsense.
BILL: Yes. That's right. And actors saying things like-- in all seriousness-- "I don't like to like to take about the craft 'cause I don't like to over analyze it. And if I over analyze it, I'll kill it."
PAUL: Which-- yeah-- sounds like somebody who...
BILL: Doesn't know what the fuck they're doing. that's exactly right.
On going the dangers and responsibilities of playing a dark role
PAUL: ... Ok, I'm gonna go on the record about TUESDAY. I think that the reason why TUESDAY was hard was because you had met the wall with your "craft", and with TUESDAY you had to be an artist. And you were an artist, but it hurt because you were entering a realm where-- to use those fantastic mytho-terms-- you entered the realm where you were naked and raw. It's like the total hero's journey. At the beginning we see the hero and he's kick-ass, but he finally meets the challenge that is capable of kicking his ass. And then it becomes interesting. That's where the heart becomes involved. And that's why I argue this art-versus-craft argument over and over again. And that's why I'd like to try and get to the meat of it.
BILL: So you're a masochist, because art has to hurt.
PAUL: No... No... It's an old Buddhist thing. You see Westerners misunderstand Buddhism because they think it's nihilism. Because they say, "Well what a Zen Buddhist does is he sits in a room for eight hours, and that's torture!"
BILL: Mmm-hmm.
PAUL: And it is torture, and I do kinda share the opinion that the people that are attracted to Zen are masochists, but I do it, and I've sat in a room for 8 hours and I'll probably do it again. See the problem is most Westerners misinterpret Buddhism as saying "You must suffer." And I would interpret it slightly differently. I would say true Buddhism is: "You will suffer." But ultimately the suffering is as unimportant, if not more unimportant than the pleasure.
BILL: So you don't glorify the suffering.
PAUL: No. Not all. The suffering is a message. And there's something to be said for computer metaphors-- the suffering is like an error message, saying, "Ok, error in sector B. You're suffering. Why? Why are you hurting?" Like, why does it hurt to do TUESDAY?... And you're looking for reasons like your technique wasn't quite right, and I'm saying no. You're doing everything right. You just refuse to admit that that which you are doing is more important than you think it is. And that that which you are doing is more connected and more vital and more rooted in who you are than you feel comfortable with as a craftsman.
BILL: Well my reaction to that is first of all is that... if we go that way for a moment, if we accept that as a truism, I have absolutely no problem in saying I'm not interested in that. I'm not interested in self-flagellation in public. That has no--
PAUL: Well, first off that's not what I'm talking about. And second off, if you were to say that to a Zen master, he'd probably give you a whack on the head, but then he'd say, "Who cares what you're interested in?" No one cares what you're interested in.
BILL: But remember I act for selfish reasons.
PAUL: Well, maybe it's time to wake up. . . .
To follow is the full transcript of the first side of the cassette.
SIDE ONE
I turn the recorder on while Bill's back is turned, and casually try to continue with the conversation.
PAUL: So we're almost at the impasse where we were before.
BILL: yeah. (beat) You're good.
(I laugh, sloppily, already on my way.)
PAUL: I was gonna tell ya. How did you see me? In the reflection or what?
BILL: I didn't know until I saw your face.
PAUL: See. I can't lie.... Sooo.... let's just start into it. (I'll fill you up with some more [Macallan].) So let's talk about lying. Is a good actor a liar or not a liar.
BILL: Well you know what Plato thought about that?
PAUL: What?
BILL: He literally thought--
PAUL: Micky Mouse's dog?
(beat)
BILL: I was about to imitate him and then I realized I couldn't.
(He laughs.)
'Cause he doesn't--
BILL & PAUL (together): Say anything.
(We both think this is hilarious. Good scotch. I ramble a bit about how I heard the Pluto joke on SOAP. Then Bill tries to get back to the subject.)
BILL: From what I remember reading in college, Plato said that actors should be killed because they lie.
PAUL: See I consider myself a pretty good actor and I cannot lie to save my life.
BILL: Well, I can lie but I consider them to be two separate things. I don't... I don't lie unless I absolutely have to, and I hold that to a pretty high standard. It's not about my convenience. I'll take a lot of shit before I'll tell a lie. Because of that thing we were talking about. About how it's an allowance. How responsibility comes with the power.
PAUL: Right.
BILL: And the only way I can tell a lie is to buy into myself.
PAUL: Yeah, so you involve yourself in the Dark magic.
(We ramble on about the principal of sympathetic magic: Voodoo dolls and dark crystals and stuff.
Then I bring up an important logistical question:)
PAUL: Are we drunk enough to start?
(Listening to myself later, stone sober as I type this into the computer, I realize its a stupid question. On the tape, Bill and I agree it doesn't matter, since we have plenty more scotch and another cassette tape. We will end up abusing both surpluses.)
PAUL: Um... one of our large, long-standing conversations is "art versus" craft. Now is it true, Bill Salyers, that you have been known to say that what you do is not an art but a craft?
BILL: Yes. I believe that.
PAUL: You honestly believe that?
BILL: I do. I said it to [Jeff] Probst [an erstwhile local filmmaker] last night. I totally believe it.
PAUL: What was the context of you saying it to Probst?
BILL: Well, Selah [Bill's wife] brought up that I don't' consider myself an artist unless I'm getting paid, which is wholly inaccurate.
PAUL: That's not how you feel?
BILL: That's not how I feel. But um... I find... I think the word "art" is pretty useless. It is so subjective as to be pointless--
PAUL: Like "love" or something like that?
BILL: Exactly.
PAUL: Well, what would you replace it with? Or would you?
BILL: I'm not sure that you need the word. It's almost used to describe that which people don't have the capacity to describe another way. When someone says "art" they're either collectors talking about something that's worth a lot of money, or they are people who are moved beyond the ability to express... that.
PAUL: What about when somebody says, "The way that guy does phad thai is a frickin' art?"
BILL: He's talking about a transcendent experience that goes beyond what he understands as being the execution of... the act.
PAUL: Well, what about that? Is there something to that? I mean this "transcendent experience"-- if we don't have a name for it beyond "art" shall we not call it that?
BILL: I think it's the height of craft. When I approach a role there are a whole lot of givens. I think particularly in acting, and particular among young actors, there's a need to over romanticize what we do.
PAUL: Well, yeah... and then you get into that nastiness of Method and that whole "I-must-go-through-that-which-my-character-has-go-through" nonsense.
BILL: Yes. That's right. And actors saying things like-- in all seriousness-- "I don't like to like to take about the craft 'cause I don't like to over analyze it. And if I over analyze it, I'll kill it."
PAUL: Which-- yeah-- sounds like somebody who...
BILL: Doesn't know what the fuck they're doing. That's exactly right. I don't have any respect for some (I know that's a particularly bold blanket statement) for artists who rely on some kind of mystical experience to create they're art-- who feel like it happens somewhere outside of them and the god smiles and the muses light and suddenly brilliance occurs. Well, I've seen a lot of pathetic mumbling bullshit from actors waiting for the muse to occur. As opposed to really simple things like "I must be understood. I must be seen."
PAUL: Which are all stage things. Those are issues that are taken out of your hands in film.
BILL: Not entirely. Those are training ground issues that you can bring to your skills in film. For instance, neophyte as I am in film work, I know how to ask where my frame is. And I know how to play for that frame.
PAUL: Right. But even if you didn't know that, there'd be somebody there to tell you that.
BILL: No. Not necessarily. See that's the thing. When I watch CROCODILE TEARS I am haunted by some mistakes that I made. There were times from my first day of shooting that I thought "Wow, I don't know much about this but I think we're being under covered. And ... uh... they're now saying that they're gonna move on but I don't have... uh... close-ups. So a big part of this scene, i.e. me, is going to be missing or greatly affected." And then I thought: "Ah, Bill, relax! They're professionals! You're just an actor. Shut up and let them do their job." Well, you spend three-quarters of CROCODILE TEARS looking at the back of my head in long-shot. And the reason that is to some degree is because I didn't say: "I think this would be effective if you showed my face." I did a lot of good work in that film that never made it to the film. I mean to a certain degree I'm sure there was a rationalization of: "This is Ted's story. We need to keep the camera on Ted. We only have so much footage." But some of it was just fucking sloppy. And it weakened the story, because as strong as Simon was, the Devil should have been that strong or stronger. And they didn't let me be as strong as I could be. There were times that I was doing things with the mask of my face, that I know were effective things, that were weakened because the camera was either too far back or because they simply never bothered to record it. Because the kept on Ted, they did a "wide two" and then we moved on.
(Bill talks about how Probst talks about how stars won't allow themselves to be shot unflatteringly.)
BILL: Going back. You do have some control over how you're perceived in a film. You have some control over how you're perceived on stage. You have as much control as you're willing to claim and that they're willing to give you to have your work in the thing.
(Bill talks about some of the CROCODILE TEARS shoots, shooting out of sequence, etc. I rave about MY DINNER WITH ANDRE, how we should make a movie based on this stuff. Blah, blah, blah.)
PAUL: Art and craft. We're going back to art and craft and you say you're not an artist. But the question for me-- let's get to the nitty gritty, let's get to the bottom line-- it sounds to me like you suspect that there is no such thing as art. Or that art is just the highest level of craft, and there is no qualitative difference.
BILL: I kinda lean towards that-- yeah.
PAUL: all right.
(We talk about starting puerile and working our way up to lofty.)
PAUL: Well, that fails in my mind because it kind of eschews any notion of transcendence. And I admit transcendence is a buzzword.
BILL: I see where you're going but I totally disagree with that. I think--
PAUL: Well then where does the transcendence take place?
BILL: Well, I think there's a level of craftsmanship that is virtually sub-conscious, wherein you are operating almost instinctually-- for an actor. I don't know maybe for other craftsman as well-- for like painters, whatever. But for an actor I think it’s the level at which you have the capacity to call bullshit on yourself. And know when you're lying to an audience. And I think it is so, so, so much easier to lie to an audience than we usually like to think it is, because when we think of actors' lies we think of big lies. We think of likes like: "OH I'M SO ANGRY I CAN'T STAND IT!!!! Not likes like: "I just did this gesture and I have no idea why.
PAUL: Well wait a second. I like where you're going and I don't know if I want to get you off track but have you never been in the position where you do a gesture, you know its right, and have no idea why you've done.
BILL: Which is kind of the proof of what I'm talking about.
PAUL: Oh, ok.
BILL: Where the craft becomes sub-conscious-- and it isn't esoteric; it's not God filling your lungs or... I don't know. It's. I guess... I guess I can't say there's no such thing as art because I don't know what art means.
PAUL: You have no idea.
BILL: No.
PAUL: No one's ever sat you down and tried to explain it to you?
BILL: Oh. I had whole college classes where they tried. And then another college class where they said something completely different. I mean that's my point. There's no...
PAUL: Mutual agreement?
BILL: Yeah. And to me that is... if something means all things, it means nothing.
PAUL: Yeah, that's a good point.
BILL: And my wife will say, "Art means anything that you want it to mean." And what I would say is: "Then it's meaningless."
PAUL: That's it. I hate it when arts liberals do that, because that's a really tough row to hoe. Although I will say this: Art does mean anything anybody says it is. Anybody can call what they want to call art "art", but then you have to allow me, and anyone else, who will stand on their feet and defend their position, the right to say, "There is good art and there is bad art."
BILL: But see that's what I'm saying. I think the word art exists to give critics a job. I think that it's.... it's a useless distinction.
PAUL: Mmmm.... no.
BILL: I mean, very rarely will I get into an involved critique of another actor beyond saying "I bought it" or "I didn't buy it". And as far as I'm concerned those are the only things you can gauge.
PAUL: Ok... I... I understand why an actor as good as yourself is reluctant to get involved in discussions of art.... because... because it brings what you do, which you have been so careful to maintain a level of craft, to maintain a level of skill, and because anybody who has ever memorized a limerick can call themselves an actor, you are adverse to getting into artsy-fartsy notions of art. However, you'll see my dilemma as a writer is that unless we have-- and we can maybe talk about creative versus interpretative later-- but unless we have a vibrant, vital discussion about that which is art; that which we can call art, then we're lost. Because.... because if we're just talking about craftsmanship then we're just fiddling while Rome burns.
BILL: I don't understand why people are so reductive about the idea. People say "craftsmanship" like it's a dirty word.
PAUL: No. I don't think I'm saying that, Billy.
BILL: Why are you preferring the term "art" to "craftsmanship"? Why is art vital to the existence of a society?
PAUL: Here it is. Here it is. Not to put things in martial terms, but I always seem to do so and that is my own FUCKED UP MALE DOMINATED BULLSHIT THING. But anyway, the difference between craft and art is the difference between the fighter pilot racking up points in a simulator and nailing his "craft", and the fighter pilot going up into the deep blue and fighting the good fight [against actual adversaries]. If there's no MIGs out there, to use a Cold War analogy, and we will have to cut this 'cause I'll be CRUCIFIED, but if there's no MIGs out there then who gives a damn if you can knock 'em down in a simulator.
BILL: Yeah, but then to follow your analogy then every rehearsal is a craft and every performance is art.
PAUL: Yes! YES! Absolutely!
BILL: I don't get that.
PAUL: You should read this story called "The Art of Living". It's by John Gardner. The bottom line of this story is that there's this cook in a small town and he's restless. And Vietnam's going on and there's this bunch of motorcycle hoods who hang out at his restaurant. And he lost his son in Vietnam and he's troubled and he kinda goes on this jag about cooking being an art. And he finally says, "You know, my son had a dish in Vietnam that is supposed to be the ultimate dish known to man. It's called "Imperial Dog". And you must find a completely black dog. And you must prepare it according to this recipe I've found." Finally it becomes clear that he wants to do this. And so one of the hoods is in love with one of the waitresses at the restaurant so he goes and finds this dog. They take the dog and they kill the dog. And they cook it up. And at that moment-- it's like two in the morning-- the old Italian owner comes in with his son the manager and says, "You're fired!" And the cook says, "But you said I could cook anything I wanted. That was the agreement." And the old man says, "No, no, no. The agreement was you cook anything you want so long as someone eats it." The cook says, "I'll eat it." "No! You must find customers willing to pay to eat it." And that's the gist and the beauty of the story, is that finally all the hoodlums all pay like two bucks to eat the dog as the blue plate special. And the act is complete. Because only then is it art. And that's it. Yeah, rehearsals great. You can be brilliant; the gods can smile on you, but unless you're doing it out there it doesn't matter. And... and... oh, come one Billy, I mean how many people have you seen be brilliant in rehearsal and can't fucking get it up on stage.
BILL: Well, that's true, that's true, although I have said that, and I still claim, that acting for me is essentially a selfish act. I don't act for an audience.
PAUL: That's interesting.
BILL: I really do feel that way. Now if Selah was here she'd say, "Well you used to come home complaining about how few people saw TUESDAY." And that's true, but that's because I was eviscerating myself--
(I start laughing.)
I was having a miserable experience-- and I wanted somebody to at least watch it. But the fact of the matter is, I know this sounds corny but the way I started acting is that I never stopped pretending. Literally. As a kid when I would go out in the woods I'd be like the German guy who was running from the American Army
PAUL: Really? You cast yourself that way?
BILL: Mmm-hmm.
PAUL: So you cast yourself alternative to anything any normal American boy would cast himself?
BILL: Well that was, to me, the most interesting thing: to see what it was like to be the German.
PAUL: Shit.
BILL: So jump ahead to grade school and even eighth grade I was still literally playing pretend. I would find people who would still do that with me. I was still into-- whether it was inspired by the movie of the week or THE BIONIC MAN or whatever... And the appeal for me was what happened in that space between me and that other person I was playing pretend with. If I believed enough that I was Oscar Goldman and he believed enough that he was Steve Austin--
PAUL: Again, you cast yourself as Oscar Goldman and not as Steve Austin?
BILL: Well, yeah. That made sense.
PAUL: Why? You were already casting yourself as the character actor.
BILL: Yeah.
PAUL: Why?
BILL: A lot of reasons. Danny wanted to do Steve and he felt like Steve.
PAUL: DANNY!!!! WHERE ARE YOU!!!
BILL: He's being like a minister. That's what he's doing now.
PAUL: Is he really? Are you still friends?
BILL: No. But uh... that just seemed to be like a natural casting for us, but, see Danny had to be Steve for the whole story. I got to be Oscar Goldman, and I got to be evil android Oscar Goldman, and I got to be Rudy Wells. I got to be everybody else.
PAUL: Ok.
BILL: We've truly descended into triteness now.
PAUL: No, no, no, no, no. Not at all. We're getting to the heart of the matter here, 'cause I think there's many issues that went on with why you had such a "bad time" with TUESDAY. As if we didn't all have a bad time-- MAT RICHTER!!!-- with TUESDAY. Did you read the reviews yet, Mat, of TUESDAY in LA WEEKLY and DRAMALOGUE? Did my sister send you those yet? Ok.
BILL: Yeah, well of course it was half the play that it was in Seattle.
(I cackle. Sound of cork being pulled from bottle.)
PAUL: You're just mad because you didn't get to play it down there.
BILL: You're right.
PAUL: Well, let me ask you that. This is a side note, and then we'll get back to theories as to why TUESDAY was so "hard" for you. Is uh... if it was so hard for you, why would you want to play it again?
BILL: Once again, for the challenge. I think that I played it--
PAUL: So you're a masochist.
BILL: No, that's the challenge. The challenge is not to survive the pain; the challenge is to do it again without hurting myself. I did it wrong. And if I did it again I'd try to do it right.
PAUL: Well, here's my theory. You cast yourself as the character man as a kid, before you even knew what a character man was, because it's easy and it's off the hook. You don't have to confront the meat of the story. And so TUESDAY was difficult for you--
BILL: Oh, I've played leads before.
PAUL: Yeah... Yeah...
BILL: I've been the guy who carried the story before.
PAUL: Yeah... Yeah... I doubt as closely. You had-- You had-- a lot of stakes on this one.
BILL: Yes. That's true.
PAUL: And you knew that I wouldn't fucking let you bullshit your way through it. And... I think... Ok, I'm gonna go on the record about TUESDAY. I think that the reason why TUESDAY was hard was because you had met the wall with your "craft", and with TUESDAY you had to be an artist. And you were an artist, but it hurt because you were entering a realm where-- to use those fantastic mytho-terms-- you entered the realm where you were naked and raw. It's like the total hero's journey. At the beginning we see the hero and he's kick-ass, but he finally meets the challenge that is capable of kicking his ass. And then it becomes interesting. That's where the heart becomes involved. And that's why I argue this art-versus-craft argument over and over again. And that's why I'd like to try and get to the meat of it.
BILL: So you're a masochist, because art has to hurt.
PAUL: No... No... It's an old Buddhist thing. You see Westerners misunderstand Buddhism because they think it's nihilism. Because they say, "Well what a Zen Buddhist does is he sits in a room for eight hours, and that's torture!"
BILL: Mmm-hmm.
PAUL: And it is torture, and I do kinda share the opinion that the people that are attracted to Zen are masochists, but I do it, and I've sat in a room for 8 hours and I'll probably do it again. See the problem is most Westerners misinterpret Buddhism as saying "You must suffer." And I would interpret it slightly differently. I would say true Buddhism is: "You will suffer." But ultimately the suffering is as unimportant, if not more unimportant than the pleasure.
BILL: So you don't glorify the suffering.
PAUL: No. Not all. The suffering is a message. And there's something to be said for computer metaphors-- the suffering is like an error message, saying, "Ok, error in sector B. You're suffering. Why? Why are you hurting?" Like, why does it hurt to do TUESDAY?... And you're looking for reasons like your technique wasn't quite right, and I'm saying no. You're doing everything right. You just refuse to admit that that which you are doing is more important than you think it is. And that that which you are doing is more connected and more vital and more rooted in who you are than you feel comfortable with as a craftsman.
BILL: Well my reaction to that is first of all is that... if we go that way for a moment, if we accept that as a truism, I have absolutely no problem in saying I'm not interested in that. I'm not interested in self-flagellation in public. That has no--
PAUL: Well, first off that's not what I'm talking about. And second off, if you were to say that to a Zen master, he'd probably give you a whack on the head, but then he'd say, "Who cares what you're interested in?" No one cares what you're interested in.
BILL: But remember I act for selfish reasons.
PAUL: Well, maybe it's time to wake up. That if you were given a gift. And I know you don't believe in god, so we won't go that route of the God-given gift
BILL: Ok.
PAUL: So let's not say it's a gift because a gift presumes a giver... a talent. Is that sheerly to line your pocket?
BILL: No. I wouldn't say that either, but it's also... if it's for somebody's gratification it's because I deem it and not because I owe it to anybody.
PAUL: Perhaps so, but why don't we "transcend" issues of...I mean... I'm speaking from my own perhaps proselytizing point of view of Buddhism, but please note that my Buddhist proselytization has nothing to do with converting you do Buddhism and more to converting you to art.
BILL: Artism
PAUL: Artism. Autism. Um... and that is: perhaps it's bigger than you, motherfucker. And perhaps you are being told by the universe via me, via my play, via other things, via your thirst, via your dissatisfaction, via all kinds of things, that you need to understand why you're here and why you're good at what you do. And it has very little to do with your own gratification as you see it-- as you see it!-- and more to do with... There's this great saying: "You want to hear the music of the spheres? Then tune up your heart strings." And I don't mean to preach to you but I think it's a heart-string tuning exercise for you. That you are a few turns of the... uh... the whatchamacallits on the uh...
BILL: they got a name, too. Is that disgusting.
PAUL: From being completely at home at what you do, whether you're making a shitload of money at it or not. And not that you won't suffer, but not that you won't suffer anyway.
BILL: The reason that I say that I did something wrong in TUESDAY is that I don't think anyone will ever know who in danger the whole project was of coming to a halt at points. I mean, I have never in my life before during a stageplay thought, "I have to leave the stage."
PAUL: You felt that? Can you remember a particular scene?
BILL: I remember the exact moment. It was right before the Seattle scene. It was right after I'd yelled at the nurse and recanted and said, "I guess I shouldn't be afraid but I still am." And she gave me the cell phone. And the lights went down and I thought, "I don't want to do this. I can't do this. I... I'm gonna have to stop the show."
(long pause)
PAUL: Brilliant.
BILL: You love that shit, don't you? You love it because you wrote it, that's why you love it.
PAUL: No... No, no. I'll tell you why I love it. If I thought that you were saying that because you thought the script was just abysmal, then you would have my pity. As you should. But I know the script wasn't abysmal. The script had problems at the time, but it wasn't abysmal. So the reason I say that's brilliant is because you had a moment of facing that which only someone truly alive faces which is utter... despair at which you do love most. I mean you've used acting as an escape, if you will, for a long time.
BILL: Absolutely, that was one of my big problems with TUESDAY was that I was going to my place of refuge and finding pain.
(I must have smiled here.)
You like that. You're such a sicko.
PAUL: Because there's no refuge! There is no refuge. As soon as we learn that--
BILL: You're just a Nazi fuck.
PAUL: I am not just a Nazi fuck. I'm a Mick. Nazi's believe that there is no refuge for the Other. The Irish believe that there is no refuge for anyone. But, back to the point, your art should not be your refuge. But see you don't believe in art, so we're going back in art.
BILL: I don't have any desire to experience that.
PAUL: Experience what? What do you think you're going to experience if-- if-- you experience your craft as art?
BILL: If I experience my craft as your definition of art then what I experience is uh... there is a self-indulgence to it that I do not find appealing. There is an "I-feel-your-pain"... It should have never have never crossed my mind to leave the stage. And the fact that it did is bad art. The fact that I had a moment where I thought-- There should never be a moment where I think I would rather be anywhere--
PAUL: No.
BILL: Including the bottom of the sound--
PAUL: No!
BILL: Than here.
PAUL: No, no, absolutely not! See you--you [some incomprehensible noise of consternation]....Oh all right we gotta swap the tape.
This is so great. Publish the other half, already!
Paul Mullin, I love where you're coming from on this whole debate. I'm deeply allied with this point of view. Just because we can't quite articulate something or identify or pull it to pieces with our tools, doesn't mean there's no there there. And the MIG analogy is superb.
If I could high five you with the force that I intend on this stuff, your whole family would fall over.
Posted by: Tina Rowley | 01/10/2011 at 12:48 PM
Thanks, Tina!
I'm delighted that you like it. Sheesh, I think I might be blushing, so stop with the gushing already!
(PS Don't you dare stop.)
Posted by: Paul Mullin | 01/10/2011 at 12:54 PM
This, this transcription right here, this is why I love men.
Paul, have you seen Drunk History? Google it.
Posted by: Becky | 01/10/2011 at 03:35 PM
This is really incredible, Paul.
I thought I had something to add, but I think there's more processing to do. Or maybe I just need to read more (since any trains of thought it inspires in may might well have reached fruition in the remainder of the conversation).
Posted by: Lyam White | 01/12/2011 at 11:26 AM
I hate to break it to you, Lyam, but I'm about 2/3 of the way through the second side, and mostly we just get drunker.
But in the spirit of full disclosure, I will post it in due time.
Posted by: Paul Mullin | 01/12/2011 at 01:15 PM
Actually, I liked the second half even better. Attempting to retain some degree of coherence while plastered beyond belief isn't only funny on stage, you know.
But, holy crap, the section on whether or not an actor ever has the "right" to question the director's choices for their character surprised the hell out of me. Really? Some people just do as they're told and don't try to defend their own choices? (I'm not talking about being a total diva, being argumentative for its own sake or making oneself a PITA, I'm talking about explaining why you think, as an actor, that a particular choice you've made is more real than what a director is asking.)
Posted by: Geni Hawkins | 02/14/2011 at 02:41 PM
Thanks, Geni!
Posted by: Paul Mullin | 02/14/2011 at 02:44 PM
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