In contrast to my last exciting gossippy entry about up-close encounters with movie stars, today I am going to write about the fascinating (at least to me) subject of differences between the U.S. and U.K. service industries. Oh yes, I can feel the excitement levels rising in you.
As everyone throughout the western world is aware, the U.S service is industry is guaranteed to fill all your needs with a smile.
At first I found it odd that it's not really the done thing to browse through clothes shops. I love browsing, and feel a bit like a suspected shoplifter when someone trails me as soon as I enter the store, reminding me constantly that they're here to help me with anything I could possibly need. On the other hand, I found it really useful on Friday, when shopping for new jeans, that the girl at Miss Sixty could direct me instantly to the products in the store that fit my requirements (dark, skinny and low-cut). She checked on me in the changing room, found out which pair was best so far, then refined her search around the store based on that. I ended up with the most perfectly-fitting pair of jeans I have ever owned.
On the other hand, it really annoys me that in all L.A. restaurants (including some pretty fancy places) the serving staff start clearing away your plates as soon as you finish a course - before waiting for everyone else on your table to finish theirs. It's horrible. If you're the slow one you feel painfully bad for keeping everyone else waiting. If you're the fast one you feel bad for disrupting your tablemates dinner by having some waitress lean over and probably drop crumbs of your food onto their plates. Why do they do this? Is there a shortage of plates in LA, meaning that kitchens need to get them back and washed a.s.a.p? Is it a tactic for shaming slow eaters into chewing more quickly? Or are restaurants just trying to prove how attentive they are to your every service need by watching you like a hawk and sweeping in to take your plate away? If so, do they not realise that what I want more than fast service is a nice meal with my friends where everyone feels good at the end. This level of attentive service does not make one feel comfortable; it makes you feel like you are a nuisance, merely a source of income to be fed and dispatched as soon as possible. It does not a pleasant dining experience make.
Then there are just the weird differences between life here and life in the motherland. At the supermarket in California (and probably the rest of the U.S.), there are two checkout girls/guys for every customer. One to add up the cost of the groceries (and to check your ID if you buy wine even though you are 26, and you have shopped at this store at least twice a week for the past 6 months), the other to pack your bags for you. That's right, chainstore supermarkets employ people to pack your bags for you. Scott laughed when I told him that we did this for ourselves in the UK, even in the upmarket stores. Strangely, this two people at the checkout lark seems to make the line go slower, not faster, as they tend to chat to each other. Probably makes their jobs a little less dull and shitty though.
Yet pop next door to get some fast food and you will discover that you fall into a world of pain and scornful looks if you fail to tidy away every bit of your meal and its packaging from the table when you leave. They don't employ people to clean the tables, apparently, and it's a huge social faux pas to leave your table dirty.
Smart U.S. innovation: supermarket loyalty cards (like a Tesco's clubcard or something) aren't actually cards, but a small bit of plastic that you attach to your keyring. They give you about 6 when you sign up, so all your family can collect points on the same account. They're light to carry around, hard to lose and use less plastic. Why does England not have such things? Or has this happened since I've been gone?
UPDATE: I have been informed that these have existed in the U.K. for ages and I have just been an idiot and never noticed. I clearly pay much more attention to grocery shopping in the states than I ever did back at home...
Oh dear god. I think I might've just written the most boring journal entry in the world. It's okay, the next one'll be more exciting. I still have to write about the Griffith Park fire (last fortnight's near-death experience) which should be slightly more entertaining for anyone who actually reads this...
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
So Hollywood
All of this is true. Only the names has been omitted, to protect my future career prospects...
So, last week I worked my first freelance Hollywood job and, gosh, it was an experience.
On Wednesday night I’m sitting out on the front porch with Laura-from-downstairs when she receives a phone call from her boss (an eminent film producer) asking her if she would like a week-long job organising a one day film shoot for a rather famous film star. The film star in question is very busy, and wants to shoot a monologue the next Tuesday. The purpose of this shoot is for him to perform said monologue made-up to look like a famous author from the last century. It is his passion to make a feature film based on this author’s life story, and he is trying to convince the money men firstly that he can perform as this person, and secondly that the make-up can be applied convincingly. (The author cuts a rather older and uglier figure than the actor.)
Laura takes on the rather daunting job of organising the entire shoot from scratch in a week, and promptly employs me as her second-in-command. Things happen fast in Hollywoodland.
The next day I get to meet with the actor over breakfast. It is slightly painful to have ones first proper meeting with a bona fide Hollywood star take place at seven in the morning when you haven't had time to put any makeup on. Jessie and I sit with him in his trailer and try to get him to make some decisions. He's a strange creature. Has a reputation for being difficult. Saying that he was lovely to Laura and I during the week of preproduction - one of the smartest, funniest most charismatic people I have ever met. Obsessed with the author, which can only be a good thing. He quickly becomes familiar with Laura and I, thinks nothing of parading around in his underpants in front of us whilst in his trailer. Later he demonstrates "how annoying it is when people don't respect your personal space" by stroking my arm for 5 minutes.
Then, on shoot day, he went completely mental on us. Turns out that the reason he has this "reputation", is that he's a hard-core method actor of the old school. Now, as the elderly author he is portraying was an alcoholic misogynist forced to whore himself on lecture tours so as to have enough money to eat, this made for a rather unpleasant atmosphere for the women on set, especially the ones who had to tell him what to do (Jessie and I). At one point he shouted "women, I'm surrounded by bloody women" in his character’s southern drawl, before throwing a whole load of notecards at Elizabeth (our sweet and innocent 23 year old production assistant and downstairs neighbour, who hadn't met the actor before, and hence just concluded that he was the most horrid man in the world).
But, the day soon turned even more bizarre. The actor had emphasized Laura and I during preprod that he was v. clean living. No tobacco or alcohol ever, only eats raw foods. Fine we say, we can accommodate all that within this tiny 5 days preprod period, even though the author he is playing was an alcoholic cigar smoker and Laura and I have to organise EVERY single aspect of the whole shoot between us in a week, and for v little money.
The whiskey is simple - I buy a crystal tumbler from a thrift store and fill it with a blend of decaf ice tea that the actor approves of. The cigar becomes the bane of my existence. After enthusiastically agreeing to get the actor a tobacco-free cigar, we soon learn that such things do not actually exist (which makes sense when you think about the fact that a cigar is wrapped up in one giant tobacco leaf). I call up head shops, I have in-depth discussions with custom cigar making companies but, no, tobacco-free cigars do not exist.
We consider going back to the actor and telling him this. But we don't want to do that. The actor is trusting us to put together this shoot, and we've already learnt that he's the kind of guy who doesn't need to know exactly how everything is done, he just wants it done.
Anyway. So, with many years of cigarette rolling experience behind me, I endeavour to construct my own tobacco-free cigars (who could have guessed that all those nights of drunkenly rolling cigarettes would come in useful one day). They take about an hour to make each, but they are so beautiful. I slowly and carefully hollow out regular cigars with tweezers and kebab skewers, then refill them with herbal tobacco from herbal cigarettes. To compensate for the smoke from the tobacco leaf that still forms the wrapper, I manage to find a way to squeeze three cigarette filters into one end. Gina tries to help, but just destroys things. Turns out that herbal cigar making is a highly skilled profession. The night before the shoot I get Scott to test a cigar, as he is the most smoke-hating person I know. He tries one. Not only does it smoke properly, but he announces that it in no way makes him feel ill. Result!
Now for the juicy part. We get on set and get busy with prep. Laura's answering a million phone calls and dealing with crew, I'm hurridly writing out the prompt cards that the actor "forgot" that he said he wanted to do himself, as well as putting up our set and arranging the props (as it's a tiny crew I'd also been promoted to head of art department - which I actually really enjoyed). The actor is having his makeup put on. Everything is good and calm, except for Laura, who is super-stressed because, although everything on shoot is going fine, she has forgotten her cigarettes. I try and calm her down, send one of the PA’s out to buy her fags. I cannot believe that I am somehow not the person being sent out to get fags, but am high up enough to be the one doing the sending. When did this happen?
Anyway, the actor comes on to set and is being all authorly and abusive. (I will point out that although this is disconcerting, his acting is SUPERB. It's kind of like when you fist see someone really truly beautiful, and you realize that all the people you've seen in your life and though pretty were just that - jus pretty, not beautiful. The level of brilliance separating the actor's acting and anyone I have seen act on stage ever is amazing. He WAS the author. And I can now understand why some actors get paid so much money (only some, mind, i haven't gone completely crazy)).
Anyway, we start shooting and the actor/author decides he doesn't want the filters in the cigar because that's not how real cigars are. We tell him that we know that, but that we were just trying to keep the unpleasantness level as low as possible. We tell him we have real cigars that we can give him if he'd like true authenticity. No he decides, he doesn't want to go that far. We decide to just take the filters out. His bloody choice.
The first few takes go fine. By take 3, actor/author is acting a little weird. He's adlibbing more, and is really bringing out the author as drunk side of the monologue, instead of just the author as funny humorist. It looks amazing. Take 4 is even better, starting to take our breath away when, after just a few lines, actor/author yells cut and storms off set, followed by his makeup/hair guys who generally trail him everywhere.
No-one's that concerned - actor/author has been having tantrums and storming off all day. We start to reset the camera and lights. Those who smoke pop out for a quick fag. Others grab coffee from craft services. All is going fine until the $30,000 a day prosthetics dude walks back onto set shouting it's a wrap kids, it's a wrap.
Actor/author is in his dressing room, feeling very unwell. The story is that the actor was so into the part that he managed to actually get drunk on decaf ice tea whiskey and herbal cigar smoke. Play a dying alcoholic and you get drunk and sick, if you're as sensitive a soul, and as good an actor, as the actor is...
Other stories do circulate, too salacious to be written here. Ask me very nicely and I might tell you about them. Might.
So, last week I worked my first freelance Hollywood job and, gosh, it was an experience.
On Wednesday night I’m sitting out on the front porch with Laura-from-downstairs when she receives a phone call from her boss (an eminent film producer) asking her if she would like a week-long job organising a one day film shoot for a rather famous film star. The film star in question is very busy, and wants to shoot a monologue the next Tuesday. The purpose of this shoot is for him to perform said monologue made-up to look like a famous author from the last century. It is his passion to make a feature film based on this author’s life story, and he is trying to convince the money men firstly that he can perform as this person, and secondly that the make-up can be applied convincingly. (The author cuts a rather older and uglier figure than the actor.)
Laura takes on the rather daunting job of organising the entire shoot from scratch in a week, and promptly employs me as her second-in-command. Things happen fast in Hollywoodland.
The next day I get to meet with the actor over breakfast. It is slightly painful to have ones first proper meeting with a bona fide Hollywood star take place at seven in the morning when you haven't had time to put any makeup on. Jessie and I sit with him in his trailer and try to get him to make some decisions. He's a strange creature. Has a reputation for being difficult. Saying that he was lovely to Laura and I during the week of preproduction - one of the smartest, funniest most charismatic people I have ever met. Obsessed with the author, which can only be a good thing. He quickly becomes familiar with Laura and I, thinks nothing of parading around in his underpants in front of us whilst in his trailer. Later he demonstrates "how annoying it is when people don't respect your personal space" by stroking my arm for 5 minutes.
Then, on shoot day, he went completely mental on us. Turns out that the reason he has this "reputation", is that he's a hard-core method actor of the old school. Now, as the elderly author he is portraying was an alcoholic misogynist forced to whore himself on lecture tours so as to have enough money to eat, this made for a rather unpleasant atmosphere for the women on set, especially the ones who had to tell him what to do (Jessie and I). At one point he shouted "women, I'm surrounded by bloody women" in his character’s southern drawl, before throwing a whole load of notecards at Elizabeth (our sweet and innocent 23 year old production assistant and downstairs neighbour, who hadn't met the actor before, and hence just concluded that he was the most horrid man in the world).
But, the day soon turned even more bizarre. The actor had emphasized Laura and I during preprod that he was v. clean living. No tobacco or alcohol ever, only eats raw foods. Fine we say, we can accommodate all that within this tiny 5 days preprod period, even though the author he is playing was an alcoholic cigar smoker and Laura and I have to organise EVERY single aspect of the whole shoot between us in a week, and for v little money.
The whiskey is simple - I buy a crystal tumbler from a thrift store and fill it with a blend of decaf ice tea that the actor approves of. The cigar becomes the bane of my existence. After enthusiastically agreeing to get the actor a tobacco-free cigar, we soon learn that such things do not actually exist (which makes sense when you think about the fact that a cigar is wrapped up in one giant tobacco leaf). I call up head shops, I have in-depth discussions with custom cigar making companies but, no, tobacco-free cigars do not exist.
We consider going back to the actor and telling him this. But we don't want to do that. The actor is trusting us to put together this shoot, and we've already learnt that he's the kind of guy who doesn't need to know exactly how everything is done, he just wants it done.
Anyway. So, with many years of cigarette rolling experience behind me, I endeavour to construct my own tobacco-free cigars (who could have guessed that all those nights of drunkenly rolling cigarettes would come in useful one day). They take about an hour to make each, but they are so beautiful. I slowly and carefully hollow out regular cigars with tweezers and kebab skewers, then refill them with herbal tobacco from herbal cigarettes. To compensate for the smoke from the tobacco leaf that still forms the wrapper, I manage to find a way to squeeze three cigarette filters into one end. Gina tries to help, but just destroys things. Turns out that herbal cigar making is a highly skilled profession. The night before the shoot I get Scott to test a cigar, as he is the most smoke-hating person I know. He tries one. Not only does it smoke properly, but he announces that it in no way makes him feel ill. Result!
Now for the juicy part. We get on set and get busy with prep. Laura's answering a million phone calls and dealing with crew, I'm hurridly writing out the prompt cards that the actor "forgot" that he said he wanted to do himself, as well as putting up our set and arranging the props (as it's a tiny crew I'd also been promoted to head of art department - which I actually really enjoyed). The actor is having his makeup put on. Everything is good and calm, except for Laura, who is super-stressed because, although everything on shoot is going fine, she has forgotten her cigarettes. I try and calm her down, send one of the PA’s out to buy her fags. I cannot believe that I am somehow not the person being sent out to get fags, but am high up enough to be the one doing the sending. When did this happen?
Anyway, the actor comes on to set and is being all authorly and abusive. (I will point out that although this is disconcerting, his acting is SUPERB. It's kind of like when you fist see someone really truly beautiful, and you realize that all the people you've seen in your life and though pretty were just that - jus pretty, not beautiful. The level of brilliance separating the actor's acting and anyone I have seen act on stage ever is amazing. He WAS the author. And I can now understand why some actors get paid so much money (only some, mind, i haven't gone completely crazy)).
Anyway, we start shooting and the actor/author decides he doesn't want the filters in the cigar because that's not how real cigars are. We tell him that we know that, but that we were just trying to keep the unpleasantness level as low as possible. We tell him we have real cigars that we can give him if he'd like true authenticity. No he decides, he doesn't want to go that far. We decide to just take the filters out. His bloody choice.
The first few takes go fine. By take 3, actor/author is acting a little weird. He's adlibbing more, and is really bringing out the author as drunk side of the monologue, instead of just the author as funny humorist. It looks amazing. Take 4 is even better, starting to take our breath away when, after just a few lines, actor/author yells cut and storms off set, followed by his makeup/hair guys who generally trail him everywhere.
No-one's that concerned - actor/author has been having tantrums and storming off all day. We start to reset the camera and lights. Those who smoke pop out for a quick fag. Others grab coffee from craft services. All is going fine until the $30,000 a day prosthetics dude walks back onto set shouting it's a wrap kids, it's a wrap.
Actor/author is in his dressing room, feeling very unwell. The story is that the actor was so into the part that he managed to actually get drunk on decaf ice tea whiskey and herbal cigar smoke. Play a dying alcoholic and you get drunk and sick, if you're as sensitive a soul, and as good an actor, as the actor is...
Other stories do circulate, too salacious to be written here. Ask me very nicely and I might tell you about them. Might.
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