January 11, 2005
Celeb photos. This person, when he recognizes an actor or other performer on the street, actually stops to talk to them. I mean, he isn't obnoxious about it or anything, but unless I have a special feel for someone's work I can't imagine speaking to them. I usually just give a little half-smile as our eyes meet.
And, no—I can't imagine putting together a list of actors I've seen in person, even throwing out the events I've gone to on my husband's arm (which included a tribute to Steven Spielberg—as you might imagine, there were a lot of "names" in the room that night). We just see people in L.A., and most of us don't want to risk "bugging" them unless we have something significant to say.
I'll tell you the first, though: It was Peter Falk. I was in an ice cream parlor in Westwood Village (part of the Swensen's chain, IIRC). I was maybe 12 years old, and Falk had clearly been filming an episode of Columbo (the ones in the 70s—remember, I'm old), because he had his trenchcoat on and makeup on his face to make his complexion just a bit deeper. I was eating my ice cream and looked up suddenly to see a face I knew intimately. I think the shock registered on my face, and Falk smiled at me. Then he ordered his own ice cream. I've always hoped that I regained my wits and smiled back at him, but I don't remember for sure.
Five years later I got to know some friends who were making a short super-8 film that was a Columbo parody. Fifteen years or so after that, one of those same friends found himself to be a new business owner due to a chain of events that involved Peter Falk.
My point is that in L.A. (and New York, to some degree) the cult of celebrity is like oxygen: just in the air. I've been thinking about this as I consider getting involved in one or more projects that involve reporting on celebrities. At first blush, my nerdly indifference to these matters other people are so concerned with might appear to be a liability. Once I thought it through, however, I realized the fact that I don't succomb to any kind of hero-worship could actually help me in covering some of the entertainment figures around town.
After Peter Falk smiled at me, it was all over. I saw behind the veil.
At my Publishing Group meeting tonight the one of the celeb magazines had some staffers on hand discussing how they handled the "Brad and Jennifer" issue, which had to be rushed into print in a matter of days. One of the discussions that went into that cover story was a brainstorming session in which staffers sat around considering what ordinary Americans might be curious about regarding the breakup.
"Like, what sorts of questions might your mother ask?" one of the editors enquired of the others in the group.
And when this was quoted in our meeting I thought, "my mother? She'd want to know, Brad and Jennifer who? And why should I care?"
So I'm a second-generation nerd. The difference being, I can snap out of it at will.
You all be good. Think twice about wishing for fame and fortune: fortune alone is handier and safer. It also leads to less social awkwardness: you aren't followed by hordes of people on photo safari, and no one approaches you on the street, apropos of nothing, and just starts talking.
Posted by: Attila at
11:56 PM
| Comments (6)
| Add Comment
Post contains 627 words, total size 4 kb.
207 queries taking 0.1199 seconds, 444 records returned.
Powered by Minx 1.1.6c-pink.
