Thursday, March 6, 2025
Wednesday, March 5, 2025
Here are this years nominees for best film in the Rondo Awards -- to be exact, The 23rd Annual Rondo Hatton Classic Horror Awards.
This year there are 18 nominees, of which I’ve seen 4. Kinda pitiful.
I don’t think I’ll try too hard to see them all this time around, but there are maybe 7 which I wanted to catch in the theater and just…you know…didn’t. So I’ll see how I can do on those, maybe throw in a couple of the stragglers. We’ll see. I’m not about to strain anything in the effort.
Those I’ve already seen are italicized and underlined.
ALIEN: ROMULUS
— BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE
— DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE
— DUNE, Part 2
— THE FIRST OMEN
— FURIOSA: A Mad Max Saga
— GODZILLA x KONG: The New Empire
— I SAW THE TV GLOW
— JOKER: FOLIE A DEUX
— LISA FRANKENSTEIN
— LONGLEGS
— MAXXINE
— NOSFERATU
— A QUIET PLACE: DAY ONE
— SALEM’S LOT
— SMILE 2
— THE SUBSTANCE
— TERRIFIER 3
Thursday, February 27, 2025
2007: My agent: “you booked the video game, you record tomorrow.”
Great! But, “...what video game?”
“You auditioned for a video game….didn’t you?”
“I had two or three video game auditions, but a long time ago.”
She said, “this game is called FROZEN.”
“Huh. Maybe I auditioned for that. But a long time ago.”
She told me where to be and when.
I dug out my daybook and leafed back, trying to find a videogame audition, any videogame audition. Nothing. So I checked the daybook for the previous year (2006) And there it was. My audition for FROZEN had been EXACTLY to- the-DAY one year before I would be recording.
The next day I traveled downtown to Rockstar Games and was greeted by a young woman. I mentioned that I’d auditioned 365 days ago and… “is this normal timing for you guys?”
She said “oh, no.” She told me that they had had a staff meeting a couple of days earlier to discuss the progress of the game. Somebody asked, “when is the guy recording Kenny Petrovic?”
Everyone was shocked. She asked, “what do you mean? He recorded months ago.” But the guy said ‘nope.’ So they went over the records and found that the guy (me) had auditioned a year ago, they decided to hire him (me), and… forgot to tell him (me) or schedule him (me) to record.
They hurriedly called my agent and got things moving.
I asked what the game was, since I knew that FROZEN was an alias. She said, “It’s GRAND THEFT AUTO IV.” I know zilch about video games, but even I recognized that title.
What I learned immediately (and what was continually reinforced) was what they DIDN’T want: subtlety. No, no. The director told me over and over, “louder. Louder.” He was only happy when I was literally yelling into the microphone. If I could find anything suggesting a particular stress or emphasis, I was welcome to try to bring that about, as long as I was yelling.
I was in the booth 2 ½ hours that day, yelling. I’ve always had a strong, resilient voice but by the end of that day, the ol’ cords were fried.
They called me back for further recording three more times over the next weeks. Each visit was shorter than the one before. First, about an hour. Second, about 20 minutes. And finally, really short. On that last occasion I recorded exactly one short line.
GRAND THEFT AUTO IV was not a biggie in my career. It did bring some interesting sidelights along with it though. For one, I was paid more than I expected. I calculated what I should earn for one full day, one half-day, and two one-hour sessions. When the check arrived it was for about a third more than I’d figured. No complaints.
Also, this job probably impressed my son Jesse more than anything I did. He was sort of a gamer at the time and thought this was pretty cool. One day he called me from his mom’s house and asked if I wanted to see myself in the game. Well, sure. So I toddled over and he showed me Kenny Petrovic in action. I also got to hear myself yelling my brains out. Sorta cool. For thirty seconds, anyway.
I thanked Jesse and started to leave. He said, “if you want to stick around a couple of minutes while I play the game, I’m about to kill you.”
Nah, that’s okay.
Jesse also insisted that I add the gig to my resume. He was certain that anyone would be fascinated by it. I added it to the bottom of my resume and waited for the avalanche of interest.
That credit was on my resume for the last 7 years I worked. It was handed to dozens, maybe hundreds of people I auditioned for. And in those 7 years, NOT ONE PERSON ever asked about it.
Friday, January 10, 2025
Years back I tried to get on WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLIONAIRE. Had to traipse up to the ABC building somewhere around 65th Street where I was packed into a large room with a couple hundred other hopefuls. We took a written test, sat and waited while they were graded. Then, those with a sufficiently high score were asked to stay to be interviewed by someone from the show.
First time I went I flunked the test. I was mortified. But not defeated.
I went back at least six more times and each time passed through to the interview.
The interviewers, about half a dozen of 'em, sat at a line of tables and talked generalities with us. I'm almost proud to say that I never got past the interview. I mean, let's face it, I can be damn unpleasant in person. (As opposed to my devastatingly charming online persona.)
By the last time I was interviewed, I thought maybe I'd figured out how to fool 'em, figured how to play the game. Felt pretty optimistic till I got a look at the guy at the next interview table: a retired Navy admiral in full dress regalia. With medals. I said to my interviewer, nodding toward the admiral, "I got a pretty good guess who's gonna be on the show very soon."
She didn't laugh and I failed again. That was the last straw.
Too bad. I coulda used a million bucks.
Tuesday, December 17, 2024
People, even including show biz types, try to accept a movie on its own terms, as some sort of removed reality. Then if they really stop and think about it, they recognize an actor doing good work, a director in charge, designers getting it right. As concerns the actual nuts-and-bolts of filmmaking, that’s usually the end of it.
As an actor you sometimes go one step further: “Oh, nice line reading…nice subtle reaction there… I love the way he walked out of the room..” Stuff like that. But usually not much more.
Today, though, watching the last half hour of IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE, something more occurred to me. This is something I could have, maybe should have, thought of long ago. But I didn’t, so leave me be. I’m doing the best I can.
What I’m thinking about starts in the movie with the missing $8000. I know I don’t have to explain that because we’ve all seen the movie. Anyway, that’s when George Bailey’s life really, ultimately goes straight to hell. For the next extended section of the movie, Jimmy Stewart plays anger, fear, desperation, all the bad stuff. And he plays it extremely well. EXTREMELY well.
Then, finally, after Clarence has done his magic, George gets it. The snow starts falling again, his lip starts bleeding again, Zuzu’s petals make their return. And George Bailey is happy. He’s as happy as anyone in human history has ever been. Jimmy Stewart has to play that, and he plays it extremely well. EXTREMELY well.
But what really occurred to me for the first time today was… The scenes with desperate George probably took a week to film, at the least. And every day of that week or more, actor Stewart had to be at the very extremity of anger and fear and desperation over and over again. He probably had to be suicidal for a full day.
Then, thank God, the misery is past and it’s time to be happy. This is no easier, believe me. Stewart had to be at the opposite extremity now, happier than humans are allowed to be. He had to experience and evince pure joy. For another week. Every day, over and over, he had to smile till his cheeks hurt, laugh and make it real, love all these people who are, really, just other actors.
This sort of acting, in extremis, is difficult on stage eight times a week, really difficult. So difficult, in fact, that it’s often not really achieved. But to do it over and over, day after day, for a week or more, first maximally miserable, then impossibly joyful, that was Mr. Stewart’s assignment. Something almost impossible, I’d think. But there it is. The proof of it is on the screen and it is undeniable.
And, though it’s really beside the point, it’s still worth remembering that this was the first performance for an actor after years of war. Genuine war, in his case. Actual dangerous, life-threatening, soul-changing war.
Mr. Stewart…Bravo. Brav-the-damn-o.
Saturday, November 2, 2024
My first memory of American politics is 1956, when, six-years-old, I loved the conventions. It was exciting. Yelling, signs, balloons, people with microphones. I remember a delegate being asked which candidate he was supporting and tossing off a name which the interviewer had never heard before. Somebody said, “I guess he’s a favorite son.” I couldn’t figure what that meant. My parents had two sons. Was I the “favorite?”
Having loved the ‘56 conventions, I was primed for 1960. It didn’t disappoint. So many people wanted the Democratic nomination that it felt like a gameshow. And I loved the name of the Republican Vice-Presidential candidate: Henry Cabot Lodge. I learned that “Cabot” was a big name in New England, as witness this:
Boston, the home of the bean and the cod,
Where the Lowells speak only to Cabots,
And the Cabots speak only to God.
We had a mock election in our 5th Grade classroom, I was campaign manager for Richard Nixon. Sorry. And we won! Well… Indiana.
My best friend's dad asked me who my parents were voting for. Even at ten years of age, I knew better than to answer, so I said, “I don’t know.”
He said, “They’d better vote for Nixon. If Kennedy wins, the Pope will be running this country.” Even to a dopey kid, that sounded wacky.
With no school on election day, I worked for my dad. Hey, I was ten years old. A guy’s gotta make a living. At the end of the day, I wanted to get home to watch election returns. But Dad stopped on the way, leaving me in the truck while he talked business with someone. He took forever so the returns started rolling in without me.
‘64-- not much of interest. I was LBJ, all the way, but I remember that Barry Goldwater, the Republican candidate, while obviously WRONG about everything, still seemed so disturbingly smart.
‘68 was memorable, for all the wrong reasons. I watched as the Chicago police rioted and as Mayor Daley’s face was forever ingrained in my brain as the precise image of corruption.
My dad dropped by in his police car one night during the convention. I sat in the cop car with him and raged about what was happening in Chicago. It was the cops I was particularly angry about, and my dad sat there listening, in his police uniform. All he said was, “mmm…uh huh…” He’d never seen me in this mood. No one had.
‘72, finally of age to vote. As the bumper stickers would soon read: “Don’t blame me, I voted for George.” McGovern, that is.
‘80--I voted for a third-party candidate. I was a Carter man, but it was obvious that Reagan would take Indiana easily. Well…Indiana. I read that the third party guy, John Anderson, would only receive federal matching funds if his vote total reached a certain level. So I voted for him, hoping to stave off his bankruptcy.
‘72 again: I accompanied Dad to his voting place. I was told that I should vote there, that I was in their book. No, I said, this is not my voting place. Yes, someone with my name was on their list, but the address was not mine. “That’s not me,” I said
But a guy--the son of our sitting mayor and also a jerk--was haranguing me to vote, assuming that I would vote for his dad.
He put his arm around my shoulder, and whispered, “c’mon, what does it matter? And you could vote again at your other place.” And he laughed. So, okay. I voted there where I shouldn’t. I voted for the guy running against his dad. As I left, we exchanged winks at having cheated the system.
And, no, I didn’t vote twice.
Thursday, September 19, 2024
So there's this photo, see....There are three people in the photo, two women and one man. The camera recorded this image outdoors, on a gray day, in a cemetery. The black and white image is clearly old. From another time.
The man is in a coffin and he is, without doubt, dead. The coffin is standing upright, though leaning back a few degrees in order, I assume, to insure that the corpse wouldn’t pitch forward, out of frame. Because what’s a corpse photo without the corpse?
The guy looks pretty darn awful. Utterly, undeniably dead, and terribly, terribly unhappy about it. Two glum, plain-faced women, both in long plain black dresses, stand on either side of his container. Probably wife and daughter. Their look toward the camera is no warmer than his, just with their eyes open. They both look like the farm wife in Grant Wood’s “American Gothic” only maybe a little sadder. Maybe their mouths are a bit more downturned. Sad they were, but not as terribly, terribly unhappy as the enboxed gentleman. I assume this was because they, unlike Dad, were still alive.
My grandmother had this photo and that’s how I came to see it. Assumedly the people, living and dead, were family to us in some fashion. I’m guessing my sister has the photo now. She can have it, she can keep it. I don’t want it, wouldn’t have it. I don’t care to stare at the dead, kin or not. I saw it once and that was enough. That was too much actually, because I still see it.
Like right now.
Saturday, August 31, 2024
I Audition for Jon Jory
Jon Jory was artistic director at Actors Theater of Louisville. The Theater had
blossomed under Jory’s stewardship and was becoming even bigger, premiering
shows which would transfer to Broadway or Off-Broadway, fostering plays which
would win major literary prizes. Jory was the man behind the curtain,
orchestrating all that.
And, 1971 or ‘72, I was going to audition for him. For the life of me, I cannot
remember how the audition came about. It was nothing I arranged. Somebody--
no idea who--told me I had an audition appointment with Jory. I’m sure I asked
how this came to be, but I have no memory of ever knowing.
I was nervous. To me, Actors Theater was the bigtime, the real bigtime, second
only MAYBE to Broadway. And I was going to audition for Mr. Actors Theater
himself. So, yeah, nervous.
The day arrived, I entered the building and met Jon Jory. He led me into the
theater auditorium.
I stepped on stage. He sat, entirely by himself, in the house. He asked what I
was going to do. I told him I had a monologue from HENRY V. It wasn’t
really a monologue, at least Shakespeare wouldn’t recognize it as such. I’d
taken a large section of the proposal scene and edited it into a one-man thing.
It was a wonderful bunch of words, touching and romantic and quite funny.
My paste-job ran about nine minutes. But that, of course, is too much for most
situations, so I’d also figured out a couple of shorter versions, one about six
minutes, one about four. But no shorter than that. At four minutes, all that was
left was gold.
At whichever length, I did it. As I recall, I did hear Mr. Jory laugh. When I
finished he said, more or less, “very nice. What else do you have?” Ah. Ah-ha.
I was not prepared for that. I figured it was just a fluke that I was auditioning
for this man. While I hoped that he’d take me seriously, I didn’t expect him
to give me a lot of time. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Another monologue?” I asked.
“Yes, if you have something.”
Did I have another monologue? Well…yes. And no. I had memorized Tom’s
opening speech from THE GLASS MENAGERIE, simply because I liked it.
But I’d never rehearsed it, never thought about actually using it. I had never
even spoken it aloud. So no way I should be premiering such an unknown,
unplanned quantity at any audition, certainly not a big one like this.
I said, “Yes, I have the opening speech from GLASS MENAGERIE.”
Yeah, I said that.
“Great,” he said, “perfect.”
This is not a practice I recommend to young actors. Or to old actors. Or dead
actors. It was a stupid, reckless thing to do. But…Jon Jory wanted to hear
more from me. I was flattered. So I did it.
And it was…I think…all right. Such a wonderful speech. “Yes, I have tricks
in my pocket, I have things up my sleeve. But I am the very opposite of a
stage magician. He gives you illusion disguised as reality. I give you reality
in the pleasant guise of illusion…”
When I finished, Mr. Jory again said something nice, then stood and said,
“let’s go up to my office.” More unexpectedness. We traipsed upstairs to
his small office. He sat behind his desk and I sat in the “client’s chair.” He
asked if I’d like a cup of coffee. Uh..well, yeah. Sure.
So we sat sipping coffee and talking, just barely-over-voting-age me and
the director of a bigtime regional theater. At one point he had to take a
phone call. I started to leave but he said, “no, just sit, this won’t take
long.” He talked to someone for about four or five minutes as I sipped
coffee and pretended that this sort of thing happened to me every day.
Once off the phone Jon Jory offered me a job. Unbelievable. It wasn’t
a job on the main stage but rather a spot in their Adventure Theater
troupe. These guys toured around the state, performing at high schools
and colleges. On occasional Monday nights, the main Actors stage was
turned over to them for a performance of whatever they’d been doing.
Secondary company or not, I was bowled over. I said, “thank you. I’d
have to figure how it would fit in around my classes…”
He jumped in, “you’re still in school?”
“Yes,” I said, “I’m….”
Jory said, “I withdraw the offer. I’m not taking anyone out of school.”
Then he talked about my future. Mine. He said I should consider
post-grad work at a school with a solid theater program. He named a
couple that he thought were good and said, “if you do that, come see me
and I’ll write you a recommendation.”
He went on, “if you don’t want to go to school, you should go to New
York. BUT…if you plan to take acting classes, call me and I’ll recommend
some people. You have to be careful. 95% of acting teachers are fakes and
scams.”
And that was it. Jon Jory had given me more than 45 minutes of his time.
And he’d offered kind assistance. I was never so happy after an audition
from which I got no work.
I never had another one-on-one with the man, but I’d occasionally see
him in the lobby when I’d attend shows at ATL. He’d always walk over,
shake my hand and ask how I was. He called me Mr. Pruitt, I called him
Mr. Jory.
I never worked at Actors Theater, and that’s too bad. But my meeting
with Jon Jory was a nice substitute.
Now…as for the 4 Rondo Best Film Nominated titles which I’ve seen… THE FIRST OMEN -- Pretty good overall. Good settings, good acting, some s...
-
ME AND THE MUSIC OF THE MOVIES Basically, it's wasted on me. I'm not good with movie scores, to put it mildly. 90% of the time I don... -
On April 27, 1977--exactly 46 years ago today-- I got a call from my friend Charlie. He was about to head out to Louisville’s Freedom Hall... -
FIFTY YEARS AGO TODAY Fifty Years Ago Today was October 26, 1973… The United Nations recognized the independence of Guinea-Bissau… Californi...