The Importance of Being Ernie: (19 page)
Granted, my peek into the director’s country retreat was about as superficial as it gets. I couldn’t help wonder, though, if the home’s shabby condition reflected the owner’s depressed state of mind. Kazan had become a professional pariah, and his services were barely in demand anymore because of his involvement with Senator Joseph McCarthy and the blacklistings in the 1950s. Maybe cleaning house and putting on airs were never his style. Chalk up my observations to an overactive imagination.
We left Kazan’s farm and drove south to the Big Apple. I felt a few butterflies when imagining the Broadway curtain going up. I thought I was prepared for the moment, though. After months of performances, I’d come a long way as a stage actor. I was ready to “hit the boards” in the big city.
The second I caught sight of Manhattan’s skyscrapers, though, I felt terribly ill. Maybe I was in denial, repressing my fear, or maybe it was just a coincidence that I got nauseous. One way or the other, my brow heated up like a hot plate, and I felt like throwing up. I prayed that it was the lunch that we ate at Kazan’s and not a real sickness.
By the time we arrived at my Uncle Bernard’s apartment on the Upper Westside I was burning up and puking. It was the goddamn flu bug, for sure. I had five days to recover before we reopened on Broadway. That was going to be cutting it close, no matter how much Sprite, chicken soup, and vitamins I ingested.
I tried to nurse myself back into good health, but sure enough, I was running a temperature over a hundred degrees on opening night. My throat was so sore that I could barely speak.
The show must go on,
I reminded myself. That stupid saying had to have been invented by a producer. Nobody should ever have to perform when they’re about to hurl big chunks and their head is filled with lava.
The show must go on,
I reminded myself. That stupid saying had to have been invented by a producer. Nobody should ever have to perform when they’re about to hurl big chunks and their head is filled with lava.
Somebody else by the name of Barry Livingston performed on opening night. It certainly didn’t feel like me. I ran around the stage, in front of fifteen hundred people, in a fuzzy, dreamlike state. The best that can be said is that I got through it. I was on autopilot and, amazingly, didn’t crash. Friends and family told me afterward that I was good, but I didn’t trust them. Most people, after witnessing a bad performance, will lie like some politicians to avoid speaking the painful truth. In my mind, Big Bird could have acted my part with more nuance and subtlety.
Fortunately, the show didn’t live or die on my shoulders. Liz Ashley carried that load. As expected, she vamped and ad libbed wisecracks like crazy, hoping to pull off a miracle. The magic didn’t happen, though. The theater gods, and the cavernous Mark Hellinger Theatre, swallowed us whole. The New York reviews were unanimously bad, and our days were numbered unless we could put fifteen hundred butts in our seats for every performance. That’s hard enough to do with raves.
I recovered from the flu, and the show plowed ahead. We were hoping that good word-of-mouth might bring in the people and rescue us. Six weeks passed, but the people never came.
The Skin of Our Teeth
was no more. It was an amazing, six-month journey that cemented my love of performing. I will carry that memory forever. It’s high on my bucket list to get another chance to play on the Great White Way. Next time I hope I won’t have dengue fever on opening night.
The Skin of Our Teeth
was no more. It was an amazing, six-month journey that cemented my love of performing. I will carry that memory forever. It’s high on my bucket list to get another chance to play on the Great White Way. Next time I hope I won’t have dengue fever on opening night.
CHAPTER 32
Back to Los Angeles, Yawn
Once the play officially closed, I flew back to Los Angeles, eager to reunite with family and friends. I returned to a painful realization: everybody was stuck in the same place. My parents were still in the painful throes of their perpetual separation, and my friends were in a post–high school rut, smoking tons of weed and living on In-N-Out burgers. After my exhilarating East Coast experiences, the fun of “hanging out” with my Beret Brothers faded quickly. Nothing compared to the excitement of New York. There was a big dull void at the center of my life. I started to fill that hole with a new drug: cocaine.If there ever was a
Lost Weekend
period of my life, this was it. Coke was the quick fix for every boring San Fernando Valley evening. The drug, once the exclusive high of rock stars and hipsters, was now available to everyone. Average Joe Suburb had joined the party.
Lost Weekend
period of my life, this was it. Coke was the quick fix for every boring San Fernando Valley evening. The drug, once the exclusive high of rock stars and hipsters, was now available to everyone. Average Joe Suburb had joined the party.
You’d be offered a toot from your barber or from your auto mechanic, even at your lawyer’s office. The white powder
snowed
at most every party, too. Bathroom doors would fly open, and sniffling people would exit with white rocks falling out of their noses. It became a badge of cool to whip out your vial, unscrew the black cap with the tiny brass spoon attached by a chain, and offer a hit of your “blow.” You were just like Mick Jagger—except he was doing pharmaceutical-grade coke, and the crap I bought was usually “stepped on” with laxatives. You’d snort a line, feel the first rush of the coke, and then fart like a Gerber baby.
snowed
at most every party, too. Bathroom doors would fly open, and sniffling people would exit with white rocks falling out of their noses. It became a badge of cool to whip out your vial, unscrew the black cap with the tiny brass spoon attached by a chain, and offer a hit of your “blow.” You were just like Mick Jagger—except he was doing pharmaceutical-grade coke, and the crap I bought was usually “stepped on” with laxatives. You’d snort a line, feel the first rush of the coke, and then fart like a Gerber baby.
I spent the next few years in self-destructive party mode. To give some balance to this chapter of my life, I should say that I held on to most of my money; I never shot anybody or robbed any convenience stores. I was twenty-two years old and uncertain about a lot of things: mainly who I was as a person and where I was headed as an artist. Coke was an artificial burst of excitement to fill a scary void.
Not long after my return to Los Angeles, I got a call from Steve Railsback who had remained in New York. He had been offered the role of Charles Manson in the miniseries
Helter Skelter
and wanted to know if he should accept the part. Railsback had real concerns regarding his safety. Charles Manson was in custody, but many of his murderous minions were still loose and making death threats to anybody participating in the upcoming movie. I grew up in Los Angeles and remember the horror of those grisly murders. It completely changed the way that hippies and counterculture types were perceived. The paranoia was real, and, of course, the media trumpeted every story about the Manson Family they could dig up.
Helter Skelter
and wanted to know if he should accept the part. Railsback had real concerns regarding his safety. Charles Manson was in custody, but many of his murderous minions were still loose and making death threats to anybody participating in the upcoming movie. I grew up in Los Angeles and remember the horror of those grisly murders. It completely changed the way that hippies and counterculture types were perceived. The paranoia was real, and, of course, the media trumpeted every story about the Manson Family they could dig up.
Based on what I knew, I advised Railsback to
not
accept the role of Manson. The movie was probably going to be a huge hit, but it wasn’t worth getting killed over. Railsback agreed and turned the Manson role down.
not
accept the role of Manson. The movie was probably going to be a huge hit, but it wasn’t worth getting killed over. Railsback agreed and turned the Manson role down.
The director of
Helter Skelter,
Tom Gries, continued to pursue Railsback, though. He felt that Railsback was the only actor with the power and charisma to credibly play Manson. My pal also bore an eerie resemblance to the cult leader. Gries contacted Elia Kazan, Railsback’s mentor, and pleaded with him to intervene. Kazan called Railsback up and told him to never be intimidated by anybody. “Fuck ’em all!” said Kazan. “Play Manson!”
Helter Skelter,
Tom Gries, continued to pursue Railsback, though. He felt that Railsback was the only actor with the power and charisma to credibly play Manson. My pal also bore an eerie resemblance to the cult leader. Gries contacted Elia Kazan, Railsback’s mentor, and pleaded with him to intervene. Kazan called Railsback up and told him to never be intimidated by anybody. “Fuck ’em all!” said Kazan. “Play Manson!”
Railsback accepted the role, giving perhaps the most convincing and human portrait of a madman ever put on film. Manson was a monster, but Railsback made his twisted, evil logic comprehensible. No small feat. Watching the movie today, it feels dated. Railsback’s performance, though, is timeless and chilling.
Railsback came to L.A. to shoot
Helter Skelter,
and I hung out with him constantly at his new home, the Montecito Hotel in Hollywood. The hotel was every New York actor’s favorite haunt when working in Hollywood.
Helter Skelter,
and I hung out with him constantly at his new home, the Montecito Hotel in Hollywood. The hotel was every New York actor’s favorite haunt when working in Hollywood.
I watched Railsback prepare to play Manson, and that included learning the cult leader’s original songs. The studio got hold of one of Manson’s demo cassettes and passed them on. The tapes were mostly hypnotic, droning blues rants. In all honesty, they weren’t half bad, kind of like the early Rolling Stones. The chilling part was listening to the lead singer’s snarling vocals and knowing this was the voice of pure evil.
Manson wanted to be a rock star and gave his music to Rudy Altobelli. He was a personal manager for talent in Hollywood and owned the house where the murders took place. When Altobelli rejected the songs, the cult leader ordered his followers to kill the manager at his home. Unbeknownst to Manson, though, Altobelli had moved out after leasing his residence to Sharon Tate. She had no connection to Manson whatsoever. The same was true for all the other innocent victims who were murdered at the house.
There was one other interesting aspect in this story. Soon after the murders in 1969, Altobelli moved back into his home and became Railsback’s personal manager, frequently letting him stay at his house. When Railsback played Manson in the movie six years later, my actor pal had actually lived at the murder scene, not to mention having a relationship with the cult leader’s prime target. Only in Hollywood.
CHAPTER 33
The Slow Slide into Oblivion
Almost a year had passed since my return to Los Angeles. The excitement of doingSkin
and my sense of accomplishment were fading into the boredom of unemployment. Auditions for TV and film work were few and far between, too. This struck me as odd, particularly since I had been working steadily before going to New York.
My TV and film career prior to
Skin
seemed to be steaming along quite nicely and then, like the
Titanic,
I hit an uncharted iceberg in the black of night. I was entering a period where acting jobs just seemed to vanish. Of course, I didn’t realize that my career was sinking until it was fully submerged.
Skin
seemed to be steaming along quite nicely and then, like the
Titanic,
I hit an uncharted iceberg in the black of night. I was entering a period where acting jobs just seemed to vanish. Of course, I didn’t realize that my career was sinking until it was fully submerged.
It’s hard to know what caused my stock to drop so abruptly. The easy answer would be to say that recreational drug use adversely affected my work. I honestly don’t think drugs were a big factor. Perhaps it is denial to say that, but let me make a couple of points in my defense. Number one: I never snorted or inhaled anything illegal while I was working. Never. It wasn’t because I was afraid of getting caught. I was paranoid about becoming dependent on a chemical to hot-wire my talent. That idea truly scared me, particularly if I couldn’t get the specific drug I needed when the director yelled
Action!
Call it ego, but I wanted to believe it was me who was giving a good performance and not the pharmaceuticals. Number two: I never had any public relations disaster: drug busts, car crashes, or dalliances with cops pretending to be hookers. Those kinds of publicized mishaps can surely throw a career into a tailspin.
Action!
Call it ego, but I wanted to believe it was me who was giving a good performance and not the pharmaceuticals. Number two: I never had any public relations disaster: drug busts, car crashes, or dalliances with cops pretending to be hookers. Those kinds of publicized mishaps can surely throw a career into a tailspin.
I was partying under the radar, doing about three grams of coke a week and steering clear of run-ins with the law. There were other factors, beyond my control, that I feel contributed to my career suddenly fading out.
About once every decade the television business (not so much film) evolves. A new edgy show arrives to change the landscape:
All in the Family
in the 1970s,
Dallas
in the 1980s,
Cosby
in the 1990s, Reality TV in the new millennium. If your big hit show is associated with a previous era, you can quickly become persona non grata when the next programming wave hits. Nobody wants to see an Edsel in a show full of shiny new Fer-raris.
All in the Family
in the 1970s,
Dallas
in the 1980s,
Cosby
in the 1990s, Reality TV in the new millennium. If your big hit show is associated with a previous era, you can quickly become persona non grata when the next programming wave hits. Nobody wants to see an Edsel in a show full of shiny new Fer-raris.
There is a way around this problem, though. It starts with talent and ends with the luck of being cast in something new and hot. When that happens, your membership in the “Hollywood hip club” is gladly renewed. It doesn’t occur often, particularly with child stars who were series regulars. Ron Howard got that break going from
The Andy Griffith Show
to
Happy Days,
and look where it got him. Michael J. Fox went from TV’s
Family Ties
to a feature film career. Neil Patrick Harris segued from
Doogie Howser, M.D.
to
How I Met Your Mother.
The Andy Griffith Show
to
Happy Days,
and look where it got him. Michael J. Fox went from TV’s
Family Ties
to a feature film career. Neil Patrick Harris segued from
Doogie Howser, M.D.
to
How I Met Your Mother.
I had a great opportunity at making the career leap forward with
Sons and Daughters.
Unfortunately, the series didn’t fly and I was left in limbo ... for a long, long while.
Sons and Daughters.
Unfortunately, the series didn’t fly and I was left in limbo ... for a long, long while.
Unemployment can be a “good news/bad news” situation. The bad: it’s a karate chop to one’s self-esteem that can send you reeling into self-destruction. The good: it gives you plenty of time to find out what you are made of and build some character. My future was filled with both.
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