An Open Letter to Angela Lansbury on her 90th Birthday

Dear Dame Angela,

It seems inappropriate to be writing this open letter to you on anything other than a now-vintage Royal typewriter, but alas. 

Happy 90^th Birthday. 

You sure do know how to live a life. 

I often 'joke' on all forms of social media (and, well, truthfully to anyone who will listen including total strangers on public transportation), that my admiration for you borders on obsession. The truth is there is nothing borderline about it...

[Pause] 

Your portrait is absolutely not my iPhone wallpaper...

...Nope.

The greatest day of my teaching life was NOT when my student Kendyl gave a report on you entitled “BOW DOWN...”

...Casual

Nor did I name my cat after you...  

My cat: Tatiana Angela Lansbury Romanov

I have many personal and artistic role models (Danny Kaye, Cate Blanchett, Marcel Marceau, Irene Pappas and your real-life BFF Bea Arthur to name a few), but you remain, without exception, my only true idol. 

The truth is: not only your career, but your life itself is of profoundest meaning, inspiration, and influence. 

I’m sure you’d be really proud of my parents to know that I first came across you as Princess Gwendolyn in the 1955 classic The Court Jester (my father was Danny Kaye’s biggest fan). This resulted in many a dinner party in which 7-year-old-me regaled guests with citations of you saying “I don’t give a FIG for your wishes!” (and of course, the “Pellet with the Poison” sketch), and once in a while sneaking up behind other children on the playground and whispering “…if he dies, YOU die…” just like Princess Gwendolyn. ...Well, at least I thought I was pretty cool... 

I then devoured “Til The Clouds Roll By—” (like I said: I had great parents). As I grew of course I reveled in the magic of Bedknobs and Broomsticks and Beauty and the Beast, not to mention exclusively watching Murder, She Wrote if ever I stayed home from school for any reason. 

"The theater is magical and addictive."

As a teenager I became enamored with the theatre, and that was truly where, what can only be described as the tsunamic-thrall of respect for your legacy deepened. 

I did reports on you.

Devoured your early cinema work.

I delighted in watching you host the Tonys.

Wrote your quotes about life and acting in my journals

     and, perhaps most importantly, 

created THE ANGELA LANSBURY POWER PLAYLIST (starting with “We Need a Little Christmas,” taking the scenic route past “Anyone Can Whistle,” “Worst Pies in London,” Pirates of Penzance and “Bosom Buddies” then ending with your “Rose’s Turn”). 

By the end of college, the deal was sealed. 

When I moved to America from London at the very end of 2009, I was in a state of intense personal turmoil. The only adult life I’d known had crumbled in London, and I was starting over in The Big Apple with nothing to lose—because, frankly, I’d already lost it all. 

But I was lucky enough to be able to catch you live on stage several times. I even happened to sing an aria from Master Class at The Acting Company’s benefit honoring Terrence McNally that you hosted in 2011 (but was honestly so overwhelmed by singing on my first Broadway stage in yours and other luminaries’ presences, I couldn’t even face the CONCEPT of meeting my only idol that evening…) You were a true lady—you gave me a hearty, smiling “Brava” from the seat beside Terrence, and you spoke with eloquence, honesty and warmth. I also had the privilege to meet you personally at Terrence’s opening of It’s Only a Play, in which you were just a gracious and dignified. 

In short: you were everything I hoped you to be. 

But while I always admired your work, something happened to me personally in 2012 that changed me, and your influence was right at the center of it. 

I “awoke”  in the middle of the bitterly cold winter of 2012, to a wave of intense emotions I believe I had been tabling since my move from London, and more than likely a hefty load of feelings from the passing of my father in 2001. I was processing grief, heartbreak, and a total shift in professional identity; and, though it sounds almost laughable at the age of 27, I was feeling that I had started over “Too Late.” 

That it was “too late” for me to make it in the American theatre

“Too Late” to find another life partner

“Too Late” to recreate myself 

“Too Late” to ever feel young and vibrant again.

Above all, that the chance to begin again was “behind me.” 

I took to my sofa—and, in the fashion of all respectable nervous breakdowns, I adorned myself in the customary uniform (aka ‘The Bathrobe of Shame’), stopped eating anything that couldn’t be lazily pawed into my mouth, and promptly contracted walking pneumonia. I was winning at life. 

And then? Then, just like I had when I was a child home sick from school, I began re-watching all twelve seasons of Murder, She Wrote. It was light. Charming, It solved problems in 45 minutes. It was radically comforting. It was also a parade of gigantic theatre actors, screen stars, and stars-to-be. 

I love that as executive producer, you paid your actors well, I love that you gave “first-TV-chances” to young people you believed in, and above all, I love that in Season 6, when your real-life family was having trouble, you left Hollywood and prioritized their wellness, then returned to work like the professional you are. I love and admire your lifelong marriage (it reminds me of the love of my parents), I love how ardently you loved your husband, and your sons; I love that you were a wife and mother who was also an accomplished artist. 

"I was a wife and a mother, and I was completely fulfilled. But my husband recognized the signals in me which said 'I've been doing enough gardening, I've cooked enough good dinners, I've sat around the house and mooned about what more interior decoration I can get my fingers into.' It's a curious thing with actors and actresses, but suddenly the alarm goes off. My husband is a very sensitive person to my moods and he recognized the fact that I had to get on with something. Mame came along out of the blue just at this time. Now isn't that a miracle?"

But something else in that period hit me in the core of my being: 

You have proved that it is never too late for anything.

You not only prove it.

You live it. 

You are fearless. 

You are willing to try and attempt any kind of role, to transform yourself in any way. 
You became an Oscar-nominee at 18
     theatre star at 41
          a household name at 60
               and won your first Olivier at 89.
You work hard (you still do 8-shows a week on tour!)

You have re-invented yourself over and over again as an artist and a woman, from screen starlet to stage diva, to the most famous and beloved woman in television, and repeat.  

You stand like a pillar of fire, for those of us, just like me, that sometimes falter in our belief. That worry that the best of life is behind us...

It is not.  

Thank you for living it. 

"Here I am, I still go on, you know, like the tides..."

I have been putting off completing this open letter to you for years, for a large part of me knows that I could never truly say it all—and in truth, of course I cannot. I could never articulate the full intensity of what your life’s example truly means to me; how much it heartens, galvanizes, and ignites within me a personal, professional and spiritual goalpost. One of hard work, devotion, above all, hope. 

"I'm in a very enviable position, being able to work like this 45 years later. It's always beginning! I never have a sense of finishing up, just new things beginning. When I die, they're going to carry me off a stage."

I’m crying now, to be truthful. But only in joy. 

Thank you for your legacy. 

Your influence.

For the art you have given the world. 

For being the woman you are. 

Happy 90^th Birthday Angela. 

The honor has been all ours.  

With infinite love and gratitude,

Alexandra Silber

But it IS Medea...

One of the things my students and I talk a lot about in class is the concept that the characters we are portraying, more often than not, are going about their lives not aware they are being observed by an audience.

Of course, as we have previously discussed on this blog--Genre matters, so that may not always be the case. But when it is, when one is filling a character's skin with some form of naturalistic life, a few things are true.
1. YOU, the actor, know this is a play.
2. and WE, the audience, of course understand that we are at a play
... but of course...
3. THEY, the character, do not.
The character is a person, who is just going about the business of living their life.

The lesson?

So why does this matter?
So often in the world of acting, an actor is tempted to use the judgement of an "outside eye" upon their work. There are absolutely times when this is appropriate and helpful. But for most, it is not. An actor may be overly concerned about their physical appearance, or that their beautiful tears are being fully received by the audience. They may be tempted to "show off" for critics, friends, or an adoring public.

Or perhaps the opposite! They may be nervous, self-conscious, maybe fearful of going "over the top." Or perhaps fearful because their character is repugnant--so they want to make certain the audience knows they the actor are perfectly nice it is merely their character that is a total jerk.

These things matter because the play is not about the actor. It is about the character's story and we as actors are there to serve. Serve the story, and serve the character. So if King Henry, Blanche DuBois, and Mama Rose don't know they are in a play, than they most certainly don't care that your mother-in-law is in the stalls from Milwaukee.
Henry is too concerned about rallying the troops and saving England...
Blanche is preoccupied with sneaking her next glass of bourbon right away...
and Rose is far too busy getting her bus-load of Newsboys to the next vaudeville house to give a damn about your hang-ups.

And thus because these characters do not know they are in a play, the actor can pursue the character's wants, needs and objectives without becoming concerned about their fears, anxieties or egos. They are free to serve.


Now this might sound a little crazy, but this, one of the greatest acting epiphanies of my artistic career thus far is not an original idea. It came from Jean de Segonzac, a marvelous film director whom I have had the joy of working with on both Law & Order: Criminal Intent as well as Law & Order: SVU.

In the SVU episode "Lost Traveller," I played Nadia Gray, a Romani mother of a nine-year-old boy found dead in Brooklyn (played a-dor-a-bly by Cameron Ocasio). She is obliterated by the loss of her only son, and her seeming inability to find justice within the system.

The episode featured a climactic, emotionally shattering confrontation scene (with the glorious and supportive stars Mariska Hargitay and Danny Pino, as well as Donny Keshawarz playing my husband).  
From-the-viscera screaming.
Weeping from the pits of universal despair.
Electra. Antigone. Medea-type turmoil.

I didn't want this to be another over-the-top melodramatic turn in any ol crime show--I wanted to tell this woman's story with the very best of myself.

The fact was: I had never done anything like it on camera before.
And I was terrified.

A few minutes before shooting, Jean approached me in his quiet, gentle way. Checking in.
Then after a few moments, there was a silence between us. He must have sensed my trepidation.

     "Everything alright?" he said, the soothing trace of French-Canadian in his utterance.
I sighed.
     "Yes..." I replied, "...it's just...ugh, I'm a little blocked I guess. I want to do this woman justice. And I don't think I know how to portray this on camera without... I don't know... acting with all of me and risking looking like I am in Medea..."

Jean looked at me through his glasses and nodded his understanding. He looked away for a moment in thought. Jean is one of those directors that makes an actors feel absolutely trusted and believed in, as if he knows (perhaps far better than you do), that you already possess all the answers.

A thought struck him and he smiled solemnly. Then he looked back at me and said

     "But it is Medea... this woman doesn't know she is on a television show. Her son is dead. And no one is helping her. Don't worry about anything other than that. You just live it truthfully, and I will catch it. Sound good?"

...

Well.
My brain promptly exploded,
          and then we went about doing exactly that.


A lesson I have never, and never shall, forget.

Don't threaten my love of Murder, She Wrote. I will cut you.

I recently received a letter from a new friend. He is in "the biz" but I did not know that, and our paths had never crossed in real life until Christmas Eve, when they crossed at the holiday party of a mutual friend. And, to be specific, by "real life" I mean the very strange thing that happens when you are an actor, where conversations go like this:

Him: Hi, I'm M, nice to meet you.
Al: Hi I'm Al.
Him: Hi.

[four minutes of totally "Muggle" type conversation occurs--about LA, the holidays, and 90s television {including a reference to Lady Aberline from Mister Rodgers}, followed by--]

Him [cont]: Oh yes, I saw you.
Al: "Saw" me?
Him: On SVU. Yes.
Al: How?
Him: ...I...watch... television.
Al: Right.
Him: You were great.
Al: Thank you.

Him: I mean I've seen you in other theatre things... like Hello Again [the hostess of this holiday party was also in Hello Again]...and you know, Master Class.
Al: Right. [it dawns on me, taking me by surprise, once again, as it always does, that a lot of people see an actor--a lot more people than an actor will ever see...think on THAT...]
Him: Anyway!

And then we proceeded to dissect the ENTIRE CANON OF 80s and 90s pop culture for the next two hours.

Recently I received the following email from him:

Al Silbs.  Happy 2012. 
I have to tell you – and I don’t want you to be overwhelmed… I don’t want things to get awkward or anything… but… in the near-month since our meeting, I have definitely found myself watching Murder, She Wrote and…  I mean.  Al.  I just don’t know.  It really doesn’t live up to my childhood memories.  Like, in my mind it was just MacGyver except with Cora Hoover Hooper.  But.  It’s REALLY not.  And they’re all in Maine!  I’m just a little conflicted.  I mean, I was able to watch all 7 seasons of Family Ties recently – and it totally lived up to my warm sense-memories.  But, Murder, She Wrote?  I’m not as sure.  

Maybe I just caught some clunker episodes?  But …I feel like you might dispute the notion that there are clunker episodes to begin with.  So, I’m not sure.

I think you might be alarmed by my festival of underlining in the previous paragraphs.  It’s a work-habit, but then I started thinking – this is a chick who pays attention to syntax and details, I have to keep it consistent.  So now it looks like I’m e-mailing you a term paper.

How are you?  How’s Astoria?
M

[**crickets**]

JB reflects my *exact* emotions to this email

"How are you?"
"How's Astoria?"
Is this man OUT OF HIS MIND? How can he flippantly ask HOW I AM when he has attacked my love of Jessica Fletcher so profoundly? [mouth sputters!] Pah pah pah! Does he think I will forgive him?! Does he think he can flatter me so simply because it is evident that he follows me on "The Twitter" closely enough to know that I am choking my blog readers with English lessons as well as unnaturally re-interested in Murder She Wrote enough to record it every day onto my DVR and watch it obsessively because Jessica Fletcher is a friend who never lets you down?! [waves her arms and stomps around in Lucy Van Pelt-style fury.]

I needed a moment.
So I took it.
I did breathing exercises and I got a grip.
Then I responded.
Thus:

Whoa.
Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoooa. (I hope you could hear that the last "whoa" section was sung to the first few lines of "She Loves Me"....)

I don't know what to say.

I mean. What do I address first?

The fact you opened with Al Silbs?

Your consistency with the underlining?

Or...
The "term paper" you wrote?

And SPEAKING OF "WROTE"....

Who. Do. You. THINK. You. Are?

Look.
MSW is not good. And it is not just "Family Ties and Next Gen are not good but really just dated but heartwarming nonetheless" WAY.
It is actually pretty bad.

...M? Jessica is SO disappointed in you...

I will throw 80-90s TV a bone: there was totally a "style" of prime-time drama that was akin to the comparison of "people once, in recent memory, dressed up to travel on an airplane and now they wear their pajamas." (Thank you Reading Rainbow, thank you Marina Serkis and Gates MacFadden, thank you the entire cast of Diagnosis Murder for reminding us that this is ACTING...and by the way please send this memo to David Caruso because he clearly did *not* get that memo....)

But I firmly (!!!) believe MSW falls under the category of "so bad it's good" in a car crash way, as well as "entertaining purely because of nostalgia" way. It is entertainment that falls in the Venn Diagram of CSI: Miami with Magnum PI. Yay-- someone was eaten by an alligator in the Everglades but the short shorts and mustache makes it all palatable. Plus the frozen face of Angela Lansbury at the end as the credits roll fills me with Pavlovian glee.

There is a word for this kind of entertainment in England-- camp. It is CAMP. It is light, fluffy, virtuously clunky, terrible television that goes down as smooth as doughnuts for dinner-- delicious, too sweet, and you are hungry five minutes later.

The End.

[Angela Lansbury freeze frame]

*

Basically, this is the message I want to send: do not threaten my love of Murder She Wrote. I will, and I truly mean it, I will cut you.

I've Been [*Special Edition*]: A Word Puzzle

Directions: Find all of the words from the list below- the remaining spaces will reveal the hidden message!

B R P A T R T O F B E I N G H
S A E A R E E S T I N G A C T
R I D T T R R E S S I S A A E
C E N C N D R A I L L I U J B
T U B G R E A L B L Y G D S A
E T T O I I C I N A G A I D Z
Y D I Y T N M Y R E C S T N I
T N C E U C G E D Y L H I E L
G H N H G N O E D E X Z O I E
P K P O I X T B R R N E N R A
D S W T G R E Q A V A N S F R
W F I V O A C K T T R M E O R
R R A I F J H N C E Z D A K E
W A T P I O S A R I E L L E I
A S T O R I A U M F U Q M I S

ARIELLE
ASTORIA
AUDITIONS
BADCRIMEDRAMA
CABARET
DETROIT
DIY
ELIZABETH
FRIENDS
JUILLIARD
KENNEDY CENTER
MAHAGONNY
OCTOBER
SIERRA
SINGING
WRITING 

__ __ __ __   __ __   __ __ __ __ __   __   __ __ __ __ __ __ __ 

__ __ __ __ __ __ __   

__ __   __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __   __ __ __ __ __ __ __ 

__   __ __ __ __ . 

Horatio loves to make a PROMISE...

OH MY GOD.
One of my favourite things about CSI: Miami is how bad it is. That is why I watch it, that is why it is the most watched television show in the world (that is not dramatic exaggeration by the way, it is actually true). And at the centre of the shows suckness is David Caruso as Horatio Cane, taking those sunglasses on and off, delivering horrible one-liners as the opening credits roll, stating the obvious (my favourite was "looks like we got a murder to solve" ... um, yes that would be your job...), and making promises to little girls and little boys about making sure they are SAFE and VINDICATED.

This was on CSI Sunday... I laughed so hard, I was in PAIN. And I nearly squealed the house down:

Dying General: ... Horatio.... Horaaaatioooo....

[takes off sunglasses (excellent) and kneels down beside Dying General]

Horatio: Yes General?
Dying General: Horatio? How... how could I have raised such a man?
Horatio: General, it is NOT YOUR FAULT.
Dying General: Horatio... you must... PROMISE... to end this... once. and. for...all...
Horatio: GENERAL? I PROMISE.

[Dying General dies]

I... LOVE it...

I've Been

Al & Sierra: toes in the sand

re-discovering Sophie De Palma!

drinking peach martinis with Tyne.

engaging in "The Adventures of Sophie & Sharon" with fellow Master Class-er Sierra Boggess, which includes:
     18 holes of mini golf
     visits to The Intrepid
     shoe parades
     deep-and-meaningfuls deep into the night
     planning our epic dressing room
     and biking the entire isle of Manhattan.

...speaking of which, filming "The Last Street in Manhattan" on Law & Order Criminal Intent and adoring it.

the freakin' Squad Room!!

Rocking adulthood.

Writing. Every day.

Meeting my hand twin: English actress and singer Gina Beck. It was pretty crazy.

Running along the East River. Every day.

Singing like never before!

Staying healthy.

D.I.Y-tastic! WHO INSTALLED (with her fierce-as-you-know-what-DIY-tastic-Mommy) 4, count them FOUR of HER OWN CEILING FANS WITH ONLY MINIMAL ELECTRICAL DRAMA?! (Okay. Look. There was only one teeeeeeny tiiiiiny fire which required professional attention and that was only because the wires were over 100 years old...) BUT WE DID IT AND I SIT HERE TYPING BY THE COOLING BREEZES COMING FROM MY CEILING....

dying Easter eggs with pals! 

Having the most incredible week-long reunion with my brother, sister-in-law Maggie, Maggie's mom Leslie, nieces Hannah and Madison, and my Mom in The Big Apple. Magical.

Really plugging into New York City: The Big Apple (as I enjoy calling it...)

Reuniting with the Hello Again family ON "The 12th of Maaaaaay..." (dorks.)

the gang reunites

Enjoying watermelon season. YES. A lot. 

Seeing all sorts of theatre.

Loving Brother John Glover in the city of Brotherly Love. (This, specifically included, in order... 1. Tyne had no lipstick (?!!) 2. Glove and I offer to have an adventure by running across the street and buying her "Diva Red" from the Mac store 3. which Glover subsequently tries on...declaring "Patti Lupone taught me about Diva Red when I was playing Bunny the Drag Queen..." 4. We quoted Thornton Wilder's The Matchmaker when agreeing we were on an adventure, this engaging in "PUDDING" 5. Ultimately, we were clique-y today. Guilty.)

whhhhhaaaat?!

Riding to Philadelphia IN. A. STRETCH. LIMO. BY. MY. SELF...

...and back to New York with Marc Bruni: a man I barely knew but we now know EVERY detail of one anothers' life stories. Fact.

Oh yeah, and I've been making my debut on THE BROADWAY.

Det. Alexandra Eames' advice to Alexandra Silber

go on... have a cookie...because you are tall...

[At rise: me on the set of Law & Order: Criminal Intent sitting across from Kathryn Erbe who plays Detective Alexandra Eames. It has been a long day. And now there are freshly baked chocolate chip cookies sitting at the food table and the odo(u)r is wafting our way...]

Kathryn Erbe: Cookies! [she turns around with glee] Are you gonna have a cookie?
Me: They have cookies again? [They had cookies yesterday-- is this heaven?!]
KE: They have them every day. And they are hot. And delicious.
Me: I missed them yesterday...
KE: Well, then you should have one today!
Me: I dunno... [I am thinking of myself in these ill-fitting jeans for all the world to see... in HD...]
KE: ["Cookies are serious business" voice] You should have a cookie. You are young.... [she is deadpan] and tall...
Me: ...Okay...
KE: Please. For me.
Me: I promise.
KE: Thank you.


Cookie consumed.

Law & Order

I am the self-proclaimed doyenne of a few things. (I will now, with excessive pleasure, list these things in numerical points... as I am want-to-and-ever-so-fond-of, doing.)

1. Lists
2. Raspberry Jam
3. Peanut butter
4. The Piccadilly Line (though, technically, my friend and Dickens-of-a-accordion/concertina/piano-player-who-is-incidentally-in-the-film-NINE, Mark Bousie named me 'Doyenne of The Piccadilly Line'...much to my delight...)

and, I think we could safely say, that though I may not be the greatest living expert on, though someone may attempt to challenge my semantics, I DARE YOU to challenge my enthusiasm, my discerning pallet, my penchant for

5. CRIME DRAMA.

[*CHUNK CHUNK*]

And so, dear readers, it is with extraordinary glee that I announce to you my first-bitingly-exciting appearance on the crime drama to end all crime dramas. The ultimate, the epic, the one-and-only

LAW & ORDER.

Yes. I get interviewed by Anderson and Sisto. Yes. I am slightly nefarious and suspicious. But i couldn't possibly tell you anymore than that... I can only encourage you to tune in on Friday, January 15, 2010 at 8/7 Central on NBC to watch the episode entitled "Blackmail" and watch me and half of New York's Theatreland take to the screen and COMMIT SOME CRIME PEOPLE!!

* * *

We filmed on 15th street between 7th and 8th, near to Union Square. My call was at 8am to report to my "honey wagon," check in with the Second assistant, then report to hair and makeup. 

I got some coffee from the breakfast wagon and settled into the trailer before reporting to Lisa and Leslie -- the hair and makeup ladies extraordinaire.

We chatted, (both were huge musical theatre buffs so there was a lot to talk about). Leslie went about curling the giant hair (of which I expressed mild...how should I put this...? --crestfallenness at the idea of a center parting-- but Leslie replied that it "had been specially requested"). I paused. I made a face that expressed something like this: "?!!" --I couldn't imagine anyone giving so much care to a minor character's hair parting, but there you go.

Lisa made me flawless and added a little cheek definition because I was concerned my face would look like a balloon on screen... especially with a center parting... she chuckled and said "absolutely, here you go darling," before making me promise to keep a watch on her love of "too much lip gloss" She paused and then looked very serious "...It's a problem..." she admitted, deadpan.

The "L-team" were totally gorgeous.

Half of The L teams asks me if I had cut my own hair.
I stared at them with a child-like look of guilt on my face.
     "No..." I lied.
     "Have you dyed your own hair too...?" she asked.
     "....No...." I lied again.
     "Don't do that. I mean the home dying thing. Fine. Don't tell me about it but fine. The home cutting thing? Never. Never ever. Don't do it again. Promise."
     "...I promise."

Then "I'm Every Woman" came onto the iPod and we all danced and sang...
...Into the hairbrushes...
...At the top of our lungs.

Over and out.

* * *

Then of course you get shuffled over to "set."
Not "the set."
No: to "set,"
     ...reminding me poignantly of one of my favo(u)rite British-ism peculiarities: HOSPITAL. What is going on there citizens of the United Kingdom? What? "My uncle is IN HOSPITAL" versus., "My uncle is in THE HOSPITAL." Perhaps the "the" missing in "THE HOSPITAL" has escaped to the second most delicious British peculiarity: "THE MENOPAUSE."

Perhaps this is a subject for another post altogether. That is, if I can avoid being sent TO HOSPITAL....

... Anyway...

This particular set was an actual apartment near Union Square. I was shuffled, the "look" (including the center parting) was shown to the director, approved of, and that was that. The next step was rehearsal.

A few minutes later I arrive on set surprised to see three freakish people that are dressed and look exactly like me, Anthony Anderson and Jeremy Sisto. This is "The B Team"-- the people who are on set long before you for the slightly duller roles of lighting, spacing, niggly production details. This made me realize I was part of "The A Team"... and I suddenly felt extremely cool.

Then Anderson and Sisto arrived. Fun times infinity. Sleepy, over the morning, not-at-all-certain of what episode this is; for it is, as I like to call it, an un-theatrical hour. They'll turn it on for the cameras, they care a lot about the quality of their work, but right this minute? They're asleep. And both totally adorable.

I am doing that thing I did with John Cusack-- pretending this is no big deal. Pretending I don't care, I mean, after all, please, neither of them is Jerry Orbach. But we make some nice small talk about England and how the food sucks and I embark upon the "HOSPITAL" thing mentioned above with Anderson. Sisto has found a magic eight ball and is entranced. He is lost to us for a moment before he put it down and spontaneously asks everyone on set who is Jewish. "Jews?" he exclaims raising his fingerless-gloved hand.
Half the set.
And me.
Ahhh New York. 

We rehearse the scene. The director and director of photography make choices about camera angles and shots. Sisto has his lines in his pocket. He returns to the eight ball. We all laugh about the twist in the storyline WHICH I CANNOT YET MENTION TO YOU BWAHAHA!

Then we break. "B team!" They call and they set everything up with the B team and we are swished away to get some coffee.

*

The thing is, so much has gone in to the production to get us to this point. More than even I have a conscious understanding of. To many viewers, Law & Order is a TV institution, a cops and lawyers serial crime show that's "maintained a remarkably high standard of quality for nearly 21 years" ... hm. 

The primary goal in pre-production is to take the script and create a schedule where the production team can film an entire episode in under eight days. The first assistant and the crew go out in the company van with several other people and they choose the locations that will be in the episode. When we're filming, it is essential to make sure everything and everyone is where they are supposed to be at the right time to film as efficiently as possible.

It takes eight working days just to get the schedule together, to find the locations, cast all of the guest stars and supporting roles, have production meetings, wardrobe meetings, prop meetings, extras casting meetings, etc. Law & Order shoots about seven pages of script a day which is extremely fast considering that on a feature film, you average about two pages a day. Television in general works much faster (Soaps, of all TV, shoot at break-neck speeds, having to turn over an episode a day!) Most of the days average 12-13 hours. Mondays usually begin at 6:30 a.m., and Friday night can finish anywhere from 7 to midnight (Mondays are often very long and due to an extraordinary 18-hour day in Season 1, Law & Order Mondays that run long are affectionately termed "Black Mondays").

And of course, the star of all Law and Orders is New York City itself.  They shoot in plenty of restaurants (the café we shot in had photographs of the entire canon of Law & Order casts on the walls, signed stills from specific episodes and all sorts of L&O memorabilia that naturally had to be covered up for our shoot!), apartments (my scenes were shot in an actual person's place that she rented out for the day!), office buildings, schools, government buildings (they sort of have a set up "camp" outside the city chambers). According to some of the assistants I spoke with, they tend to shoot about three or four days out of eight on their Chelsea Piers stage. They have space to build sets for each specific episode, so they've done it all: two level offices, high school locker rooms, the very famous courtroom, a funeral parlor, tons of motel rooms, prison cells and hospital rooms.


*

Back on set. We've returned from the break and are ready to shoot! We take our places (I'm lucky because all I have to do is sit-- there are no marks to meet on a certain line, no weird places to glance at, etc.), and the director quickly reviews what we're doing and off we go! They get the boys first (which, quite thoughtfully of the director, gives me a chance to sort of "warm up"), they rearrange and shoot me. They do close ups. Sisto screws up his lines, they do it again for him after he hits his head a few times.
We're done.

Between takes we are laughing something silly and they are going to town on their iPhones. That's a wrap. Lunch!

We report back to our trailers, eat, change costumes (this second of which is my actual dress), and then back ready to rock for scene number two.

It's the same story, perfectly nice but creepy identical people escorted away, shot decisions (more complicated due to key props, and a scene with a fair amount of movement in it), rehearsal, and shooting from every angle.

For this girl, for whom her head in many ways was in 'London Still,' it was a real trip.

I thanked the director, he thanked me right back, invited me to the office Christmas party, and glancing over to Aderson and Sisto I said,
"Bye boys. Thanks."

And in response... I got a double fist bump.
Magic. 
Now, that is the kind of cool one expects from "The A Team."

*

I report back in two days to shoot the teaser... but I couldn't possibly tell you anything more about it... you'll just have to tune in and see for yourself.


*CHUNK CHUNK*

25 Things

Apparently this is the biggest case of narcissism in Internet history. 5 million notes have appeared on facebook in the past week. 5 MILLION facts.

* * *

1. I am addicted to badcrimedrama. The worse it is, the better.

2. This addiction to badcrimedrama has, in many ways, made me particularly suspicious and careful. Definitely paranoid. I sometimes think about things like "my finger prints are all OVER that..." or, "why would anyone throw their napkin in the bin when it is in plain sight? That NEEDS to be incinerated...." It's probably not healthy.

3. I have flat feet.

4. What About Bob? is my undisputed favourite film of all time. In a top ten list of favourite films, Bob would take up the top three slots. I could watch it on repeat, I could probably quote the entire thing from beginning to end (with intonations and pauses, inflections, music cues and everything). The last time I watched it? Yesterday in my dressing room between shows. Oh! And when I was young, I put a microphone up to the television and recorded it on audiotape so I could listen to it at summer camp and in the car. THAT my friends, is love. Every single time I watch (or, uh, hear) this film I get something new from it. Bob is not only humourous, Bob is strangely moving and enlightened. And well! I could probably write an entire post about Bob and indeed, just might...

5. I love owls. (Also, a friend of mine has a child who thought my name was "Owl" instead of "Al" and it stuck.)

6. I love Halloween. And Autumn. Both of these things combine two of my favourite things: a sort of dark and sinister aesthetic, and the melancholy nature of the fall season. I have a dark side I guess, and it revels in that time of year.

7. My favourite food in all the world is watermelon. But it HAS to be good. There is just no point in eating it if it is mushy or sour or mealy. But good watermelon? I could eat it all day every day. For every meal. Forever.

8. I'm fascinated by redheads. And redheaded culture. I like that redheaded-ness is a genetic mutation. I love how weird it is that redheads need more anesthesia than everyone else. My first proper boyfriend was a redhead ("with hair the color of a ripe orange peel"). I know three left handed redheads (one of whom was that first boyfriend). Redheaded-ness is not only a hair colour, it is a STATE OF MIND...

9. I have a very mysterious connection to the letter "J." Excluding a few key people, the majority of the major players in my life along the way have had J names, or had some connection to the letter J themselves. Examples...
Childhood best friend: Jessica.
Childhood boyfriend: James.
First proper boyfriend: Jeremey.
Brother: Jordan.
Love of my youth: Justin.
Kindred Spirit: Josh
Other major friends: another Jeremy, another Justin and another Jessica.
The one that got away: Jim.
I had a pre-teen crush on another Josh, taken over (in various ways) from a Jill a Jyoti and a Justine. I've been taught very important things by two Jeans, two Judys and a Julia, sung for Jeff, and of course, played Julie Jordan opposite Jeremiah James.

When pointing this phenomenon out to childhood friend Justin Boday, he nodded his head suspiciouly and then pointed to my parents quizzically. What about your Parents Mike and Cathy? Their names don't start with J, his expression read. I thought for a moment and replied: "Jom" and "Jad." Aaaand it stuck.

There are over 20 other Js which shall remain nameless, but they are OUT THERE (and I am certain they know who they are)...

10. I am really.... REALLY good at pinball. Don't challenge me to duel....REALLY GOOD...

11. I know that in admitting this next piece of trivia I will, without question, move down a few pegs in people's estimation: I know it is absolute garbage, but I secretly love Ghost Whisperer and cry at every.single.episode. It is bad. It is bad bad television and I love it. I. love. it. Iloveit. And I am NOT ASHAMED. Yes I am. I am ashamed. But now it is out there and that is that. Am I embarrassed that when we first tech-ed the final scene of Carousel that my reply was "Oh my god that light is so magical and JUST like the one in Ghost Whisperer!" ? --Yes. Yes I am. Am I discomfited that sometimes when (prepare yourself) "G-dub" is on, I turn off my PHONE? Absolutely. Do I care? Not really.

12. I famously get song lyrics mixed up. And allow the confusion to perpetuate within me for decades at a time. Famous (totally sincere) misunderstandings:

Hard Day's Night
"...and I've been working like a log...."

"I Say a Little Prayer For You"
"forever and ever you'll stay in my heart and I will hug you..."

and my favourite lyrical mix-up of all time:

I Will Survive:
"I just walked in to find you here with the fat whore upon your face...."

13. I love red. Anything red. It has always been my colour. I love to wear it, to look at it, if I could, I would bathe in it.

14. I don't think I have ever loved a city more than I loved, and continue to love, Venice.

"Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it. Or perhaps, speaking of other cities, I have already lost it, little by little." -- Italo Calvino

15. One time, my friend Kit took me to Bastille Day at the French Embassy in London. Perks included, among other things, a security check at the front gate, shaking hands with the ambassador (his hand was incredibly soft), an Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triumph both made of baguette, and accidentally walking in on the Ambassador's wife in the toilet. Somehow, a hearty "pardon" just didn't cut it. Fantastic.

16. Sometimes, when I don't feel like getting hassled, I pretend to be English just so I can get on with my day without talking about Friends or politics. Sue me.

17. I am really good at making salads. And naming them. If I were to put out a personal ad, I would list salad making as one of my virtues because I am really very talented. Savoury, sweet, pasta, bean, Greek, Italian, Michigan, you NAME it, I can make it and you will love it. I promise. I once made a salad in Sheffield for our New Year celebrations with pomegranate seeds and called it "Persephone's Delight." Good, huh? Or what about "The Traverse City Surprise"?-- my Michigan theme salad made with apple and pear slices, (what I call) "yuppie greens" and dried Michigan cherries?

18. There was a period of my life when I thought I was going to be a meteorologist. I really love everything to do with weather, especially clouds.

19. I mix up words ALL the time. It is an Al-ism. Not important grammatical things like their there and they're, but words with a slightly more complex make-up, insinuating that the psychological blundering is something that lingers deep within my psyche. (I welcome and encourage theories.) One would think that a fairly intelligent girl such as myself would never mix up the words "antidote" and "anecdote," would one? But I do, and many others. And perhaps, if I am honest, I sooooometimes lean in to this little character flaw, and push it a bit, making mistakes I am already aware of, to spread amusement and joy to those around me!

20. My dad invented light beer. Seriously. It's true. Ask my mom. You can call her. I always do when people don't believe me. (And no, we're not filthy stinking rich. Dad sold the patent long before light beer became huge. But it is okay, he was too busy saving people's lives to bother with brewery and such...)

21. I once strolled through Borough Market during The Great Depression of '06, saw a giant rat eating a bit of what I hope was sausage, and thought to myself, “My life is over.” It wasn’t. (Obviously).

22. I love a good footnote.*

23. I am obsessed with All. Things. Russian.

24. For reasons unknown, I pretty much exclusively wear solid colours and simple patterns (if patterns are present at all). By simple I mean, clean, not-at-all-busy polka dots or stripes... and that is pretty much it. Any adventures I take in to the world of pattern are always precarious, and if I really think about it, I believe only one dress I own contains a pattern I would classify as "busy." I have no idea where this comes from. I wonder if branching out is necessary... or if I should just accept that I like what I like..?

25. My parents and I never discussed the fact that Santa Claus was not real. Mom and I still talk about Santa as if he is coming to dinner like Elijah. (Or, say, an actual house guest). It is just a sort of blasee thing, you know, Santa will be coming, naturally. We sort of knowingly talked around the subject during my teens, but still have never really discussed it. I like that. We are a magical family.

* who doesn't?

A Murderous Hiatus

Are there any words sadder than these:

"Jessica Fletcher will be taking a break from crime solving for now, but she will be back in a few weeks."

This seemingly innocuous phrase graced it's way in to my living room this afternoon after I had settled down post-workout with a salad and found myself perusing the TV guide, selecting "Murder, She Wrote" with glee (I even said the word "jackpot!" OUT LOUD), watching it with tremendous delight and amusement as per usual.

And then-- THEN! To hear these shattering words dispassionately articulated by the soporific voice within the television. To have my heart so unceremoniously cracked without so much as a warning! I didn't see the signs! I had not planned ahead...

Oh! BBC 2!! How can you do this to me?! It is not that you do it, it is that you did it with such callous. With such a heedless, devil-may-care attitude of terrible coldness. Diagnosis Murder has already been eliminated from the BBC1 afternoon lineup... and what. am. I. to do?

May you find greener pastures this summer, Jessica. Perhaps you are dining in Barbados with Mark Sloane.

Ah, how I always longed for a crossover. There they would be, Jessica and Mark, sipping Pina Coladas, remembering their golden days (with a gentle nudge nudge wink wink to both of their involvement in musicals and Disney films), on a jolly holiday to portobello road... How grand it would be until, of course, someone kicked the bucket! And then they would solve the crime together, side by side. With an animated penguin bobbing along beside them...

Well, wherever you are, I hope all remain alive and well... though naturally, this is just too much to hope for...

No problem is too big that it can't be solved by Jessica Fletcher

Okay.
So.
Tonight I made myself laugh onstage for over a minute.
The kind of thing you would specifically enjoy because the star of this anecdote is the one, the only, Jessica Fletcher.

In the Prologue, two little girls steal toffee apples and I usually improv some hullabaloo like
"crime in this town" or,
"this town isn't what it used to be" or,
"Why! I recall when a dog could lie down in the middle of Main Street and not be disturbed all day!' -- or something wholesome to that effect...

But today, TODAY I watched a double-decker of MSW, and this is what came out:

"CATCH THEM! Ohhhhhh the CRIME in this town! Who would've thought that it could happen right HERE at the carnival! We need Jessica Fletcher to teach those little girls a LESSSON! She could tech them a thing or two about the criminal mind! In fact, let's send for her! SHE IS JUST DOWN THE COAST IN CABBOT COVE!"

... I was met with three very confused and totally unamused faces. I thought I was a GENIUS. I laughed so hard at my own cleverness my sides literally ached. This spurred a bedlam of Jessica related comments throughout the evening, all tied neatly in to the on stage improvisation. Shame!

Regardless, nothing can take away the degree to which I looooooooooooove Jessica and her most unfortunate bought of luck. SOMEONE DIES NO MATTER WHERE SHE GOES. Can you imagine??!

"Jessica Fletcher will be reading a sample from her book this evening at the library"
"Oh, uhhhhh.... I'm gonna be in L.A.... I can't be there I.... will be not where.... she.... is...."

Yes, I have always thought that being Jessica's friend, associate, or local to her intended destination was just asking for trouble.

It's not unlike Diagnosis Murder, (the MAN's Murder She Wrote--if gender definition applies to such thing-- there's more running and a higher frequency of gun holding.) If you are one of Mark Sloane's old friends, you are, to not put too fine a point on it, fucked. If you get admitted to Community General, you are probably going to be murdered or, (much worse) made the protagonist in some crass comedy subplot.

And don't get me started on Quincy. Just don't...

Okay.
That's it.
Anecdote over.
Roll credits with frozen laughing face of Angela Lansbury.

"Bad Crime Drama"

Now. Let me just explain something. I LOVE CRIME DRAMA. I don't know how it happened, I don't know why. But I love it ALL. My love for crime drama is RAMPANT. From the truly incredible to the truly atrocious, it doesn't matter. Bring it on.

Perhaps it is due to the fact that one has to use their brain a little bit, they have to do a little bit of thinking, it isn't idle "grazing" it is active and engaging. Sometimes it mixes crime with science (CSI), sometimes with math (Numbers), sometimes the focus is on trauma (L&O: SVU), and sometimes on missing people (Without a Trace).

OR perhaps it's because at it's best you get to see some pretty decent (sometimes utterly excellent) actors in circumstances involving very high stakes (or, in the cases of both Dr. Quincy and Jessica Fletcher, the stakes are VERY HIGH ALL. THE. TIME. with the exception of the first and last two minutes of every episode, culminating in a frozen frame of said characters laughing with appropriate light-hearted music to accompany the feeling that even though murder follows these people around like a stray dog, life really is okay).

The "chunk chunk" sound associated with Law & Order is so divine it creates a Pavlovian reaction in me. I drool for a good re-run with the wonderful Jerry Orbach! I luxuriate in the vintage glory of a Sunday afternoon Poirot on ITV3, and Without A Trace on every day this summer on Channel 4? Better than ice cream or sunshine or kittens.  

CSI: Miami is so bad it's good. I laugh at CSI: Miami more than I become intrigued or moved or genuinely interested. But one has to admit, on the whole, Miami is an incredible setting for crime. Miami is twisted. It's truly creepy. What with the heat, the sultry, sweet, sexy, Southern thing, the voodoo-ish subculture, the crocidiles, and the connection to Latin America and it's subsequent language, social and religious barriers; the truly twisted nature of it's plots far exceeds the general prostitute and gambling crimes of it's predecessor, and could never match the stories we've heard on every other New York based crime show. (I don't like CSI: New York, and wish it were CSI: Chicago).

Plus, David Caruso works the one-liners and specs. And he works them like they’ve never been worked before. What a facial tic is to Robert DeNiro, what a cane was to Charlie Chaplin, sunglasses are to David Caruso. In uniting his limitless repetoire of placement and removal with his unmatched ability to deliver the cutting and dramatic one-liner, this video has perfectly showcased the entire range of Caruso’s talent in less than four minutes. Is there an Emmy for Best Sunglasses Snap? ... No? Well, there should be.

But OH! Ohhhhhhh the joys of what I like to call"CSI Regular"! The gutters of Las Vegas provide the most eloquent background for stories of gambling, alternative underbelly lifestyles, dead prostitutes, aging showgirls, escapist holidays gone awry. It is fast-paced, dark and humorous. It delivers well-acted and well-constructed characters, truly vivid gore scenes (that still manage to be scientific) and wonderfully twisty plots that leave you gaping with awe. All of these are evidence of a brilliant television show and THE EVIDENCE NEVER LIES my friends! So give in to the inner forensic dork you've been hiding from all your friends! I love CSI and I AM NOT afraid to show it.

SO. All of this unbelievable ranting being said, Can you imagine my reaction when I got an audition for one of the above television shows? Well, I just nearly flipping died. I actually did a little dance. 

Television Audition

* * *

[At rise: a church basement serving as an audition room.]

[Al enters the audition room and realizes she is overly dressed. She uses this moment to think about how her agent suggested she look attractive again, and what this might mean about her personal appearance. She shakes hands with the director and writer and casting director. Greetings and all that.]

Director: So. You are American?
Al: The real thing
Director: Yes the real thing indeed. So how are you here?
Al: Um...
Director: ...I meant specifically how are you here, in this country....? [she pauses] working.... legally?
Al: Ah yes, I have a Visa. I am a "Highly-Skilled Migrant." I like it, it sounds like I pick grapes really fast. John Steinbeck, you know?
Director: [unamused pause] Indeed. [next order of business beat] So. What did you think of the script?

[As the Narrator I have to interrupt here. I want to mention the readers that I hate this question. I think this question is really unfair. What are we supposed to say? "I thought your script was utter rubbish and the dialogue, while being trite at best, is hardly as atrocious as the story as a whole. I am only here auditioning because my agent forced me to come." Would that win hearts and minds?? One might as well say "well, the thing is, I didn't have time to read it all because I was just released from Pentonville Prison yesterday, having served 90 days for an assault charge which by the way that b#%*& had coming, and I had to sort a few things out."]

Al: I thought it was super.

["Super"?!!! A beat for lameness.]

Well, the truth is, I absolutely LOVE Bad Crime Drama. 

[OH.MY.GOD. I used "BADCRIMEDRAMA" as a blanket statement again... and THIS WAS NOT THE MOMENT. NOT AT ALL. Save it!] 

I mean... not that THIS is "bad." Bad Crime Drama is a sort of blanket category I give all crime drama.... I use it to describe the genre.... as my own... little... joke.... with myself... because of my love... of it... 

[There is an utterly horrific moment of shock and horror from all three people behind the table. She attempts to save it one last time...]

I mean of course that it is guilty-pleasure crime drama. The sort of "I really should be doing the washing up, but CSI is on" sort of thing.... [getting worse.]. If you see.... what I mean.... [total. heart crushing. failure.]

Director: ... Well. Thank you so much... we'll be in touch.... 

[...with either your agent or a hospital, she meant to say...]

* * *

Um.... I did not get this job.