Hey, Piven, the Show Must Go On

Photo by haveN / flickr

In the comfortable but not overly cushioned offices of The Crusty Curmudgeon, this item came across my virtual desk in silence. Gone are the old days when the news teletype wire in the corner sprang to life with its clackety-clack, heralding the arrival of important news. Nevertheless, the item captured my undivided attention: The producers of Speed the Plow by David Mamet have filed a grievance with Actor’s Equity Association (the actor’s union) against Jeremy Piven.

Piven dropped out of the show just two months after it opened to favorable reviews, claiming that mercury poisoning was the culprit, causing him to collapse in his home. The rumor-mongers said otherwise, claiming instead that Piven was out late partying and had grown bored with the play. I am not here to argue whether or not Piven was sick or bored, or whether he was on his death bed puking up rancid bits of raw seafood. If that is why you are here, go suck down some raw fish instead.

No sir, I am here to argue—well, actually, I am not here to argue at all. I am here to simply tell you how it is. The show must go on.

I don’t care if you’re puking your jellied guts out…the show must go on. I have done performances where everyone had food poisoning, and we were all running off stage and throwing up every chance we got. I remember one time most explicitly when I had been decapitated. I still did my performance of Hamlet that evening…headless!—my head filled in as Yorick, the skull—and THEN, and only THEN I went to emergency and had my head reattached. Because the show must go on.

If Piven is bored with Speed the Plow, he should pack his theatrical bags and skedaddle back to Hollywood, because I have never known an actor to become bored with Mamet that fast. Mamet dialogue is full of intricate nuance. It is like playing on a Steinway Grand when you are used to Casio. It provides a challenge to an actor akin to…well…performing Hamlet without your head attached (I got great reviews that night.)

And one more thing. The role Piven vacated has been occupied by William H. Macy. Macy is one of the finest actors working today. He is an actor’s actor. This is such a monumental improvement that it seems suspicious.

I’m thinking the producers poisoned Piven on purpose…to get rid of him. That’s what I would do.

THE SHOW MUST GO ON.

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American Idol: The Saga of Crushed Dreams

drama masks painting by GotMeAMuse / flickr

On Tuesday, the Curmudgeon offices were bustling but not tumultuous over the new season of American Idol beginning later that night. I had, in fact, never seen American Idol before, but I did not share this information, for fear of sounding superior and raining on their parade of anticipation and joy.

I do not understand the hubbub this show creates in its millions of loyal viewers. I do watch other similar shows—in as much as it can be said I watch television at all. I turn the TV on to a program I like, but then I don’t watch it. I am compulsive I’m afraid, compelled to write, so I do, glancing at the television here and there. One such show is America’s Got Talent, another is Dancing with the Stars (first season) and the like, but I always give up on the show before the season is over. That is because the wrong people for the wrong reasons get moved along to the next round.

This happens when the producers, in all their wisdom about attracting viewership and keeping them, eschew the very point of the show, which is to reward talent, not freakishness, not mediocrity, and not downright embarrassment, which in the world of reality television has become a marketable commodity. If they only promoted the people with real talent, the audience would leave in droves, or as Yogi Berra once said, “If fans don’t come out to the ballpark, you can’t stop them.”

So I watched American Idol—Ok, parts of it—and saw instantaneously that this show is the same as the others (and in fact I guess it can be said that Idol is the mother of the others.) So, I won’t, I don’t think, be a regular viewer of Idol either. But I finally saw that the reason I find these shows ultimately worse than distasteful is that they are not merely manipulative and contrary to their own premise (although, they DO move the really good ones along too. After all, there is a recording contract at the end of this and lots of money to be made) but they are really about crushing dreams.

I have been there. I was a very good and semi-successful actor. I have worked professionally in show business since I was 16 years old, pretty much exclusively. I went to a Theatre Conservatory-acting training program, and then to the National Shakespeare Conservatory in New York. I lived in a roach-infested apartment, went to the cattle calls, traveled the country in search of the next paying job, and damn did I have fun. I have had my share bad auditions. Oh, Lord, have I ever. I have met people in real life whose sole (soul?) dream was to “make it” as an actor, but who had not even a modicum of talent or ability. They thought they were good. So wrapped up in this dream were they that reality was invisible to them. They couldn’t see that they stunk up the joint.

Idol and it’s offspring is the sad exhibition of holding a dreamer up in front of us so that we may throw sticks and stones and spit on them. The nerve that guy has, to have a dream like that. Who does he think he is? Is that why we hate them? That they have dreamed in futility? When they are finally dashed on the jagged rocks of reality, we cheer their demise, their arrogance, and their human desperation.

I have been there to see the torn and beaten corpses on the sharp stones.

It breaks my heart.

Don’t get me started on the bikini girl.

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