Jason Priestley (12 page)

In terms of work, I had several big scenes. One of them in particular was extremely dramatic. On my big day, as we were preparing to shoot, most everyone was just standing there, waiting for “Action!” to be called. I was laughing and horsing around with some of the crew, bullshitting about what we'd all done in town the previous weekend, waiting for my name to be called. Sam Elliott came striding over, grabbed my arm, and pulled me aside.

“What do you think you're doing?” he growled.

“Me? What do you mean, Sam?”

“You're fucking around. You are in a big scene! Prepare!” Sam was a very intense guy. A real perfectionist. He was appearing in the scene with me, and he expected me to give my best. What he saw was a young actor fooling around, and he gave me one hell of a talking-to. One I haven't forgotten to this day.

I have always enjoyed friendly relationships with everyone on film and TV sets. I really enjoy people on the crew, who tend to be an adventurous bunch, and I like hanging out with them. But this reminded me that I was on set to do a job, an important one, and this was my day to shine.

In this pivotal scene, my character was supposed to be absolutely bereft. Beyond brokenhearted. As Billy, I said something like, “You killed my friends, and if I was something, I'd kill you myself,” knowing there was nothing I could do. I needed to be at the top of my game, not just jumping in and out of the scene. Prepared—all there—mentally, emotionally, physically.

I must thank a true professional for calling me on my bullshit. The scene worked, and I have Sam to thank for it.

O
h, man, to this day I remember that red dress. Every year, at the beginning of the season, we would do what was called a gallery shoot for
90210
. This would give the PR team enough shots of everyone to distribute throughout the year. It was basically a very long photo shoot that every main cast member was required to attend. We usually used a warehouse in an industrial park across the street from our studio. In many of these warehouses they shot “adult films.” (As I previously mentioned, we were in the heart of Van Nuys, porn capital of the world.)

As the years rolled on, Shannen, Jennie, and Tori became ever more competitive. They formed an eternal triangle where someone was always on the outs, and that “someone” changed all the time. Jennie and Shannen were both very strong personalities, while Tori would careen back and forth between them, freezing the other one out.

It was a dynamic that plays itself out every day in every sorority house and cheerleading squad in the country . . . this one just happened to be on the TV set of a hit show, and therefore of great interest to the general public. It was silly little stuff, not huge feuds, as reported in the tabloids. We all loved the show, and we all loved the work we were doing. And any backstage squabbles were never brought into the work itself.

Then, of course, there was the drama with their boyfriends. Us guys were the spectators who had been watching it for years. Nick Savalas, actor Telly's son, was trouble. Nobody liked the fact that he was dating Tori. Unfortunately, he was around for a long time. It was obvious he was mistreating her. We definitely saw some telltale signs. One night Luke jumped right into Nick's face about it. Tori and Nick made all sorts of headlines for a New Year's Eve brawl. He was not a popular guy when he showed up on set. We knew she deserved much better.

Shannen, meanwhile, moved on for a time to Dean Factor, a cosmetics heir to the Max Factor fortune. At one point Dean gave her several no-limit credit cards and she moved into the Four Seasons Hotel. On her hiatus, Shannen shot a movie called
Blindfold
and had a fling with actor Judd Nelson, one of the original “Brat Pack.” She was using Dean's credit cards to take Judd out to clubs . . . it wasn't going to end well. And it didn't.

Jennie had a serious musician boyfriend, Dan, and they were briefly married for a couple of years. Meanwhile, there were still plenty of little petty dramas.

On season four, we gathered for the annual gallery shoot, and it got completely derailed in the wardrobe department. There was one really stunning bright red dress on the rack, and all three girls insisted on wearing it because it would stand out the most in a photograph. Each of the three girls was determined to wear that dress, and no one was backing down.

Naturally, this meant that the guys had to sit around for hours, waiting for the girls to settle on who got to wear the red dress. A wonderful producer named Betty Reardon and our executive producer, Paul Wagner, were brought in to settle the situation. Betty was the best; she could magically smooth over matters like this between the girls—something she was called upon to do on a frequent basis. It was agreed at the end of the day that none of the girls would wear that particular dress, and other suitable outfits were found for all three of them. And I do mean the end of the day, since these negotiations took hours and hours.

Nothing new here. By this time, I knew quite well how these things tended to go. I always showed up to events like this with a bottle of scotch. I knew there was going to be plenty of sitting around, so why not take advantage of it? Luke, Brian, Ian, and I would pull up some chairs, pour ourselves a drink, and shoot the shit. There was no sense fighting it or trying to talk sense into the girls. We stayed the hell out of it and took the opportunity, with all four of us in one spot, for a leisurely talk.

I HAD SEEN
plenty of Shannen's boyfriends come and go. Even so, I was shocked when she showed up for work one morning and said, “Oh my God, so I got married over the weekend.” Very casual, in the same tone she might use to mention she'd gone out and gotten drunk at the Cabo Cantina on Friday night.
90210
's resident bad girl marrying Ashley Hamilton after only a few weeks of dating was big Hollywood news; all the shows and gossip magazines went nuts. The new couple appeared on
Saturday Night Live
together at the height of their notoriety.

Back at her regular day job, however, things were starting to crack. Her sudden marriage was a very Shannen thing to do. That girl lived minute by minute, doing exactly as she pleased, never worrying about consequences or crying about the past. Of course, it was also not a surprise that the marriage was quite stormy and ended in a matter of months. The crew had a pool going for how long the marriage would last . . . the over/under was ten weeks.

It was around this time that Shannen started showing up late to work. Not every day, but pretty consistently. And not fifteen minutes late—in L.A., that's considered on time. I'm talking at least an hour. However, there was never a day she didn't turn in a good solid performance . . . once she got to the set. Shannen by this time was quite a notorious tabloid fixture for her late-night partying and fights in clubs. In my opinion, none of that media storm bothered Aaron. He was a firm believer in the adage that there's no such thing as bad press. He had Hollywood's resident bad girl starring on his hit show, and he didn't mind what she did outside of work. He did mind when her antics began holding up production.

All issues aside, Shannen could deliver, and I always believed much of her success could be credited to her innate ability to live in the moment. Although this trait got her into trouble in real life, it served her well as an actress. However, it did not serve the needs of the show and FOX; and at the end of the day we were not just “hot young stars.” We were employees, just like everybody else.

I
n my travels, I have learned that a surprising number of people have a wildly inaccurate idea of what it's like to star in a television show. They believe that in Hollywood, you roll into work at noon, have lunch delivered from a fancy restaurant, shoot until four or five, then cocktail hour begins. Then it's time for your massage, and the cocaine dealer and hookers arrive . . . or so the fantasy goes, anyway.

The reality of working on a show in Hollywood is waking at 5:30 in the morning to drive to work and arrive by 6:30. You're at the studio until seven or eight at night, and then you drive home—and do homework for the next day's work before bed. Sure there's some downtime during the day, but you usually spend it going over lines, talking to the writers about something, having a fitting . . . there's always something that needs doing. This is what you do every day as the star of a one-hour weekly show. Certainly that was the experience for me. Shooting 22, 26, 28, and eventually 32 episodes per season is a long grind, a real marathon, and it takes stamina and professionalism to get through it.

So we all knew going in that we were going to be there at least twelve hours every day. That was fine, part of our job, and we all liked our jobs. That meant all of us, crew included. However, when one person on the team is disrupting everything by showing up two, three, four, and even five hours late every day, it quickly throws the whole balance off, resulting in major problems for the other hundred employees affected by those actions. When you work on a television show, you're all in it together, meaning the cast and crew and everyone who contributes in any way. Everyone needs to be prepared to show up and create scripted television shows that people want to watch. Bottom line. It takes time and effort to do that correctly.

I was on set all day, every day for nine to ten months out of the year. Many of the other characters parachuted in and out—Luke might work a couple of days, Jennie would show up four days that week, Ian had three days on set this week . . . meanwhile I was there seven out of seven days. Week in, week out.

As the fourth season wore on, Shannen was talked to on numerous occasions. I am sure Aaron himself no doubt had a word with her somewhere along the line. At some point, though, I imagine she thought the producers were just crying wolf, because they gave her
numerous
chances. Eventually, the pressure started to build. The phone calls started pouring in to Aaron from everybody. There was an overriding feeling on the set that we needed to get back to work. Frankly, Shannen and her habitual tardiness could no longer hold an entire show hostage. The show was a big hit, but its success could easily be derailed at any time, most certainly by bad behavior. None of us wanted that to happen.

To his credit, Aaron knew when to pull the plug. He gave her many chances over a long period of time, but once the decision was made, it was a swift and tough call. Her firing had absolutely nothing to do with any of her supposed “bad behavior” outside the show . . . drinking, fighting in clubs—all that stuff didn't matter. It was that she was holding up a very important production and affecting the lives and livelihoods of many people. Aaron called Shannen's agents and told them that she was being written off the show. She stayed for another couple of episodes so they could write her character off—Brenda left for London to study at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. Off she went, supposedly for a year, and though she would be referred to often in the future, she never returned to the show.

And just like that, the actress with whom I had worked so closely and shared so much for four years was suddenly gone. Our show would have to be a different show moving forward. Life in the zip code was about to change.

T
he first time I read the script, the film was called
Sang Froid
—French for “cold blood.” It was a dark comedy to be produced by Michael J. Fox's company. My role would be that of Cosmo, a bookie who reluctantly becomes a hit man.

The film was shot on my hiatus after the fourth season. The rest of the cast was stellar: Peter Riegert, Robert Loggia, and my love interest, Kimberly Williams, from the
Father of the Bride
blockbusters. Janeane Garofalo had a small part, as did Josh Charles, who now, years later, has a huge hit on the TV show
The Good Wife
. The writer/director, Wallace Wolodarsky, went on to do groundbreaking, amazing work on
The Simpsons;
even Michael J. Fox made a cameo appearance.

The experience was fantastic. It was one of those sets where everything is fun; we all got along so well and had such high hopes for this project. During filming, OJ Simpson drove right by our set in the infamous slow-speed Bronco chase, and we had to halt shooting because of the sound of the helicopters overhead. Of course we all gathered around the TV for the rest of the day to watch history in the making.

Sadly,
Coldblooded
was a great movie that nobody saw. When it debuted, it was very well received by audiences on the festival circuit and was a big hit at Sundance. It was an independent film that got bought by Polygram but, because they were having financial problems at the time, the movie quickly disappeared. It went straight from festival hit to home video.

It was just another swing and miss for me in the movies, but that's show business. Fortunately, I still had my day job.

I
stayed in touch with only one person from my real high school class, a guy named Drew Strazman who worked as a stockbroker in Chicago. One night I found myself in Chicago and stopped by to see him. He was playing some music I really liked.

“What's that you're listening to?” I asked.

He handed me the CD of a band called Barenaked Ladies. “These guys are huge back home in Canada,” he said. I took the CD home and was immediately hooked; they had a unique sound. When I saw that the band was playing House of Blues in L.A., I made it a point to go, and made my way backstage when it was over. Ed Robertson and Steven Page had been friends since their Toronto high school days; they were now a band of five. “I'm having you guys over!” I said on the spur of the moment. “When can you come to my house . . . now?”