The Importance of Being Ernie: (16 page)
Exhausted and terrified, my buddy and I lay on the river’s shore and saw the beating the Kern had given us: torn pants, cuts, scrapes, and instant bruises. There was nothing to do but laugh; we had survived. We had tempted the river god and she took pity on our stupidity. We were lucky.
There was one odd footnote to this adventure: six months after we survived the Kern, the greatest river-rafting movie of all time,
Deliverance,
was released. I had a real visceral empathy with the film’s characters and their experience. Thankfully, unlike those men, I never encountered any rapist hillbillies. The river was traumatizing enough.
Deliverance,
was released. I had a real visceral empathy with the film’s characters and their experience. Thankfully, unlike those men, I never encountered any rapist hillbillies. The river was traumatizing enough.
CHAPTER 29
My First Mentor
The guest star roles that I’d recently filmed aired on TV in quick succession, and my work garnered good reviews. Producers and casting directors took notice that I could play a range of characters with dramatic depth. I was being asked to audition for roles in major films likeAmerican Graffiti
and
The Last Detail
with Jack Nicholson. I didn’t get parts in either of those projects, but it was good to know that people saw that I could play someone other than nerdy Ernie Douglas.
I wanted to build on this new credibility, so I searched for an acting teacher who could help me grow as an artist. That person was a man named Jack Garfein. He was a prominent member of the New York Actors Studio and founded the school’s Los Angeles branch before creating his own academy, the Actors and Directors Lab. The Lab became my second home.
Garfein’s lessons taught his students to be observers of human behavior and practitioners of emotional honesty. His appreciation of great paintings, musical symphonies, and dance companies was infectious. The acting technique he taught was simple and practical based on the teachings of the American Stanislavski disciples: Lee Strasberg, Uta Hagen, Sandy Meisner, and Harold Clurman, Garfein’s mentor.
During my time at the Lab, many world-class artists who were Garfein’s personal friends taught there. Guest instructors included the famous mime Marcel Marceau, the brilliant teacher/actress Stella Adler, and the legendary Harold Clurman, cofounder of the seminal Group Theatre. Even the infamous cult novelist Henry Miller came to our school to talk about his life and work. These people were giants in their respective arts, and it was a privilege to hear them discuss their work in an intimate setting.
Sensing my seriousness, Jack offered me a couple of plum opportunities. One assignment was to stage-manage Henry Miller’s lectures. This gave me a chance to talk with the literary giant, one on one. Granted, they were hardly profound meetings of the minds; it was nothing more than idle chitchat, mainly about his attraction to Japanese women and his love of Ping-Pong. Nonetheless, it was conversation with one of the most influential literary lions of the twentieth century. On the day of Miller’s first lecture at the Lab, the author’s presence nearly created a riot when dozens of his devoted fans grew angry because they were denied entry to the sold-out event and started pounding on the theater doors. Miller insisted that the rabble outside be let in. “To hell with the fire codes,” the great man bellowed. Miller was a subversive, a man of the people, and the doors were flung open to one and all.
Garfein gave me another choice assignment: driving Harold Clurman around town. I would drive him up to Brando’s compound on Mulholland Drive or to a dinner party at Stella Adler’s house. Basically, I was a “fly on the wall” when accompanying Clurman on these outings, and rightly so. I was a young man and definitely out of my league among these legends. It was best to just sit and listen.
I spent the next year at the Actors and Directors Lab, working on scenes from modern classic plays to Shakespeare, sharpening my acting skills, and gaining confidence in my abilities. I was no James Dean or Marlon Brando, but I was learning to express my own voice in my work.
My next big acting break let me test my newly acquired skills. I was cast in a lead role in a new one-hour dramatic series,
Sons and Daughters.
I was ready to take the next step into my adult career and leave my child actor days behind.
Sons and Daughters.
I was ready to take the next step into my adult career and leave my child actor days behind.
CHAPTER 30
Starring in a New TV Series
Sons and Daughtersfocused on a group of high school friends growing up in the 1950s.
American Graffiti
had just struck box-office gold and tapped into the country’s longing to relive all things Eisenhower. It was now the early 1970s, and the country was fatigued by the Vietnam War and stunned by the Watergate political scandals. Audiences were craving the soothing balm of nostalgia. Chuck Berry, hot rods, and malt shops were hip again.
I was cast as Moose Kerner, a 1950s nerd, and starred in the series with Gary Frank (later of
Family
), Scott Colomby (
Caddy-shack
), and Glynnis O’Connor, a beautiful, sensitive young actress whom I had a tremendous crush on. Everybody did.
Family
), Scott Colomby (
Caddy-shack
), and Glynnis O’Connor, a beautiful, sensitive young actress whom I had a tremendous crush on. Everybody did.
Sons and Daughters
was a high-quality drama, full of teenage angst and despair. That was our big distinction from
American Graffiti.
Unfortunately, the drama aspect was also the show’s downfall. Audiences wanted their 1950s entertainment served up with a cherry Coke and apple pie, not cancer and unwanted pregnancies. We had the right era, just the wrong tone. Another show set in the 1950s came on that same year, too, and it turned out to be exactly what people wanted:
Happy Days.
Right era, right tone, and, especially, the right ratings. That show was on TV for the next eleven years.
was a high-quality drama, full of teenage angst and despair. That was our big distinction from
American Graffiti.
Unfortunately, the drama aspect was also the show’s downfall. Audiences wanted their 1950s entertainment served up with a cherry Coke and apple pie, not cancer and unwanted pregnancies. We had the right era, just the wrong tone. Another show set in the 1950s came on that same year, too, and it turned out to be exactly what people wanted:
Happy Days.
Right era, right tone, and, especially, the right ratings. That show was on TV for the next eleven years.
We did thirteen glorious episodes full of betrayal, turmoil, and melodrama before we were canceled. I certainly got an opportunity to exercise my newfound acting chops. I also got a chance to work with Richard Donner who directed the pilot and a few of the series’ episodes. Donner later directed
Superman,
the first movie with Christopher Reeve, and rebooted the entire franchise. He also did all of the
Lethal Weapon
films and many other blockbusters.
Superman,
the first movie with Christopher Reeve, and rebooted the entire franchise. He also did all of the
Lethal Weapon
films and many other blockbusters.
Donner was a big man with a big personality and a huge booming baritone voice. If he didn’t like your work in a scene he’d bellow,
“Energy, Energy! Cut ten minutes out of it!”
I learned that he wasn’t being mean, just honest, a quality that I liked.
“Energy, Energy! Cut ten minutes out of it!”
I learned that he wasn’t being mean, just honest, a quality that I liked.
Over time, I learned that Donner loved practical jokes. This being the case, I got an artist friend to draw a huge poster of Donner having sexual intercourse with a woman. Stagehands hung it from the top rafters of our cavernous soundstage, and we brought him in for the presentation blindfolded. The second I uncovered his eyes, stagehands illuminated the billboard-size work of art. Donner exploded in laughter at the sight of the woman having sex with him, mainly because she was screaming the words:
“Energy, Energy! Cut ten minutes out of it!”
“Energy, Energy! Cut ten minutes out of it!”
I tried to pull another prank on Donner, but, unfortunately, it backfired. I snuck into his trailer with a willing female coconspirator; we stripped off our clothes and climbed onto his sofa, me on top. Gary Frank had written in lipstick on one butt cheek: “Moose Loves Donner.” When Dick entered his trailer and saw us, he roared with laughter. Then he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me outside the trailer. Now the joke was on me. I was standing stark naked on a busy lunch-hour street at Universal Studios, the lot with tour buses full of gawking fans.
I ran like Wile E. Coyote with his ass on fire, trying to make it to my dressing room, which was about a city block away. My situation got really dire when a tram loaded with tourists turned a corner and our paths were going to cross. I could see the headlines:
CHILD ACTOR RUNS
AM
UCK IN THE NUDE
! Or even worse:
ERNIE EXPOSES HIMSELF
!
CHILD ACTOR RUNS
AM
UCK IN THE NUDE
! Or even worse:
ERNIE EXPOSES HIMSELF
!
Thinking fast, I leaped into somebody’s unlocked Mercedes that was parked on the street. As the tram passed and the tourists gawked, I waved and scrunched my naked body down to keep from being seen. Once they were gone, I streaked (literally) to my room. That was the last time I tried to play a prank on Donner.
Once
Sons and Daughters
was officially canceled, I was at another crossroads. College seemed less of an option now that I was working regularly in television. I still wanted to improve as an actor, though, and the challenge of TV work seemed limited.
Sons and Daughters
was officially canceled, I was at another crossroads. College seemed less of an option now that I was working regularly in television. I still wanted to improve as an actor, though, and the challenge of TV work seemed limited.
I remembered the advice that Roddy McDowall gave me while working on
The Elevator.
McDowall was a child actor from the golden era of movies and had transitioned into a very successful adult actor. His words echoed in my head: “Go to New York and work on the stage. That’s what I did.”
The Elevator.
McDowall was a child actor from the golden era of movies and had transitioned into a very successful adult actor. His words echoed in my head: “Go to New York and work on the stage. That’s what I did.”
I’d been in love with New York and the theater forever, so McDowall’s suggestion only whetted my appetite to move there. I figured that if I didn’t do it now, I would probably never go. So I packed my bags and headed east.
CHAPTER 31
The Skin of Our Teeth
My plan was to stay with my Uncle Bernard for a couple of months and look for a New York agent to represent me. Despite my recent TV successes, I wasn’t sure if the East Coast theater crowd would embrace me. They are a pretty elitist group. I was afraid they’d think that I was just another TV child star whose best days were behind him. I just didn’t know what to expect.The first meeting I had was with Stark Hesseltine, a top theatrical agent. I told him I was ready to set down roots in the city and commit myself to the theater. Hesseltine couldn’t have been more supportive or receptive. In fact, he had an audition for me to go on that very day. Whoa, that’s fast, I thought to myself, feeling a bit nervous. I wanted to show him that I was game, though, and agreed to go.
The audition was for the part of the Messenger Boy in the Thornton Wilder play,
The Skin of Our Teeth.
The play was being produced by the Kennedy Center to celebrate the upcoming Bicentennial Birthday of America. It was being touted as the biggest, most prestigious production that year. The stars in it were Elizabeth Ashley, red hot having just done
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
on Broadway; Alfred Drake, legendary Broadway musical star; and Martha Scott, who played Emily in the original production of Wilder’s most famous play,
Our Town
. If that wasn’t enough pressure, José Quintero was directing the play. He was a cofounder of the Circle in the Square Theatre in 1951, which many consider to be the birth of the Off Broadway theater scene. Quintero was also responsible for mounting the first important productions of Eugene O’Neil’s plays in America. He was a true theater legend.
The Skin of Our Teeth.
The play was being produced by the Kennedy Center to celebrate the upcoming Bicentennial Birthday of America. It was being touted as the biggest, most prestigious production that year. The stars in it were Elizabeth Ashley, red hot having just done
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
on Broadway; Alfred Drake, legendary Broadway musical star; and Martha Scott, who played Emily in the original production of Wilder’s most famous play,
Our Town
. If that wasn’t enough pressure, José Quintero was directing the play. He was a cofounder of the Circle in the Square Theatre in 1951, which many consider to be the birth of the Off Broadway theater scene. Quintero was also responsible for mounting the first important productions of Eugene O’Neil’s plays in America. He was a true theater legend.
I ran to a bookstore, got a copy of
Skin,
read it, and dashed off to my meeting with Mr. Quintero. While the messenger boy wasn’t a starring role, the character did have an important four-page scene where he was the focus of the action. I prepped for the reading and sat in the casting office, trying to keep relaxed and focused. I also had a book with me, Henry Miller’s
Tropic of Cancer
. I hadn’t read it yet, but I thought I’d keep it visible when I met with Quintero. One of my biggest fears was being perceived as a flakey TV actor from Hollyweird. I hoped that just the sight of the book in my hands might enhance my intellectual stature. I was looking for any edge I could find, no matter how superficial. At last, a casting assistant called my name.
Skin,
read it, and dashed off to my meeting with Mr. Quintero. While the messenger boy wasn’t a starring role, the character did have an important four-page scene where he was the focus of the action. I prepped for the reading and sat in the casting office, trying to keep relaxed and focused. I also had a book with me, Henry Miller’s
Tropic of Cancer
. I hadn’t read it yet, but I thought I’d keep it visible when I met with Quintero. One of my biggest fears was being perceived as a flakey TV actor from Hollyweird. I hoped that just the sight of the book in my hands might enhance my intellectual stature. I was looking for any edge I could find, no matter how superficial. At last, a casting assistant called my name.
I entered an inner office to find Quintero sitting alone. The usual anonymous faces, other producers and casting directors, were oddly absent from the audition room. Quintero rose to his feet and extended his hand to greet me. He was a big man of Panamanian descent with dark bronzed skin and a pearly white smile. He immediately noticed
Tropic of Cancer
in my hands, and his face lit up.
Tropic of Cancer
in my hands, and his face lit up.
“How do you like the book?” he said.
Uh-oh. The book was just going to be a prop, something to burnish my intellectual image. Now the director wanted to discuss it in depth.
What the hell was I thinking? This was going to be my undoing.
What the hell was I thinking? This was going to be my undoing.
I responded with some generic praise and quickly shifted the conversation over to Henry Miller’s lectures that I stage-managed at my old acting school. The conversation mercifully veered into questions about Jack Garfein, whom Quintero knew. We had a lively talk about our mutual friend, and I started to relax, enjoying the chat.
I’ve always felt that a little animated conversation at an audition helps to book the job. It lets people in the room see who you really are. On the other hand, if the schmoozing goes on too long, you can lose your focus on the all-important reading. An actor never lands a role because his anecdotes were better than his reading. At last the conversation came to a lull, and I figured it was time we got to work.
Quintero studied me with his piercing brown eyes, like a poker player holding all the aces. The silence started to feel awkward. I lifted my play, ready to read my scene with him.
He finally said, “Very nice to meet you. Thank you for coming in.”
My heart dropped like an anchor.
What? No reading? What’s going on?
What? No reading? What’s going on?
Quintero thanked me a second time. When the director thanks you for coming, not just once but twice, he is saying you should leave the room, now.
I understood the
audition-speak
and stood up, shell-shocked. I shuffled out of the room without reading a single line of dialogue. I’d failed at my first and, probably last, New York audition.
audition-speak
and stood up, shell-shocked. I shuffled out of the room without reading a single line of dialogue. I’d failed at my first and, probably last, New York audition.
I walked up Broadway in a daze, heading back to my uncle’s place on West End Avenue and 71st Street. I replayed the meeting in my mind.
What did I do wrong? He must’ve seen some flaw in my character.
I was, after all, flaunting a book that I’d never read. That was dumb. My shame shifted to anger. At least they let you
read
your audition scene at Hollywood interviews. Even if you’re a moron, they give you your shot. New York was even tougher and colder than I’d heard.
What did I do wrong? He must’ve seen some flaw in my character.
I was, after all, flaunting a book that I’d never read. That was dumb. My shame shifted to anger. At least they let you
read
your audition scene at Hollywood interviews. Even if you’re a moron, they give you your shot. New York was even tougher and colder than I’d heard.
I entered my uncle’s apartment and flopped onto the sofa, numb from Quintero’s sucker-punch. The phone’s answering machine had a red light blinking, so I pushed the playback button.
Stark Hesseltine’s voice crackled, “Barry, they want to book you for the role you read for in
The Skin of Our Teeth.
Give me a call. Congratulations.”
The Skin of Our Teeth.
Give me a call. Congratulations.”
I said aloud, “The part I read for? I didn’t read for anything!”
I was shell-shocked, again, in a good way this time. I couldn’t believe it. I played the message two more times to confirm what I’d heard, and it started to sink in:
The first New York audition I ever went to, for the biggest production of the year, and I got it! Damn!
The first New York audition I ever went to, for the biggest production of the year, and I got it! Damn!
Then, insecurity replaced my elation. I wondered if Quintero realized that I’ve never done any professional theater work before. I’d been in a couple of high school plays and did scenes galore at the Actors and Directors Lab, but that was nothing compared to being in the biggest play of the upcoming Broadway season. I got the shivers.
My Uncle Bernard came home and I announced the news. Being a lifelong New Yorker and very knowledgeable about the theater, he tried to put my fears to rest.
“Quintero never has an actor read for a role,” he said. “It’s belittling. If the casting director brings you in to meet him, he assumes you’ve got talent. You’re going to do fine.”
I tried to take his encouragement to heart, but the goose bumps remained.
I found out later that my uncle was right about Quintero. He doesn’t have actors
read
for him. He’s more interested in the person’s character and personality, hoping it will fit the role he’s trying to fill.
read
for him. He’s more interested in the person’s character and personality, hoping it will fit the role he’s trying to fill.
Apparently, Quintero saw something in me that fit Messenger Boy, a character who is a bit of a braggart and an exaggerator. Maybe he could tell that I hadn’t read
Tropic of Cancer
after all. Whatever the case, I was headed for Broadway.
Tropic of Cancer
after all. Whatever the case, I was headed for Broadway.
Rehearsals commenced four weeks later. The first morning we sat in a big circle. José announced that he had no great vision or personal theme that he wanted to impose on us. It wasn’t a confession of inadequacy or lack of intellectual perception. His plan was to find the reality of the play as our rehearsals evolved, through our mutual exploration of Thornton Wilder’s words. The end result would be organic and truthful. This was the process that Quintero used on all of his plays. It became clear that this was not going to be a network TV kind of experience.
The first reading of the play by the actors began, and I was all eyes and ears. Elizabeth Ashley approached her role with Southern sass and free-flowing intensity. She was playing the part of Sabrina, the outspoken maid who lives with the play’s Antrobus family.
Alfred Drake was cast as Mr. Antrobus. Known best for his work in musicals like
Kismet
and
Oklahoma!
Drake read his words as if reading notes off a musical chart, going high and then low. Frankly, he gave his best performance on that first day. Not much changed after that.
Kismet
and
Oklahoma!
Drake read his words as if reading notes off a musical chart, going high and then low. Frankly, he gave his best performance on that first day. Not much changed after that.
Martha Scott, who was playing Mrs. Antrobus, projected an earth mother quality, grounded yet playful.
Steve Railsback was cast in the pivotal role of the son, Henry Antrobus, a part that was originally played by Montgomery Clift in the first
Skin
production in the 1940s. Railsback impressed me the most in that first reading. He had a brooding, dangerous aura that was perfect for the role Henry, a character that was a surrogate for the Bible’s evil son, Cain. Railsback’s charisma and explosive anger served him well years later when he stunned television audiences playing Charles Manson in the TV miniseries,
Helter Skelter.
Skin
production in the 1940s. Railsback impressed me the most in that first reading. He had a brooding, dangerous aura that was perfect for the role Henry, a character that was a surrogate for the Bible’s evil son, Cain. Railsback’s charisma and explosive anger served him well years later when he stunned television audiences playing Charles Manson in the TV miniseries,
Helter Skelter.
After the reading, I wanted to get to know Railsback better. He seemed to be the cast member closest to my age. I was hoping to make a friend, or it was going to be a long, lonely journey. After a bit of small talk, Railsback asked if I wanted to go with him to a surprise birthday party at the Actors Studio where he was a member. I was hesitant, not knowing the guest of honor. Railsback assured me it would be okay. I asked who the party was for.
“Elia Kazan,” he said.
Elia Kazan? Director of
A Street Car Named Desire, On the Waterfront,
and
East of Eden
? One of the greatest film directors of all time? Hell, yes, I’d like to go to the party!
A Street Car Named Desire, On the Waterfront,
and
East of Eden
? One of the greatest film directors of all time? Hell, yes, I’d like to go to the party!
Going inside the New York Actors Studio on 44th Street was like entering the Vatican of acting schools. This was the training ground for so many great artists: James Dean, Marlon Brando, Marilyn Monroe, Al Pacino; the list of former well-known students goes on and on. The place reeks of history and importance.
We located Kazan. The party had already begun, and actors and actresses surrounded the director. Some of the guests were famous faces while others were up-and-comers like Harvey Keitel, Treat Williams, and Mickey Rourke. Kazan greeted Railsback like a son. The great director had, in fact, discovered Railsback and given him his first lead role in the film
The Visitors.
What an amazing day: Broadway rehearsals in the morning, parties for Kazan in the afternoon.
The Visitors.
What an amazing day: Broadway rehearsals in the morning, parties for Kazan in the afternoon.
After the party, Railsback and I taxied across town to the East Side. His girlfriend, Wendy Sherman, cooked us dinner, a healthy organic cheese and onion pie. Over our meal, he confessed that he was a huge fan of
My Three Sons
when he was growing up in Texas. He said that he couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw me sitting among the cast members earlier that day. That caught me by surprise. I have always been so naive about the impact of
Sons.
He sounded more in awe of me than I was of him. That day was the beginning of another hugely influential and important friendship. Railsback became a great inspiration, in my acting and in my life. He still is.
My Three Sons
when he was growing up in Texas. He said that he couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw me sitting among the cast members earlier that day. That caught me by surprise. I have always been so naive about the impact of
Sons.
He sounded more in awe of me than I was of him. That day was the beginning of another hugely influential and important friendship. Railsback became a great inspiration, in my acting and in my life. He still is.
Rehearsals plowed forward. One of the biggest problems Quintero faced was blending the different acting styles among the show’s stars. Elizabeth Ashley was mercurial, unpredictable, and prone to improvise upon Wilder’s text. She was crafting a character that existed in her own universe. In contrast, Martha Scott was religiously faithful to Wilder’s words and thrived on what the other actors were giving. Alfred Drake was working in his own vacuum, too. From day one, his performance seemed as choreographed and preplanned as a dance step. Once he had rehearsed a scene a couple of times, his performance hardened like cement. Railsback, on the other hand, was full of real emotion and spontaneity, having trained at the Actors Studio.
After work one day, Railsback told me that he accidentally stepped on Drake’s foot in a scene they were rehearsing. The grand old man of musical theater didn’t bat an eyelash, completely ignoring the fact that his shoe was pinned to the floor. Steve said he purposely pressed harder with his boot to see if he could get a reaction from Drake, anything that resembled human emotion. The elder actor ignored the pain and plowed ahead, singing his lines without a care in the world. Not exactly “in the moment” acting.
As for my big scene, I was the Messenger Boy who bursts into the Antrobuses’ home to warn them about the dangers of a new ice age that’s occurring. For those of you who’ve never read
The Skin of Our Teeth,
the play follows the Antrobus family through the trials of three historical epochs: act one takes place during the ice age; act two is in modern times at a Shriner’s convention where corruption and vice run amuck; act three is set in the future, after the apocalypse.
The Skin of Our Teeth,
the play follows the Antrobus family through the trials of three historical epochs: act one takes place during the ice age; act two is in modern times at a Shriner’s convention where corruption and vice run amuck; act three is set in the future, after the apocalypse.
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