Love Life (17 page)

“But you’d be
so
great in this!” they said.

It was a fantastic role, and I could easily see myself doing it and having a blast. I was positive and enthusiastic with them but noncommittal.

I was torn.
Grey’s
was a much better script; in fact there was no
comparison. But
Dr. Vegas
had potential to become something more original than a hospital soap. I asked my manager how ABC felt about the show and my joining it. The network never responded. On the other hand, at CBS the attention was relentless.

“I understand they want you for some show on ABC,” Les said the next day. “Let me tell you how it is. ABC is the lowest-rated network on television. They haven’t had a new hit in years. They haven’t launched a successful new
drama
in
eleven seasons
! What makes you think this show will be any different?” They were all true and important points.

“At CBS we have
all
the top dramas and have new ones that break out every year. We make hits and we know how to sell them once we do. You deserve to be with us.”

Les was too much of a gentleman to mention that we also had a deal in spirit, although it would hardly have been the first time one went south at the eleventh hour: “Let’s make a show!” he said.

In life you have to put yourself in the best position to win. A great playbook means nothing if you don’t have the right people to execute it. Also, I’ve always subscribed to the theory that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. Year after year after year, all of ABC’s new dramas flopped. CBS was on a hot streak that continues to this day. Although
Grey’s Anatomy
was a far better script, I chose
Dr. Vegas
. The odds were just too stacked.

Unfortunately, I had just eaten what my pal Mike Myers would call a “wish sandwich.” Which is to say that in lieu of something tangible (and edible) I instead chose a “vision,” a “promise” of what could and should be, “potential” and “hope,” something I “wished” to transform into something better, and swallowed it whole. I hadn’t yet learned that even if you are lucky enough to have collaborators who are creatively on the same page, it is extraordinarily difficult to
take the seeds of an idea in a script and grow them into trees. And it’s almost impossible to convince anyone to cut down the big themes they’ve already written to make room for your saplings. But I thought I could. I “wished” I could. I was convinced I could take what I saw in my head and make it real. Time would tell.

The first order of business was casting.

More than anything else, I wanted to bring edge and real dramatic stakes to the show. I wanted to get rid of the “soft” elements, of which there were many. I hoped to accomplish this two ways: by staying away from story lines that had no real, believable jeopardy for the show’s characters and by casting actors who had true depth. For the costarring part of the casino owner, I wanted the not-yet-commonly-known-as-bat-shit-crazy Tom Sizemore.

This was before his numerous drug busts and scrapes with the law, before the reality TV show and fourth, fifth and sixth chances. He was still “Sarge” from
Saving Private Ryan
. He was the stud actor from Michael Mann’s
Heat
. He was the new Gene Hackman, but with sexual danger. He was the
exact
flavor I was looking for as a template for the show’s tone. A dangerous, great actor with charisma.

No one liked the idea. In fairness, Tom had just had a failed show on CBS and there were rumors of misbehavior. There was a push for Joey Pantoliano, whom I loved in
The Sopranos
.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a lawyer, a soldier, a dude at a bar trying to close with a girl or an actor producing a TV show: You’ve got to know when to fold your hand. Keeping your capital and living to fight the battles you might actually win is critical.

“I’d love to work with Joey,” I said. I knew he could go as dark as I wanted and, unlike Tom, could handle a joke if needed. Also, I knew he was one of the great pros in the business.

Joey was cast.

For the part of my nurse and will-they-or-won’t-they love interest,
we all agreed on Amy Adams after seeing her in
Catch Me If
You Can
. Clearly, she was a substantive actress, beautiful but not in a TV way and very, very smart. And together, she and I had the one thing you can’t fake: chemistry.

The last remaining lead role was the casino host, a character who would be the “fixer” for any of the hotel’s issues.

“What about Sizemore for
that
?” I asked. “C’mon, guys. He’s one of the greatest character actors of our generation!” I said, pushing.

No one disagreed, but still they thought Tom was a huge liability. Maybe being fourteen years sober at the time had something to do with my confidence that I could be a positive influence if needed.

“I will be all over him. I will keep him together,” I said. I also believe in redemption and the importance of second chances. And I
hate
whisper campaigns about any actor’s being “difficult.” In my experience it’s usually the other way around. The “troublesome” performer is often just doing whatever it takes to protect their work or the project in the face of nincompoops and others who don’t give a shit. It’s the actor’s face on the screen, after all.

Begrudgingly, an offer was made to Tom Sizemore. When they couldn’t come to terms, I paid for the difference out of my own salary. Finally Tom was in.

Soon, I would learn the veracity of the clichés “Be careful what you wish for”
and
“No good deed goes unpunished.”

One day, in the production office, I noticed a stream of stunning, leggy blondes filing in and out of the casting department.

I discovered, to my horror, that without informing me, there had been a mandate to “sex up” the cast. A new character, a hot, blond waitress, had been created to fill the quota.

I was upset. I was the lead actor, I was a producer and at some point, clearly, I would be playing footsie with this new hottie. How
could an entire story line and character have been created without my being in the loop?

I had to stand up for myself and the vision of the show I
thought
we’d all agreed on. “I have Amy Adams as a love interest already!” I pointed out.

“Amy Adams is not sexy enough to be the love interest,” I was told.

What makes an actor a star is among the more subjective concepts one can debate. I believed that Amy was not only a star but perfectly capable of being anyone’s love interest. But there was no way to prove it. So, again, I backed down, knowing I couldn’t win and not wanting to be a lone dissenting voice. At that point in my career, I was still operating under the theory that if you gave in to “the powers that be,” down the road you would in return have some goodwill to use as collateral.

And so our cast had a surprise late addition. Sarah Lancaster, a beautiful and kind twentysomething, became the show’s last lead part.

We began shooting
Dr. Vegas
at two
A.M.
in the casino of the Green Valley Inn. We would start at that time every day and finish at two
P.M.
, maybe the worst hours imaginable. You couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. But it was the only way to use their casino.

After the first week the director was fired. When we got to our second episode a new head writer was brought in. Again, the early warning signs were everywhere. But I was glad that my bosses were on top of it and willing to make changes to improve the show. There was no laissez-faire self-delusion this time.

As with
The Lyon’s Den
, I really enjoyed the crew and our great cast. Joey Pantoliano, or “Joey Pants,” as he is known to everyone, is one of the great characters in Hollywood. From
The Matrix
to
The Fugitive
to
The Sopranos
, he’s got great chops and anyone you ask loves him.

Recently, Joey had taken to using an earpiece when acting, à la Marlon Brando. He implanted a tiny transmitter into his left ear, into which his lines were read by an assistant sitting offstage. A hidden microphone in his costume relayed the dialogue spoken to him to the assistant so she knew when to prompt Joey. Sometimes I would forget he had this contraption on.

ME:
Hey, Joey, how was your weekend?

JOEY:
Good, man. Took it easy, rested. My wife and I caught up. What did you do this—

(Suddenly into his chest)

No, three
P.M.
doesn’t work for me. What? . . . No . . . I said three
P.M.
That’s right . . . okay . . . let me know.

(back to me)

Sorry, anyway, what did you do this weekend?

If you didn’t know that he was wearing an earpiece and talking to his hidden assistant, you might think he had Tourette’s syndrome. But Joey was a team player, always working to be his best, never phoning it in and always bringing his wonderful mix of humor and danger. He was a great arm to lean on, especially when the shit hit the fan once again, this time over Amy Adams.

Someone at the studio or the network (I didn’t know who; you never know the “who” involved when it’s a bad decision like this) wanted to drop Amy from the show. A number of reasons were given, but try as I might I could never get a straight read. Her full option to appear in all episodes of
Dr. Vegas
was not picked up. A compromise
was made and I got to hold on to her for as long as I could negotiate, which was six episodes. Obviously I was wildly unhappy and Amy wasn’t thrilled either about being out of a job.

I once was told that in the days of the Bible, wildfires and burning shrubs were fairly common. Back then you might see a burning bush on your daily morning commute into town. So when Moses saw the burning bush, what was significant was that he stopped and realized that this one was different.
This
burning bush was special. This one was a sign.

I try to hold on to the things I believe to be good and true. Good things happen to good people. Karma is real. There is a larger, better plan for us all if we stay positive, keep pushing and get out of our own way. But life can beat you down. Life loves to test your belief in the unprovable, your unsubstantiated faith in a larger goodwill. Sometimes it even feels like the more you believe, the more you are tested. And that’s when it’s very important not to mistake a burning bush for a random shrub fire.

With Amy’s sad departure from the show, I lost a very special actor and she lost a job. But for her, it would be a gift, and for me, it would be a sign. Amy had planned on starring with me on a hopefully big CBS drama and suddenly, that was over. So she was able to have a meeting on a movie she would have been otherwise unavailable for. The movie was
Junebug
, and she got the part. The role earned her an Academy Award nomination. It launched her into the A-list. The
Dr. Vegas
disaster was her gift. Sometimes you have to get fired to get hired.

On the days when I still doubt my love for the business, when I am sick of the double-speak and the dumbing down, when I tire of being judged project to project, when the realities that everyone faces in any line of work get me down, I remember that I was sent a sign. It wasn’t just another actor being replaced, it was a message: The “best” plans
unbuckle in an instant. Prepare to be disappointed and left without viable options. But also be prepared for this to be the greatest event that has ever happened to you. Like it was for Amy Adams. Like I believe it can be for all of us.

The day after
Dr. Vegas
premiered, I crawled out of my bed in the back of my Suburban to the sight of Joey Pants packing up his trailer.

“Saw our numbers last night. This one ain’t long for the world, pal,” he said, carrying a box of knickknacks to his car.

Joey was an alarmist and always dramatic. I do not allow myself the luxury of defeatism. “C’mon, man. We can turn it around!” I said, heading into another pre-sunrise rehearsal.

Hour-long shows have a rating at the first half hour and one in the second. When the first rating is good, it means they like the stars and the idea of the show. If the rating goes down in the second half hour it means they don’t like the episode itself. Usually it means the story didn’t hook them, so they bailed. It’s pretty simple and it’s a very clear message.

With the notable exceptions of
The West Wing
and
Parks and
Recreation, I almost never read an episode of TV and don’t think “This needs to be better.” But few shows have the level of writing that those shows have. It’s obvious and it’s right there on the page for all to see.

On
Dr. Vegas
our second-half ratings bore out my suspicions: Our stories were soft and needed teeth to hold the viewers.

Tom Sizemore had been doing great work on camera. Brooding, dark, sometimes funny but with a threat of real violence underneath. But the writing consistently steered away from anything even close
to dark, even with the new replacement head writer.
Dr. Vegas
’s tone was cutesy, faux-sexy, without any real tension and absolutely zero danger. It could not have been further away from a network version of
Nip
/
Tuck
. But I kept trying to drag it just a little closer.

I pitched a story line that I hoped would show the network that we could push the envelope. In the story line, Tom Sizemore’s character would kill a man with his bare hands. It would be retribution for the murder-robbery the man committed in our casino. As Tom killed the criminal, you would feel guilt about feeling so good about Tom as a vigilante. These morally ambivalent stories are today common on cable drama. But on big, highly viewed networks, particularly CBS, this would be very, very dark indeed. Showing very good faith, the studio and network let us give it a try. You can’t ask for more from your bosses.