Serving Celebrities: The Complete Collection (27 page)

Stella’s classes could range from sheer brilliance to utter agony. She was at her best breaking down playwrights. Her Script Interpretation classes were a master class on playwriting; most of the authors she knew personally and so she had that edge. But what she could get out of text as far as a character’s circumstances and personality traits was nothing less than brilliant. Her scene class was always interesting and most times it was Stella’s biggest performance. She knew she was center stage and put everything into it. Stella’s technique class was mostly about her passion for teaching and the legacy that she hoped to pass onto her most serious students, who had the patience to do the work. On our first day in technique the class was over three hundred people strong. I mentioned to one of the school’s administrators that I felt the class was too big. “Wait,” he assured me, “it will thin out.” After six weeks we were down to a hundred, by the end of the first year there was only thirty of us -- most us finished out the final two years together (having worked in the office, I knew as much as Stella loved words, the one word she didn’t recognize was
refund)
.

In all her classes you had to work or you better not show up unprepared, or even worse, under-prepared and you’ve tried to throw it together quickly -- she saw through that like x-ray vision. I’ve seen her rip a person to pieces in front of a scene class when she suspected that an actor was unprepared and they thought they were going to just “wing it” -- bad idea. Don’t bring in that half-baked performance, she’s going to see through it in a minute and the rest of the class could be you trying to justify every single choice you’ve made.

Oh, and don’t fight her -- there was no winning. Stella had seen it all and had heard it all. I had once worked out this monologue from
Glass Menagerie
and I was determined to make it all the way through without stopping (Stella and almost all my teachers would cut you short as soon as they stopped believing what you said was real -- so everyone got stopped). But I was determined to get through this monologue; even if Stella tried to stop me. I was doing fine, somewhere in the second sentence, Stella screamed, “Stop.” But I kept storming along. Again, she screamed, “Stop!!!” But I wasn’t stopping for anything. I could tell by now the audience had realized what I was doing, “Stop!!! Stop!!!” But that was not happening. Out of the corner of my eye, I picked up Stella’s movement, as she snatched the black loose-leaf notebook from the class’s monitor (a lesser teacher, who spent most of their time trying to keep Stella on subject, “Now, moving from Ronald Reagan selling out the country and back to Strindberg’s
Miss Julie
”). Stella was eighty at the time but I’m sure Wade Boggs couldn’t have made the throw she made, from a sitting position, the book winged at me, pages flying out of it. At the last moment, I ducked and the note book crashed to the floor on the stage behind me. A huge gasp escaped from the audience at my open defiance of Stella Adler. Stella slowly stood and yelled, “By God, you had better stop or I’m going to come over there and tackle you.” Challenging Stella in pushing a monologue through was one thing, being physically subdued by a limping geriatric would probably damage my reputation in both the business and my working-scholarship, let alone my what it would do to my own ego. “Hey, are you the guy who Stella Adler choked-out?”

I stopped -- Stella crucified me for my ignoring her. All I really wanted to do was finish my monologue with no regard to what I was actually saying. I not only defied Stella, I blasphemed Tennessee Williams, a major sin. Why don’t I just burn down the theater? All I needed was a cross and a crown of thorns, and I could have taken my place around the corner in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral.
Interesting aside; I was part of a scene from Incident at Vichy that made it all the way to end and we were never stopped. When we finished and said, “Scene,” the whole scene class turned to Stella to see how she judged us. Stella gave an unenthused waved her hand and said, “Eeech!” -- Success!!! We were stars in class for the rest of the term. I can’t recall one other scene in the three years that I studied at the Conservatory to go from start to finish without an interruption.

Another of my jobs was to accompany Stella home from school, on the nights she taught. Stella lived on Fifth Avenue and Eighty-Third Street, across from the Metropolitan Museum. I lived in on Eighty-Eighth Street and Third Avenue, in a basement, one bedroom apartment, with two other guys. I lived the closest to Stella among the staff (a mere nine blocks away even though we had much different lifestyles). I would help Miss Adler (we were to call her Miss Adler, “This is school is not a democracy -- it’s a dictatorship and you will call me Miss Adler,” she once informed me when I slipped and called her by her first name) with her bags and her dogs (she had two of them, small terriers, Lulie and Jojo), I would hail a cab and ride up to her house, then make sure she and the dogs were settled for the night and I would walk home; where my room-mates were usually getting stoned and working on their plans to save the world, or at the least, maybe, get a girl to come to our apartment.

The best part of my job was the cab ride to Miss Adler’s house. For a half an hour, three days a week (Stella taught two technique classes, a scene study class and a script interpretation class -- one of the technique classes fell on the same day as the scene study class) I would have Miss Adler all to myself. Most of the time she would start and ask me what I thought of today’s work. I would then ask her all the questions I was too afraid to ask her in class. Most of the time she knew pretty quick where I was confused or over-thinking something. Other times she would tell me about people in her life and productions she was in. We spoke of Harold Clurman (her second husband) Clifford Odets (she was very close to him) and the Group Theatre. She spoke often of her father, Jacob Adler (the great Yiddish actor, of the early twentieth century) her mother (also an actress) and her family. Every once and a while she would love to drop stories of Marlon Brando -- she loved Marlon. She would talk of him like he was still her student -- she thought he was a genius (as many did). I would just sit there and listen, I couldn’t believe that I was riding in the same car with this woman... and that she would actually talk to me.

On one of these trips uptown to her apartment, Miss Adler and I were riding quietly in the car, the dogs resting on our laps. Out of nowhere, Stella turned to me and asked, “Darling? (Stella called everyone “Darling.” It was very affected but all you had to do was say, “Darling,” at the beginning of a sentence and everyone knew you were imitating Stella) If you had the choice, what would you choose to work in, the theater or films?” It’s pretty easy -- I know the right answer, but I did want to work in film. should I lie and tell her that I want work in the theater (the right answer) or tell the truth (obviously, the wrong answer?). Feeling that I should at least respect her enough to honestly answer the question, I replied, “I would like to work in film, Miss Adler.” Stella nodded, almost agreeing, “Yes, a young man like you would want to work in film -- it’s the media of your time. I can see that.” In my mind, I’m saying, “That wasn’t hard -- I underestimated her. See it is good to tell the truth.” Stella turned away and was quiet. I felt very pleased for being true to my feelings... when suddenly, Stella turned to me and growled, “You Bastard!!!” She didn’t talk to me the rest of the ride up Madison Avenue.

Occasionally, I would have to take Miss Adler and her maid, Gloria, to Stella’s house in South Hampton. Miss Adler would go there on weekends and someone would have to drive her. Sometimes I would stay the weekend with her which could be fun, and at the least, interesting. Most of the weekend was just swimming in the pool and going to lunch and dinner with Stella. But there would also be the times where I would be able to just chat with her. We would talk about politics, theater, the world. Stella always claimed to be Russian (her family was from Odessa) and would love to have been a socialist if it didn’t include her having to give up her money. It was always interesting to listen to someone talk about Communism when you knew that they lived on Fifth Avenue. Stella was not a Communist, though she was gray-listed (other members of the Group Theatre were called to testify in the HUAC hearings, Elia Kazan and Clifford Odets named names. Because of this, everyone else in the Group was black-listed by association). Stella wore it like a badge of honor.

On one of my first weekends in the Hamptons, Miss Adler told me that she was going to drive me and Gloria to dinner. I wasn’t sure, so I called the administrator at the studio, Eddie, and asked if it was all right if Stella drove. “NO - NO - NO!!!” screamed Eddie over the phone, “Bill, don’t let her drive. She doesn’t have a driver’s license and she hasn’t driven in decades -- don’t let her drive.” It’s probably the only time that I put my foot down with her, also, Eddie pointed out that the insurance on the rent-a-car was in my name. I had to put my foot down.

Whenever we would go on these weekends, we would always rent a car and I would drive Stella and Gloria out to the summer house. All the way out to the island, Stella would promise that she would buy Gloria and myself lunch... at McDonald’s. I was always kind of amused at her promise and her excitement when we arrived at the Hampton’s McDonalds’s. She would take some French fries into her fingers and feed herself, announcing, “You just eat them with your fingers.” Stella Adler very much enjoyed her McDonald’s stop, leaving me and Gloria in wonder. Sometime later, I told Eddie about it and he explained, “You have to realize that Stella, for almost all of her life, if she went out to eat, had to dress, go to a restaurant, sit down, wait, eat in courses and finally, wait to pay. At McDonald’s, you drive in, order, eat in your car and drive out. It was so different than her life.” I started to understand, “You can eat them with your fingers.”

I watched Stella teach every day for almost three years. She would drive her students to find not the easiest choice but the most honest. She believed that between research and the understanding of human nature would bring out the best in any actor. She would say, “Your talent is in your choice.” For me it has been almost a banner that I’ve lived under most of my life. It’s your choices in life that lead you on your way. And the best choices are made when you’re well informed and searching for the truth. Stella believed in honesty, I like to think I’ve taken her mantle and have continued her quest in everything I write. It’s all about honesty and passion -- just like Stella. Another thing that Stella said often, was “The reason people want to make a life in the theater is to give back to the theater what theater had given to them.” I don’t know what I could give back to the theater but I know I could never pay Stella Adler back. I owe her so much.

Nia Vardalos, Greek Girl Makes Good

I
have met a lot of celebrities; some of them I knew before they were famous most were already stars when I waited on them. I met Nia Vardalos when she was only my sister’s friend. My sister, Dee, and Nia were both in Second City in Chicago together.

I first met Nia at her house when she and her husband, Ian Gomez (another very successful actor in his own right) threw a baby-shower for my sister and my soon-to-arrive nephew. It was a very interesting party for me; I would learn an important lesson. While standing with some of the improvisers from Second City, (including George Wendt) I thought I would throw a witty aside in…
and got nothing but crickets in return.
Not only did I quiet the witty repartee of the rest of party guests, I realized my quick answer was about four jokes behind the rest of the conversation. These guys were not only good, but fast. I felt like the doddering celebrity guest on
Jeopardy
who is still answering the last question as Alex started the next one. That was the last time I tried to say anything funny at any of my sister’s parties -- fifteen years later (most of my sister’s friends think I’m a mute -- who lives under her house) I haven’t even asked for a chip.

Nia and Ian were very nice and never brought up my silencing the comedians again. Every once and a while I would run into them at my sister’s house or at a show of one of their friends, Nia would always said, “hi,” making sure I could clearly read her lips (wait, I was mute -- not deaf). One day I met Nia and Ian (I just noticed that their names are anagrams -- freaky) coming out of my sister’s front door. Nia stopped me to hand me a bill about her one woman show.

I need to stop here and talk about “One Man -- One Woman shows. Most “One man/woman shows” are showcases for actors and writers to show off their craft, to display their acting talent, expose how special they are, to reveal to us every boring and pathetic, little thing in their lives. Everyone in New York and Los Angeles has a screenplay to sell and their one person show. I had a friend who told me once that a guy hit him while making an illegal left turn and after they exchanged their information, the offender gave my friend an invitation to his one man show
Drunk Driving
, not a particularly good move (My friend got a brand new car out of it). Unfortunately, most of the shows are terrible, boring, dumb, a big waste of three hours you will never get back. My sister’s Second City friends all had one person shows -- many of them were very funny. But there was the others that were only sad; where suddenly you find yourself whispering to the person you’re with, “Let’s sneak out during her next suicide attempt...”

Of course, Nia had her own one woman show… and it was called, get this,
My Big Fat Greek Wedding.
Just who would want spend two hours (hopefully it would only be two hours) listening to some woman talking about her wedding. So I said, “I would love to come. I can’t wait” (nice time to stop being a mute). But the great thing about life -- is it goes on. I forgot about the show and went on about my business. Until, I ran into Nia at Ross Dress for Less, where she told me how well her show was doing and that I should come and see it. I smiled, “Sure, I’ll try to get over there.” After she left me, I removed the package of tightie-whitie underwear from inside my shirt, where I was hiding it (I don’t know why -- she’s a girl. Maybe she doesn’t know men wear under shorts) and continued looking for cheap clothes that didn’t make me look like I was a leprechaun gang-banger.

I was working at the Writers Guild. One Sunday, my boss had me come in because the Guild was hosting an award show for the Los Angeles theatre. As I was getting into an elevator, I ran into Nia and Ian stepping out. Nia happily told me that her play had won a Drama Desk award and that Rita Wilson and Tom Hanks had optioned it. I congratulated her and went to Starbucks. On the way over for coffee, I had to laugh at her naiveté -- you don’t tell someone that Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson optioned your play. You make up some unheard of company and lie that they “love it” -- at least, that’s what I do. If you use some bland company like Acme Movies, who is going to remember it? Really -- who is going to believe that Tom Hanks is going to buy some play about a Greek wedding? Not me.

Months later I ran into Nia on the street, figuring I would get a jab in, I asked her what was happening with her play. She smiled sweetly and said that Tom had let her write the first draft of the screenplay and decided to let her play the lead role… wow, this woman doesn’t not know when to stop -- you lost me at “Tom Hanks optioned my play.” I mean, let’s have some sense of reality, please. I was kind of insulted that she thought I was that stupid.

My new girlfriend and I went to see my sister in some musical in a small theater in Hollywood. Who sits next us, Nia and Ian? Of course, I have to bring up the show. Nia tells me that they have just finished principle photography in Canada and the film stars John Corbett and Andrea Martin. My girlfriend said, “I love John Corbett.” “He’s just as nice in person,” confirmed Nia. We wished her luck with the upcoming opening of the film and as we were leaving, I secretly informed my girlfriend that Nia “was delusional.” But she was nice and didn’t hit you up to read any religious material, so she was amusing.