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(Un)Becoming
(of) a Grandfather PAGE
TWO: "Some woman in Iowa will complain?" I offered. He nodded. I didn't like where this was going. But instead of asking me to lose them, or worse, having me swap underwear with one of the crew guys, he asked if I could scrunch up my boxers to make them look like briefs. It didn't make sense. I was either going to look like I had one weird-ass pair of briefs or a serious wedgie problem. All I really knew at that moment was that I truly don't understand this nation. In real life, the sleazy rapist waited until his drugged victim passed out in a chair, then he carried her to the bed. The director asked me if I was up to it. "No problem," I replied. And I meant it. Because in my mind I'm still an athletic 20-year-old with a strong back and knees, not some aging bag of bones moments away from being a grandfather. Besides, Michelle looked light enough. Of course I wasn't figuring she would be playing passed out so convincingly, which automatically doubles one's body weight. During the first rehearsal I almost lost my grip on Michelle. My knee buckled. My back threatened to explode. I quickly carried her to the bed then fell on top of her, which given the situation we were playing, I was able to get away with. "You okay?" the director asked with concern. I felt insulted. I'd like to see him do a better job. Poor actors, always exposed to an unforgiving world. People just don't understand our plight. The director asked if I was ready to go again. Of course I wasn't ready. Quite frankly I never wanted to do that again. But I wasn't about to give him or anyone else the satisfaction. Unprompted, Michelle offered, "I think I can play it more passed out." I nodded, then turned away so she couldn't see the tears in my eyes. We did seven takes in all. I had no idea I was working with the Stanley Kubrick of AMW directors. To my complete surprise nothing broke, tore or burst inside me. Except, perhaps, my pride. I felt a sense of relief thinking I had gotten through the toughest part. But I was wrong. Next thing I knew I was on top of Michelle, my shirt on, my boxers bunched up, simulating a sexual assault, which I had no idea how to do. I wish I could say it was the first time I suffered performance anxiety in bed. To make matters worse, there were dozens of voices screaming at me. It took a minute to realize they were all mine. My head was humming, "What are you doing? Am I supposed to be, I don't know, humping her? I'll just move this way and… Yikes, I accidentally touched her boob. Oh, good, she didn't notice. How could she not notice? That's right, she's playing passed out. Did she know it was an accident? Is she seething inside? Am I going to get sued? Good lord, now I touched the other boob. She thinks I'm a perv, I can tell. No I can't, I can't tell anything. I know she's acting, but when a guy's on top of you in bed he likes a little feedback. Jesus Christ, Jack will you shut up. Shut the fuck up. Oh my God, is it two hundred degrees in here? I'm sweating. Sweat's dripping on Michelle. She must think I'm a pig." Drip. "Don't sweat." Drip. "Stop it, think cool thoughts." Drip. "This is ridiculous. Can I call cut? It's no big deal; once, on a sitcom I wrote for, we had an actor call cut. Oh, that's right, he almost got fired. That guy was a dick." Drip. "Cut." Did I just call cut? No, phew, it was the director. He called for a break so he could reset the camera and Michelle and I could cool off. The director pulled me aside. "I know this is tough," he said, "but you're being… you're not being…" He was struggling to say something. I realized what was going on. I was screwing up and this poor guy was afraid of hurting my feelings because, that's right, he thought I was an actor. I'd been on his side so often, trying to figure out how to finesse a criticism. As a writer-producer you learn early on never to tell an actor he's wrong. I should have just told the director that I wasn't a real actor and that he could tell me I was screwing up because I'm used to it. As a writer there is an endless stream of people who will eagerly go out of their way to let you know you suck. Pitifully, I was enjoying the actor treatment too much. So I let him struggle. He finally said, "This isn't supposed to be nice. I need you to be more… rapey." I immediately felt horrible I had made him say it. There was only one way to make it up to him -- by being the rapiest I could possibly be. I saw Michelle on the balcony trying to cool down. I grabbed my cell phone and joined her. I had a voicemail from my wife. I was officially a grandfather, some time in the last few minutes, which placed me squarely on top of Michelle at the time of the birth. Probably while I was accidentally touching her boob. I felt like scum. I turned off the phone because I couldn't think off what else to do. Michelle smiled and shrugged, "Weird, huh?" I nodded. But I decided not to tell her about the grandfather thing because it was already beyond awkward. We made small talk, and then it was back to the bedroom. I'm not proud when I admit that I was a great deal more rapier. The director offered, "Real good job." I lifted myself off Michelle and said, "Thank God that's over with." Michelle didn't look happy. Maybe that's not what a woman wants to hear after you've spent the past 15 minutes on top of her. The next scene we shot was the early part of the date. We were supposed to act like two friends chatting it up, laughing and such, while I secretly drug her. We ad-libbed a conversation and they filmed it. The producer commented he liked the genuine casualness between the two of us. Of course I seemed casual, I had my pants back on. Besides, I was a grandfather now. Casual is all I have left to offer. I didn't tell anyone that I filmed an episode of AMW, which led to serious confusion when it aired a few weeks later. I never knew so many of my friends and extended family watch the show. And I doubt even half of them truly understood that I was only playing the date rapist. AMW has a long history of actors mistaken as actual criminals and then being chased down by the citizenry. I figured if that happened to me I was going to go down in style, shirt off, kicking out the back window of a police car, the whole thing being filmed for Cops. Indeed, the day after the episode aired I got pulled over by the LAPD. I had my story ready, how I'm not actually some sleazy date rapist but instead a highly skilled thespian. It turned out I simply had a license plate problem. The officer wrote me a ticket and I drove away feeling a little down. She didn't mistake me for a date rapist. Either she hadn't seen the show or, if she did, my performance made absolutely no impact. All I wanted was a little validation. Later I realized how ridiculous I was being. Validation? That's something insecure actors need. I'm neither insecure nor an actor. Being a grandpa is all the validation I need. Hell, I'll even climb up a mountaintop and yell for all to hear, "I am a proud grandpa!" Because I want the whole world to know that that's all that really matters. Of course if a casting director happens to hear it, well, I'd just like to make it clear that I can definitely play younger.
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We
shot the scenes in a sweltering apartment. As the director sketched
out the date rape scene, he too inquired about my underwear. When
I answered "boxers," he made a face, then told me the
boxers could be a problem.
