Artistic Intervention: Help for the Terminally Untalented

The hardest part of living in Los Angeles isn’t putting up with the occasional floods, fires, earthquakes or riots. No, the most difficult thing is dealing with one’s untalented friends who, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, think they’re going to “make it.”

As a teenager growing up in Buffalo, reading artists’ biographies and writers’ memoirs like other boys read comic books, I thought having a circle of artistic friends would be delightful. I longed to emulate Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas and their Saturday night salons. Of course, in that more innocent era, artistic pretension was usually limited to poetry, painting or barbershop quartets. I don’t think Gertrude’s open-armed hospitality would have survived in late 20th century L.A. One evening trapped in conversation with alternative comedians, overbearing drag queens and financially impoverished low-budget filmmakers would have caused Gertrude to vow, “Never never never never again.”

The problem is that Americans are too optimistic a people. We’ve made the democratic mistake of granting artistic licenses to everyone who applies. Unwarranted artistic encouragement has spread to the extent that we actually have high schools for the arts. Filling an entire high school with students who want to become artists or performers makes as much sense as filling an entire high school with students who want to become politicians. There are already too many untalented people in both these fields. (Do the school bullies at high schools for the arts go on to become studio and network executives?) If anything, our educational system should initially discourage students from careers in the arts; if they persist, we can best prepare them by forcing them to work as waiters in the school cafeteria or temps in the principal’s office. (I also question the quality of an education gained from a high school for the arts, as everything my friend Tom knows about World War II he learned from “The Sound of Music.”)

My belief that something has to be done to stop the untalented crystallized during this year’s Gay Pride Parade, at which I witnessed a man dressed in drag doing mime. It was my worst nightmare: two forms of bad entertainment united in one shocking public display of affectation. An overweight and bearded adult male miming his impression of Karen Black in “Trilogy Of Terror”--why had no one informed him that this is a calling best left unanswered? Thankfully, there are a few areas in the arts where you will be stopped if you have no aptitude--there are very few struggling trapeze artists--but what are we to do with the rest of the terminally untalented?

As the opinions of audiences and critics seem to have little or no impact, I propose that it’s the responsibility of family and friends to intervene, in the way one might confront an alcoholic or drug abuser. I offer some examples that may be used as models for saving those for whom having a dream has become having a delusion.

THE INDEPENDENT FLIMMAKER

After it became known that director Quentin Tarantino had once worked in a video store, anyone who had ever rented a movie suddenly felt qualified to write and direct a low-budget independent film. For years, my friend Mark has been attempting to raise the money to make his first film. Middle-class filmmakers who would find it degrading to panhandle on the street have no difficulty panhandling in a living room after a script reading. Mark needs our help.

“Mark, the short film you made at UCLA--everyone said it was good because it was short. When you tell an anecdote, it’s too long, there’s no detail and you keep losing the point. What makes you think that with a $300,000 budget you’ll be able to tell a story any better? Mark, you don’t have a dark and brooding noir sensibility--you’re just bitter. Final cut: If you insist on working in the film industry, apply at Fotomat.”

THE ROCK STAR

Of all the performances that I’ve attended, seeing a friend’s band is my least favorite. Since the shows never start on time, forcing the audience to stand for hours in a smoky, crowded club, I’ve often thought that the perfect name for a rock band would be Ordeal. Then the music starts, and I find myself wishing I were still waiting. The last time I saw my friend Bill perform, I was reminded of Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin--and wishing I didn’t have to see Bill perform live as well. I wanted to go backstage and say:

“Bill . . . . No, I’m not going to call you ‘Sultan.’ Do you really believe people will think you’re the next Prince or Madonna? They’ll just think you’ve done so many drugs you can’t remember your real name. Bill, your life is not like a sad song, it’s just sad. Record executives tell you they don’t have time to watch your three-minute music video. Bill, at this point in your career, the only record deal you’re ever going to sign is the one where you get three CDs for 99 cents if you buy two more.”

THE “ALTERNATIVE” COMEDIAN

My friend Marissa insisted that I see her perform “alternative” comedy on a weekday night. For the uninitiated, there are three styles of alternative comedy: the Day-Planner, the Name-Drop and the Andy Kaufman. The Day-Planner is the recitation of something interesting that happened to the performer that day, for example, licking a stamp. The Name-Drop is a Hollywood anecdote, usually describing an encounter with a movie or television star, the point of which is always that the comic is cooler than the celebrity. The Andy Kaufman is the attempt to emulate that great comedian by behaving bizarrely. Unfortunately, most comedians who try to be bizarre prove the adage: Those who don’t remember the lessons of comedy history are in danger of repeating them--verbatim--and they were funnier the first time. After seeing her performance, I wanted to talk to Marissa.

“Marissa! You killed . . . the audience’s desire for live entertainment! Listen, here’s an observation for you. Did you ever notice how nobody laughs at your jokes?! Being completely unprepared for a performance isn’t improvisation, it’s incompetence. Everything you said on stage tonight was of the you-had-to-be-there school of comedy, and we wanted to know why we had to be there. Talking about your most intimate problems in public isn’t comedy, it’s group therapy. No, this won’t make a good bit for next week’s show. It’s not funny! Marissa, alternative comedy is starting to give performance art a good name.”

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THE ACTOR

Every Thursday morning my friend Ed buys his copy of Backstage West, hoping that this week there will finally be a casting call reading: “Mediocre aging actor needed for huge Broadway-bound musical. Must have recently earned Equity card after performing nonspeaking role of elf in poorly attended children’s theater production. Please, if you’re never cast in anything, come show us why.”

Occasionally, Ed does actually work, having recently portrayed a singing pillar in the live show of “Hercules” at the El Capitan Theater. When Ed told me that he had gotten the part, I thought: “It’s time to reconsider your acting career if the last supporting role you were offered was propping up a cornice.” My next thought was we should confront Ed at his regular place of employment.

“No, Ed, we’re not interested in the Grand Slam breakfast; we’ve come for another reason. Ed, the best part you’ve ever had is reciting the specials, and even then the material is beyond you. You’re just not going to make it--I know it sounds harsh, but wouldn’t you rather hear it from your friends than the critics and the party at Table 8? And please reconsider doing a one-man show! Don’t add ‘bad playwright’ to your resume. Ed, you’re too old to be doing this. If you flip through all of your 8-by-10s quickly it’s like a movie: ‘The Head Shot of Dorian Gray.’ At this point, your first big break will be a hip injury.”