Cause of Death: Linda Lavin
I am not an actor. Thank you, Linda Lavin.
Actually it's not all Linda Lavin's fault. I just had an unfortunate experience with her - and really, who doesn't know what that's like? Dying a hundred deaths while being humilated by TV's "Alice" - we've all gone through that, right?
Right?
I was in my junior year of Acting! school. I was also working as a waiter, so I was perpetually short on time. Linda Lavin and her then-husband Kip Niven had come to our university so that Mr. Niven could direct a production of a play in the summer arts festival. Linda Lavin offered to do an audition workshop for the students on a Saturday.
I had to work later that day, so I asked the student stage manager who was arranging it all to put me first on the list. I had no time, so I did what I usually did in those situations: I pulled something out of my ass and hoped I could skate through. We were supposed to do a monologue and a song; looking back, I know that my choice of material was spectacularly wrong. I also hadn't worked on them all that much. I figured I would go first and it would all be overwith quickly.
Wrong, wrong, and wrong.
I went out onto the stage, with the stage lights on full; Linda Lavin was somewhere Out There in the black void. I shlepped through my monologue. I did the song.
Silence from the void.
Then she began peppering me with questions. What did I think about my training? I sort of rambled through an answer - I liked school, I enjoyed my classes, blah de blah. She interrupted me, and asked again. What I realized was that she was saying something more along the lines of, "Do you think you have any training? Because you? Suck."
I don't remember how long I was up on that stage. Eons passed. Tectonic plates shifted. Crops grew and were harvested. Seasons passed in time-lapse splendor. Dynasties sprang up and were overthrown. And still I was there sweating under the stage lights, sitting on a stool, being lectured by Linda Lavin. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying.
Dying. Dying. Dying.
Dying.
After I was reduced to a small tidy pile of ash, the stage manager came out from the wings, swept me neatly into a dustpan, and deposited me backstage.
I learned several things that day. I began to realize that acting, while I enjoyed it, was not my passion the way writing was (side note: though I sucked that particular day, I wasn't bad in general.) I would crawl over broken glass for my music; as for acting, it was fun, but I didn't have the fire in my belly.
But more importantly, I learned that going through life with blinders on, it's tough to see. I had to get up, get out from under and look for me. There's a newwwww girl in town...
And the most important lesson: don't try to fake it by pulling something out of your ass. You can't fool Linda Lavin.
Actually it's not all Linda Lavin's fault. I just had an unfortunate experience with her - and really, who doesn't know what that's like? Dying a hundred deaths while being humilated by TV's "Alice" - we've all gone through that, right?
Right?
I was in my junior year of Acting! school. I was also working as a waiter, so I was perpetually short on time. Linda Lavin and her then-husband Kip Niven had come to our university so that Mr. Niven could direct a production of a play in the summer arts festival. Linda Lavin offered to do an audition workshop for the students on a Saturday.
I had to work later that day, so I asked the student stage manager who was arranging it all to put me first on the list. I had no time, so I did what I usually did in those situations: I pulled something out of my ass and hoped I could skate through. We were supposed to do a monologue and a song; looking back, I know that my choice of material was spectacularly wrong. I also hadn't worked on them all that much. I figured I would go first and it would all be overwith quickly.
Wrong, wrong, and wrong.
I went out onto the stage, with the stage lights on full; Linda Lavin was somewhere Out There in the black void. I shlepped through my monologue. I did the song.
Silence from the void.
Then she began peppering me with questions. What did I think about my training? I sort of rambled through an answer - I liked school, I enjoyed my classes, blah de blah. She interrupted me, and asked again. What I realized was that she was saying something more along the lines of, "Do you think you have any training? Because you? Suck."
I don't remember how long I was up on that stage. Eons passed. Tectonic plates shifted. Crops grew and were harvested. Seasons passed in time-lapse splendor. Dynasties sprang up and were overthrown. And still I was there sweating under the stage lights, sitting on a stool, being lectured by Linda Lavin. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying.
Dying. Dying. Dying.
Dying.
After I was reduced to a small tidy pile of ash, the stage manager came out from the wings, swept me neatly into a dustpan, and deposited me backstage.
I learned several things that day. I began to realize that acting, while I enjoyed it, was not my passion the way writing was (side note: though I sucked that particular day, I wasn't bad in general.) I would crawl over broken glass for my music; as for acting, it was fun, but I didn't have the fire in my belly.
But more importantly, I learned that going through life with blinders on, it's tough to see. I had to get up, get out from under and look for me. There's a newwwww girl in town...
And the most important lesson: don't try to fake it by pulling something out of your ass. You can't fool Linda Lavin.
posted by crumblord at 9:18 PM
8 Comments:
A comment in 2 parts:
1. If anyone should've hyphenated their name, it's Linda Lavin-Niven.
2. Well you certainly can write, sir.
He certainly doesn't do a very good job of acting like someone who turns the lights off when he leaves a room. (Am I sensing a thread here?) :)
jwer: Why thank you.
David: Maybe it's that I bring illumination wherever I go. Along with crumbs.
Linda Lavin can kiss my grits...
While the well-meaning frequently tell me I should have a column somewhere, it's far from effortless for me to write a series of coherent vignettes about anything, and I'm rarely even satisfied with the very ones they claim are so syndication-worthy.
Meanwhile, here you are, coming late to the blog party, and knocking off a crapload of just such posts...
You know what I think? You should have a column! (you know, to fill up all your spare time.)
I'll never watch "Alice" again.
You should have said, "You had the worst accent ever onstage in BROADWAY BOUND and then reused it again in GYPSY...and closed it in a week. Whore."
You should update your self on Linda Lavin. Whilst I have never been a particular fan of her work (I do not watch television), she has devoted many years to sponsoring opportunities for under privileged youth and working within a community to return poor neighbourhoods to dignity.
Cheers
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