Money in the bank

When I'm watching a tv show or a movie, there are always certain actors I'm happy to see. Actors who directors and audiences can rely on to give a great, complete, immersed in the character performance every time, with the uncannny ability to play any genre—comedy, drama, classical, farce, screwball, rom-com—all with the greatest of ease.

It's not easy, but these actors make it look that way.

Two of my favorites who deliver every time are Gary Cole and Margo Martindale. They are, as the saying goes, money in the bank.

I first saw Gary Cole in Fatal Vision, the story of Captain Jeffrey MacDonald, who murdered his pregnant wife and two daughters and tried to blame it on a Manson-like group of hippies. Cole has been reliably great in every role I've seen him in since.

One of my favorites was his portrayal of FBI Agent Baxter in A Simple Plan. I'm not going to spoil the surprise twist that his character takes in that role, but it is chilling. It's a great movie worth seeing, and Cole's performance, which comes near the end of the film, is one of the best reasons to watch it.

I'm sure I'd seen Margo Martindale before, but her performance as Hillary Swank's mom in Million Dollar Baby was the one that put her on the map for me. It's a joy for me every time I see her on screen. I especially liked her as the Russian handler in The Americans, and as Peter Florrick's campaign manager in The Good Wife.

Yes, I watched The Good Wife. Shut up.

There are many actors who may not be household names, but elevate whatever project they're in with their enormous talent, humility and committment. A dozen years ago, I wrote about another great one who's name almost no one knows but who's face almost everyone recognizes—Dabbs Greer.

Anyway, no funny little quips to end this. Just a tip of the hat, and a show of appreciation for real talent by two extradordinary actors that bring me pure joy, and some well-needed escape, every time I encounter them.

Ok. That's a wrap.

Hepinstall!

I like to think I have a pretty objective assessment of my talent when it comes to writing. Essentially, I'm not bad. In fact most of the time I'm pretty good. And occasionally, I bat one out of the park.

On those days, when I'm feeling pretty good about myself knowing I've said exactly what I wanted to say, I walk with a little spring in my step. A certain joie de vivre if you will, knowing I've strung a few choice words together people will enjoy reading and thinking about.

Those are the days I try not to think about Kathy Hepinstall. Because if I do, then I have to face the cold, bright glare of harsh reality that I can't come close to how very good she is.

Hepinstall is a writer's writer. Reading her words are a joy. I don't know how she manages to make me feel awe and jealousy at the same time, but somehow she pulls it off.

She has the priceless ability to make readers feel deeply, surprise them and then leave them breathless. For a sample of what I'm talking about, have a gander at her latest blogpost Jesus Would Take The Middle Seat.

I like to imagine the words don't come easy to her, and that she struggles with the same angst and durang I do every time she faces a blank page. I'd like to think that. It would bring me enormous misery-loves-company joy. But reading her work, seeing the ease, flow and specificity of the words tells another story.

Kathy's also written four or five novels - I've lost count. My idea of being productive is leaving a note on the door for the UPS guy. Clearly we have different approaches.

If I were half the writer she is, I'd be twice the writer I am.

Which tells me I should start thinking about math teacher as an alternative career choice.

Jean's dreams

Here's what won me over about Jean Kelley. It wasn't her voice, which is soulful and spectacular by the way. It was her humor.

When Jean appeared on this past season of The Voice, two chairs turned around for her: Gwen Stefani and Blake Shelton. When the judges were fighting over her, each trying to convince her to choose them, Blake Shelton said, "I have to have you on my team." To which Jean replied, "Do you now?"

BAM! Moxie. Brass. Nerve. A Jean Kelley fan was born.

A lot of people think of these talent shows as shortcuts to fame and fortune. In fact David Grohl has a famous rant about how musicians should pay their dues first, and how a judging panel can destroy them by telling them they're not good enough. But here's the thing: every musician has been told they're not good enough - it's the price of entry if you're going to pursue it.

And as any artist who's appeared on one of these shows will tell you, it's no guarantee of anything except the moment. I have great respect for anyone who appears on them - they're putting themselves out there in the most demanding, nerve-wracking way.

While those shows weren't around when Nirvana was, if they were Dave Grohl and the band might've given it a shot. The truth is now, they're another tool in the box, a means to an end.

Still, no matter where they place in the competition, artists still have to play small clubs, rude crowds, be opening acts no one wants to hear and put all their time, money and soul into finding an audience for their music.

If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter - and seriously, there are far better people to follow - you know I've been promoting Jean's Kickstarter campaign to fund her EP and tour. As of this writing, there are 5 days left to raise the remaining $12,600 she needs to make this first part of her dream a reality.

I've written here about how great if feels helping someone's dream come true. But of course the best way to find out if that's true is to open your wallet, fire up the credit card and see for yourself.

And I think helping to fund Jean Kelley would be a great place to start.

An open letter to Morongo Hotel & Casino

Dear Person In Charge Of Marketing,

Being a copywriter and creative director as long as I’ve been, I appreciate better than most people how difficult it is to create great advertising. Or even good advertising, you know, the kind that at a minimum gets the communication across in a somewhat entertaining, memorable, non-offensive manner.

And of all the mediums available, from broadcast to print to online, perhaps nowhere is that more true than radio. But then, I don’t have to tell you. I'm sure it's not the first time you've heard this, but your long-running radio campaign for Morongo ranks somewhere between an east-coast sewage spill and a crime against humanity.

I’ve tried to figure out exactly why I have this extreme reaction to your radio commercials. What is it exactly about them that provokes such a visceral, negative response? After some serious consideration, I think I’ve narrowed it down. Everything.

I’ve never been to Morongo Hotel and Casino, so I don’t know exactly what the experience is like. What I do know is if it’s anything like your radio spots, I’d rather stick dull needles in my eyes. Slowly.

I'd also like to offer some constructive criticism, although granted it's hard to know where to start. So let's begin with your tagline: Good times.

In print, on TV and on radio, your announcer or on-camera talent ends the spots saying, enthusiastically, "Morongo! Good times!"

Apparently whoever wrote the spots didn't realize the phrase "good times" is used in everyday vernacular to refer to something bad. For example, one person might say, "I'm number two million twelve on the waiting list for a kidney transplant." The person they're talking to would reply, sarcastically, "Good times."

I don't think the phrase means what you think it means. And no amount of airplay and false enthusiasm will change that.

It's the same as when people say something is bad, they actually mean it's good. Or when someone hears something they want to know more about, they say, "Shut up!"

All I'm saying is a working knowledge of what words mean and how they're used is probably a good thing to have in life and before you start writing radio spots.

Let's talk about talent. I could make a snarky remark like you should try having some in your radio spots. But I'm not going to.

But you should.

Instead of the painfully obvious non-union talent blathering on in the spots, you might try to pony up for union talent that can actually make bad copy sound palatable - a skill that would come in mighty handy in this case. I know, I can hear you griping about budgets and residuals and fast turnarounds. Here's the thing: you're a casino. It says right on your website that by 2008 you had put up to $2.8 billion into the local economy. Crying poor just isn't going to cut it. Pony up for some real talent and polish your public face.

On your radio spot I heard driving to work today, the non-union woman breathlessly says, "Sunday is fun day!" Is it really? It sounded more like "Sunday is being yelled with the direction to sound excited, but not quite making it day."

Also, the phrase "Sunday is fun day!" has been used in bad advertising of everything from mattress stores to car dealerships to coffee shops since the beginning of the Jurassic era. Besides, at a casino aren't all days fun days?

I realize you can't have original music for each spot when you do so many of them. But you can use better needle drop music. Perhaps a track that isn't so forced, isn't trying so hard. Maybe one that reflects a more elegant experience (assuming of course you can provide one).

Finally, the very premise of your spots has been done to death. I'm talking about the top of the spot, where your voice-talent (and I use the word talent loosely) is supposed to be in a recording booth, and we catch him saying something funny when he doesn't think the mic is on. The other problem is nothing he says is funny.

As the movie Spinal Tap teaches us, there's a fine line between clever and stupid. And you are most definitely on the wrong side of the line.

My suggestion would be if you have an agency creating your advertising, fire them and get a better one. And if you don't have an agency, get one. (At the very least, bring in a freelance writer for a fresh point of view. I'm just sayin'...)

There's a huge segment of the population who'd love not to drive all the way to Nevada to gamble and be entertained. And gamble. I believe with media buys that run your spots as frequently as yours do, you can change their perception of Morongo by upping the quality of your radio advertising.

Without attracting new clientele, you can't expect to expand and thrive. Then, if the current customers decide to reduce their visits and average spending, Morongo could wind up just another empty husk of a building, a symbol of excess and broken dreams. A reminder of what could've been if only you'd done better radio.

Good times.

Goodbye Richard Dysart

I've posted before about the many great people I've had the good fortune to work with.

Richard Dysart was one of them.

I was casting a radio spot and I need a homey, Pepperidge Farm kind of voice. When I heard Richard's read of my script, I knew I'd found it.

At the time, he was enjoying his long-running ride as Leland McKenzie on L.A. Law. Because of that, he was in demand and I recall scheduling the session was difficult. I was asked more than once to recast with a different talent so we could get moving on it, but after hearing Richard that just wasn't going to happen.

I remember the session well. We recorded it at L.A. Studios (always a favorite place to work). It was the day before I was going to have surgery for the second time on my right arm, which I'd broken in three places in a serious car accident years earlier. The doctors had to put in a steel plate to hold the bone together while it healed. Once it did, there was no need to keep the plate in, but there was also no need to have another surgery if I didn't have to. So it stayed in for seven years, until one day, while playing volleyball and taking several direct hits where the plate was, my arm swelled up to twice its size. The muscles were inflamed from the hits and the repeated action of them rubbing the edge of the plate.

I decided then and there it was coming out.

Talking to Dysart after our session, we talked about my upcoming surgery the next morning. He could see I was anxious about it, and he went out of his way to take the time to comfort and reassure me it would all turn out fine.

Which it did.

After the surgery, I don't know how but Richard got my home phone number and called to see how things turned out. I was surprised to hear from him - to say the least - but extremely appreciative for his call.

I never worked with him again, but enjoyed many of his performances beyond L.A. Law, including the doctor in John Carpenter's The Thing.

I'll always remember Richard Dysart as a great actor. But even more than that, a class act.

Rest in peace.

From beautiful downtown Burbank

There are a lot of reasons I like writing radio. But I think the main one is that for the most part, people leave me alone. I'm pretty free to do what I want.

There aren't agency sleepwalkers jockeying to be at casting sessions, sneaking in to watch director reels and making comments suggestions as if they were asked.

Radio also doesn't have the glamour and excitement attached to it that television does, probably because there's no where near the money being spent on production and media.

Fine by me.

In my opinion, I'd rather be sitting in a recording studio than an editing bay any day. It's infinitely more fun. And I get to work with a caliber of talent that's unparalleled. Every time out, sometimes over many, many takes, they give it their best. (Although my theory is if you can't get what you need in ten takes, you have the wrong person on one side of the glass or the other).

The very first radio spot I ever did was for Jack In The Box. We recorded it in the big room at the long gone Wally Heider Studios in Hollywood, and the incomparable Jimmy Hite was the engineer. Since it was my first radio spot, my creative director was with me at the session. And even he couldn't believe the talent we had in the room.

Either I wasn't paying much attention to the budget, or the client wasn't. My first spot was a cast of seven legendary voice over talents. Jack Angel. Joanie Gerber. Tress MacNeille. Bob Ridgely. Brian Cummings. Frank Welker. And Gary Owens.

Gary was the consummate professional. He had the quintessential announcer's baritone and also a comedian's timing and sensibility. Between takes he'd joke about Dan Rowan and Dick Martin of Laugh In, where he'd first become a household name as the show announcer. And when it was time to get back to business, he'd look at me and ask, "Is that what you were looking for?"

That was the one and only time I ever worked with him. And I'm not gonna lie to you - I was starstruck not only with Gary, but with everyone in the booth.

Gary Owens passed away yesterday at the age of 80. So I'd just like to say thanks Gary, for taking direction from a kid who really didn't know what he was doing yet, and for making me feel that I was doing it right.

Rest in peace.

Goodbye to one of the greats

This picture of Phillip Seymour Hoffman is what he looked like when I met him. On the right is my best friend and best man Scott Thomson. As you can probably guess, the photo is from the movie Twister.

Scott was in Ponca City, Oklahoma for months filming Twister, and it just so happened he was going to be there through one of his more significant birthdays. My wife and I decided we'd surprise him, so I called Bill Paxton (under his alias at the hotel) and together we arranged a surprise party for Scott.

Let me just say you haven't lived until you've partied on a Saturday night at the VFW in Ponca City. Helen Hunt and I were playing barrel of monkeys. Long story.

Anyway, Scott introduced my wife and me to many members of the cast, including Phillip. My memory of him is just this electric energy, this bigger than life character that also came across in the movie.

Obviously you didn't have to meet him to be a huge fan of his remarkable talent. From the music critic in Almost Famous, to the author in State And Main, the sad sound man in Boogie Nights, the disgruntled team manager in Moneyball, the heavy in Mission Impossible, his Oscar-winning performance in Capote and fifty-eight other films, to me he was like the Gene Hackman of his generation. It didn't matter if the film was good or bad, Hoffman was always a shining light, the extraordinary performance to look forward to that would elevate the work to an entirely different level.

I think the fact I got to meet him makes his death even sadder. He'd struggled with heroin addiction for years, even entering rehab last May.

I always used to wonder about stars of a certain era and stars of today. I used to say will we feel the same way about, for example, Bruce Willis passing as we did about Jimmy Stewart? Phillip Seymour Hoffman was one of today's golden era. He was the real deal.

At one point in Charlie Wilson's War, Hoffman's character says, "It was nothing."

Watching Phillip Seymour Hoffman on screen was something.

Rest in peace.