What About Dallas II

You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy!

Blink. Blink. Blink.

I just couldn’t shut my brain down. Like an escalator at Macy’s constantly going upstairs, my brain ran the phrase “WHAT ABOUT DALLAS? over and over. It just kept running through my head, like an interminable loop. What if I say it wrong or forget to say it all together? I kept worrying.

At 5:55 am I can’t take it anymore and I roll out of bed. I am woozy from lack of sleep.

I jump in the shower and try and revive myself. A cup of coffee and a dark blue pin stripe suit do the trick. I put on the lavender shirt with the white collar and a pastel peach colored tie.

The sunrise is a blistering orange as I arrive at “Base Camp”. It’s cold but the sky is beautiful, filled with an endless horizon of possibilities.

A production assistant shows me to my dressing room. Yes a dressing room. It’s a small closet like space with a toilet, a mirror and a sink. There’s a place to sit down and a hook on the wall for my garment bag. The card stuck in the door says Interviewer #4.

That’s me.

Before I can settle in, a woman tells me that wardrobe wants to see me.

The wardrobe director is a woman from New York. She is quiet, and has little to no accent. She knows exactly what she wants me to wear.

“I like your suit. I like your shirt. Lose the orange tie,” she says.

Orange? I thought it was peach.
She rifles through my garment bag. She pulls out a light yellow polka – dot tie.

“I like this,” she says affirmatively.

With wardrobe out of the way, it’s off to hair and make up.

The Hair stylist is a native Australian. Her accent is soothing at 7:30 am. We talk about sharks and great Barrier Reefs and Kangaroos. She asks me if I always wear my hair this long. I tell her I normally wear it longer. Not today, she says pulling out a pair of scissors. And just like that,  at 7:30am an Australian woman is cutting my hair in a movie trailer. You want to talk surreal!

She puts so much hair product on my scalp I feel like the Exxon Valdeez.

Suddenly the radio crackles. “We need Interviewer #4 on set for a dress rehearsal.

Dress rehearsal? My heart jumps. This is getting real too fast. Suddenly I’m in a van and being zipped 3 blocks from base camp to the Union Station Hotel.

I walk in and people on walkie talkies discreetly say; “Andy’s here.” They are like cinematic secret service men. How the hell do they know who I am? I wonder if I have a code name like TRAVELER?

The Union Station Hotel is a grand edifice. It was an old train station once and the integrity of that vibe is brilliantly preserved. The Ceiling is 3 stories high, adorned with magnificent stained glass. There are giant clocks that a hundred years ago signaled trains coming and going. Behind the check-in counter, there is an authentic train schedule from years gone by.

On this day, the lobby is filled with grips and camera crews and an array of first and 2nd directors. I am led to the audio department. The men there quickly put a wireless microphone in my tie. The men are very nice, but I am only half listening. I am scanning the set, wondering what I’m suppose to be doing.

I’m not an actor I tell the audio guys.

“You’re a reporter right?”

“Yup.”

“Then just do what you do,” they say. That’s why they brought you here.”

Good advice. I smile and I’m led to the press conference set which is minimal at best. It’s a 3 dozen folding chairs and some cameras on tripods. There is a podium on a riser that has two huge placards that prominently display the face of Gwynth Paltrow.

I swallow hard. Nobody has told me anything. All I know is at some point I am suppose to yell out: “What about Dallas?”

Speak of the Devil. The movie-star emerges. She is wearing a non-descript sweat suit and no make up. I am led to the stage and our eyes meet. Even though she has no make up, it is clear she is beautiful.

She says hello with a wave and goes back to studying her lines. I am a nobody, that much is obvious.

The Director/Writer Shana Feste greets me and says this is just a read through. She says it’s no big deal.
She is a quiet woman with a quiet voice and quiet demeanor. She whispers her thoughts to the crew who jump as if she is King Kong swinging from the Empire State Building.
Strangers are everywhere. People are staring at me. Tim McGraw is looking at me. The director is staring at us. I feel my heart pounding and my leg begins to shake. The lights are glaring from above and behind me.

I am tangibly nervous and I’m doing all I can to disguise it. I have done a million live shots in my life. I have been shot at and punched and pushed and even had a brick thrown at my head on live TV. That was fun. This, for some reason was scary as hell.

Before I can disguise my fear any more, the director yells ACTION and Paltrow begins reading her lines.

Just like that we are into dress rehearsal. There is no ready set go. there is no, quiet on the set.

It’s simply: ACTION!

Paltrow is reading so softly I cannot hear her. Though there are microphones in front of her, I can barely hear what she is saying. I watch her lips. I am looking for a clue. I have spent a lot of time studying my lines. It never dawned on me that I would have to know when to start speaking.

A real pro, right.
Too late now. I watch her lips and wait for the regal Gwynth Paltrow to stop talking. She does and I take a wild stab that this is my cue, and I blurt out my question. “What about Dallas?” Without looking up she reads her lines.

In one minute it is all over. The director thanks me and says she’ll call me soon.

That went ok, I think to myself, as a production assistant hustles me back to base camp where I am led back to the makeup trailer.

My Australian hair lady smiles and immediately begins running her fingers through my hair. I laugh and she seems happy with her work. How much more can she do?

“What about that annoying cow-lick,” she says with a smile, cutting off my hair without warning any authorization.

Before I can answer, I hop into the next chair, where the make up woman is saying hello and covering my skin with foundation.

Sounds pretty manly huh?

Suddenly the movie’s young stud pops into the chair next to me. His name is Garrett Hedlund. I don’t know much about him, but if I’m a chick, I’m thinking this guy with the flowing hair and 3 day stubble is hot.

The make up woman begins covering my baggy swollen eyes with an array of oils and powders. I feel like an old man seated next to this studly bastard.

Suddenly the radio blurts out. We need announcer number 4 on set.

“That’s you,” the make up lady says.

I feel my heart begin to race again.

“This is it,” she says.

I am really nervous now. I’m no damn actor. What am I doing here?

The production assistant zips me back to the hotel where I enter the press conference set.

Forty extras are seated in the folding chairs. Half a dozen extras are poised behind video cameras pointing at the podium. There is a palpable buzz in the air as lighting men hold out light meters and yell back to people at the rear of the room.

I’m lead to the front row right in front of the podium. I sit down on the aisle next to a girl from Shelby Park. She says that during the day she organizes banquets, but she tries out for movies when she can. She is an extra and has no lines. Still she is excited, squirming in her chair.

My leg begins shaking and I hope the girl from Shelby Park doesn’t notice.

Suddenly there is a buzz in the room, like a tiny dust tornado sweeping across the sand. I glance up to see Gwynth Paltrow moving to the stage. She is a vision of lovliness. In less than 30 minutes she has transformed from beautiful woman with no makeup into a Movie Goddess. She is athletic and sleek. Her body is perfect. Her hair is gold and shimmering. Her eyes are crystal blue and sparkle almost as much as the diamonds around her neck.

She takes her position behind the podium and begins practicing her lines.

Grips and camera men make a few last minute adjustments. Tim McGraw is also on the set. His cowboy boots are shiny and he looks much leaner in person. He is personable and smiles frequently. He engages the extras and quickly wins them over. I see why he is so well liked in this town. Though it is a closed set, this talented country singer treats the crowd like it’s FanFair.

Suddenly the director yells action and Paltrow begins acting. Her voice is loud and steady. She has acting chops and she is bringing it.

I have looked at her part and I am ready to shout out:  “What about Dallas.”

My leg is shaking, and my throat is clogged with my own beating heart which is throbbing so dynamically, all I can hear is my blood rushing in my head.

Paltrow finishes her line and I yell out my part.

“WHAT ABOUT DALLAS?”

I feel like a kite in a hurricane. I’m all over the place. I’m not sure how loud to shout it. I’m not sure where to look. Should I sit? Should I stand?

I’m no actor. Paltrow is. She finishes the scene and walks off the set.

I have no idea what just happened. Nobody explained anything to me. They never told me what would happen or how it should go. I had all the grace of a gas tanker explosion on the side of the interstate.

The director comes to me and quietly tells me to jump out of my seat and assertively ask my question.

OK. That makes sense.

ACTION.

Paltrow negotiates her lines like a Porsche taking a tight corner. In my head, I’m following along, preparing for her to say the line that leads to me. But she deviates off course. Instead of saying the words I’m looking for, she says something else. I am tempted to jump up, but I hesitate, not sure if she is milking the moment theatrically.

I don’t jump up. I sit and remain quiet. The pause is awkward and lengthy. Paltrow uses her eyes to magnetically pull me from my seat.

I pop up and scream out; “What about Dallas.”

We end the scene, but it is a train wreck.

The director comes over to me to make sure I’m OK, to make sure that I haven’t suffered a brain embolism and this is why I am unable to say my role on cue.

I tell her that I was waiting for Ms. Paltrow to say the words in the script, but she deviated of course. The director smiles and quietly says you just have to be able to read the scene.

I’m a movie veteran of all of 15 minutes. NO problem, I tell her. And we begin again.

ACTION.

This time Paltrow hits her mark. My head is spinning and my heart is pounding. I feel like running out of the lobby and going home. I just want to escape and let the girl from Shelby Park finish the scene. I wonder if anyone would notice.

Instead, I jump up and yell out “What about Dallas?” Paltrow responds with deep emotion. I have a 2nd line, but I lose my bearings and stare at the movie star. Like a wave of crazy washing over me, I cannot help but wonder what the hell I am doing here. I stare at Gwynth Paltrow who is staring at me. Her eyes are sparkling and the room is dead silent. I feel like crawling inside of a casket. After what seems like forever, I blurt out, I’m sorry.

Paltrow breaks character and her face softens. “That’s OK,” she says. “Just keep going.”

Her voice is reassuring and I finish the line I butchered so badly.

AGAIN. The director’s voice registers from the rear of the room somewhere.

I feel myself growing confident. I feel my nerves begining to settle down.

Paltrow starts the scene. She ad libs, but this time I am ready. I hit my mark. I stand and feel a forcefulness to my delivery. I am standing and hammering her with tough questions as I might in real life. Paltrow sucks up my intensity and churns it into emotions that only she can control.

After the scene ends, Tim McGraw winks at me to let me know that was the one. The director tells me that was good. Now she wants one that is a little friendlier.

ACTION.

Paltrow says her part and I stand up and deliver my line, this time taking a little of the edge off.

Paltrow stares at me, as if she is talking only to me. I can see into her crystal clear eyes and I am now watching a movie star work her magic. I have delivered my lines like a barbarian at the gate. She is a surgeon performing a delicate procedure.

I stand and watch her act. It is special. She is amazing. Though I am a part of the scene, I might as well be a mile away, watching from the other side of the moon.

It’s like an out of body experience. What am I doing here? How is it that I am speaking, NO ACTING, with Gwynth Paltrow.

The scene is over and the director tells me to hit it hard again.

ACTION!

We do this over and over and over. Each time I gain confidence. The Director of Photography moves the cameras to different locations for different shots.

After more than an hour, the scene with Gwynth Paltrow ends.

A younger actress, Violet Reed, takes the podium for another press conference scene. I am in the mix, but I have no lines. I am relieved. A fellow USC trojan and reporter in town, Nancy Ammons has a line in this scene. Her line is simple, a lollipop question. Nancy has no problem and the scenes move along efficiently.

We do it a few times, and compared to what I just went through, this is cruise control. All I have to do is act like the other media mongrels. This is biscuits and gravy.

Suddenly the Director shows up in my face. “Andy I want you to ask her a question at the end.”

“You do?” I say.

“Yes. Ask her what her motivation is?”

“Ok”

And just like that I had my fourth line, in my 2nd scene.

And so it went.

From this point on, my voice was omni-present on the set. We did cut a ways and pick up shots and I asked questions. The director even asks me to make up questions for the young starlet. It was an interesting concept. Real reporter, playing the part of a reporter, asking a real actress fake questions about a fake character that she was playing.

take after take went like this.

At one point Tim McGraw blurts out, “Don’t you want to know the answer to those questions, Andy” The room burst out laughing. It was kind of fun.

Then the surprise of surprises. The director moves the cameras from behind me to the podium. The burly armed grips and DP’s turn the massive film cameras around and point them at me.

By this time, I was so relaxed, it was easy. A stand-in at the podium reads Ms. Paltrow’s lines and I reacted as if Paltrow is there. I stared past the gigantic Panaflex film cameras and delivered my lines over and over and over.

“WHAT ABOUT DALLAS!”

I have said this line a hundred times. I am confident, almost cocky. Suddenly I am the star. The makeup people descend on me and touch up my nose and fix my hair.

The nervousness is gone, replaced with a cocky confidence. I stand with authority and shout at the emptiness beyond the cameras. I say my line with aplomb. I feel like I am giving the director what she wants, something that will edit well with the earlier material shot with the stars.

The director will later tell me that this is a big scene for Paltrow’s character. She will tell me that my questioning will set the tone for the movie so it is important to punch this scene hard. I am impressed with her honesty. But I am also surprised that such a crucial scene would be left to a tv reporter who has absolutely no acting chops.

When it was over, some 6.5 hours later. I was tired, but pleased.

I called my buddy Tony whose phone call I missed.

“Tony,” I say. You will never have another friend say these words: “I’m sorry that i couldn’t take your call. I was acting with Gwynth Paltrow.”

He laughed out loud. So did I.

How Crazy!