I’ve had my own (limited) experiences of Hollywood and, fortunately, haven’t been required to be other than my shabby self to do it. The writer gets a lot of visual latitude.
Some days, everyone you meet there tells you they’ll make your book into a movie, while desperately scrambling to find someone else’s money to do it with. ‘I’m definitely going to make this movie. I haven’t read your book yet, but I read the entry in your publisher’s catalogue and I’m definitely going to make this movie.’ Someone actually said that to me. As a good thing.
But the actor side of it is far more interesting. What it does to you. How it makes you contort yourself. How it puts mirrors in front of you all the time, and then tells you what you see. How it tells you you’re perfect, but in this instance not quite good enough, but here’s a course/coach/photoshoot/operation that might just get you there. Families spend months, even years, chasing the dream for one of their children, when most have no prospect of it turning real. But there are success stories, against the odds, and these end up chanted with religious fervour.
A lot of us at some time or another have seen reports, even entire documentaries, looking at the child-actor ‘industry’ in Hollywood. It’s not easy to tell who’s driving it, and it often looks as if everyone has a hand on the wheel – the studios and moviemakers, casting agents, portfolio photographers, accommodation providers, coaches of all kinds, parents and the kids themselves. Some movies need child actors. It’s impossible to imagine a world in which every character is over 18 and played by someone over 18 (or not over 18, but played by someone over 18 anyway). Some parts of this industry around child actors seem supportive, some enablers of fantasies, some simply there to make a buck from people whose prospects are low and irrelevant to the buck-maker.
It’s an industry based on our need to have young characters in some stories, and our need to have those young characters played by children. Coming at it in a rush from the other end are the many, many children who want to be in the movies. Who would do anything to be in the movies. But at the same time, the movie industry is like almost no other in its capacity to hold extreme and arbitrary ideas about beauty, enforce them rigidly and judge people ruthlessly by their appearance. While simultaneously smiling, lying to them constantly and forever inflating their hopes. Everything you do is fabulous, but no one ever gives you a job.
I wanted to put an Australian family there, right in the heart of that scene. I thought I’d send them to the Oakwood Toluca Hills, since its child-actor program has produced a line of stars over years, and has been covered by TV and documentaries. Also, it seems not remotely sleazy. Sleazy would have been too easy. I wanted a place that seemed decent, and had simply identified a gap in the market that it was setting out to fill.
And I decided, not for the first time with these novellas, to have a narrator one step away from the spotlight. Cassidy is from Australia and determined to make it as an actor in Hollywood, but her brother Charlie is telling you the story. He’s eleven – a perceptive eleven, but still naive enough not to pass judgement on everything he’s telling you. That seemed like an interesting perspective, way more interesting than saying something adult and knowing and direct.
So, Charlie’s there with his wannabe-star sister, who is making all the right moves with the utmost seriousness, and with their worn-down mother. He’s shifted his life to LA, but it’s still his life – there’s school to do back in Australia, though now by Distance Ed, dislocated from his old schoolfriends. He witnesses Cassidy’s travails and resilience, without necessarily putting a name to either, and he makes some kind of LA life for himself, dumpster diving within the Oakwood complex for cans and bottles he can redeem for cash, hiking when the chance comes in the hills behind the apartment blocks. It’s an LA made up of small, odd details, and I loved the chance to see the place from his POV (Charlie’s heard enough to know that’s film talk for ‘point of view’) rather than mine, or anyone else’s desperate for a break. So we get bits of music, the Wisdom Tree trail in the patch of wild country behind the Oakwood, the birds in the trees, as well as his reporting on Cassidy.
Then Cassidy gets a call-back while Charlie’s at an art gallery in North Hollywood (the NoHo of the title) doing a school assignment, and the change of plan that follows shakes his world of small safe details and perhaps pulls a few things into sharper focus.
This family in this place seemed like a great combination to finish the series, looking at family and what we value and the fascinating skewed world in which we can find ourselves.
And then, once it was done, along came the irony of me providing work for a child actor, as the reader of the audio version of this novella. And there’s a process to make that happen. Of course there’s a process. And there should be. So the recording studio, the intended actor’s mum, Child Employment Services and I all went through the piece word for word, searching for, as one email said, ‘adult themes and curse words’. We found ‘boobs’, ‘bullshit’ and several mentions of peeing, but that was as extreme as it got, and Flynn Curry got to step up to the microphone and do a great job.
And with that, the series is done. Thanks to all of you who have come along for the ride.
Reblogged this on Perth Words… exploring possibilities. and commented:
Anything Nick writes is gold to me.
Plato was saying something similar about writing years ago – its technology! If we write things down we’ll never remember how to remember, anymore! Someone argued with him saying – well, what about speaking? If we speak, is that a more pure form of communication? But surely it must be doing us harm, too – surely things get lost in translation when we use words as any kind of representation. I’m paraphrasing from Philosophy 101, here, and my first year at uni was completed in that heady decade following the invention of the internet, so possibly I’m a case in point and not remembering things well at all anymore – but, in defence of the device, technology has been worrying us since Latin times – and, probably those Egyptians were worried that drawing pictures might alter their ability to see things as they really are. I think that’s still the biggest issue – seeing things for what they are, and using them appropriately. Which probably means not all day. Which probably means I should put down the phone about now.