Creativity Below the Radar

Dancer, 1932, Martin Munkacsi

I'm fascinated by hardworking, journeyman actors. Even when I was a kid, I read and re-read coffee-table books about golden-era films and movie stars. Because my parents were older than that of most of my contemporaries, I developed an early love for films from the '30s, '40s and '50s. I was probably one of the few kids who knew that Veronica Lake's hairstyle spawned a wave of imitators during the war years, that Louis Armstrong was also known as Satchmo and that in the '20s, Clara Bow was known as the 'It' Girl ('it' being sex appeal).

My friend Leah cracks up because of the crazy amount of minutia I know about old film, TV shows and performers. I'm not sure why that stuff stays with me, but it does. I love nothing more than spotting a bit player on Perry Mason from 1964 and placing them in some obscure (or not so obscure) movie or TV show. Right, IMDB has made this much easier, but still I spend half the time watching the show and thinking "I know that person from somewhere..."

Besides enjoying making the connections, I also really just like that the entertainment industry is full of people who make a living by acting. And by that I don't mean movie stars, I mean people who have made a living playing secondary characters or sidekicks, who started by playing ingenues and ended their careers playing matrons. I think I first became aware of the legions of talented working actors when I covered the entrance on Sundays at Seattle Reparatory Theatre. There were incredibly talented, regular actors who I'd buzz in and out of the theatre on a rehearsal day. One in particular ended up being a regular on ER for a few seasons and most recently had a recurring role on Mad Men. I worked and interned at a few theatres and met so many incredibly gifted people, some of whom I'd see on local TV commercials, but none of whom were ever approached for their autographs.

One evening that really brought this home to me happened many years later, while I was living in New York. I went to see the Broadway show Spamalot - one of three I got to see in my five years there, so don't get all jealous - and needless to say it was fantastic. It starred David Hyde Pierce (hey, he posed for a picture for me, but I can't find it in time to post it here) and Tim Curry. Tim Curry's stand-in - I don't remember his name - took his place that evening, and he was brilliant. In fact, everyone was brilliant - these actors sang and danced and had an entire Broadway theatre audience laughing and applauding our asses off. And while everyone was waiting at the backstage door for the stars to exit, I noticed this one young actor exit, smile and wave and head out into the night. He'd had a huge part, totally charmed the entire audience, but was making his way through midtown Manhattan carrying a backpack, wearing shorts and tube socks, probably heading to the nearest subway entrance home. He actually looked kind of goofy. And not one person who passed him on the street or sat next to him on the C train would ever had guessed that he had just had an entire theatre on their feet, clapping.

I guess my point is - because Perry Mason is on in a minute - that our society places a big premium on the creative people deemed successful. The stars whose faces or life stories sell magazines, the ones who make 15 million a picture, the chefs who have reality shows, the artists or designers whose retrospectives break museum attendance records. And it makes me wonder if there are a lot of people out there who feel like they shouldn't even consider pursuing their talents because they'll never make a living out of it - and that is a possibility - or they'll never be a success. I don't really have an answer for that, but I hope we can find ways to nurture our interests and creativity and dreams if for no other reason than the doing of them makes us happy.