Great Isn't What it Used to Be

It really isn't. Take the Great American Auto Center. It's not their fault they're not THE definitive auto center. However, it is - how shall I put this - uh, reaching, to claim ownership of such a lofty title. And post it outside for all to see the blatant incongruity of sign and service. But maybe it gets people to pause for just long enough to remember their worn out brakes and consider getting them done there.

It got me thinking, though. How many times have you passed a fast food stand claiming to make "the world's best burger" or some or other "world famous" dish? Chances are, you live within a short drive of the place and hadn't even heard of them until that moment. It's a blatant lie to claim that people hundreds of thousands of miles away are settling down at their local restaurant in Johannesburg or Karachi or Maidenhead, lamenting "this hotdog really isn't as good as Pinks!"

To make matters worse, big claims just beg for big retorts. I wrote and performed a show called The Great Glendini. One witty reviewer entitled his crit "The Great Glendini isn't that Great". I guess I was asking for it. To be fair, the character in the play was a failure, who missed out on fame and was now a bitter man. I think the reviewer was alluding to that fact, as his review was rather positive. But the headline certainly wasn't going to lure any theatre patrons looking for a night out.

We're all liers at heart, of course. We may not realise it, but we lie every day. Every time a coworker asks how you're doing and you say "great", you're lying. You are. Be honest now. You're not doing great at all, are you? You're neck deep in a mortgage, car payments and you're putting off major dental work your insurance won't cover. But you say "great" because that's your stock response, it doesn't invite further inquiry and you don't have to offload 35 years of baggage that all started when Samantha stole your matchbox car and you wept quietly in the treehouse while the other toddlers played hide and seek. But I digress...

The point, if indeed there is a point, is that we should come clean. Tell the truth, even the little truths like how we really are feeling. Otherwise what's the point of asking these questions in the first place? Because it's ettiquette? Well stuff ettiquette if no-one wants to hear the answer. Then don't ask the question. I'm telling all, people. Ask me how I am, and I'm gonna call it like I feel it. If I'm feeling like crap, I'll tell you. Because you have a right to know. And I have a write to tell you if you ask.

Also, I'm downgrading my standards of what's great. It used to be that a childhood trip to NASA (which I never experienced) would qualify as great. Nowadays, I'm making ice cream great. Getting in my car and realising I have a full tank of gas is great. Heck, waking up in the morning is great. And in another 2 weeks I'll need to come up with the rent.

Great.

Just a quick post to say you can catch me on CSI:NY tonight at 10pm on CBS. The episode,"Admissions", has the team investigating the murder of a guidance counsellor during the school prom.

Keen eyed Gary Sinise and Eddie Cahill discover a number of suspects, including a dodgy character you wouldn't want looking after your retirement fund. That fellow could be me. Or not. You'll have to tune in to find out...

It just occurred to me that you need to be quite fit to be a detective. Fitter than most cops I imagine. Why? Well look at how they're crouching - that's a deep squat, people. As an occasional body builder, I can tell you that you're gonna feel that in your quads. I would. Clearly Gary and Melina have been doing this for some time, otherwise they'd be grimacing. As I do. Whether I'm squatting or not.

CSI folks need stamina. We're talking strong thighs, lower back and above average vision to actually spot the tiny clues before you bend and squat. Unless you have an assistant. In which case you can tell your assistant to pick up the miniscule carpet fibers the murderer left behind. Yes, that sounds like a plan.

WANTED: Personal assistant to squat on command. Duties include scraping suspicious residues from unsavory surfaces, following up leads, working closely with cadavers and running DNA tests.

Hmmm. Doesn't sound like much fun at all. I think I'll stick to playing the detective or, in this case, the creep. Hey, if I get tired, I can always play the cadaver...

Coachella 08

In a rare moment of spontaneity I accepted the invite from Derek and friends Kavan and Tommy, to head through fields of windmills to the desert's musical celebration of excess called Coachella.

In 100 deg dry heat, we saw some incredible bands, including MIA, Prince, The Verve and my personal favourite, Portishead - still captivating more than a decade after their release of Glory Box. As we headed away with Prince's guitar still straining in the background, Kavan commented that people looked like zombies, staggering off in various states of trippy innebriation.


May I wish my fellow zombies a swift and gentle recovery...

Penguins and Sinise

What can be more satisfying than sharing your chocolate milk with a true friend? Even if that friend is of the stuffed and feathered variety.

I saw this (nameless) gentleman recently, snacking away while his pet penguin (also nameless) looked on. It begged more than a few questions. Was he going to feed the penguin or cruelly scoff everything himself? Does he ever bathe the bird? (It did look decidedly grubby) And, perhaps most importantly, are penguins permitted on table tops?

Whether it was too timid of its owner, in shock at the environment, or (more likely) dead, I will never know, but the penguin remained quite still and silent. More remarkable when one considers the bird had a chick to nourish. I returned to my tap-tapping on my laptop, only to look up later and find both bird(s) and keeper were gone. Perhaps they left in search of more tasty treats, fled security, or were merely a figment of my warped brain. Oh wait - the photo...

On a less intruiging note, I landed a guest starring role on CSI: New York which, coincidentally, films in LA. Less coicidentally, I played a creepy bad guy. The casting breakdown listed my role as "leathery skin and dangerous looking". A few more of these roles and I must surely be up for a Bond villain - or at the very least, "creepy bad guy" on CSI: Miami. Leads Gary Sinise and Eddie Cahill were a pleasure to work with.

Well that's my week. Now all I need is a bottle of Nesquik, a beard and a penguin...

Goodbye, Ashley Callie

Award winning South African actress and restauranteur Ashley Callie passed away Friday, a week after being in a head-on collision. She was young, talented and beautiful, and had become a household name for her role as Leone Haines in long running soap "Isidingo".

The year above Ashley at drama school, I remember having the most enormous crush but, in typical Emery fashion, failed to do anything about it. We acted together in "Cloud 9". I remember vividly a scene where I was to make her cry, but always came short because I didn't want to upset the person behind the role.

The last time I saw Ashley in person, she was at her restaurant in Melville. It must've been 3 years ago, during a visit home. She popped out of the kitchen and I saw her and gave her a hug, saying we must catch up. But she was off before I could finish, racing back to the kitchen on another full night. Next time I saw her was on TV in Isidingo during our trip back this past Christmas. She looked so perfect in her role. Damn good choice, I thought.

A couple of weeks ago, I dropped off my showreel to a place here in LA and, as I was waiting, glanced at the bookcase to my left. My eyes fell on one book. A play. "Cloud 9" by Carol Churchill. I flipped through to 'that scene', the first time I'd read it since 1991. Over a decade ago, but still just as fresh. I left with a smile.

Thank you for being you, Ashley. I'm sorry I didn't make the time to see you. You will live on in our hearts and our memories.

Click here to visit the Ashley Callie Tribute Site

Strike is Over but No-One's Talking

I was overjoyed to see that a tentative agreement has been reached in the writers' strike and the machine can start up again within the next day or so. It's somewhat ironic that just as Hollywood can go back to work, they (or a large percentage of the industry) won't be able to talk. No, it's not a dreaded airborne 'lergy that's rendered thousands voiceless. Instead it's their cellphones that are down for the count.

Most of Hollywood has switched on to the Blackberry phenomenon, renowned for being the communication device of choice among producers, directors, writers, agents, actors, assistants and - well, anyone who aspires to be any of the aforementioned. Sadly, BB bit the dust today in the US. Not a few, not just in one area, but every single Blackberry device in North America has been reduced to a $500 phone book. Nice.

According to FOXNEWS:

An outage has disconnected BlackBerry smart phones across North America.
AT&T Inc. says the disruption Monday is affecting all wireless carriers.
AT&T first learned about the problem at about 3:30 p.m. EST.

There's no word on the cause or when the problem might be fixed.

BlackBerry maker Research in Motion did not immediately return a phone call.

First there wasn't anything new to talk about for 3 months and now they have got something to say, nobody's listening 'cos they can't get through! I pity the poor assistants and unpaid interns across this town, who were no doubt dumped on from a dizzy height and will continue being abused until the BB service comes back online. Be brave, my friends, be brave.

Luckily I have a "normal" phone, which means I'm not affected by this problem. It also means I'm not a producer, director, agent or assistant and - unless the writers can call each other on their Crackberries and vote to end the strike, I won't be able to call myself an actor much longer, either. So get to it, Blackberry.

Can you hear me now?

RIP Roy Sheider

Iconic actor Roy Scheider lost his long battle with cancer and passed away today in Little Rock, Arkansas. He was 75. Roy was nominated for 2 Oscars; for the French Connection in '72 and All That Jazz in '79. But he was best known for his role as the police chief in 1975's Jaws - the first movie to make $100m at the box office. Who doesn't recall seeing that film for the first time and even now, some 33 years on, there must be precious few movie goers who haven't seen it.

I had the fortune of working with Roy, albeit briefly, on a little movie some years ago. I was only in one scene, but that was with him and I was taken by his charm and warmth. In fact, the warddrobe department put me in one of the suits set aside for the man himself. (A useless bit of trivia which may have more to do with the film's budget than the fact we both had a 30" waist - not bad for a guy of 69!)

Roy wasn't your typical leading man. He had a bit of a weathered look about him that, together with his skill and intensity, ensured his characters were never surface studies. Even towards the end of his career, in spite of his frail physicality, he remained as weighty as ever. He could still pierce you with a look.

Thank you, Mr Scheider. You remain an inspiration.