(no subject)
My friend Matt and I weaved through the Pacific Coast Highway through the hills and the roads that come close to tipping over the edge of its own mountain and deep down into the depths of the deep blue. We both contemplated whether or not the event we were attending that evening would be as mind-blowing as we had been promised on the phone.
No, this wasn't some cult meet-up or party for devious erotics, it was a table-read for an independent film a friend was PAing on and our interested had piqued from the simple name-off of the potential stars of the movie. Mark Wahlberg, Dennis Quad, Matthew Perry - I could've stopped right at that point.
For those who know me well, you know that Matt is more commonly known as "Uncle Matt" in my household, the man's my Godfather but I haven't seen him since I was 6. It's an interesting situation, to say the least. I thought of this event as being a kind of reunion, I could walk in and pretend to marvel at the sheer coincidence of the two of us being there, part the crowd effortlessly and begin to report to him on what I was doing and what I've been up to since we last saw each other. I would imagine him to be gracious at this serendipitous affair and that perhaps he would try and repent in some way for leaving his pseudo-family astray for a decade and a half.
The film is a gangster picture set in the 1930's, and by the look of the unknown actors waiting at the bottom of a residential hill in a parking lot welcoming you to Zuma Beach, you knew you were in the right place. Matt, although stemming from a family steep in a TV/Film legacy couldn't keep his focus straight as cars and people walked past our car. Everyone could have been some big-name celebrity he had never met before, each person was a new opportunity he could seize in some way/shape/form.
After waiting a tedious amount of time, we finally were led up the hill to the residence we would be reading the script at.The entire operation clanked together under the guise that everything we were doing and about to do was positively top secret. Due to the utmost secrecy of the residence we were traveling to for this entire evening, we had to ride up the winding Malibu hills in a mixed-breed caravan of flashy sportscars and beat-up jalopies which singularly became the most telling sight of what Hollywood is today.
Wendy Maguire (Yes, mother to Tobey) greeted us at the door. Working her way through the heaps of aspiring Hollywood-types that coursed through her living room, she welcomed us with a unconditional appreciation that only a Grandmother could display, and a much beloved one at that. It only took me a couple notes to realize that while we were waiting down the hill, she had been pouring herself a couple drinks in anticipation and so her breath carried an alcohol content of 70-proof.
She awkwardly grazed her hand on the vintage 1960's dress I had worn for the occasion and just said, "Oh darling, you are positively lovely." and then turned to Matt and literally welcomed him into her open embrace. I saw Matt's face at this moment and could tell that he had done the same detective work I had with a simple whiff of the air surrounding her.
Despite this comical moment, she was an incredibly gracious host and so we all sat awkwardly on her back patio, meditating on the beautiful image of the sun setting on the ocean in Malibu and circulating over and over in an endless conversation of, "How the hell did we get here?".
Matt brought some comic relief to this surreal moment by continually noting where little Tobey might have spent his youth. The house looked very lived in, something that Spiderman 3 money had most likely not contributed to so Matt's theory of little Tobey climbing the tree we stood next to or swimming in the teardrop pool we congregated around was as plausible as it was funny.
There were even younger kids walking around and without missing a beat Matt turns and asks, "Are those little Maguires? Are we hanging out with little Maguires?"
One of the definite highlights that lassoed us into this unbelievable Hollywood moment was the simple fact that centered amidst the action of the party was "veteran actor Martin Landau" (as Wendy immediately referred us to him upon entering). Sitting coolly like a chainsmoking social centerpiece, Martin ('Marty' as we jokingly referred to him under our breaths) embodied every bit of his characters as seen in television and film. I looked at him and couldn't help but think of his famous performance as Bella Lugosi in Tim Burton's "Ed Wood" (and my personal favorite of his and quite possibly, of Burton's) and we even went so far as to try and cast him in a movie we created on the spot.
"He's a gambler, he lives in Monte Carlo - he owns a yacht and is revered by the community and preferred by young golddiggers." Matt breathed into my ear, because of course at this point we were standing a mere 3 or 4 feet away from him and embarrassingly timid from introducing ourselves.
His example for the evening should serve as its own Public Service Announcement in favor of the Cigarette companies as he never hesitated from his smoking habit for the entire 2 hours that we remained there, and God only knows how old the man is.
When 9:45pm creeped along we decided to bow out from the night gracefully and make our way back to the Valley to our more reality-rooted homes, thought that's still not saying much.
As we made our way out of the house I caught a quick glimpse of a portrait of what I can only assume was a young Tobey, perched on a decorative stool and staring out past the canvas with a heightened maturity only a child actor could embody. Apparently Wendy is also a handy painter, to which I am thankful because a child photo of Tobey (which, let's face it was the main attraction to this house in the first place) simply doesn't do the same justice as his young face immortalized in oil paint.
That night was laced with other surreal signs of awkwardness as I realized more and more how much of a mini-crush I have on my friend Matt. Through out the night conversations lifted off into flirting and then touched down quickly. A hug that capped the night lingered momentarily and then quickly broke free. Thoughts of the possibility of this being reciprocal were felt and then suddenly discarded.
Yet, this kind of romantic back-and-forth is what characterizes summer to begin with and over all fit in perfectly with the same rhythm of anticipation we held for the big-named stars we were promised and the settling we allowed ourselves to take Marty and Wendy and bear it.
I think I'm going to start getting back into this whole lj thing. This is just a snippet of my summer, basically - my last night.
No, this wasn't some cult meet-up or party for devious erotics, it was a table-read for an independent film a friend was PAing on and our interested had piqued from the simple name-off of the potential stars of the movie. Mark Wahlberg, Dennis Quad, Matthew Perry - I could've stopped right at that point.
For those who know me well, you know that Matt is more commonly known as "Uncle Matt" in my household, the man's my Godfather but I haven't seen him since I was 6. It's an interesting situation, to say the least. I thought of this event as being a kind of reunion, I could walk in and pretend to marvel at the sheer coincidence of the two of us being there, part the crowd effortlessly and begin to report to him on what I was doing and what I've been up to since we last saw each other. I would imagine him to be gracious at this serendipitous affair and that perhaps he would try and repent in some way for leaving his pseudo-family astray for a decade and a half.
The film is a gangster picture set in the 1930's, and by the look of the unknown actors waiting at the bottom of a residential hill in a parking lot welcoming you to Zuma Beach, you knew you were in the right place. Matt, although stemming from a family steep in a TV/Film legacy couldn't keep his focus straight as cars and people walked past our car. Everyone could have been some big-name celebrity he had never met before, each person was a new opportunity he could seize in some way/shape/form.
After waiting a tedious amount of time, we finally were led up the hill to the residence we would be reading the script at.The entire operation clanked together under the guise that everything we were doing and about to do was positively top secret. Due to the utmost secrecy of the residence we were traveling to for this entire evening, we had to ride up the winding Malibu hills in a mixed-breed caravan of flashy sportscars and beat-up jalopies which singularly became the most telling sight of what Hollywood is today.
Wendy Maguire (Yes, mother to Tobey) greeted us at the door. Working her way through the heaps of aspiring Hollywood-types that coursed through her living room, she welcomed us with a unconditional appreciation that only a Grandmother could display, and a much beloved one at that. It only took me a couple notes to realize that while we were waiting down the hill, she had been pouring herself a couple drinks in anticipation and so her breath carried an alcohol content of 70-proof.
She awkwardly grazed her hand on the vintage 1960's dress I had worn for the occasion and just said, "Oh darling, you are positively lovely." and then turned to Matt and literally welcomed him into her open embrace. I saw Matt's face at this moment and could tell that he had done the same detective work I had with a simple whiff of the air surrounding her.
Despite this comical moment, she was an incredibly gracious host and so we all sat awkwardly on her back patio, meditating on the beautiful image of the sun setting on the ocean in Malibu and circulating over and over in an endless conversation of, "How the hell did we get here?".
Matt brought some comic relief to this surreal moment by continually noting where little Tobey might have spent his youth. The house looked very lived in, something that Spiderman 3 money had most likely not contributed to so Matt's theory of little Tobey climbing the tree we stood next to or swimming in the teardrop pool we congregated around was as plausible as it was funny.
There were even younger kids walking around and without missing a beat Matt turns and asks, "Are those little Maguires? Are we hanging out with little Maguires?"
One of the definite highlights that lassoed us into this unbelievable Hollywood moment was the simple fact that centered amidst the action of the party was "veteran actor Martin Landau" (as Wendy immediately referred us to him upon entering). Sitting coolly like a chainsmoking social centerpiece, Martin ('Marty' as we jokingly referred to him under our breaths) embodied every bit of his characters as seen in television and film. I looked at him and couldn't help but think of his famous performance as Bella Lugosi in Tim Burton's "Ed Wood" (and my personal favorite of his and quite possibly, of Burton's) and we even went so far as to try and cast him in a movie we created on the spot.
"He's a gambler, he lives in Monte Carlo - he owns a yacht and is revered by the community and preferred by young golddiggers." Matt breathed into my ear, because of course at this point we were standing a mere 3 or 4 feet away from him and embarrassingly timid from introducing ourselves.
His example for the evening should serve as its own Public Service Announcement in favor of the Cigarette companies as he never hesitated from his smoking habit for the entire 2 hours that we remained there, and God only knows how old the man is.
When 9:45pm creeped along we decided to bow out from the night gracefully and make our way back to the Valley to our more reality-rooted homes, thought that's still not saying much.
As we made our way out of the house I caught a quick glimpse of a portrait of what I can only assume was a young Tobey, perched on a decorative stool and staring out past the canvas with a heightened maturity only a child actor could embody. Apparently Wendy is also a handy painter, to which I am thankful because a child photo of Tobey (which, let's face it was the main attraction to this house in the first place) simply doesn't do the same justice as his young face immortalized in oil paint.
That night was laced with other surreal signs of awkwardness as I realized more and more how much of a mini-crush I have on my friend Matt. Through out the night conversations lifted off into flirting and then touched down quickly. A hug that capped the night lingered momentarily and then quickly broke free. Thoughts of the possibility of this being reciprocal were felt and then suddenly discarded.
Yet, this kind of romantic back-and-forth is what characterizes summer to begin with and over all fit in perfectly with the same rhythm of anticipation we held for the big-named stars we were promised and the settling we allowed ourselves to take Marty and Wendy and bear it.
I think I'm going to start getting back into this whole lj thing. This is just a snippet of my summer, basically - my last night.