But then… is there a time when it becomes more prudent for us to
glance back in time?
Glancing is okay; remaining there will usually cause a problem.
"One must never pray for the past to return for, if it became God’s will to grant that wish, life’s light would certainly have been relinquished, perhaps forever."
- HK, May 17, 2012
“I look forward to an America which will not be afraid of grace and beauty.”
- President John F. Kennedy, upon receiving an honorary degree from Amherst College, October 26, 1963 and inscribed on the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, Washington, D.C.
Aside from good health the greatest gift received to date in my
lifetime is unquestionably an ability to take in, in every form possible, the
joy of good humor. For me, grace and beauty have always been synonymous with
good humor or even raucous laughter.
A momentary glance over my shoulder to such a wondrous light, it
served then as it does today – a symbol of grace and beauty. A child laughing
with a spark kindled in her eyes, by a seemingly old man cavorting around a
sound stage with the same verve a child might display when enjoying bouncing
and sliding around a slippery floor following the consumption of too much
sugar.
For whatever the reason… it tickled her.
For whatever the reason her laugh created a part of a special day.
The social worker assigned to our production came forward and
asked what the child was laughing about.
“Me, I guess,” was the man’s only response.
A four-and-a-half year old little girl had not only captured hearts
and provided an entertaining relief to everyone’s day, but she blessed the room’s
ambience with a special God-given grace and elegance, single-handedly
indemnifying the inscription engraved on a wall at the Kennedy Center for the
Performing Arts.
· I can’t run on this crappy track. · This gym is too poorly lit for me to shoot baskets. · The diving board is too springy for me. · I need a new set of clubs in order to compete. · What a lousy script. · It was a terrible audience.
What do all
the above lines have in common?
Losers delivered them all.
***
The
Actors Studio, The Groundlings, Stella Adler, Meisner, Kazan, Houseman, and oh
yes…Stanislavski. Lemmon, Grant, and hordes of other actors and places…
And what
did all of the above have in common? All are winners, rare talent, and places
to be.
I
can’t recall which of the great studios I was privileged enough to visit first.
It really doesn’t matter. What mattered was the teacher and the method they
chose to use. None of them ever served as a symbol of opulence. As a matter of
fact, the winners in the crowd were almost always the shabbiest dressers and
often the most unkempt individuals I’ve ever come in contact with. Often the
group itself was so poor they were forced to alternate where they might
workout. Scenery or equipment was a challenge for the imagination.
A
broken circle, with the great Strassberg, or Meisner, or Elia Kazan in the middle
was all that would be necessary for either developing a backbone or finding out
you were born without one.
But of all
the lines delivered by perhaps the most stalwart of all, John Houseman, to a
young actor was…
“You
have far too much time on your hands.”
The actor
looked at Mr. Houseman not understanding what the great man was getting at.
Then came the explanation.
“You
are finding fault with all in life which matters the least. It is not the
acoustics in this building or the short stretches of this stage which makes you
an unfeeling actor. Your expended time in order to complain will always be a
culprit in waiting.”
It
isn’t the microphone; you’re a lousy actor. A role of duct tape may
successfully patch a wall, but complainers rarely find time to improve their
skills.
A
war raged while people of every cut tried desperately to find ways to lessen
their life’s burdens. There were still moms, dads, grandparents, boys and girls
at play, and most of all young men and women trying to hold on to momentary
relationships. The seemingly simple songs and music of the complex year 1942 were, by way of the abstract in their depiction of every
human emotion emanating from a nation, and the world it lived in, at war. The
titles of these songs provide a historical record of what throbbed through the
pulse of our country’s most famous and courageous generation. With just a few
titles, we become at one with the unbelievable longing shared by an entire
country.
“I’ll Be Home for Christmas,”
“Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree with Anyone Else But Me,”
“Good Night Sweetheart,”
“I’ll Be Seeing You,”
“Moonlight Becomes You,”
“Now is the Hour,”
“On the Sunny Side of the Street,”
“Temptation,”
& “Thanks for the
Memory.”
All
the song titles applied to the men and boys thrust into the surreal; kids
letting their neighborhoods know they were accepted into the Army, Navy, Marines,
Air Force, or Coast Guard thrusting those left behind on what would be known as
the Home Front – women and older men – doing the jobs no longer manned by their
brethren. It was a time when each and every American knew the words of the
feature songs on the most popular radio show of the day, “Your Hit Parade.”
And,
as the radio disc jockeys stalwartly cranked out over and over the music of the
day, often the songs became supplanted by the hotly disputed topics of the day:
who was a better singer – Bing Crosby or Frank Sinatra?
Truth
be told they shared an equal ray of the limelight. The lyrics to the songs they
warbled wrapped avid listeners in a blanket that warded off the ever-present
chill of despair gripping families all over America.
But
above all else, the music they listened and sang along with became the marching
tunes of our country’s survival and ultimate victory. Against all odds, we
again moved to higher ground and predominance as the world’s history would
report: The United States of America would last and remain the most successful
and vibrant republic in the history of the world (as we know it to be).
***
“The Old Lamplighter”
A Time Remembered
A little boy moves in unthinkably close to his family’s radio, perhaps in an attempt to bring the characters he hears to life. He visualizes in living color as he creeps closer. After an indistinguishable period of time, it becomes a new scenario to be shared with his Dad. Middle class personified them - a world war may have been raging but on these nights, a man and his son were above it all.
“A cloud of dust and a hearty High Ho Silver!”
They
smile together as the little boy and his Dad join forces, pulling for the
masked man and his trusted sidekick to win out against the bad guys. Neither of them knew what the name
“Kemosahbee” meant, except for the fact it definitely had to be something good.
A
quick half hour evaporated and it’s time to change stations. There were no
channels. Television would remain in the future, at least until the war came to
an end.
It’s
a hard thing for the kids of today to comprehend – a world without television.
Families were forced to do things together. Things like reading books and then
having discussions about what the words really meant. Going to a baseball or
football game was a dream come to life. The ballparks carried an unbelievable
aura from corner to corner. Just being there at the park was an event. And,
while on the way to the park, by train, bus, or car, they talked and listened
to one another. They talked about baseball and about maybe being able to get a
hot dog at the game.
Then,
came one of the most special times in the little boys life – his first night
game.
It
was magic.
The
park was aglow like he had never seen it before. The infield clay appeared as a
carpet put there just for the special athletes to play on. And was more than
special for an event that would change our country forever.
Miraculously,
the war came to its end. Younger and healthier men again occupied the towns and
cities and those who returned home were never to be called boys again. Believe it or not, there were no
complaints or… if there were…none were ever heard.
Those
troops coming home never referred to themselves as heroes. And although the
uniforms of the country’s service were discarded, those who served would carry
the vacancy of time stolen from their youth forever. They returned to their old
surroundings and lives to find differences unable to be explained. They
married, had children, and rebuilt as best they could.
It
was a world going through change.
The Time Frame
The great world war had been over for two years…
1947: Jackie Robinson is brought to play for the Brooklyn Dodgers and becomes the first African American on a Major League Baseball team. That same year, he is named 'Rookie of the Year' and featured on the cover of Time magazine.
It
was sixty-five years ago, from the city of Pasadena in a place called
California, when the baseball world grudgingly gave in to God. Under a more
pressured environment than any human being should ever have to compete within,
strode an athlete and man equal to any hero our little boy would ever see
reprised in his lifetime. No person had ever entered and performed while
experiencing the piercing slings and arrows heaped on the broad shoulders of
Jackie Robinson.
Our
little boy was overcome by the magnitude of Jackie Robinson. That night his
skin color – magnified by the white flannel of the Brooklyn Dodgers’ home
uniform – was a surreal emphasis on fortitude never since equaled. Jackie’s
presence as he warmed up, seemingly in perfect harmony with the organ music
being played by Gladys Gooding was over powering.
The
normally verbally effusive little boy was stilled and overcome with emotion.
A Piece of Brooklyn Dodger
History
May 8, 1942 - At Ebbets Field, with more than 24‚000 fans on hand‚ nearly $60‚000 is raised for the Navy Relief Fund‚ as all the proceeds are donated. Everyone‚ including the ball players and umps‚ pays their way into the park. The Dodgers also debut a celebrated rookie: Gladys Gooding who plays the "Victory Calliope," the second organ played in MLB stadiums. Gooding will continue playing for the Dodgers until 1958, when the team moves west.
And,
of course there is one more thing…
To
many, recapturing the thoughts of a little ten-year-old boy is too far out
there to serve a realistic purpose. But perhaps, if the same little boy was to
function as a bookmark of an important time gone by, his recollections of the
people of an era (demanding such unbelievable courage) could serve as a usable
vitality for what is desperately needed today…
If
only there was a way to bring back the old lamplighter…
In
the beginning God said, “Let there be actors,” and so without reservations –
meaning any forethought, or real thought at all – they came forth in search of
what ever it is expectant actors seek.
Chapter Two
Finding out what a voice over is.
It
appears shortly after God’s summoning the soft of head, people learned to speak
to and at one another. The first line of communication was thought to be muddy
and hard to decipher. Early on it became apparent that it wasn’t the sound
equipment causing the problem; fact is, there wasn’t any sound equipment to
deal with. It was a gifted child born to one of the cave families whose first
words were the beginnings for solving the communication problems.
In
the form of screams he yelled, “Listen to me, and maybe you’ll learn a thing or
two”.
The
cave people ultimately acquiesced to the counseling of this special child. It
was during a breast-feeding incident the child learned he could teach his
Mother by inflicting some degree of pain while at the same time satisfying his
hunger pangs. This procedure didn’t last for long. One day, Mother didn’t
return to the cave and our gifted child expired due to what the cave people
thought was the first real hunger strike. It was also the first recorded
incident of child abandonment and simultaneous desertion by a wife leaving her
husband.
The
dramatic incident has been told and retold through the centuries. As
Shakespeare noted, this monumental double dose of angst served as the
forerunner of the American theater as we have come to know it today. As a
matter of fact, many of today’s actors and actresses still bear a striking
resemblance to their earlier brethren – the cave people.
Chapter Three
Being paid to do a voice over. What a
concept!
The
fact that we refer to it as voice over is actually an incorrect assertion. In
the beginning, it was a guy on the bottom yelling up to the guy on top
informing him his shoulders were getting tired; thus, the first nomenclature
for the human voice was indeed a voice under.
As
a point of interest, it was at this very same time the ladder was invented. A
new era had begun with the discovery of the voice under and the invention of
the ladder, later on to be known as the footstool. Through the centuries,
painters from around the globe hailed this as the real and true beginning of
the Industrial Revolution.
The
great philosopher Plato declared, “If not for the ladder, there would be no
wars.
Rather
deep, don’t you think?
***
It
was a dark and dank night in the township of Delather, named after the inventor
of soap, a clean and prosperous town. Delather was the first man to recognize
the meaning of dank could also be applied during the daytime although we rarely
hear anything having to do with a bright and dank day; as an example, the city
of London might be described that way.
But
I digress.
Delather’s
claim to fame was by no means an accident. The man made the best soap in town.
His early problem, as is the case for many prominent inventors, was a lack of
publicity for his product.
The
Village Women (also a well known singing group of the era) made great use of
his soap for scrubbing down almost anything. However, none of them used soap
for anything personal. Instead, a
white fragrant powder used for dusting wigs was the personal cleanser of
choice.
On
a rather quiet business day, Delather found himself deep in thought concerned
with how he could increase his soap sales. His contemplation came to an end as his friend the Town Crier
stopped by to pick up his soap supply.
“You
know I could help you sell more soap”, the Crier said.
Delather
was all ears as he listened intently to his booming friends voice.
Town Crier
“You know how my job is to
read the daily news to our illiterate populous? Well, what if at the beginning
and end of each reading I do an announcement about the wonders of your new
soap?”
That’s a great
idea, Delather replied, but the trouble is…I don’t have a new soap. And
besides, I already sell to every woman in the village!
Crier
“You’ve got to come up with
a new product.”
But all I know is
how to make soap.
Crier
“I’ve got it. Just change
the name.”
To what?
Crier
“Drop the De. From now on call it Lather for the Ladies.”
That’s a great
idea. But I still don’t have another product to sell.
Crier
“Just listen to me.
Remember, I’m also the town publicist. It goes hand in hand with being the town
crier. I’m going to begin with a thirty.”
What’s a thirty?
Crier
“That’s what we’re going to
call our announcement of our new product…
Lather For The Ladies
Lather for your neck
Lather For Your Legs
Lather for your beck*
*Should
be BACK, but it doesn’t rhyme.
Brought to you by the name
you can trust. Delather!”
Sounds good, but
what is all this crying going to cost me?
Crier
“Here’s the deal, Delather
my friend. You pay me fifty cents for the first cry and then, after that, five
cents each and every time I cry out the same message. If you happen to pick a
new message or change the words of this first message you have to pay me
another fifty cents.”
What if it
doesn’t work? What if my sales don’t increase?
Crier
“Then all you owe me is
fifty cents for the first cry.”
This sounds
complicated.
Crier
“Just trust me. I’ll bill
you for my work and you can pay me within four working days.”
So Delather
said, thank you and the Crier closed with…
Crier
“This has been another
documentation of another auspicious occasion.”
***
Another true
industry record, and possible lesson presented by Harvey Kalmenson.
Note: This blog post is in response to Joe Flint's May 7th article, "Stars muffle voice-over actors" in the L.A. Times. Click here to read the article.
Wake
up Joe Flint. You really weren’t listening to what my partner and I had to say
about our industry. After giving you a full thirty minutes of our time you
proceeded to ignore the most salient industry points revealed to you, one of
which being: only 25% of our voice casting business involves celebrities. This
leaves 75% of the opportunities to the non-celebrity voice over talents. If
what you had to say (in print) about celebrities dominating the voice over
world were indeed a fact, the team of Kalmenson & Kalmenson would have long
ago been out of business.
Here are some facts of life, presented by us in
order to clear the air of the gases created by subjective bellyaching.
Since
the first actor strode onto the first boards of a theater, (the stage was
actually a dirt floor in those days) there has been a shortage of work for the
journeyman actor, man or woman alike. Following the progression of Adam and
Eve, all actors, men and women were faced with the annoying proposition of
having to audition. Nothing has changed. The vast majority of commercials, or
any communication form making use of the human voice, more often than not comes
with a degree of competition.
Here’s
the bottom line; Voice Over is, and will remain an acting craft. Call it a
business if you like, but once again heed the bottom line. Lest we forget,
acting is a condition of the heart. As John Houseman put it so very long ago,
quote:
“Be a journeyman actor. If your
driving force is solely the assumption, this creative form will bring you fame
and fortune, you’re seeking in the wrong direction.”
Very
few, since the earliest of days, have developed financial security in
recognition of their efforts as an actor; while many have enjoyed the emotional
lift provided as a result of the heart driven journey of our creative, and
subjective art form. Don’t worry about celebrities. Be a journeyman and enjoy
what you pursue.
And
the actress who auditioned on her iPhone in the ladies’ room at the Miami Airport
actually won the job… and she was not a celebrity.
The
work is there for those willing to commit their time, focus, intestinal
fortitude, and the practicing of their craft.
“To impose (something or someone unwanted) upon another by coercion or trickery”
Trust me, the guys a Bigly.
(Bigly, is a word I use in order to describe genuine substance of character, integrity, wholesomeness, and courage beyond normalcy? The word Bigly has nothing to do with physicality as far as I’m concerned; however there are many who fall into the Bigly category who also happen to have a large frame. Rarely, if ever have I been able to justify categorizing a politician or an atheist as a Bigly).
Please make, and take note, Bigly is my word. You can’t challenge it, because I am its creator. If you have a problem with that, well then, the rest of what I am about to say will prove more than merely an extreme annoyance to even some of my most erstwhile readers; it may even cause a condition of pissed off (ness).
The place: Kalmenson & Kalmenson
(Inside a recording booth.)
The time: A workday in April
In conversation: da harv
Aka (Harvey Kalmenson), and one of the few I have assigned the earned moniker of Bigly.
It had been one of those non-stop busy mornings, beginning at 6:AM and carrying on without a break until 11:30AM. No less than twenty-five actors had come before me in an effort to be the one selected by one of the major automakers to be there national spokes person. For the winner it would be a dream come true. For the others, its all part of a days work. Auditioning for work is the commercial actors job. Winning the job is almost as giddy an experience as perhaps being a lottery winner. No mistake…this is big stuff! In any event this was a morning of very well known personalities showing up, one after another, as any journeyman actor is want to do, in an honest effort to secure work.
By and large I have found voice over actors, men and women, equally endowed with a sincere graciousness towards one another, as well as the folks like me, who carry the awesome responsibility of attempting to help put bread on their tables. One and all, across the board, they know my feelings for them are equally as sincere. We’re sensitive people doing a sensitive job under implausible circumstances, even in the best of times. This day’s call was what I refer to as being plaid; without ethnic, or narrow age range as a deliberation to consider as our voice casting specs. In addition, it was a call for an equal array of journeyman actors as well as those commonly categorized as celebrities.
Note: “Bigly” is a celebrity of long standing.
On this day” Bigly” was the last actor set to read during the morning auditions; usually the man was on a tight schedule, and though his car and driver were already parked directly in front of our building, with its motor running, it didn’t seem to dissuade the man from lingering. It turned out, he had something to say, and I was his choice as the designated listener. This was also an unusual occurrence for him, on days when he had to be in and out in a hurry. The fact is, “Bigly”, knew I would listen to all he had to say, but in return if I was in disagreement with his latest of life’s observations, then our roles would be reversed and he would dutifully become the listener.
Note:
We never raised our voices above a normal conversational level, regardless of the degree of opposing positions being taken.
Although our politics were at different ends of the spectrum, our attitude towards each other was always respectful.
Both of us were never afraid to display a great disenchantment, by and large for career politicians.
As I dashed down the hallway in an effort to remove the scripts from our bulletin board, and set up for the next job, scheduled to take place following the lunch break, my path was blocked by “Bigly”. Honestly, I had little time to spare, and was hoping he had already departed the building; to no avail; he began with a wry smile, and the special sparkle of almost constant emotion registered in his eyes.
Do you know why stupid people are stupid? Because stupid people don’t know they are stupid. Do you know where to find stupid people? Everywhere you find people. Newspaper journalists, television talking heads, people who raise dogs and chickens to fight, people who hurt kids, and of course…career politicians.
That was his side of the beginning of the end of my lunch break. What it all boiled down to was “Bigly's” disappointment with the vast majority of people in general.
Why don’t people read anymore? I mean, really read things of consequence. It doesn’t have to be William Shakespeare, you know.
This subject matter wasn’t a first for either of us. “Yes”, I agreed. “As a matter of fact, I often spend a great many of my waking hours wondering whether the great Bard ever referred to any of his players as a “Dude”.
That’s what got me started on my latest tirade in the first place. That last actor in before me, da harv, said thank you Dude, as he left the booth. I mean how do you stand it?
That was the end of our conversation. Nothing more need be said. We were on the same page. Just a slight shake of the head, and Bigly took leave.
When I was in grammar school, the universal credo was reading, writing, and arithmetic. Our parents established the social graces. The after school entertainment following the completion of homework was usually the school yard, until dark, followed by our favorite kid radio shows. You may have guessed, “Bigly”, and I shared the same foundations, though he ventured from across the pond.
One more thing and I’ll let you go. Both Bigly and I are capable of using the foulest of language. But it comes out mostly in private, never when children or women are around. That to takes us back to those early days of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Believe it or not, there was a time when a poor choice of words might have you removed from the classroom and on your way to the principal's office.
And finally…when was the last time you heard a person referred to as being well read?
Can you imagine your days filled with friends coming to visit? It’s my life, within each and every day without exception, a constant parade, reverberant with an effervescence stimulated by the soldiers participating in the very same parade. If I were to hang a sign it would read,” All Actors Allowed”. I am not a politically correct man. After all I am a casting director. I must be able to differentiate between color, and sound, and most importantly, skills and those person’s skills as an actor. If an actor isn’t suited for a role, he or she must realize one single fact, and one fact only; it is what it is.
In my own professional area of casting, sight doesn’t play a part. I cast voices, so what I am duty bound to care about is quite singular. Sound. People come to us at Kalmenson & Kalmenson in order to find the right voice, or voices for their products. We follow their specifications as closely as possible. Rarely, if ever does a situation present itself, requiring our recusal.
The make up of those parading before me daily follows the strict dictates of the folks who are paying the bills. If you’re interested, here is a sample of a typical casting call as we follow the directions of the advertising agencies will:
The product is a soft drink.
Demographics are pointed towards young guys of high school age.
The storyboard shows a "pick up" basketball game in a schoolyard, resembling an inner city, which could be in any number of urban cities in our country.
We are told to match the storyboard in order to cast the voices depicted by the on camera players.
So here’s what transpires. Our casting directors contact the producers of the spot, or series of spots, in order to get final directions regarding the make up of the call we will be putting out to the agents around town. We are told in no uncertain terms, the guys we bring in must be African American, and should sound like they’re in the inner city. Those are our instructions, and those are the instructions we follow. Political correctness never enters our minds. The friends who will be in tomorrow’s parade to the Kalmenson studios will all be black. On record, and without equivocation, they enter the building joyfully, and leave in the same manner. I know very well I’m not a politically correct man; I’ve never had to be.
What I care about is that my parade runs on time, and that we are able to bring in the best and most professional talent the sponsors money can buy.
"I’m not aware if anyone has ever dedicated a blog to his or her father, so if I happen to be the first…so be it. And naming it in honor of my dad will guarantee the highest degree of integrity this guy could possibly muster!"
But then… is there a time when it becomes more prudent for us to
glance back in time? 
