The Last Hurrah

Alas, it is the last day of production and I have pulled out my black suit.  My son wanders in as I iron my shirt and tie and asks me with eyes as big as saucers “Dad?  Who died?”.  The only time he has ever seen me dressed in my Sunday best is when we’ve had to go to funerals.  Huge crocodile tears start streaming down his face.  I want to cry and laugh at the same time.  “No one’s died, buddy.”  I say calmly. 

“Don’t go easy on me, dad.  I can take it.”  He wipes his tears and pulls a chair up next to the ironing board to hear the full tale of some distant relative’s demise.  “Seriously, son.  No one has died.  I’m wearing this monkey suit as a kind of joke.”  I explain. 

“That’s a shitty joke, dad.”  He says and I warn him not to use that language…or at least don’t slip and say that word in front of your mother.  “It’s like…I’m playing Gomez for a skit.”  I try to explain.

“I heard The Addam’s Family sucks.  Except for Bebe Neuwirth.”  He says.  The kid is still in his single digits.  And I feel like I’m talking to Ben Brantly of the New York Times. “Jeez, who told you that and HOW do you know who Bebe Neuwirth is?” He shrugs his shoulders non-chalant and wanders off in search of a nutter butter. For the record I have never seen The Addams Family on Broadway and neither has my son so his review should be regarded as null and void.  Meanwhile, I get all gussied up and make my way over to the Londinium Brooklyn brownstone.  I think the producers should make a brass historic plaque and affix it to the front of the building because no one and I mean NO ONE will believe they shot at least fifteen different sets (if not more) in the rooms of the parlor floor.  Just the feat itself deserves a plaque.  I arrive in the afternoon and Thom asks me if I’m on detail for the president.  “The only thing missing is the curly wire from your ear.”  Ed says.

“It’s not called a curly wire, Ed.” Thom chastises.  To which I reply, “Look Felix and Oscar I get the meaning.  Details---details…”

“It’s called an earpiece.” Thom explains.

“What? I’m sorry I can’t hear you.”  Ed says.  The cigarettes emerge from Thom’s pocket as his teeth begin to gnash.

“I’m sorry.  Did you say you wanted a sandwich?” Ed says grinning. 

“Yeah, some meat between two slices.” And he flips Ed the bird. 

“It’s the last day, guys!  Play nice.” I say.

They both reply in perfect unison, “Go F*** yourself.”  We all laugh.

“I come in reverence to the gallant end of an amazingly entertaining film shoot.”  I expound. “Between potato salad and cigarettes – accompanied by stomping out to the stoop, I have never laughed so hard in my life.  I have never been informed of so many ‘acting techniques’ in one project that I had to look them all up to find out their roots. I have never wondered in complete and utter awe of how you guys pulled this period film out of a hat with a five-dollar bill.  It is truly magic.” I continue.  Then I am ushered to the backyard where the sun is now setting and I find the incomparably evil and creepy Stewart Walker as Jules ‘collecting’ images and the stunning and beguiling Elisa Gierasch, playing ‘Gert’, one of the prostitutes that Richard had been with only moments earlier.  She is about to proposition him.  And just like in some movie theatres where the audience is quite audible I want to yell, “Don’t talk to him---you’ll be sorry.  Don’t do it---he’s dangerous!!”  It is a lovely September evening with a cool breeze to drive away the midday heat.  The actors hit their marks and I watch with the same vague voyeuristic feeling as she strikes a deal, money is exchanged and she begins to unbutton him.  I feel so dirty.  Then a glint of light hits for a split second on a metallic object and I can only assume with the help of my imagination that the killer’s knife has been exposed.  I think I know who dunnit!  The scene is covered and we move inside.  Elisa is laid out on the old farm table in the kitchen ready for her special effects make-up.  Patrick and Thom begin the hour or so process of creating what looks like a knife gash from the belly to the throat.  Pretty gruesome and accurate if you look at the actual crime scene photos of Annie Chapman and Catherine Eddowes.  I ask the director about the accuracy of the murders since there are six victims in the Londinium story.

“Well, you know, Jack wasn’t the only killer in the slums of the East End of London.  There were several copycat killers that weren’t mentioned or purposefully hidden to avoid chaos and panic in the streets.”  She says. “London was extremely polarized at the time with the influx of immigrants crammed into a very small space.  They were agonizingly poor.  In 1888 alone approximately 1600 people died just in those ten blocks radius.  Disease, addiction. malnutrition, poor health and hygiene, stresses of daily survival, the elements and violence all worked against the poor.  Thousands made their beds nightly in the local cemeteries because they could not afford a place to sleep indoors.” She explains.  “Not that different from the very poor areas of India.  And yet there is no middle class.  You were either desperately poor or of the gentry.  You can still find that disparity today in developing countries.”

“So Gert might be the only actual ‘victim’ of the ripper in this story.” I ask.

“She might.  No one knows who the killer was and though five murders are attributed to him he may have killed many, many more.  We have no way of knowing.” She says. “The police and Scotland Yard were in the infancy of forensic work.  They did not think of sharing information with other police departments like we do today.  That is why he was so successful as a killer.”  She says.

“I think he was successful only because the media realized the murders sold papers.” I say.

“Absolutely.” She concurs.  “There were probably several dozen of his kind all around London with some overlap.  As I said, if you look at the records there was violence occurring every day.  Murders happening every night perpetrated by individuals who could no longer cope with the atrocities of poverty and what that brings.”

“Well put.” I say.

“Nice suit.” She says and she walks away to prepare for the next set-up.  I step out onto the back deck.  The yard is lit up with an entire Arri light kit.  Elisa is sprawled out on the paving stones.  Thom and the director try to make sure she is not exposed before the camera roles.  Pat dips his hand into a bucket of ‘I-don’t-know-what’.  He pulls out bloody entrails and sausage casings or something and places them on the special effects make-up down the center of Elisa’s chest and abdomen.  She is a bloody hot mess.  It is so gory I feel the urge to puke.  Thankfully I am well aware that the whole thing is fake.  On three of  five of Jack’s victims he cut them from stem to stern.  That is from the uterus up to the throat.  He then pulled out their intestines and cut out a few sweet meats for souvenirs.  In the infamous ‘From Hell’ letter, the only authentic note from the murderer, he sent part of a human kidney along with it to the chief of police.  The prior victim was missing her kidney.  As the jib moves slowly up and over to reveal the truly heinous crime I feel a martini coming on.  CUT!  And THAT’S A WRAP!  Thom announces.  That vague martini feeling is morphing into a bender.  Huzzah!

Lunching with Sweeney Todd

Only twelve hours have passed since yesterday’s shoot and I arrive to the Brooklyn brownstone in Fort Greene to find the kitchen transformed into a French café.  I pass the set builders and art directors as they sleepily grab a cup o' jo and head to their respective hacienda’s for a few hours of much needed sleep.  The scenes scheduled for today are between Charles Thornton played wonderfully by Keith Herron and Vincent Morris portrayed with gentle aplomb by Jerry Marsini.  Mr. Morris is a business associate of Mr. Thornton.  In the first scene Charles tells Vincent that he has been appointed to the royal treasury by Queen Victoria. Hmmmm. He tells his business partner before he tells his wife.  Here is an interesting insight into the marriage between Charles and Victoria and the partnership between Charles and Vincent.  All along I have witnessed that the marriage is an arrangement with no sexual component whatsoever.  Devotion? Yes.  Platonic love?  Certainly.  Protection?  You bet.  Charles seems to be in a monogamous relationship with his business partner.  Victoria not only accepts the love affair between the two men but willingly plays the beard so that Charles can be fulfilled without the threat of scandal.  What does she get out of the union?  She can freely devote herself to reform, travel and charity without the trappings of marriage and that includes companionship, sex and children.  Everyone wins in this complex arrangement until Richard enters the scene and something within Victoria is awakened. 

I want to talk about the possible scandal that could have taken place with these characters.  In 1895 Oscar Wilde was arrested and tried for sodomy and gross indecency.  Sodomy in Britain at the time was a felony crime and punishable offense earning years in confinement with hard labor.  Oscar Wilde was an aesthete, a celebrated playwright, a philosopher and poet who came from an upper class family, his father a surgeon and knighted by the crown.  The Importance of Being Earnest, The Picture of Dorian Gray and A Woman of No Importance are some if his best loved works.  Here is a man who is rich and famous even for his time.  He has friends in high places and yet the dark side of Victorian London remands Oscar Wilde to two years hard labor in Wandsworth prison. At about the same time Paul Verlain, a symbolist poet and writer was also tried for ‘buggery’ in France and imprisoned for two years hard labor.  The famed myth that Prince Albert Victor Duke of Clarence was the killer also includes the royal family covering up the fact that the prince had ‘unnatural affections’ for men.  He was implicated along with other aristocrats in the Cleveland Street Scandal---a homosexual brothel located in the bohemian section of London in which telegraph boys were paid by wealthy clients to engage in sexual activities.  Lord Arthur Somerset had a warrant out for his arrest by the Metropolitan police and his friend Prince Albert Victor insured his escape to France to avoid prosecution for sodomy. It was common at the time for aristocrats and society to ‘slum it’ in the east end of London during the Victorian era.  Charles and Vincent indulge in a little slumming as well.  Whitechapel was rife with prostitutes of both genders.  It was the perfect hunting ground for Jack the Ripper.  Slipping in and out of a densely populated area of immense poverty and anonymous people was easy and violent crime was common.  It was where the sex trade thrived. 

Through the course of the scene Vincent suggests that Charles have an heir.  A child would prove to a court of law that Charles was a dutiful and loving husband and Vincent could be the child’s ‘uncle’.  Such a shame that even today over a hundred years later some LGBT people feel compelled to hide their true selves for fear of job-loss, abuse and prejudice. 

It is during this scene that Charles agrees that an heir would make things ‘look’ better and that he is certainly willing, but Victoria is delicate and has been advised ‘not to conceive’.  When Vincent presses further Charles tells him that she could die from pregnancy.  This information sets up the risk that Victoria takes when she knowingly conceives with Richard.

We break for lunch and a costume change and skip to the end of the movie.  In one of the last scenes Charles meets with Vincent in the same genteel café.  Charles is obviously troubled over Victoria’s emotional state.  He blames Mr. Rhys to which Vincent offers to ‘do something about him’.  Vincent is problem solving as a partner might do.  Charles explains that he will have to take Victoria to New York.  Vincent assumes he will be going as well already planning where he will stay and how they will continue to carry on with their partnership.  Charles tells him he must go alone.  He must take care of his wife.  BOOM.  The equilibrium is thrown out of balance.  Vincent asks him point blank if Charles is leaving him.  The pain on Charles’ face is palpable.  He is between a rock and a hard place.  He is betrothed to two people at once and must make decisions based on priorities.  Society dictates ‘for better, for worse’ and Charles takes his vows seriously.  After all Victoria’s presence in his life has afforded him the freedom to find his true love.  Charles asks him to wait for his return when Victoria feels better, but Vincent is unsure if waiting will prove anything different.  Charles is devoted to his wife.  Vincent is not the center of Charles’ world as he once thought.  So Vincent decides to leave the relationship.  Watching Charles sacrifice his happiness for his duty and seeing the love of his life walk away is excruciating.  Played with subtlety and nuance the actors give the scene an agonizing touch.

During the scene there was an extra sitting at a table nearby.  He was directed to read or make notes in a notebook so that he blended in with the café patrons.  The actor took the direction and ran with it.  I’m not sure how much of him will be seen in the final edit but when the last take rolled and the director said that the scene was done our extra revealed what he had written:

 

Got to run to the store to pick up a few things:

·      knives

·      gloves

·      stain remover

·      flowers for my mother, Mrs. The Ripper

·      butterscotch drops for me

·      top hats

·      a new walking stick for dad, Ralph the Ripper

 

Things to do:

·      go on a bloody rampage

·      buy a new horse and carriage

·      clean scalpels

·      rejoin facebook

·      look into a new therapist

·      kill a few more women

·      have my cape altered and cleaned

·      Have lunch with Sweeny Todd

 

Thank you, Louie Vitiello.

 

 

The Devil Made me do it or the Road to Perdition

Two sets have been created and recreated in the 36 hours since I last visited the Fort Greene brownstone where the Londinium crew has been working at break neck speed. In the front parlor Jules Whitby’s tinker shop has been moved from the kitchen and recreated and dressed. In the bedroom a blackbox theatre has been erected out of old black velvet theatre curtains and c-stands. A fog machine is chugging idly by ready to fill the space with smoke. In the kitchen I am introduced to Trevor Bittinger playing Dr. Stephens for the day and a dancer, Jasmin from Austria. First up is a scene where Dr. Stephens tries to conjure up the spirit of Dr. John Dee, Astrologer and alchemist extraordinaire to Queen Elizabeth herself. We’re talking 1560’s not the current century. In his psychotic effort he conjures something far more sinister and perhaps a manifestation of the dark state of his mind. The nude masked dancer appears in the mist as Dr. Stephens continues his soliloquy. The sight of it reminds me a little of “Eyes Wide Shut”, Stanley Kubrick’s last film starring Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman. The brief idea of it is that Tom (also a doctor) pulls a Salahi and crashes a member’s only masked ball after his wife confesses that she thought about cheating on him. Once inside the mansion he is stunned to find a secret society of men whose identities are hidden by Venetian carnival masks and robes engaged in an orgy with hundreds of nude masked women. The woman he selects as concubine warns him to get out. When he is discovered she is sacrificed.

Now, obviously for budgetary reasons there is only one grand master and one nude woman in the Londinium scene. After watching this scene intercut with an incredibly provocative one between Catherine and Richard makes me think that this insane doctor has connections with the dark side and just maybe…maybe Catherine is a part of it.

Looking at it from a sociological point of view, sure. The class system in Britain at the time assured people of noble birth had an unfair advantage over everyone else. Old white men make the rules and they usually belong to a group or society or brotherhood in order to unify and achieve their common goals. In America it is the Skull and Bones, The Trilateral Commission, in Europe the Bilderberg Group, the Carlyle group, the Illuminati (Thank you Dan Brown), and of course the Freemasons. Afterall, it was the Freemasons that formed this country. I bring up the Freemasons again only because the myth surrounding the ripper murders resurfaces that the killer was a mason. But a new character in the ripper crimes seems to hold the public’s imagination. That is the rumor of Dr. William Gull, physician to the Queen. Dr. Gull was responsible for treating Prince Albert Victor when he came down with Typhoid fever. In 1973 Joseph Sickert, the illegitimate son of the artist and ripper suspect Walter Sickert, claimed that a royal cover-up involving Dr. Gull was responsible for the murders. This plotline is the basis for From Hell, the Johnny Depp film about Jack the Ripper. Apparently the Prince fell for a prostitute in the East End while taking art lessons from Walter Sickert. They had a child and were secretly married with other hookers in attendance as witnesses. Sounds outlandish already, however, the murders were supposedly perpetrated in order to get rid of all witnesses and evidence of the marriage, the baby, and the alleged wife. 1) Gull was not a Freemason according to my research. 2) He had a stroke in 1887 and was half paralyzed to the extent that he could no longer practice medicine. The murders occurred in the fall of 1888. Gull could not have physically conducted the murders. 3) The Prince was known in close circles to favor men. 4) Prince Albert Victor was also mildly retarded and most likely incapable of secretly marrying anyone. The real conspiracy around the Prince is that he had contracted syphilis in the Bahamas and Dr. Gull was treating him for venereal disease. And the joke of it all is that Joseph Sickert recanted his tall tale and said he made it up. Interesting lies become an ingredient in the elixir that myths are made of.

Robert D’Onston Stephenson is more likely the historic suspect that our Dr. Stephens is loosely based on. He murdered his wife although he was never caught. He spent time in a lunatic asylum in London. And in an extreme case of projection identified one of the hospital’s doctors as being the killer. Even going so far as to visit Scotland Yard to tell them what he knew of the murders and the murderer. He suspected that the killings were part of a ritualistic murder rite, that the bodies had been killed at specific points in order to form a geometric symbol using the streets of the East End as a canvas. A pentagram, perhaps? Who knows. Does it stand up? By a stretch of the imagination, sure.

In the movie Dr. Stephens propositions Jules to put his motion picture camera to work for him explaining that ‘it could contribute a great deal to the field of medicine’. Jules commences collecting images for money. But when does collecting become creating? The first snuff film is born. But Jules can’t keep his trap shut even though he is being paid to follow Richard. I smell a set-up. Richard and Jules become acquainted once Richard realizes he is being ‘watched’. ‘Show me how it works’, he says and Jules more than accommodates. For a story set in the Victorian era it certainly has a contemporary moral tale to tell. Big Brother and a whole host of unknown eyes are watching us at all times. It poses the question of feeling safe or violated? What energy do our physical selves hold and how is that energy affected or disturbed by psychic manipulation. i.e. voyeurism? A lot to think about from a little blog. Dr. Stephens’ taste for unknown women or ladies of very low esteem is piqued and his tastes move from collecting images of dying whores to gathering images of one of the most prominent women in London, Victoria Thornton. Jules concedes and does it out of greed and extortion. Dr. Stephens does it for more lascivious purposes. Even Richard pinches the pieces of Victoria’s image for his own designs. I know this sounds trite but I hope it is out of love. When Dr. Stephens arrives one day to get his freak on over the images he finds that the celluloid is missing and threatens Jules with a big-assed knife. But he doesn’t kill his source because the images will stop. It’s a marriage made in hell. Richard goes to extreme measures to protect the identity and honor of his love. If their affair is made public a scandal could ruin the lives of all involved. After the dancer is filmed and dismissed Thom asks me if I might stand in as a dark figure. “What do I have to do?” I ask. I stand there and am handed a mask that looks a lot like a possessed goat. Then Thom gives me a black robe. This is still early September and it is hotter than the hinges of hell on the set.

“You’re going to wear this and just stand there. You don’t have to do anything.” Thom assures me.

“That’s the best acting tip Thom ever gave me.” Ed says cheerfully.

“Don’t you have a boom pole to collapse?” Thom replies and I can hear the beginning tone of exasperation starting to build.

“I can tell you’re getting hungry.” Ed says in a sing-song voice.

“I’m not hungry. I’m getting annoyed.” Thom replies.

“You want me to fix you a sandwich?” Ed asks sweetly.

“You can’t keep throwing food at me every time I start to lose it.” Thom continues.

“Are you losing it?” I ask concerned that I might completely melt or pass out from heat exhaustion.

“If you’re going to start in on me, I can’t work like this.” Thom says and the pack of cigarettes makes it from his pocket to his hand.

“Okay. You are not going to leave me standing in this latex for ten minutes while you smoke. So put them away and get the director so we can roll.” I say assertively.

Ed gives me a mark. I stand there sweating buckets while under black velvet and latex. The fog machine chugs and now I am blinded with smoke. ACTION! I have truly arrived at perdition.