La La Land.

 

Well there we are: La La Land; my landlady, when I first moved to America said, in New York they call this place La La Land, and it was used in a derogatory way – taking the piss, as they say over here or what do you mean? when that phrase is used in La La Land or, Los Angeles. I have no idea how you would convey a meaning to it to people outside that vernacular; even taking the piss has another way of being said as taking the Mickey and sometimes even extracting the Michael.

My pal, after I told him what it meant used it on an occasion and said giving the piss – no.

I wrote about the movie, La La Land, on Facebook and, it seems, a lot of people liked it too.

It reminded me of all the great and good things about the place The Formosa (a restaurant on Santa Monica Blvd) Pink's (a hot dog stand on Le Brea), Angels Flight – there's a photo (above) I took of my daughter getting off Angels Flight some time ago.

There was actually a movie called Angels Flight which, I reckon, was in the forties. Black and white and I think a crime thriller.

It was a little rail car which travelled about forty or fifty feet to take the passengers down from one level to the other in Down Town LA.

But back to the movie La La Land, and it's a movie I have seen a number of times and still get a thrill out of all of it.

Some of the nasty stuff, I remember, like casting directors stopping you half way through an audition with a loud– thank you!!

Or even asking you to learn a long extract from a play and then when you turn up, all ready, word perfect and summoning up courage to go in and bare your soul to the soulless creature, they welcome you with 'just the closing two lines please.'

Now did I make a mistake here – I was called to go for an audition (in London they sometimes call them meetings!! they're auditions) for a role in a TV series. 

At the time I was with an agent I didn't like. He replaced one I did like who got me a part in an Indian movie, and his replacement was a shit bag. They don't like you calling them (the agents) in the morning as they are supposed to be busy putting their clients up for roles in movies and TV.

That agent said he didn't like calls before three and one day I called him at 2.55 and he tore me off a strip.

One day he called about this particular audition and I knew the series and he told me it was for the role of a doctor so wear a suit – which I did.

The temperature was in the 80s when I showed up and I was directed to the casting director's office.

I went in and I was shown to a seat by a girl who was filing papers in to the filing cabinet. I knew this wasn't the casting director and, as it turned out, wasn't even her assistant.

After the filing, she gave me a script and said 'ah you are our doctor – on page seventeen (or whatever) please.'

So I turned to page seventeen and looked for the doctor – one word ME.

And the line before from somebody else – Is there a doctor in the house?

Well I felt a little humiliated.

I thought, would they be thinking I was above myself if I walked out; would I get the who does he think he is, if I walked out; would I be able to inject something into it, have a chance as to which way I would play it; I didn't know. Maybe play the character with a limp – grow a beard?

She came to me and said 'are you ready?' and I said 'thank you for calling me in but I don't think it's up my street.'

'What?' she said.

'I don't think it's for me.' and I, very gently, handed the script back .

As I went down the stairs I felt like the guy who jumped off San Francisco suspension bridge and half way down changed his mind.

I called the agent and told him I'd turned it down and he said 'whaaaaat?'

It was at that moment I knew I'd done the right thing and it's what the girl in LA LA Land should have done each time she was insulted.

Of course the boss of the agent called me later. She was a woman of around 60 who had died her hair six months previously and it was white at the roots and black elsewhere.

She wanted to know who I thought I was etc and told me 'we have a saying here – there are no small parts just small actors . .' I said that's not here it's Stanislavsky (It might be)'

So I quit that agent and she said 'what am I going to do with your tapes' and I said 'put them in the bin.'

'In the what . . the . .?'

I said 'the trash.'

I never regretted it but maybe I was a bit too big for my boots; who cares?