The Cadillac of Actors

Back when I first moved to West Hollywood, there was a diner across the street from my building called The Silver Spoon. It was a regular bacon-and-eggs type of place with booths and a counter and tables and a cozy bar, and best of all, a covered outdoor patio. The patio was the perfect place for french toast and turkey sausage on a beautiful, sunny Sunday morning.
There was a guy who always sat at the back corner table on the patio, reading the paper -- one of those people you see in Hollywood who look so familiar you think you know them, until you realize he's an actor. This actor was Robert Forster. He was such a regular there, they even had a signed poster from the movie Jackie Brown on the wall.
Around this same time period I attended a wedding reception in Orange County where I found myself talking to a beautiful blonde who was asking me if I ever saw any movie stars in West Hollywood. When I mentioned Robert Forster, her eyes lit up. "I love him," she said. Turns out she had been an actress when she was younger, before getting married and moving to Orange County to raise a family. She told me that she knew Forster and that he had been the sweetest, kindest, most honorable man in all of Hollywood. Helping her out with advice and such. Of course I'm thinking 'who wouldn't want to help you out?' But she was so thrilled to be reminded of him she made me promise to tell him she said hello.
So, the following Sunday I was at the Spoon and when I finished my french toast I ambled over to Forster's table and apologized for the intrusion, but... And I told him about the blonde from Orange County. He was very polite, but had no idea who she was. He probably met thousands of beautiful young blondes in his day. He asked what she was up to now and I said she was raising a family and he said, "well, that's the most important thing anyone can do." Which I found kind of quaint, but also kind of cool.
And that's how I met Robert Forster.

Cut to a few years later, I was writing a screenplay called Stealing Tarantino, about a guy who steals a script from Quentin Tarantino, and I read about how Forster and Tarantino would meet at the Spoon on a regular basis to discuss Forster's character. So, I decided to write Forster into the script. When I finished writing, I pitched the script to an agent, who basically told me that a movie based on a real Hollywood big shot would most likely never get made, so the script got shelved -- along with so many others.
But I couldn't get it out of my head, and so one sunny Sunday, I was at the Spoon and I saw Forster at his usual table, reading the paper. I ambled over once again and apologized for the intrusion, but... And I pitched him the movie. He was tickled by the idea that I had set a scene at that very table with him playing himself helping the Tarantino character track down a bounty hunter he had used for researching a role. Then he told me he had a stack of scripts at home three feet high that he had to read, and another stack four feet high that he wanted to read. "Yours goes at the bottom of the four foot stack," he said, "that means I'm never gonna read it." He added, "But if you get a million dollars to make the movie, give me a call."
He actually did suggest I get in touch with his daughter, who was working as his manager at the time, and see if she would take a look. He didn't tell me her name or give me her number, and I didn't ask -- I just thanked him profusely and tried to make a graceful exit. I did manage to get hold of his daughter, and we traded emails -- she may have even asked me to send her the script. But, nothing ever came out of it. Still, it was nice of him to offer and nice of her to follow up.
When they tore down the Spoon to make room for a fancy fish place, Forster moved his "office" to a restaurant across the street -- always sitting at the table by the window. I'd see him there all the time, and once or twice I think he even recognized me. Maybe not.
Last night I watched him in one of his final performances, in El Camino, reprising his role as "Ed" the disappearer guy. Forster died the day the movie came out. He does his usual terrific job, giving the scene exactly what it needs -- no less, no more. As an actor, you never catch him trying to convince you of anything, he's just doing his thing, not giving away too much, but with a lot going on under the surface. He was a master.
There was another movie I saw him in once, I can't remember the name or what it was about, but at one point he's trying to convince someone what a good car a Cadillac is by reminding him that they use the term "the Cadillac of..." whatever something is to mean "the best of" --  and the Cadillac literally is "the Cadillac of luxury cars," so it must be the best. It's a funny scene with Forster playing up a midwestern accent that makes the word "Cadillac" a joke unto itself.
Robert Forster was the Cadillac of actors, the sweetest, kindest, most honorable man in all of Hollywood. Maybe someday people will use his name to describe "the best of," as in "he's the Robert Forster of optometrists."
I think he would get a kick out of that.