Sidney Lumet

One night, back when I was at Wesleyland, I was walking down Foss Hill and I saw a helicopter sitting in the middle of Andrus Field. I went over to check it out and found the pilot sitting in the cockpit. I asked him what he was doing there and he told me he had been hired by Sidney Lumet to fly up from New York for a speaking engagement on campus that evening. Although I knew who Lumet was, somehow I had missed hearing that he was coming to Wesleyan. I would have liked to see him. I thought it was pretty cool that he flew up from New York in a helicopter to come talk to a bunch of film students. Who does that?

One of the first times I ever went to see a movie without my parents was when I went to see a Sean Connery movie called The Anderson Tapes with our next-door neighbors. It was a big deal going to see a real grown-up movie on my own and I was pretty excited. I still remember certain scenes from that movie very vividly -- it had a real impact on me. But mostly I remember being very upset afterwards. I don't know why, but I couldn't get to sleep. I just kept thinking about the movie and the characters and the feeling that it was all so real and so intense. The Anderson Tapes really freaked me out. It was a Sidney Lumet movie.

A few years later, our church youth group leader took a bunch of us to see Al Pacino in Serpico, the true story of a New York cop who refuses to go on the take and ends up getting shot in the face by his own guys. We had to get permission slips from our parents because it was rated R, and some kids weren't allowed to go. But I had already read the book, so my parents didn't see any harm. I loved Serpico. I thought Pacino was the coolest. And I loved New York -- Serpico's New York, gritty and grimy and hip and tough. Serpico blew me away. Another Lumet movie.

At Wesleyan I saw several Lumet movies, and began to realize just how great the man in the helicopter really was.

Murder on the Orient Express was an adaptation of an Agatha Christie novel featuring the amazing Albert Finney as Hercule Poirot, along with an all-star cast that includes Sean Connery and Ingrid Bergman. Hard to believe it was made by the same director that made The Anderson Tapes and Serpico, but Lumet was never confined to one type of subject matter or genre. Whatever the tale, Lumet brings it to life with intelligence and style, using his formidable craft to serve the story in any way he can.

Lumet's next movie was about a guy who robs a bank to pay for a sex-change operation for his boyfriend. These days that may seem like no big deal, but when Dog Day Afternoon came out you just didn't have a lot of bisexual movie heroes winning over the hearts of audiences across America. Of course it helps when you have Al Pacino playing the bank-robber, Sonny. But it is Lumet's storytelling genius that puts us so squarely in Sonny's corner right from the get-go, so that when he reveals his true motive for the robbery it makes him even more sympathetic, rather than less.

Lumet was on a roll. His next film was Network. What can you say about Network? Brilliant script by Paddy Chayefsky. Brilliant performances by Peter Finch, William Holden, Faye Dunaway, Robert Duvall, Ned Beatty. Brilliant directing by Lumet. What was once considered cutting edge satire is now reality TV. It doesn't get much better than this.

Lumet went back to his roots in the theater for Equus, adapting the prize-winning play with Richard Burton as the psychiatrist. In a way, the film's exploration of a troubled psyche reminds me of another Lumet gem, Long Day's Journey Into Night, which stands as one of the greatest theatrical adaptations ever filmed. In both, you have characters striving to understand the workings of a tortured mind, only to come face to face with their own dark secrets.

I've always loved courtroom dramas. In The Verdict, Lumet teamed up with Paul Newman and screenwriter David Mamet to give us one of the best ever made. Every moment of this movie is worth savoring. And Newman's final summation to the jury is a perfect example of great writing, great acting and great directing. Lumet, Mamet and Newman should have been given Oscars for that scene alone.

Speaking of courtroom dramas, the first time I served on jury duty, I found myself in a situation similar to Henry Fonda's in 12 Angry Men. Everyone else on the jury thought the defendant was guilty, but I wasn't convinced. I had to explain my position to the other jurors, and even though it wasn't as volatile or dramatic as the movie, I couldn't help thinking of Henry Fonda's performance as I laid out the facts of the case. I was in an awkward position, but I had Fonda as my guide. Eventually I convinced everyone that the facts just weren't there to support a conviction, and we let the guy go free. He'll never know it, but Sidney Lumet saved his ass that day.

When I was getting ready to direct my short film Dante's View, I read Lumet's book Making Movies. In it, he describes the process he used to shoot 12 Angry Men. In order to give the feeling of the room closing in on the jurors during the course of their deliberations, Lumet decided to slowly lower the camera angle throughout the course of the movie, bringing the walls and ceiling more and more into the frame to loom over the actors. To accomplish this feat, he shot the movie completely out of sequence, getting every shot facing one wall, in order, from daytime to nightfall, slowly lowering the camera angle as he went, until he had all the shots he needed. Then he'd start over facing the next wall, repeating the process until he'd covered all four walls. This technique took tremendous planning and organization to match the lighting, the angles, the performances, everything. And when you watch the movie, it's seamless. Totally unnoticeable. But the feeling is there. That's a real director.

Lumet's final movie, Before the Devil Knows You're Dead, shows him at the top of his form until the last -- shooting on HD video in the quick and economical style he developed in his early years in television. Lumet insisted on calling the movie a melodrama, which has become a dirty word in the movie business, but once again it shows his mastery of the material. By focusing on the emotional impact of the events on the characters, Lumet elevates what could be a hum-drum crime drama to operatic level, serving the story in the best way possible.

I never did get to see Sidney Lumet, the man in the helicopter, but he's always been there, for all these years, showing me how to do it right.

Acting!

"We're actors - we're the opposite of people."

I'm not an actor, but on a few occasions I have pretended to be one.

In high school, I was put in charge of producing our senior class play, Oklahoma! Somehow, in addition to hiring the director and choreographer, overseeing set construction, props, costumes and lighting, arranging rehearsals, scheduling the performances, preparing the program, and building a 30-foot-wide stage extension, I was also persuaded to take a small role in the production.

I played Ike, one of the local hayseeds. Ike is basically part of the chorus, which meant a lot of loping around (i.e. 'dancing') and singing back-up parts. I did get a short solo in one song, about a half a verse, which was terrifying. But I managed to get through it without bringing the whole production to a halt.

All in all in was a lot of fun, plus I ended up taking one of the dancers to the prom, so I'd have to say it was success.

Several years later, I was living at my parents house in Connecticut, trying to figure out what to do with my life. Deep into my folk-singer phase, I was looking in the local paper for open mike nights, and I saw a notice for auditions for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at the Puppet House Theater in Stony Creek. As a kid I had memorized every word to every song on the Joseph album, so I thought I would give it a try.

I went to the audition and sang one of my original folk tunes and somehow was selected for the part of Levi, Joseph's 'cowboy' brother. As Levi, I got to sing a whole song by myself. Which was cool, except that the song, One More Angel in Heaven, was not included on the record I had memorized as a kid -- so I had to learn it from scratch.

In addition to my solo turn, I was also part of the chorus, which meant a lot of floundering around (i.e., 'dancing') and singing back-up parts.

The show ran for three weeks. Each night, about midway through the show, I would saunter out on stage with my guitar and launch into my solo lament -- just trying to get through it without screwing up. The next day, the director would give the cast his notes. He always gave me the same one: "You need to go bigger." I had no idea what that meant and was basically too dumb to ask.

Finally, on the night of the last performance, I decided to stretch out a little. During the climactic verse, I walked almost all the way across the stage and paused dramatically before delivering the song's punchline: "It takes a man who knows not fear, to wrassle with a goat."

Instead of the usual smattering of chuckles from the audience, this time I got a big laugh. Afterward, the director came up to me and said, "That's what I've been trying to tell you all along!"

Acting!

When I lived in Brooklyn, my roommate, Jon, was serious trained actor as well as an acting teacher. I learned a lot about acting just by being around him. I was very impressed with all of the preparation he would go through while learning a new role. He put a lot more thought into the character than I ever did as a writer. Made me think I needed to do a little more homework.

Around the same time, I was dating a lovely aspiring actress. Ever supportive, I went to see every one of her performances. It always amazed me how she could transform herself into a completely different person onstage. Oh sure, I knew about the various techniques involved, I even read Stanislavsky's An Actor Prepares, but knowing about it and actually doing it were worlds apart for me. I just wasn't that kind of animal.

I have enough trouble just being me.

These days, I belong to a group of screenwriters that meets every week to hold staged readings of our works-in-progress. I have become a kind of go-to narrator for the group, which means I read all of the descriptive parts of the screenplay -- but none of the dialog. We have trained actors for that. It's fun and makes me feel important, but it's not acting.

The other day, though, I was involved in a small production organized by some of the members of the group. They were shooting a short film to help promote a feature they want to produce, and they asked me to play a small, non-speaking role. I was flattered, but confused. Everyone else they had cast was a bona-fide actor. What was I doing in their company?

The short was about a wedding that goes awry. I was cast as the father of the bride, no doubt because I am so distinguished looking. I wore a tuxedo and got to parade around with a beautiful young actress on my arm. In my big scene, I walked her down the aisle, whereupon I was required to kiss her on the cheek and take my seat. What? Kiss her? For real? I felt like a total goofball, trying not to giggle. Fortunately, everything went smoothly. Then they had us do it again. And again. And again.

Acting is fun!

I thought was getting the hang of it. Just walk down the aisle, kiss the pretty girl and sit down. I can handle that. Well, almost. At one point the Director of Photography scolded: "Don't look at the camera!" Oops. That's probably one of the first things you learn in acting class. And it was a lot harder than you might think. I mean, where are you supposed to look? Apparently you look at your fellow actors. You know, like this is a real wedding and she's your real daughter, and there isn't a big movie camera pointed right at you.

Acting!

Eventually, I began to feel a little less fraudulent. It wasn't really that different from an actual wedding -- you get all dressed up and pretend like you know what you're doing. Besides, I had a little secret to help me play my part. I had just learned the night before that my niece Annie is pregnant. I was so excited and happy for her that I couldn't help looking like a very proud father of the bride.

No acting necessary.

Lent

I'm not exactly what you would call a "religious" person. Oh sure, I went to Sunday School when I was a kid. Around the age of thirteen, I took part in a "confirmation" ceremony to become a member of the congregation of the Springdale Presbyterian Church in Louisville. At the ceremony, I was given a copy of the The Holy Bible with my name embossed in gold letters on the cover. I even went so far as to read the whole Bible from cover to cover. But, at some point, I kind of drifted away from Christianity and started developing my own belief system. I'm actually still working on that.

It's a process.

Meanwhile, there are some aspects of religion that still intrigue me. Like faith, for example. And forgiveness. And who's not a fan of love? I just felt like there was a lot of extra baggage involved with established religion that I didn't need to carry around for the rest of my life.

Lately, though, I've been thinking a lot about Lent. Growing up Protestant, Lent was always more of an abstract idea than a serious commitment. I mean, we didn't stop eating meat for forty days or anything like that. In fact, I don't really remember giving up anything for Lent. I remember hearing about it in Sunday School and maybe even considering it, but I don't think I ever actually took it to heart.

The basic idea of Lent is to give up something you care about to symbolically mirror the 40 days of fasting that Jesus underwent in the wilderness before embarking on his ministry. The practice of self-denial is supposed to help prepare the faithful for the celebration of Holy Week.

Or maybe it's more like a test -- the same way Jesus was tested by Satan during his time in the wilderness. Except instead of fasting for forty days and turning down the opportunity to rule the world, most people just give up eating chocolate or stop playing video games.

Either way, it's an interesting challenge. Can you give up something that you really enjoy for forty days?

This year, I was thinking about what I might give up for Lent -- kind of as an exercise in self-discipline. I tried to come up with something that would actually feel like a sacrifice. Problem is, I've already given up a lot of things, and I'm kind of down to the bare essentials.

One of the most common things that believers will give up for Lent is meat -- sometimes that means all animal flesh, and sometimes it just means red meat. I gave up eating red meat about twenty-five years ago, and except for a few occasions, I haven't had any since. Another common sacrifice is to give up dairy foods. I gave up dairy around the same time I gave up red meat. I haven't had a milkshake since the 80's.

And I really love milkshakes.

I've never been a coffee drinker or a cigarette smoker, so I can't give those up. Once upon a time, I dabbled in the use of so-called "recreational drugs," but that was, as they say, a long time ago in a a galaxy far, far away.

Several years ago, I went on a rather extreme diet, during which I gave up sugar, wheat, alcohol, processed foods and anything carbonated, fermented or containing yeast. That's a lot of stuff. I stayed on that diet for two years. Every once in a while, as a tune-up, I go on a modified version the diet. Last month, just for kicks, I gave up sugar and alcohol for 28 days.

Back when I decided to quit my paralegal job, I had to give up a few things as well. Like paychecks. And security. And going out to dinner. Or the movies. Or traveling. Or buying new clothes. Health insurance. Haircuts.

I feel like I've given up other things, too. Things that a lot of people take for granted. I never really had a career, never bought a house, never got married, never had kids. I guess I traded those things for the freedom to do what I want. I never really planned it that way -- I always figured I could have it all.

Sometimes I feel like I may have given up too much.

So maybe, in my own personal belief system, self-denial isn't really something I need to focus on. Instead, maybe I should spend the forty days of Lent coming up with ways to make my life more fulfilling. Maybe for me, the Lenten Season should be more about 'letting go' than 'giving up.' Like letting go of the notion that I have to punish myself for my lack of success as a writer by denying myself some of the basic necessities of life. Maybe it's time to 'give up' feeling like a failure.

I'm not saying it's gonna be easy. Just yesterday I went to Target to buy myself some new socks and underwear, as my current supply is sadly tattered and threadbare. And even though they weren't technically on sale, I did spend about twenty minutes comparing prices to determine which 'value pack' was the better deal. Some habits die hard.

Not that I want to start spoiling myself with extravagant luxury items like fancy designer boxer shorts. I just think it's a good idea to take a break from constantly worrying about whether I "deserve" something and maybe just do it without trying to rationalize or justify everything.

For example, I want a new pair of running shoes, but have been putting off buying them because the really good ones are so expensive. On the other hand, since running is good for me, I should go ahead and get them, right? Or is that a justification? Should I get the shoes because I want them or because I deserve them? Maybe I should wait until they are on sale.

This is new territory for me, so I may not get the hang of it right away.

It's a process.