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.

Burgers & Blockbusters

The other day, I was passing by a local burger restaurant which I never go to, when I saw a familiar face. It was my old friend Sonia, former owner of Irv's Burgers, a longtime favorite West Hollywood eatery which sadly closed its doors last year -- forced out of business by rising rents, taxes and insurance. Sonia now works directly across the street from the original Irv's location, where she'd thrived for over fifteen years before relocating up the street and then, ultimately shutting down for good.

The restaurant where Sonia now works is part of a chain that features overpriced megaburgers and overly-amplified live entertainment in the form of bingo, trivia, karaoke, etc. It's fairly popular, especially on the weekends, but it's far from the kind of place where you might stop in for a simple quiet meal and maybe a chat with one of your neighbors. It's more like a tourist trap.
Irv's is just one of several local restaurants that have fallen victim to the mindset that seems intent on destroying anything that makes West Hollywood feel like a community and transform it into an upscale clip joint. Decades-old, family run businesses keep getting squeezed out, only to be replaced by shiny but soulless franchises -- most of which are gone within a few years and replaced by even shinier franchises with even less soul.
I guess that's just the way of the world: things that feel familiar and comfortable and personal give way to those that are loud, bright and cheesy. Progress almost always turns out to be a ripoff. Everybody's trying to jump on the big new trend and make the fast bucks -- except most of them end up failing because trends subside and high prices and gimmicks don't build customer loyalty.
In Hollywood the latest big trend seems to be superhero movies. They're fairly popular, especially on weekends -- but to me they kind of feel like tourist traps. Or, as Martin Scorsese recently suggested, theme parks. Don't get me wrong, I love me a good theme park, it's just not the place I go to make a real connection to the human condition or experience masterful storytelling. Not that there's anything wrong with pure escapism, but it can only get you so far.
I used to frequent a restaurant in Burbank that sold the best breakfast burritos in town. That's what everybody said anyway. I went there for the turkey burgers. The place has been around for two generations and remains as popular as ever. Once I was talking with the owner about his competition, and he said his father always told him that competition doesn't matter. "They do what they do and we do what we do, and it's okay for all of us to share the same street."
Trends come and go. There's plenty of room on the street for big, escapist blockbusters and little, handmade indie flicks. Or there should be anyway. Just like there should be room for a cozy, family-run cafe just down the block from the flashy new flavor-of-the-month bistro.
Anyway, I am glad that Sonia's back in the neighborhood. But I sure do miss Irv's.

Parallel Universe

Last night I was walking down the sidewalk, on my way to the store, when I saw a guy trying to back into a parking spot along the busy four-lane boulevard in front of my building. He wasn't doing a very good job. His first attempt had left his car sticking halfway into the right lane, causing a backup of about a dozen cars -- most of whom were trying unsuccessfully to get around him. Naturally, the cars in the left lane weren't having any of that, because LA. So, the hapless motorist pulled forward again to get a better angle on the situation and wound up backing into the curb at a nearly 45 degree angle -- creating an even bigger obstacle to the flow of traffic.
At this point there were at least twenty cars stacked up in the right lane, stretching all the way down the block and into the next. The guy looked flustered and panicky. His car was a new Lexus, and I couldn't help wondering why, with all the fancy 'driver-assistance' technology, the guy still sucked so bad at parallel parking.

 I continued walking down the sidewalk and crossed to the next block -- by now there were probably thirty cars stuck behind this moron. I thought about my dad teaching me to parallel park and how he wouldn't let me use the car until I'd learned how to execute the maneuver in one seamless move. It was part of the driver's license road test -- you couldn't pass if you couldn't parallel park. I thought everyone had to learn how to do it. How is it possible that a grown man driving in a major U.S. city could be unable to parallel park?
It turns out that California, along with several other states, no longer requires parallel parking in their road test. Why? The short answer: Because it's too hard. People kept failing the tests and had to come back and retake them over and over again, creating a backup at the DMV. You see the irony, right? To alleviate the backup at the DMV, they dropped parallel parking from the road test, thereby creating a backup on my street -- and probably hundreds of thousands of others.
More and more, we live in a world where being competent is no longer a requirement. The chief executive of the (formerly) most powerful nation on earth has literally no idea what he's doing at any given time. Having skills and knowledge and expertise are quaint notions that only exist in some parallel universe in the minds of a disappearing few. But it's cool, because now we have cars that can parallel park for you -- if you can figure out how they work. Or you could just take an Uber and not have to park at all. Soon we'll have cars that will do all the driving for you. Won't that be grand? We won't have to know how to do anything for ourselves. Just sit back and let the machines take over. What could possibly go wrong?
As for me, I think I'll just keep walking.