Bruce Wagner - Still Holding

“HOW DO YOU memorize?”

“Jorgia taught me some tricks.”

“Jorgia Wilding.”

“Yeah. And I do some — neurolinguistic stuff. With therapists. I’m just a dog who jumps through hoops.”

“Well I think you’re being a little modest. I really did want to tell you that your performance in True West was… pretty damn seamless.”

“Thank you. I try to go with — the feelings. Behind the words.”

“There were so many levels there. Will you do more theater?”

“I want to do Beckett.”

“That’s funny.”

“Hopefully,” he said, smiling.

The director laughed. “Beckett can be very funny, it’s true. But it’s also funny because I’ve been talking to the Geffen about putting up Krapp’s Last Tape. ”

“Whoa! That’s a trip. I love that play.”

A youngish man in a suit approached the table. “Gentlemen,” he said respectfully, “forgive me for interrupting.” He turned to Kit. “Sir, I just wanted to say that I am honored to even be sitting in the same restaurant.”

“Thank you,” said Kit.

“No — thank you, ” he said, and left.

“Lou Petroff. Do you know him?”

“I don’t.”

“Sweet man,” said the director. “And a good agent.”

“Mr. Reiner — my managers said you had a script.”

The director leaned in, his hand cupping a bread roll like it was a healing stone. A peculiar but effectively intimate gesture.

“It’s all very weird. You know, originally — and I’m sure they told you this — Ed was going to be doing it. Ed Norton.”

“Ed’s great.”

“But there was a conflict.”

“Ah!” said Kit. “I love ‘conflict’! Creative differences. ”

“Exactly. We had lots of those. And what happened was — your agents probably already told you this — what happened was, I literally woke up in the middle of the night — because I’d seen your play a few weeks before so you were already bouncing around my subconscious — and I’ll never forget. I sat bolt upright in bed and thought, BAM! Kit Lightfoot. ”

“Eureka. I found it.”

“My Eureka moment. And I called Ellen — Ellen Chenoweth…”

“I know Ellen. You called her in the middle of the night?”

“I had the sense to wait until morning. And I said: Ellie, does he wanna do movies? Is everybody asking him? Or is nobody asking him?”

“That’s closer!”

“And I said that out of total respect. Because right now you’re like the pretty girl who everyone’s afraid to ask out — that’s what I was hoping, anyway. The bottom line is, this project is something I’ve been wanting to do for about five years.” He pivoted the bread roll, wheeling it this way and that. “It’s about a man who suffered an injury not dissimilar to yours. He was a law student when the accident happened—”

“True story?”

“Yes. A true story. In fact, I had lunch with him two weeks ago, in Boston.”

“What’s his name?”

“Stan Jiminy.”

“Jiminy Cricket!”

“Jiminy Cricket was his nickname,” intoned the director, as if all — especially Kit’s involvement — had been predestined. “A brilliant guy. The injuries he sustained left him damaged but with ‘a beautiful mind,’ if you will. And after years, many years of incredible discipline and hard work — something you’re certainly not unfamiliar with — Stan became an attorney. Now of course I’m making a very long story short, which is the challenge we’ll have with the film.”

“He became an attorney—”

“Right. And along the way, this amazing woman was his mentor and kind of guardian angel, who hired him to assist with pro bono work. She was a criminal lawyer. Rhoda — that was her name, Rhoda Horowitz — had a sister who the family kind of shunted off to a state home. The sister was retarded, and Rhoda always felt that was kind of the skeleton in the family closet. Which it was.”

“Like Michelle in I Am Sam. ”

“I wouldn’t say Rhoda Horowitz was quite in the Michelle Pfeiffer mold,” he said, wryly.

“Who plays the mentor?”

“Susan Sarandon’s going to do that for us. And Dusty’s the dad — Stan’s father.”

“Ah—”

“Do you know Susan and Tim?”

“Yeah! I like them!”

“And of course, you’ve worked with Dusty.”

“She’s a real angel?”

(He had spaced on that part of the pitch. Nerves.)

“No, no. Not a real one — a guardian. Not that I’m above using the device of an angel, if I need to!” The wry smile again. “Anyway, one day in the middle of a very important trial, she dies.”

“Susan?”

The director nodded.

“How?”

“Embolism.”

“True?”

“All true.”

“Did you know Susan?”

“You mean, Rhoda?”

“Rhoda! Yes.”

“I didn’t have the pleasure.”

Kit sipped at his water. “Mr. Reiner, does it seem— I don’t want to knock your project! But—”

“No, please…”

“With me in the role, does it seem, maybe, a gimmick? You know — stunt casting?”

“No. No, I don’t think so, Kit, not if we do it right. I completely understand the question — and it’s a good question — but I don’t think so. By the way, I read the Aronofsky script. Very intriguing — as Darren always is. And I think Darren is absolutely brilliant, a visionary. But it was a bit ‘postmodern’ for me. I guess it’s all about sensibilities but I found it hard to get under the characters’ skin, emotionally. And there was another thing. I really strongly feel that for these kinds of movies — if one can say we’re doing a ‘kind’ of movie without instantly losing integrity! — that you really need to be in the courtroom.”

“I loved A Few Good Men. ”

“Thank you. Which is what the Aronofsky script lacked. Because that script you were going to do was essentially a courtroom drama— without a courtroom. And that’s something the audience demands, the kind of classic catharsis a courtroom setting provides. Otherwise, it’s Gladiator without the Colosseum. Of course, there’s a romance too, but we haven’t cast your ‘lady’ yet.”

Dark Horse

BECCA GOT THE CALL while she was at Whole Foods.

The Rob Reiner film was back on track — with Kit Lightfoot in the Ed Norton part. Her agent said that casting the recovering actor was a brilliant stroke (“No pun intended”) and amazing coup. He told Becca the director was anxious for her to read with his new leading man. Rob liked her original audition so much that he had phoned personally.

She was ecstatic. But the moment she hung up, Becca knew she was doomed. Her agent didn’t even get it. She examined the impasse from every angle — the problem being, it was only a matter of time before someone connected to the movie snapped to the fact that Becca Mondrain used to sleep with the daddy-killer whose buddy had whacked Kit Lightfoot in the head. It was an insane predicament, a tragically ridiculous checkmate, and the more she thought about it the more surprised she was that the Reiner camp had been caught unawares. What should she do? The oblivious agent would probably just say she was paranoid, but she knew that wasn’t the case. Even Annie agreed.

She was about to call Sharon Belzmerz for advice when it came to her: she would go in and audition for the sheer incredible experience of it — she owed herself that much — and if fate decreed he hire her, she’d bite the bullet, and come clean. Look, Mr. Reiner, there’s something that I think you don’t know but that you probably should because it’s kind of a big deal. And maybe you know already but I don’t think so. See, I used to pretty seriously date Herke Lamar Goodson, the guy who was on trial in Virginia last year? We went out for a few months before he was arrested for a… for homicide. He was the one who killed his dad? Everyone — including me! — was totally shocked when that happened. I had no idea he had anything like that in his past or was even capable of such a thing. Anyway, it turned out — as you probably or might already even know — that he also happened to be friends with the crazy person who did that awful thing to Kit. The man who hit him in the head with the bottle? When I found all of this out, it became totally one of the worst periods of my life. Because I’m from Waynesboro, Virginia, and we just don’t live life in the so-called fast lane there. Mr. Reiner, I cried my eyes out on the phone to my mama every night. And I know I probably should have made my agency “tell all” before I came in to audition — I didn’t conceal any of it from him, but to tell the truth I don’t even think he — my agent — was thinking straight — but I was just so amazingly honored to even be asked or considered by you for your film and that you remembered me and were gracious enough to totally ask me back was just almost too much! It’s almost like I didn’t want to let you down or disappoint you. Aside from “Rusty”—that’s what Herke Goodson called himself — he lied to me and everyone else about so many things, even his name — aside from the crazy coincidence of me auditioning with Kit, and my ex-boyfriend knowing the man who struck him on top of the head, I just wanted you to know, wanted to be sure that you understood that I so totally did not know at the time that Rusty, or Herke, had this terrible double life! It was beyond the worst thing that ever happened to me, worse than when my closest friend was hit by a car on prom night! And I am so sorry if I caused you any hassle or wasted your time but you have been so nice to me and I wanted to say all this because I thought that if things went any further it would potentially be embarrassing for all parties down the line, notwithstanding the studio. From a public relations standpoint. And I would never want to embarrass you or Kit. I know that you know that. And I just wanted to thank you for giving me the opportunity — it is something I will never forget. And that I would love to work with you one day in any capacity and just feel that my best chance of doing that is to open up to you in the way that I have today. So thank you, Mr. Reiner, thank you, thank you, thank you for even listening and hearing me out!