Jack, Me, & Dupree

Note: This blog entry comes to us from the tail end of 2008. Nothing this cool has happened in the world since. So go ahead, Kremlin Joe—let fly with the nukes.

In a previous blog, I was quick to assume that were I ever to meet Jack Nicholson, my favorite actor, and quite frankly, someone whose life philosophies deeply intrigue me, I would begin to “infinitely crap my pants.” As it turns out, this is not the case at all.

On this day (December 19 for those keeping score at home), I arrived at work that morning only to find out in our morning huddle that we were to have a special screening that day upstairs and a VIP guest in attendance. It turns out this VIP is none other than Jack Nicholson. While everyone else looked around and murmurs of how cool that was could be heard, I stood with my mouth agape that the man himself would be frequenting my theater this day. My knees buckled a little and my heart was sent aflutter. I felt the same way I’m sure thousands of women have felt over the years after Jack has made passionate love to them for days, if not weeks, on end.

We have a little unwritten rule at our theater, but one that is abided by nonetheless: if an employee’s favorite actor pays a visit, that person gets to help that guest out. The night Al Pacino was in attendance, I was set to help him out, but another worker informed me Pacino was his favorite actor, so I stepped down and let him take my place. I’m not sure what happens if two people share the same favorite actor. It hasn’t come up yet. I assume it will be up to the actor him or herself to choose a favorite then.

While setting up box office, I was flitting around like a humming bird, hovering from one stanchion to the next. The next hour was essentially me talking at a rapid-fire pace about how awesome Jack is and how awesome it is that he was going to be there with my friend Jeremy between selling guests tickets. Jeremy being an aspiring filmmaker himself and also an admirer of Jack had lots of input on the subject. His favorite actor is Daniel Day Lewis, so if he is ever to appear at our theater, wearing mismatched socks and an overcoat that doesn’t match his pants, I predict a role reversal.

In no time at all, the people arriving for the special screening ambushed us—you know, the one Jack was supposed to be a part of. 250 people stormed up the stairs at once. They skipped the box office line and headed straight for the concessions. My bosses, being awesome and doing everything in their power to accommodate the unwritten rule, sent me over there to mingle with the crowd and get me in the middle of the action where Jack would be. Wave after wave of people came—producers, agents, Brendan Fraser, but no Jack. The guests got their complimentary foodstuffs and left behind nothing but dust and straw wrappers. Phooey.

Returning to Box, Jackless, Jeremy and I started making light of the situation. Whenever a new face would appear from the tip of the escalator, we’d both start jumping up and down, yelling in a hush, “Jack, Jack, Jack!” only to follow it up with a, “Nope. Old lady. False alarm,” or a, “Wait, no. Only Martin Scorsese,” or, “Never mind. It’s just Bruce Springsteen.” This went on for a while. Too long come to think of it. The novelty should have worn off well before it did. Come to think of it, the novelty never wore off. We just wore ourselves out physically from doing our little joke so many times.

After waiting all morning for our VIP, the fervor died down and we all accepted the fact that we had been duped. The movie was about to let out and still there was no Jack to be found. Jeremy and I were back to talking about movies, in particular, “The Aviator,” which has been a point of conversation for a couple of weeks now, and this and that, these and those.

And then it happened. Who should appear from the escalator? It was him. It was Jack.

I turned to Jeremy, who was busy texting underneath the box office counter.

“Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy,” I said over and over.

He looked up and saw what all the to do was about. As reported earlier, I did not begin to infinitely crap my pants, nor did Jeremy. But we were both in awe of the silver screen icon there in our midst. The man we grew up knowing as the Joker and later in life would come to recognize as Jake Gittes and Randall P. McMurphy and a deranged Johnny Carson. And just like that, he was out of our sight and on his way upstairs for the screening.

Reaching for a walkie, I radioed management to let them know our VIP was finally here. Based on their mannerisms coming out of the office, they were pretty excited to hear this too. Plans were set in place to accommodate the actor and the fellow he arrived with, who if I’m not mistaken, was a producer on the film. Bless my manager’s hearts, they assigned me the task of making sure director’s chairs were set up for the guests and that they had water bottles and microphones for the Q&A that was to follow the film.

The movie ended, the crowd applauded, I did my job and sat back and watched the Q&A. Had anyone have asked me to return to work, I’d have refused outright. Fortunately, such a ridiculous request was not desired of me.

Jack and the producer took the microphones and bottles of water in their director’s chairs, although both remained standing rather than sit in the director’s chairs I set up. The producer introduced the man that needed no introduction (Brendan Fraser looked a bit befuddled, but such is life for Brendan Fraser), and he spoke.

His voice was a bit raspy, but most definitely his signature vocal croon. He went on to talk about independent cinema and how hard it is for them to get made these days compared to back then (remember, Jack was involved with “Easy Rider,” one of the most successful independents of all time), because the studios don’t like competition, and how it is such a relief to see that the movie shown on this day at my theater could still get made in the current climate of filmmaking. It was a brief speech, but powerful and endearing. Jack sat the microphone back down on the director’s chair, took his water, and exited to a round of applause. He scuttled past my managers and me, and just like that, it was over.

Until one of my managers turned to me and said, “Go with him.”

Okay.

I hurried to catch up to Jack. He was making his way down the escalator this time. I called out, “Mr. Nicholson.”

He turned to me and we locked eyes. I couldn’t believe this moment was happening. I won’t say time slowed down or sped up or anything cliché like that—rather, it remained the same. It’s just at a moment like that you realize how quickly a few seconds goes by.

“Mr. Nicholson. I just wanted to let you know that you are my favorite actor and I wrote a screenplay with you in mind and I hope someday we’ll get a chance to work together,” said I. Ugh. So stupid. He hears crap like this all the time. Way to be a jackass in front of Jack, ya jackass.

“Well thank you, I appreciate that.”

Huh. Did I just get a thank you from Jack Nicholson? I turns out I did, and from there we continued to make small talk. He asked me my name, I told it to him, and we shook hands. Now on the escalator, I asked him what his affiliation was with the movie today, not having seen it when I last checked his filmography on IMDB. Turns out there was no affiliation with the movie whatsoever. Tommy Lee Jones was supposed to show up for the Q&A but could not make it, so the producer, a longtime friend of Jack’s, asked him to come down today to say a few words. Whatever works, I guess. I’m not complaining.

From there, we continued our small talk. Jack told me how he never had a problem knowing if a movie was going to suck or not, and neither could people that work at the box office. It was around this time we passed the box office, Jack and I side-by-side, when another one of my managers saw us. His eyes got wide and had a kind of, “What?” look on his face. It was delightful.

We made our way down another escalator to an elevator that would lead to the parking garage floor where Jack was parked (G2). It was here that we parted ways. Jack wished me luck on everything, and I thanked him, and told him it was an honor to meet him, which it was. The elevator door popped open, Jack did a funny-looking hop, asked if it was going down, and was gone, probably making whoever was in the elevator’s day.

Back at work, the managers wanted to know every little detail. I thanked them for letting me do everything I just did, and they sort of played it off with a, “Well, we can’t just let Jack Nicholson leave the theater by himself.” Thanks managers. You’re the best.

Over the next several days, lots of actors will wander the halls of Landmark Theatre—Mickey Rourke, Marisa Tomei, Evan Rachel Wood (all there for a Q&A of, “The Wrestler,” and Benicio Del Toro was there for the special road show edition of “Che” (of note, Jack and Benicio worked together on the movie, “The Pledge”). Diane Keaton, who teamed with Jack in the movie, “Something’s Gotta Give,” also came through box that day, but nothing quite lived up to the golden standard, nor could it.

Thus far, California has had some major lows, but some serious highs too. For every Pas’Ta Weat playing “Kandy Store” at six in the morning there is a Jack Nicholson wishing you the best of luck on all things. Neither of the above examples would’ve happened were I still in Iowa.

Sorry I’m Late. I Was Stuck In Traffic

Hey there what’s left of my small but devoted fan base of readers eagerly awaiting an update on things that occurred months ago. Sorry to keep you waiting for a new entry, but not really, because I know you weren’t waiting. In the interim, you went out, got married, signed a loan on a nice but modest home on the corner that doesn’t have much of a yard, but it’s in a good neighborhood and you like the school district, so you took it, settled in, had kids, got that promotion, and it’s a good thing too, because braces aren’t cheap, and set up online banking. With all those things going on, how could you find time to read my anemic blog?

I’ll keep this one short, and hopefully, you can fit this little nugget into your schedule. I also apologize for not getting a new entry out sooner. Hell, even Dallas has updated since I last posted. But I have my reasons:

First, this past year has been extremely busy. I think you would agree if I had had time to write about those incendiary times throughout the past eleven months. Unfortunately, I did not, so you will forever be left in the shadows. When I have not been bogged down with work, things have just been hectic overall and not conducive to anything productive.

Second, the lack of an Internet connection played a large part in me not posting anything. Supposedly, there is a whole mess a Internet out here in Californee, but they want you to pay for it. Not being a believer in paying for things that are basic human needs—food, shelter, and Internet—I refused to buy me up any. That’s also why I’ve lost about fifteen pounds and have lived in squalor.

Finally, I’m just damn lazy. I like to write. But like all things you enjoy, you never want to actually do them if you are supposed to. Someone could come up to me and say, “I want you to sit around in air conditioning all day, playing video games, listening to music, having noncommittal sex with an assortment of beautiful women, eat Oreo cookies, and re-alphabetize a movie collection,” and the first thing I would want to do is tar a rooftop under the noontime sun all while doing wind sprints in full Eskimo gear and Crocs.

I won’t lie to you and say this is my return blog and that there will be frequent posts from here on out, although I am going to try to post more often. However, the aforementioned hurdles mentioned above (see: above), are still present. But I will post some of the blogs I wrote over the past few months of latency and hopefully come at you with an ample sampling of more current blog writings.

Keep your eyes to the skies. This blog and the anniversary of my expedition out to California is coming up (one year already!), so expect a retrospective entry some time in 2011.