DAYBREAK X

It recently occurred to me that it’s been ten years since my first film Daybreak played the film festival circuit. I’ve previously documented the making of the film in other blogs and in my book Long Night’s Journey Into Daybreak. At any rate, I decided to revisit the film on DVD in the comfort of my living room. I had not seen Daybreak since I recorded the audio commentary in 2004 for its DVD release. Since I know all the dialogue by heart, I decided to watch it with the audio commentary track on.

It was a very enjoyable experience. The audio commentary featured director of photography Cameron Cutler and me discussing the making of the film and offering insights into the meaning of different images, scenes and dialogue. The movie is densely populated with props and actions and words that foreshadow much of what follows in the story. I can see now just how ambitious this film was to make. So if you ever see Daybreak on DVD, I highly recommend making time to watch it a second time with the audio commentary on. It ties everything together and gives me a chance to explain what I was trying to achieve and why.

The movie was shot on Super16 mm Eastman Kodak film stock, developed, transferred to digital tape and color corrected prior to editing. This was 1998. Nowadays the image would likely be captured digitally, a rough assembly edit performed on the scenes by the next day, and color correction at the end. Now Eastman Kodak has filed for bankruptcy protection and is giving up its naming rights to the Kodak Theater in Hollywood where the Academy Awards will again be broadcast from later this month. Just another reminder to me of how long ago Daybreak was.

The tagline of the film is “The beginning of a new day . . . the end of an old life.” In many ways this also refers to my own life. From that point on I considered myself a filmmaker first and an actor second. The business of selling a movie once it is made became my new life. By 2000 Daybreak was completed and screened for the cast and crew in the Chaplin Theater at Raleigh Studios in Los Angeles. A year passed before a film festival wanted to program it: the now-defunct Fort Worth Film Festival. Daybreak debuted to its first paying audience only weeks after September 11, 2001. I clearly remember LAX still patrolled by National Guard soldiers with sidearms and M16s. Vehicles could drop off, but none could use any parking structures. They were completely closed. Attendance was miserable at the film festival as anxiety still ran high. The audience for the world premiere of my movie was so small that Friday night that we were all on a first name basis before the opening credits rolled. Bittersweet.

Ten years ago this month Daybreak played the Big Apple at the State Theater during another festival. Being in New York City only months after the terrorist attacks was also strange. New York felt muted, its vibrancy diminished. On the other hand, I’d never seen New Yorkers more polite and engaged with each other. I saw some good films that week and loved being in the city.

By the end of 2002 Daybreak had screened for its last audience, ironically back in the same Raleigh Studios Chaplin Theater where it had first been screened two years before. I pressed on with the business of selling the film. Two years later I had a direct-to-video DVD distribution deal set up. I meticulously crafted bonus material to augment and add value to the DVD. There were the deleted scenes, an audio commentary including the director of photography, and a never-before-done feature version of the movie showing all of the scenes in the order they were filmed, with a dedicated commentary by me explaining the true day by day battles to complete the film. Five years later, in 2009, I followed this up with my book Long Night’s Journey Into Daybreak, my final expression on the experience and the lessons learned. Along the way I hoped to encourage and inspire others to follow their dreams.

Daybreak is pretty much just a memory to me now, albeit a very dear and special one. The worldwide rights were eventually acquired by Trillian Entertainment, a subsidiary of Media 8 Entertainment. I have since moved onto my next passion project, Radio Changed America, a feature film documentary on the impact of radio in Twentieth Century America. It has proven much more difficult to make than was Daybreak. Most of the lessons learned there have had to be replaced with learning new ones for creating a documentary. But the main lesson I learned serves both projects: simply “Dare to dream. Dare to live the dream.”

I find it slightly catchier than “Eh, what the hell . . .”

I’m just saying…

I DIDN'T KNOW YOU COULD DRAW

Sometimes I forget that I have a skill that I completely take for granted. I can draw. Cartoons, not still life stuff, just cartoons that have always made me laugh. On occasion they have made some others laugh, too. I began to draw when quite young. Popeye was the first character that I could replicate. My mother was amazed and kept me fully stocked with drawing tablets and crayons. I even began to draw my own coloring books as a child. Clearly, I was meant for a career as a cartoonist. Trouble is . . . I didn’t really enjoy it that much.

It seems a shame not to have fully pursued it, I sometimes think. But when I examine it closer, the reason grows clearer, but not crystal clear.

I was an incredibly shy child with no siblings at home and had a difficult time making friends. Until one day I heard those words, “I didn’t know you could draw.” Suddenly I realized that I had a talent that others did not possess and it helped draw my out (no pun intended) of my shell.

But I never liked to draw to order. “Draw me a truck,” said one classmate. I could and often would, but the only time I enjoyed drawing was when it was something that I wanted to draw. “Can you draw it with bigger tires?” That kind of editing was not tolerated. If you wanted the truck, you got the truck that I wanted to draw, not open to discussion. My artwork was never a collaborate effort. And therein lies why I never made a career out of it. I simply could not (and cannot) tolerate anyone telling me what or how to draw something. So it remained a very personal thing.

I would draw not only to please myself (and often my friends) but also as a vehicle to hone my storytelling skills. At Burger King, when I was still in high school, I created single page comic book adventures about the job featuring caricatures of myself and other employees. One episode was called “The Rush” and put a funny (and often sarcastic) look at what would happen if 18 buses of hungry school children showed up at once to eat.

Out of my high school speech and drama class I created a long-running multi-page adventure comic book called “Speech Trek” in which my classmates and me were inserted in the “Star Trek” universe. Aliens and Starfleet admirals would often be caricatures of our teachers. While in the Army my roommates got hold of these “Speech Trek” tales and laughed even though they did not know the real people being parodied. They simply thought the writing and drawing was great. Furthermore, they begged me to continue the voyages of the Starship Emily (named after my speech and drama teacher, Emily Anderson) and add them into the stories. So I did.

I drew “Speech Trek” for the next fifteen years. Only for my friends and me. Over 600 pages of stories. But, what I was really doing was honing my filmmaking skills. All these years later I realized that what I loved about this little comic was that I continued to write scenes and dialogue that revealed character development and plot development. Plus, it made me laugh.

I eventually drew an Army-based comic strip for the monthly Torii Typhoon, the post newspaper where I was stationed in Okinawa. At Penn State I had a couple of cartoons published in the monthly theater department newsletter: a character called “Actor from Hell.” It was a scathing look at self-absorbed actors. For the first time, it did not win me any friends. In fact, I drew this strip to draw blood. If you were offended, I remember saying, then it was about you. A few years later I submitted it to Backstage West here in Los Angeles, where it was quickly (and probably wisely) rejected. But, once again, I drew it because it made me laugh.

In the early 1990s I actually gave freelance cartooning a try for about five years. I drew cartoons, like the one above, submitted them to various magazines by mail (no email in those days) and hoped to make a sale and get published. And I did get published: small publications and even national magazines. The most I even got paid for a cartoon was $75. Often the amount was $10-25. Considering the time and effort, plus mailing costs, I was never able to break even. By then, I was getting television acting jobs and soon decided to write and direct my first feature film. I retired from cartooning.

In fact, I doodle cartoons so infrequently that even people who have known me for quite some time are apt to marvel, “I didn’t know you could draw.” I shrug and grunt, as usual, and they can’t figure out why I have no comment about it.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t quite figured it out either.

I’m just saying…

READING IS MY FUNDAMENTAL COMPULSION

I’m a reader. I like to read. I just never really thought it would get like this. Sure, it started with a magazine or two, like Los Angeles Magazine and Sports Illustrated . . . plus a book on the side, fiction or non-fiction, it didn’t really matter. I just liked to read. As I was thinking about what to write my year-ending blog entry, something caught my eye. This year I began placing the books that I’ve read on a dresser top between two newly bought bookends. So, I started counting the books. Wow. I then began to notice all the wildly divergent titles. Double wow. Then I remembered a few books deemed too large for the dresser top that I had moved to the hall bookcase and I also noticed a few more on the shelves of the entertainment cabinet. Uh-oh. Plus the two e-books I read using the Kindle app on my iPad. Holy Gutenberg! I am addicted to reading! In fact, I usually read at least two books at a time.

What I’ve noticed is that I most enjoy books that I pick out for myself. I usually don’t enjoy books recommended to me. In fact I dread when a close friend says, “Here, read this book. You’ll love it!” I quietly gasp inside. What if I hate it? What if I wonder, “What in hell they were thinking when they recommended this to me? Is that how they see me? As someone who would enjoy reading this?” It’s happened before. I guess reading is more personal to me than I had imagined. My tastes are unique not just to me, but also to me in the moment. How I feel at a certain time likely affects how I respond to a book. I now have no compunction about placing a recommended book to the side and get to it when I feel the time is right. That works much better for me.

But, you see, among my personal compulsions is that I must finish what I’ve started. I’ve never walked out of a movie theater; only once turned off a rented video before the end; and once I start to read a book, I MUST finish it. I don’t care how bad it is. I . . . must . . . finish . . . it! ARGH! There are, of course, worse compulsions. Right?

Thinking about this compulsion made me drudge up a long-repressed memory about the one and only book I ever stopped reading. I don’t remember the title or the author or even who had recommended it. It was a fantasy novel about some enchanted forest kingdom concerning the exploits of a princess-yet-expert-with-a-bow-and-arrow-type who was also part elf. I have no idea what genre this is, and I don’t want to know. Anyway, as my compulsion dictated, I plodded through her nomadic “Middle-Earth-inspired” adventures and discovered, that aside from making strange and often vulgar friends, and kicking some demonic ass, at the end of every other chapter, this elf princess inevitably had great sex. I say “great sex” because the author found it necessary to describe it all in minute detail . . . for pages on end. This princess was getting laid all the elf-ing time! So I stopped reading the book halfway through. I don’t know how it ended, but I’m pretty sure the princess got laid again.

Anyway, I thought I’d share with you the books I have read in 2011 in the approximate order I read them in:

Magnificent Desolation by Buzz Aldrin (2009) Autobiography.

The Laugh Makers by Robert Mills (2009) Memoir of comedy writer for Bob Hope.

Tragedy and Farce by John Nichols & Robert W. McChesney (2005) Media.

Empire of Illusion by Chris Hedges (2009) Media.

The Secret History of the World by Mark Booth (2008) Non fiction.

Waging the War of the Worlds by John Gosling (2009) Media.

Invasion from Mars: A Study in the Psychology of Panic by Albert H. Cantril (1940) Media.

World War II on the Air by Mark Berstein & Alex Lubertozzi (2003) Media.

Edward R.Murrow and the Birth of Broadcast Journalism by Bob Edwards (2004) Biography.

14 Radio Plays by Arch Oboler (1940) Radio plays.

Oboler Omnibus by Arch Oboler (1945) Radio plays.

Gandle Follows His Nose by Heywood Broun (1926) Fiction.

Chasing Aphrodite by Jason Felch & Ralph Frammolino (2011) Non fiction.

Reel Tears by Beverly Washburn (2009) Autobiography.

The People, Yes by Carl Sandburg (1936) Poetry.

Truman by David McCullough (1992) Biography.

Dracula by Bram Stoker (1897) Fiction.

The Gathering Storm by Winston Churchill (1948) Memoir of 1918-1940.

Thomas Jefferson by R.B. Berstein (2003) Biography.

So Far, So Good by Burgess Meredith (1994) Autobiography.

An Actor’s Odyssey: Orson Welles to Lucky the Lephrechaun by Arthur Anderson (2010) Autobiography.

I, Kowtower by Patrick Ratchford (2011) Fiction.

For those of you counting, that’s twenty-two books. There are worse compulsions, right? Right?

So what am I currently reading to inaugurate 2012? Two books: Benjamin Franklin: An American Life by Walter Isaacson (2003) and Trust Me, I’m Dr. Ozzy by Ozzy Osbourne (2011). I’m not kidding . . . you can’t make this stuff up!

I’m just saying…

IF I ONLY KNEW THEN WHAT I KNOW NOW

Thirty years ago I graduated from high school. I recently went to my class reunion where conversation flowed easily from present to past and back again. One of my classmates said to me, “If we only knew then what we know now . . .” The rest of the thought is left unexpressed. It has to be; the topic is so wide and deep and delightfully fraught with “what-ifs” that no words are necessary. It’s an intensely personal fantasy to play with. I love the statement and all that it implies and signifies.

Life comes at us in chunks, or phases, and can be grouped (at least later in one’s lifetime) into distinct eras. I’m speaking, of course, in terms of broad strokes. For example, I tend to view my life in these phases: childhood in Metuchen, New Jersey; childhood in Shamokin, Pennsylvania; high school years; Army years; college years; and domestic years married with two sons. Point to any one of these eras and I guarantee that a vivid memory or emotion will spill from the vats of my subconscious. (That conjures up a messy image, doesn’t it?)

Of my childhood in Metuchen, I see the Victorian house we lived in, its the second floor converted as an apartment; the old man who lived behind the gas station with his collection of seemingly gigantic turtles; and acting in my first play in the second grade, the same year I won a drawing contest in school.

Of the childhood years that followed in Shamokin, I remember sandlot baseball using large rocks as bases; the fourth grade teacher just about to retire who still wielded a wooden paddle for discipline; fear and isolation as my grandmother Alzheimer’s progressed before my very eyes, and, for the first time, Life’s fabric showing signs of fraying.

High school years must rank among the absolutely strangest years of a person’s life. The highs are frenetically high and the lows are the stuff of operas. “What is life?” asked Mr. Neary on the first day of tenth grade biology class. An excellent question that had less to do with biology for me as it did philosophy. Battling raging hormones, fears of inadequacy, and a yearning to belong, I somehow still remember having a lot of fun! It was fun becoming who I became, or at least a rudimentary version still in beta testing.

The Army years are perhaps the most conflicted era for me to visit. I tend to dip my toe into its tide pool carefully. No, I was never in combat; I served during peacetime with the exception of the Cold War, which was very real and deadly serious in ways most people today can’t imagine or as vividly remember. No, for me it was learning the cost of decisions made and the price of betrayal. Also realizing how easy it could be to wear the villain’s black hat all the while justifying my actions as, if not noble, then at least acceptable. In short, I learned the dark side of myself. Conversely, the best friends in my lifetime come from this maelstrom.

College years immediately followed the Army era. At Penn State I studied theater and lived in an off-campus apartment with some of my Army buddies also going to school there. These years recall drinking parties, youthful and seemingly carefree men and women, and moments of joy and accomplishment. I had managed to correct some of the tail spinning qualities I was cultivating years before and leveled out my flight path.

Finally, there is the era of my life today: as a husband and a father; of my work as an actor on television and film; a published writer; a film and stage director; and a nationally published cartoonist; adventures marked by a hundred crests and troughs. In fact this present twenty-year era could no doubt be sliced into smaller slivers if I was still not so close to it. In fact, I believe now that my sons are grown and moved away from home, I am about to enter a new phase of my life. I look forward to naming it after it passes.

Walt Neary, my biology teacher, recently passed away. I remember running into him some years after high school, in fact, during my Army years. We chatted and then I said, “By the way, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. What is life? I think I was absent the day you answered that.” He broke into a wide grin, chuckled from back in his throat and replied, “Damned if I know.”

What a singular journey our own lives are! Celebrate yours. I have learned to finally celebrate mine, the good, the bad and even the ugly. They all have made me who I am today. I am no longer in beta test. For better or worse, I am the completed product. Well, nearly completed, always more fine-tuning to do, wouldn’t you agree?

So when I think of my life in terms of “If I only knew then what I know now,” I find myself instead hoping “If I can only remember tomorrow all that I’ve learned as of today”!

I’m just saying . . .

NORMAN CORWIN: A REMEMBRANCE

I was sitting at my computer typing words Norman Corwin had written in 1997. I was in the process of editing a book of unpublished radio plays by the great writer. The play was “Our Lady of the Freedoms And Some of Her Friends,” a beautiful piece on the origin and creation of the very American icon: The Statue of Liberty. My hands were cramping and my neck and shoulders needed a break as well. I closed the file, went to Facebook and saw a post that froze the moment in time for me. “Norman Corwin passed away this afternoon at 5pm. He was 101.” The date was Tuesday, October 18, 2011.

My first reaction was denial. I had just seen him three weeks before. As was my custom, I updated him on news about radio recreations involving his works, autograph requests, interview requests, the status of the book and plans for a new radio series repackaging his best material for today’s audience. The idea that I could not have our next meeting left me feeling hollow. I knew he was 101. I saw he was gradually growing weaker, his once strong voice reduced to a gravelly whisper, and yet I was shocked that he had died.

There was something immortal about him. Those of us who knew him felt that he would live forever, that there would always be a Norman Corwin in the world. So it was a shock, even though it shouldn’t have been. The next day I remember thinking: today (Wednesday, October 19, 2011) is the first dawn on this planet without him since May 2, 1910, the day before his birth.

Funny what we think of after someone close to us dies.

Only now, some weeks later, am I able to begin to put things into perspective. I met him in 2004 to interview him for my documentary film on about the historical and social impact of radio in America during the 20^th Century. He was 94 years old, still teaching at the University of Southern California, and kindly willing to share his story about his time as the premier writer-director-producer the Golden Age of Radio ever produced. Little did I realize then, but a friendship was born.

I would come by his apartment every couple of weeks and soon we stopped talking of the past and focused on new projects and I became committed to seeing that his words and works would not vanish into the ether. He once told me that he sometimes feared that he had “written on water,” that no one would remember what he said with his radio programs and books. I promised him that that would not happen. I would see to it that his legacy lives on.

I manage the website NormanCorwin.com; I’ve actively advocated that he be honored with the Presidential Medal of Freedom and the Congressional Gold Medal through on-line petitions on PoetLaureateOfRadio.com; I’m hosting and producing (with his express permission) a new radio series that will be syndicated in 2012 called “Corwin on the Air”; and I’m putting the final touches to what will be his last book, “Memos to a New Millennium: The Final Radio Plays of Norman Corwin,” for which he wrote new supporting material before he died.

Time is no longer frozen on October 18, 2011. In the thaw of grief I now find renewed energy to continue my pledge I gave him to maintain his legacy and grow his fan base at every opportunity. Perhaps this blog entry will help, too.

I'm just saying...

WHO NEEDS A MISTRESS WHEN I HAVE 1967 MUSTANG?

I bought the car from a little old lady in Brentwood, CA. She had owned the car since 1969. It looked faded now, worn down, and trembled a bit when I test-drove it. But it had heart. I know now that I needed that car as much as it needed me. She rolled off the assembly line in San Jose, California, on February 25, 1967. I rolled off the assembly line only three and a half years earlier. She (I cannot bear to call this particular car “it”) is a 1967 Ford Mustang coupe, pebble beige exterior, black interior, automatic transmission, factory air conditioning, and AM radio.

Buying that car was a dream come true. I have always loved the original Ford Mustang years (1964 ½ -1969). My dad worked at the Ford plant in Edison, New Jersey, in the mid-Sixties where many Mustangs were born. He could never afford one. But now I could. If my wife would agree . . . I explained my connection to the car. “I’m in my forties and have never owned a cool car,” I lamented. Always inexpensive (cheap), used (old, but not “classic old”) cars. No one admires you in a 1979 Madza with a silver spray-paint job, this I know! I told her, “I’m at the age when men have mid-life crises. Some get cool cars others find young mistresses. Since I’m fairly certain that I can’t have both . . . if I could choose, I would choose this 1967 Mustang.” I got the car.

Guys love the car: “That’s a ’67, right? Got a 289 under the hood? My cousin had a Shelby back in the day.”

Girls love the car: I was stopped at a traffic light when a pretty girl walking her dog passed in front of me. She smiled, nodded approvingly, and mouthed, “I love your car.”

Kids love the car: The car next to me rolled down its window and a high schooler said, “That is one pimping ride, sir.”

I’ve owned the car for seven and a half years. She had been my car in good weather and bad. Since I’ve always referred to her as my “Mid-Life Crisis Car,” I thought I’d explore that theme a bit, if you will indulge me.

The car is like me in many ways: Slow to start, needs time to warm up every morning, shakes a bit when it’s cold outside, squeaks and groans, occasionally screws come loose, the paint has become chipped from other car doors, as well as from rocks kicked up along the road. The once flawless interior is scuffed and worn, we both must carry insurance, are sometimes running on fumes, need regular maintenance, and wish we could roll back the odometer.

I think of driving on the roadway as a metaphor for living your life. First of all, what’s more important at 65 mph: what’s in front of you or what’s in the rearview mirror? The past is for reference only, folks. What counts is where you are going.

So we need a roadmap, right? Make sure your map is up to date and accurate. Places change and new routes are always appearing. Just because you’re driving a classic car in its forties doesn’t mean you shouldn’t use the latest GPS technology to correct and monitor your course.

Beware of the passengers you choose to bring on the journey. The more they weigh (emotionally), the more fuel you use to travel the same distance. Pick up hitchhikers at your own risk. Speaking of fuel consumption. If you have extra weight in the truck (such as regrets and guilts from your past), dump it out at the first rest stop!

Change the radio station occasionally to see what you’re missing. Don’t be afraid to sing out loud while you drive. It’s fun!

Flick on your high beams once in a while, too, to see a bit further down the road, then return your eyes back to the patch of road immediately in front of you. Stay the course.

Always remember to take care of yourself. Oil is the lifeblood of your car’s engine. Change your own oil regularly and give yourself a tune-up, too. Stay healthy for as long as you possibly can, both mentally and physically. Go see Mr. Goodwrench and Dr. Goodwrench when necessary!

Don’t drive too slowly; otherwise you’ll never get anywhere.

Finally, don’t drive straight through without stopping for some Scenic Views. Don’t miss the beauty of life. What is a blur at 65 mph can be majestic when standing still.

These are just a few of my musings on the topic of old cars and my own mid-life phase. It’s not a crisis, really. Just a stretch of road where I felt a little bit lost and unsure if I was still on the right road and was still on time to make my destination.

Did I mention the 1967 Mustang is up for sale now? Yup. I guess my mid-life crisis / phase is over. Know anyone passing through who needs her next?

I’m just saying…

CAP'N CRUNCH SPARROW! AND LESSER GOOD IDEAS...

Everything is fair game to become a major studio motion picture. Witness the making of the movie version of the Milton Bradley game “Battleship” which is coming to a theater near you in May 2012.

This doesn’t surprise me. We’ve seen (or at least heard about) movies based on toys such as G.I. Joe, based on cartoons such as Scooby Doo, and based on old television series such as Bewitched. To get a movie made, it seems to me, you need to own the rights to a product line with a built-in audience. Of course old TV shows and toys and even comic books fit this pattern nicely. But I think I’ve identified one area they have (at least thus far) ignored: breakfast cereals. Talk about a built-in audience with mega-product name recognition!

Yes, I want to send this as an open letter to the board of directors at General Mills: you are missing a gold mine! I, Michael James Kacey, am hereby offering my services to you to pitch movie versions of your breakfast cereals. Now, if Marvel Comics can have their own movie production studio, so can you! Hear me out! Picture this--!

General Mills Entertainment Presents…

Michael Bay’s “Frankenberry vs. Count Chocula!” It’s fast-paced, loud and largely senseless BUT it is from Michael Bay. The marketing department will eat this up! (Pun intended.)

A remake of “Night Shift” starring the Trix Rabbit in the Michael Keaton role. We’ll call it “Turning Trix,” of course. An R-rated comedy with a heart.

“Cap’n Crunch Sparrow” a bold new take on the sea-faring adventures of a wildly unpredictable captain whose relationship with his first mate, Toucan Sam, pushes the boundaries of contemporary cinema.

Jack Nicholson replaces Chuck McCann as the voice of Sonny for “One Flew Over the Coco-Puffs Nest.” Can R.P. McSonny and the catatonic Sugar Bear survive in this institution? Serious award contender, I think.

Since 3-D is the rage I propose a re-imagining of the Rice Crispies elves in the horror genre: “Satan’s Rice Crispies” with the tagline “Watch your friends go Snap! Crackle! Pop! In 3-D!”

A lighthearted comedy about a well-endowed Leprechaun called “Me Lucky Charms.” Obvious tagline: “Yes, they’re magically delicious.”

And finally, “Wheaties: A Bromance” reuniting Seth Rogen and James Franco yet again. If the budget does not allow for this I recommend replacing them with Harold and Kumar. Anyway, it’s another movie about men bonding along with an abundance of bodily function jokes with brief (and vaguely uncomfortable) male nudity. Jason Segal should not be cast in this movie, as he is way too comfortable being nude.

Trust me! This is the next logical step in movie commerce! Don’t miss this opportunity, General Mills. Call me. Let’s do lunch… er, I mean… breakfast.

I’m just saying…