I recently had an opportunity to step out of my comfort zone as the world’s most smartass bellman and try something truly challenging.
I became the world’s most smartass thespian.
To properly trace my path to cinematic immortality we have to go back two summers ago, June specifically, when in a moment of incredible dumbassery, I fractured my knee and spent the summer on my porch in a knee brace rather than serving hordes of travelers. My replacement at the hotel was a young man named Timothy Moran.
I’m the first to admit that I was a little resentful of Tim for taking my place (even though it clearly a result of my own idiocy), but we soon became fast friends.
He’s a joker beyond measure. A poet. A philosopher. And a cinephile/director whose talent and knowledge are off the charts.
And no, we won’t get a room. My praise comes from an honest place; it’s not often I meet people who truly earn my respect and Tim occupies a top spot on that very short list.
But enough of this mushy shite. As the golden oldies say, let’s get down to brass tack, shall we? Tim’s journey to directorial glory has taken him from Niagara Falls to New Zealand and back again; he spent a year waiting to work on Guillermo del Toro‘s version of The Hobbit, only to see that project vanish in a wave of movie politics. Now he’s mining that experience and applying it to a film project of his own design.
The specific details of Tim’s film, Talk Show Host, are shrouded in mystery (I’m not keen on having my head bashed by a box of luggage tags), but I’ll tell you this much: Tim has a knack for theater of the absurd. He’s set his “hero” upon an epic journey across the so-called-real-world, which as anyone who has ever read my blog knows, is filled with characters that are far stranger than any ever conceived in fiction.
But back to me! I missed the first big day of production on Talk Show Host due to the call of duty (stop snickering), a missed opportunity that left my daughter particularly disappointed.
“Aw, I wanted to see you as a giant, geeky lobster, Skippy!”
Yes, a giant lobster. Don’t ask.
Fortunately, I got my shot a few months later when the casting call I had been waiting for arrived in the form of a virtual message. (That’s how the kids do it these days, apparently.)
“Hey buddy! How’s life these days? Just wondering… we are in need of a tall, good looking, glasses-wearing, sarcastic actor and I thought you may know of someone who would fit the role perfectly… any ideas? ;)”
Clearly, it’s the role I was born to play. That, and Headless Corpse #1.
And so I headed to the home of Tim’s Producer a few weeks ago with a song in my heart and an egg-shaped head full of dreams. Coincidentally, the Producer on this film is another fellow bellman named Steve G; he’s the only guy I know with a mustache almost as cool as Ned Hickson’s.
For all my bravado, I’m actually quite shy outside of my workplace ecosystem, so Tim’s directorial instincts kicked in and he quickly loosened me up with an old movie trick… copious amounts of booze. Just kidding. I’d hate to see myself under the effects of alcohol – Lord knows I’m snarky enough while sober…
At any rate, Tim’s direction proved extraordinary as he got what he wanted from me in minutes. (Admittedly, I’ve always been easy. Sadly, no one’s ever taken advantage of that fact.)
My lines were brief. (Tim knows a little Hook goes a long way.)
My lines were tailor-made for my unique acting “skills”. (By “skills”, I mean my inherent sarcasm.)
My lines were hilarious. (Tim gets the credit for that. I considered ad-libbing, but the lines didn’t come to me until the car ride home.)
And that’s it. However, I’ll leave you with one final tidbit: a still of my moment of glory. In my defense, I was much more animated on film then I appear in this pic. Of course, a dead squirrel would appear more animated than I appear in this pic, but that’s beside the point.
See you in the lobby, kids…
And who knows? Maybe the multiplex someday?