Alternating Realities

Warning: I will be spoiling the new Star Trek movie for you. If you haven't seen it and give a tootin' holler, go read

this

instead.

So, apparently, everything we've ever been taught by the cinema about extra-normal time travel is wrong. Go figure. I can't say how we can be wrong about something that at this time exists purely in our imaginations, but if such a blunder is possible, I'm sure Hollywood can find seventeen ways to achieve it in but one script session. It would seem that paradoxes, changing the past and alternate time lines, as such, aren't. I'm certainly crushed. There goes one of Hollywood's greatest plot crutches. I'm sure we'll never, ever have another story that ever uses time travel to the screenwriters' advantage ever again ever.

Unless, of course, someone goes back in time and changes that.

In the new

Star Trek

, the world of the 60s television show is effectively re-imagined, with lots of lens glare and "hand-held" close-ups. I am told the kids are calling this a "reboot" and, indeed, I noticed they put new boots on the Federation uniforms. This reboot is explained, justified, and otherwise meant to be made more palatable by way of time-travel incidences and alternate realities. (Alternate time lines = bogus. Parallel universes = apparently not ruled out just yet.) My biggest complaint about the movie -- which I enjoyed, by the way -- was how adamantly they established and reinforced this argument for making fresh new choices about Star Trek backstory. Just under the scene-after-scene of repetitive expository dialogue I could detect the seismic effects of so many screenwriters giving themselves pats on their backs. Thank you. Yes. I get it. The future is now, conveniently, mostly, unwritten.

It did, however, get me thinking about alternate realities. It's not inconceivable to

much smarter

people than me that there are multiple universes in which an incredible variation of common elements occur. We tend to be pretty narrow in our conception of such alternate dimensions, imagining them largely as revolving around us and our personal choices in life. But who knows? If the alternate realities are as infinite as we believe space and time to be, anything we can conceive of might occupy one or several. A moss universe. A universe in which the motions of the planets are determined by the game mechanics of backgammon. If nothing else, the notion of alternate realities is a very decent metaphor for, or illustration of, the human imagination.

Viewed through the filter of my comicbook-ridden mind, the new film makes Kirk our Batman, Spock our Superman. Kirk is the vigilante anti-hero, Spock the alien who wants more than anything to do right (and be accepted), and now both are motivated by parental demise. There even seemed to be an aggressive (in more ways than one) sub-theme of Kirk getting his ass handed to him in fights. These interpretations are not too far from the originals, so I took them in stride and tried not to snigger derisively. (Aw man, they blew up Krypt- . . . I mean, Vulcan . . ..) Uhura is way more bad-ass-er, which they tried really hard to make less-than-obligatory, and then they made her Spock's love interest, thereby reinforcing what Hollywood considers its biggest obligation to its audience: a love story. McCoy's a divorcee drunk, thank you Spielberg, Chekov is adorable, Sulu is exactly who you'd want in a bar fight, and Scottie -- well, Simon Pegg I love you and you can do nothing wrong not even

Run, Fatboy, Run

.

It's the characters that struck me and stuck with me, you understand. I suppose they were the reason I was there, to see a different troupe tackle archetypes, strap on the classic masks and have a whirl. This can be a recipe for disaster, and this wasn't a disaster, not by a long shot. It's just that the actors came across as more imaginative than the writers, which, keeping with a commedia dell'arte metaphor, is fairly apt. But it would have been nice to have both; maybe next time, or in an alternate parallel universe, somewhere/when/which. Which brings me back around to how we think of these alternate lives we could have had, or are having, in some-dimension else.

It's popular to opine that if we had it all to do over again, we wouldn't change a thing. Even when we think about changing something, many of us realize that we sort of like who we are -- the only "who" we know -- and we wouldn't be said "who" without the "what" we were given, when it was given. Or perhaps taken, depending upon your philosophy and/or theology. At any rate, the experience of our age just allows the slightest logical space to daydream about the past, and what-if scenarios. "What-if," I'm not the first to say, is an essential element in all aspects of acting. It's that logical crack that lets a little imaginative fresh air and warm light into the room. As

Friend Melissa

quotes Leonard Cohen, "There is a crack, a crack, in everything - that's how the light gets in...." There are people we have been, as we've grown, who in retrospect seem as foreign to us as strangers. Personally, I'm usually embarrassed by my former incarnations; but there are a few of me that I still love, that I'll always love, and will never quite be again.

Fortunately, there are no paradoxes, so I can visit with those guys any time I want, and the universe(s) is safe from implosion.

Head Shots

I recently ordered a good batch of prints of my headshots -- a little over fifty, of mixed variety. I easily could have ordered 100, and put them all to good use, but as it's coming up on tax time, I hesitated to make the investment just yet. The turn-around on the order was surprisingly quick. Placed late in the day last Wednesday, they were ready for pick-up Thursday midday. Now there are two fat envelopes of photos featuring my face sitting next to my desk, just waiting for newly printed resumes to be cropped to 8x10 and adhered. What with all my open calls lately, and the need to get myself out there more, I see many unsolicited mailings in my future.

That was a good thing to get done last week, and this weekend I had an incredible series of merely entertaining activities. Not that entertainment is a waste for me -- far from it. It's just that the occasions when it has nothing to do with theatre or my fellow theatre artists are rare, and I just had a whole weekend's worth. It started with an easy evening at home Friday night, and progressed into Saturday, which started with a spa day with

Wife Megan

. An abnormal luxury for us, to be sure, and we owe big thanks to the groomsmen for it. From there it was a vegan lunch out, a movie, drinks at Friend Geoff's bar and another evening at home (our budget having been busted for the day by all that follow-up to the spa). Then, Sunday, I indulged in one of my most indulgent of entertainments with

Friend Adam

for four hours or so, and met up with

Friend Ken

for drinks. All in all, an incredibly rewarding weekend.

I feel depressed today.

The most indulgent entertainment I know of, ladies and gentlemen, is video games. Yes.

Video games.

Especially now, because they have come a long way since I was thirteen, plugged into my PC in the basement of my parents' house, listening to Nirvana on the ol' single-speaker, tabletop tape recorder. This is why I do not own an Xbox, or PlayStation, or what you will. Time will literally flow by like an endless river. Video games threaten dehydration for yours truly, I kid you not. So I engage in them rarely, as I did yesterday with Friend Adam. We played the demo of

Resident Evil 5

, and continued a game of

Left 4 Dead

we played a week before, and playing video games twice in two weeks is the most I have in years. Both games, for the uninitiated, are zombie scenarios, with much shooting and running about.

Friend Patrick

has often theorized that I'm a little obsessive (see also the comments on the above link), maybe even a little masochistic about certain things. Certainly my ability in the realm of video games emphasizes my obsessive qualities, as I am largely

terrible

at them, and nonetheless enraptured by them. What strikes me today, though, is not how obsessed I am with that little entertainment, but how slavishly my emotions are subordinate to the work (or lack thereof) I'm trying to do. In other words, I don't think I'm feeling depressed today because I played video games or had a scalp treatment or because of anything I did this weekend past. I don't even believe it's because now those activities are over, and the work week returns. Rather, it's because of what I didn't do last weekend.

As anyone who presents themselves to be even remotely geeky knows, zombies are guiltless kills. Part of the fantasy is that a zombie hoard gives otherwise moral people ample excuse for depraved violence against their fellow humans. It's an outlet for all the sublimated aggression that's kept us, as a race, alive and killing one another for centuries (and that lives on in more outspoken acts in

certain of our pets

). Different zombie stories carry different emphases, drawing parallels between the shambolic creatures and drug-users, religious and other fanatics, and even shopping-mall-goers, but what remains consistent is that the zombies can only be stopped by utter destruction. Perhaps significantly, this is traditionally achieved by destroying the head. It makes sense (insofar as zombies make sense) as an act which destroys the brain, home for any animating urges, be they natural or no. But on a psychological level, a metaphoric one, it often signifies erasing someone's face, or identity. The classic zombie crisis is that one's best friend, or spouse, or parent, has been transformed into one of these demons, and it's up to the hero of the story to overcome his or her previous connections and emotions, and do what needs to be done, face-to-face.

Now I wish I had spent at least some small part of the weekend doing something that wasn't irrelevant to my career. This impulse can be confusing to those who relish leaving their jobs far behind at Friday's end, but for those of us who are pursuing an alternate career, our "free time" has a different tang to it. Trimming paper edges and printing mailing labels is not a heck of a good time, but afterward one feels as though he's put something in its proper place, vindicated the time spent doing work he doesn't appreciate by balancing it out, just a little. Ever since I was really young, I've better appreciated my recreation when it caps off a period of good work. That seems like a noble perspective when you put it that way but, turning it slightly, the dark side of it is covered with feelings of guilt and anxiety about personal time that's come and gone. It's spilt milk (to distend the imagery) and it's stupid to regret. It's also tough to let go of. Not the milk, but the time, and . . . oh, cock it. The weekend was fun while it lasted, and I needed some of that "irrelevant" satisfaction.

My mom, she once asked me what in the world I got out of video games. I told her it gave me a sense of accomplishment and control, two things I didn't feel I had a lot of at the time. I'm glad she asked me, because realizing that made me realize how people can get their priorities mixed up and spend half their lives just trying to entertain themselves. Having a sense of purpose is important. You can supplant it for a bit with entertainments; heck, you can do that your whole life these days, if you rearrange here and there. Maybe getting a high score or finishing a level on a game isn't all that different from a pay raise, or finishing a successful project, really. So long as we can look back at it all and feel good about it, good about where we've been and how we got there. Sometimes I get awfully frustrated with where I am and what I'm doing, and nothing seems more gratifying than busting out and mowing down anything and one that gets in my way. So I'm glad there's a virtual environment for this, because it's a terrible emotion to use in everyday life. Everyday life responds better to focused, incisive work, to balanced point-by-point goals and well-aimed means.

Everyday life responds better to headshots.

Home Remedy

HWAET:

(Though perhaps it won't be such a long one, feels like it wants to be longish at the start.)

First off, thanks to all who have contributed to my last post (see

3/4/09

). I meant the questions, and I hope others (even ones I don't know all that personally) will keep posting in the comments. Stories rule, and everyone's a storyteller to one degree or another. Tell me a story.

Memories often make for interesting stories. Sometimes I think stories are motivated in part by a desire for a common experience, for each person to hold his or her life up against others' and ask, "So, does this make sense? Am I alone in this, or is this normal?" I visited my hometown this weekend to compare some stories with old friends and new family. It was a very short visit, arriving late Friday night and returning to the city Sunday afternoon, and I didn't do all that much talking or telling.

Wife Megan

's family dynamic is still new to me, particularly when extended family are about, and the reason we were home was to celebrate my nephew-in-law's second birthday, so they were. The other major social event was visiting Friends Mark & Lori's house, where along with

Friend Davey

were assembled various other people I knew or didn't know. So I listened a lot, with which I'm comfortable.

I also did a lot of thinking. These visits to Northern Virginia are usually a bit difficult for me. They're a little natural melancholy, being where I lived for my entire childhood and where I and my family no longer exist. What is more difficult, however, is how circumstantially vulnerable I feel there. I have no space of my own, though of course the Heflins keep their house completely open to me. I have no car, which is how one gets anything done there. (I presently have no laptop, which could mitigate some of that frustration.) My friends always make time for me and Megan's family always seeks to provide, yet there is also always a personal, mounting sense of angst whilst I'm there. It's reminiscent of being a teenager, which is the quick-and-dirty explanation I've leaned on for a while now. I was a teenager when last I lived there, so I have a tendency to revert, so I try to resist it whenever I visit.

This time, however, I realized that the sense of angst was much more immediate than some throw-back to my youth -- and it always had been. I recognized what I needed. This was practically a follow-up to another realization I had the last time I visited, in that both occurred under unusual circumstances: I was watching a movie. (Apparently, these movies combined stories with mediums of expression that agreed with me.) Movies generally get a bad rap for accomplishing anything other than entertainment, and it's a pity, because for someone who's open to it a film can open our eyes in some of the same ways (and some unique ones) that theatre or visual art does. Along with my vows to see more live music and theatre, I'm always telling myself I should take advantage of all the indie film here in New York, too.

Over my Christmas holiday, while waiting to be picked up from the Heflins' by my dad and driven up to my parents' place in Maryland, I was watching

Casino Royale

(2006)

. It seemed like a good, entertaining film to be watching. I'd seen it a couple of times before, but many things about it still held a lot of interest for me -- amazingly nuanced performances by Daniel Craig and Eva Green, amazing fight choreography, and rich cinematography. It's a James Bond film; what insight could I possibly expect? Through a series of circumstances best left to memory, while watching this movie it ended up that I got stranded in Burke, in an empty house. It was upsetting, not just frustrating, as my usual angst was. As I found a ride to the DC Metro and traveled up to Maryland on my own, I listened to the theme from the movie. I've always liked it, but it was particularly gratifying to the emotions I was going through. I realized in that moment that what I wanted, what I was so frustrated by every time I visited, was independence. Not just incidental independence, but in my life in general. Here I have this relatively footloose lifestyle, yet it limits me in some ways.

So I've been pursuing that in one way or another since then, and on this particular visit to NoVa, kept in mind the source of my angst. It helped, but I was frustrated (again) to find that it wasn't sufficient. I was missing something. I chalked the feeling up to frustration over having insight with no means to change the situation, and to some extent it was. Then, Sunday morning (whilst exercising some independence by abstaining from a visit elsewhere), I sat down in front of the Heflins' "Fios" (ooooooooooo...) and looked for a movie to order up. I saw that

Redbelt

, a Mamet-written and -directed movie I had some interest in was available, and fired it up. There's a lot to appeal to me here, some of it rather similar to what's appealing about

Casino Royale

, and I was probably similarly relaxed about watching it, though certainly my intellect was more engaged with prepping for typical Mamet-ian intricacies. I only got through half the film before having to move on to something else, but in that half was a moment in Chiwetel Ejiofor's performance (and, it must be acknowledged, David Mamet's script) that struck a deep emotional response in me. His character is talking for the first time with a woman who rather violently disrupted his school and situation -- she's struggling to express something to him -- and he says, "Is there some way that I can help you?" There's no attitude to it. He says it very simply; an offer. It's like it's what he's there to do.

It stuck with me. The scene cuts to he and the woman in his dojo, where he teaches her a small lesson in self-defense, then offers her a sign-up form in case she wants to learn any more. The moment I just kept returning to, though, was that single line of dialogue. I spent most of the rest of that day in one way or another trying to understand what I felt about it. On the one hand, it summed up pretty nicely for me what it is about good teachers that I like and aspire to. Good teachers are there to help the students in whatever way the students may need. On the other hand, I saw in this moment something I have been wanting very badly for some time now, without realizing it. Recognizing that, alongside this newly inspired need to be independent, gave me a surprising sense of purpose. The trick now will be to follow through on it.

I need a teacher. So much of my life has been spent looking for one, in one way or another, consciously and subconsciously. Most of my interests to date have been centered around this dynamic, whether I cast myself as the teacher or the student. I want to teach, I want to lead, but I also want to keep learning and keep improving and not just in acting, or circus, or some other skill, but in life. So -- and I'm addressing you directly here, Universe -- I'm looking for my next teacher.