Saturday, December 28, 2019

Reviewing "Carrie Fisher: A Life On Edge"

Below is a reprint of a recent review I wrote for Goodreads of the biography "Carrie Fisher: A Life On Edge" by Sheilla Weller. Being as today is the day after the anniversary of her passing, I feel it's somewhat timely, if a day late, to post here. 
_____






Imagine for a moment, that you've never tasted ice cream (I know, but just go with it). You want to know why every one actually "screams for iced cream". If you live in a world where ice cream no longer exists and you can't taste it, but a well read friend has, well then ask them. Have them explain to you for some hundreds of pages in equivalent conversation what it was like. Let them tell you the year ice cream was created, why it was a hit with kids and adults alike, let them detail the steps in manufacturing it and distributing it. 

If, however, you want to know more about what ice cream's like and the ice cream actually wrote a book about the experience, chain smoking her way through it, jotting down the things most people would brush away, and acerbically commenting on the homogenization process in a way only she, the ice cream could, then read that book. If the ice cream wrote scads of books, then read those. If the ice cream wrote and starred in a one-ice cream-show about what it's like to be tasted by everyone on the planet and later dismissed because ice cream doesn't stay fresh past it's expiration date and has way more fat content than she used to, and then the ice cream lets filmmakers into her carton to see what it's like from the inside, then see those. All of this is the long way to say that reading a book about Carrie Fisher's life and work can be a decent supplement to your experience, but don't be surprised if it leaves you feeling like something is missing. Because if you want to really know what ice cream tastes like and understand why we love it, (sorry, we're back to the metaphor) then there are no short cuts... you just have to taste the fucking ice cream. 

So if you want the true feeling of knowing more about Carrie's life, if your goal as a reader is to feel like you understand Carrie as a person, because she's touched your life, and you relate to her struggles and are bowled over by her dry wit and sympathetic to her ambivalence with the extreme highs and lows she seemed pre-ordained to live out? If you want to feel kinship without sacrificing the truth of the facts as lived? She may have passed on, but her work is here. Carrie Fisher made exploring and sharing her life and her flaws, the focus of three memoirs, several novels, a one-woman show, and a documentary. And while most people, famous or not, seem to be curating their image and distracting from their flaws and imperfections because they want to be admired, Carrie Fisher wanted, above all else, to be understood. She had an innate faith that if you understood her, you might admire her. And that need, which shine through in her humor and candor and kindness, are as much a key to her beauty as those giant brown eyes, the pillowy lips, and the flashes of "fuck you" that we admire. 

If however, I'm preaching to the proverbial choir, and you just want a sympathetic laying out of the facts and some details, or if you are wanting these before doing a deeper dive into Fisher's own words, then read away. This is an even handed, often insightful look at the facts. Likewise, if you want to understand Carrie's side of the relationship with her famous mother Debbie Reynolds? This book helped me to get a much stronger grasp on what it might have been like to live with someone as charming, vivacious, and undeniably winning as Debbie Reynolds, who loves her fiercely, and yet, in spite of outward appearances, keeps a tight hold of her rank in the relationship, and deeply values her image in the public eye, occasionally, if unwittingly sacrificing her daughter's confidence by alternately micromanaging her and then leaving her for much of the time in the care of others. 

Also in the book's favor is that it becomes apparent early on that the intention of this biography is to tell the truth as best as the author is able. She deeply admires Carrie as a person and as an artist. She researched, she probed, she dug deep, and she laid out all that research in this book. What she doesn't do, for good and ill, is interpret as much as she needed, in order to give the reader a true sense of being on the inside. This was probably because she didn't want to play armchair psychologist and also because she didn't get the full access she would have liked. Therefore, the book reads like a second hand story as gleaned through articles and interviews with friends of Carrie's, and through interviews and speeches by Carrie herself, that are accessible online. It can leave one feeling dissatisfied. 

Equally dissatisfying is the fact that Carrie's casual social life is given such uneven attention, to the detriment of her family life with people like her brother or her step sister Tina, or what it might have really been like when mother and daughter were alone. Additionally, there are no tender stories about Carrie and Billie, or really why Bryan Lourd might be considered "the love of her life" that could give one a real sense of how important these parts of her life were, or how the razor wit might have been spared in their presence. This is very likely because Weller got a lot of access to Fisher's outer circle of friends and acquaintances, while her inner circle closed ranks and shut her out. So some of those having less contact with Carrie receive a lot of time and importance placed on the things their eyes saw. My critique isn't intended to undervalue these sights, or the intentions of those who witnessed them, but to say that their placement and weight given in the book by Weller, may not be for the reasons implied, and in some instances, too much kindness is afforded them because they were good enough to grant the author an interview. 

The most glaring example of this is detailed from an interview given by Penelope Spheeris, the director of a low-budget film Carrie shot after she was released from rehab, when no one wanted to insure her for work. Spheeris fought very hard to get Carrie on the film and put her own reputation on the line, giving Carrie a chance to prove herself as reliable. This is how the story is described, and there is truth to this. However, what is vastly understated is how much the film and Spheeris needed Carrie's name, presence, and the publicity of her comeback story, in order for the film to be seen at all when and if the film got made. 

Carrie was given routine drug tests and was under a very heavy watch by all involved in the film, including Spheeris, which must have been infantilizing and humiliating to go through. Then, when the filming is complete and Carrie has relapsed, Spheeris says that the two of them did a lot of drugs together, had many drug fueled adventures. When Carrie later turned on her and created distance, Spheeris was left at a loss because she felt dismissed in spite of offering help when Carrie most needed it. The explanation by the author? Sometimes it's difficult to be seen at such a weak point in one's life and to be helped so much by someone. Carrie was likely overwhelmed by the vulnerability of that exposure, and knowing she would never be able to balance the scales, or say an appropriate thank you, she had to cut the relationship off. 

Ummmmm... say what? It doesn't take a genius to see that once Fisher realized the mistake she had made in her relapse she might not look so fondly on someone who kept her clean when it served her own interests, and then partied equally as hard with her once Carrie was no longer needed to assist her career. That someone could be so careless with her, knowing what this kind of activity would cost her, had cost her, likely left Fisher feeling twice used. I understand that Weller felt loyalty to her source, but a greater loyalty was owed to her subject.

To sum it all up, this book is, in spite of its flaws, a solid addition to your understanding of Carrie Fisher if you are already familiar with the work and want some objectivity and some clarification on things you are still curious about. The translator of Carrie's life and work is kind, clear eyed, knowledgeable and sincere. But she cannot provide the wit, warmth, and slightly crazed brilliance, nor the flashes of insight and self forgiveness that Carrie herself did, because Weller, nor could any one else be, is just not up to that task. 

Monday, September 16, 2019

I Am A Father (of a lil' dumpling baby of a good feeling)

Lots of emotions jostling around in this body and brain today, making any number of metaphysical "clankings". And there are many people who would say that when I feel these emotions-- the uncertainty, the fear, the judgement of the fear and uncertainty, the disappointment-- that I should be grateful. These are signifiers that I want something different in my life. Many of those same thinkers say that to experience something different I, as a person in this world, simply need to feel better about I am right now, because good feelings will inspire more positive actions. There are other thinkers, those who believe the first statement (emotions are signifiers of where I am) that would part ways with the party of the first part  at that juncture, saying that their solution is airy fairy magical realism thinking.

Me? Look. I agree with both. I was obviously able to move from a place of confusion and mini-despair in order to conjure enough hope that writing these words might prove useful to someone, might strike a chord. That, in turn, inspired me to start my first blog post in four months. And look, no one is saying that positive thinking is easy. What's that saying? Something about the solution being an easy process to follow, but that the execution of that easy process can be very difficult because of all the ways we doubt the solution. And following the first step? Thinking good thoughts by focused effort for one day? That will produce a day's worth of results. Two days worth, exponentially more. And so on ad so on. But what happens when we're feeling great after three days? Or four?  For me, it's often the backslide. Like taking the first three days of the antibiotics I was prescribed and then ditching the  prescribed and then the process that got the good results, in spite of the prescription clearly stating that I need to finish the prescription. Soon enough the illness is back, and stronger than ever.

The "feeling better" cure is just like that. It's relatively easy for me to change my attitude for a few days. Before I know it I'm feeling in control. I'm large and in charge! Ready to get 'er done!! Yes, I'll need to get back to feeling focused positive thoughts really soon, but for now, shouldn't I act on the power I've gained? Time to "get 'er done"! I'll put in the effort that got me to this good place later. Promise! But then when enough of those days of ignoring the process have piled up, I'm back where I started. Start over this process enough times and it's enough to make a person feel like a real failure. Is it strange that a person who has, on seven separate occasions successfully created good thoughts three days in a row isn't able to see twenty-one days of good thoughts that went out into the world, but almost always sees the seven examples of failure instead?

These feelings of failure can also get me blaming the process itself. As if the good feelings I generated should have been all I needed to propel me onward, and of course they aren't, because it wasn't those feelings alone that caused me to make a change in the first place. It was the addition of my conscious mind to those initials feelings. My observation of those feelings brought me to the conclusion that a change needed to be made. It was the conscious mind that then initiated the practical steps. It would be a mistake, when I'm three days into the process of "thinking happy thoughts" and all those zingy results, to forget that the discipline was a key ingredient.  Instead it is at this time that I should remember and be grateful for the conscious steps I took which helped me arrive here. In short, the feelings were the WHAT, the result. And the conscious changing of the original feelings/the old WHAT/results from my past, was the HOW I got these new results. .

It's tricky, Because you could reason that the positive feelings generated from the decision to refocus should generate more good feelings and therefore it should get easier and easier. The fact that it isn't that easy...doesn't that make this whole theory bullshit? I've thought this. Its all bullshit. Con men handing out easy answers. Chuck it all and live in misery, because at least misery is guaranteed. And yet, just because the solution is more complicated than I originally foresaw doesn't make it any less of a solution.  I mean yes, we do generate good feelings from good thoughts, and yet. The first results generated from the beginning steps... these good feelings- they're BABIES! They're tiny little dumplings fresh to the world, pure and excited and equally fragile. And here I am, the uncertain parent of these lil' dumplings, wanting them to be amazing, thinking they just might be. Risking hope because what I can see of them, and how I feel about them? I see dynamic creatures. I see promise!  I'm ecstatic! I love these lil' dumpling emotion babies!!! And yet, how quickly this bliss is turned upside down.

Something happens in my world that is less than thrilling? A negative thought? A stumble? It's so tempting to think "of course. I was deluding myself". Those lil' dumplings? "What disappointments". I shouldn't have expected that much of them. I mean, after all, I was their parent, so just how perfect could they be?" I'm forgetting that they are BABIES. Did I say they are BABIES??? They aren't done forming yet, they haven't reached full strength. And here I am betraying my babies, blaming them, when in truth I am the one who is betraying the contract. My job as a parent of these thoughts is not finished. Far from it. The more diligent I can be about strengthening them daily, the stronger they become, and the more I trust that their creation was not a momentary fluke, or a con played on myself in the desperation of jangling thoughts, which allows me to make more, equally strong thoughts.

Ok. Agreed. My job wasn't done. And then I turned on my thoughts. I doubted. I poisoned those good emotions. I agree. My bad. I fucked up. Shouldn't have done that. But now what? Well, I've put poison out into the thoughts, and all that can come now is the inevitable destruction of those thoughts due to the poison I put out there. I mean, what good can these less than completely healthy good feelings do me? Best to abandon them and start over later, when I can use the lessons learned from this experience to do it right next time. Easy to think this. Easy to rationalize this. And yet, no one has ever done this process perfectly. Everyone has doubted on this journey. No one has gone through this process without a stumble, and the only way to fail is to stop the journey too soon. For example, i this very moment as I type these words I am already thinking back over this rambling heap of an essay and gathering evidence which will help me formulate arguments in my brain to kill this blog post before the hideous pulpy mess that it is can be seen by anyone. That? That would be too soon. Equally true that to not continue this process and create more in the upcoming weeks? To abandon this blog again after just one tentative return, that would be too soon.  In fact you could argue that to stop the journey ever, is to stop too soon. It's funny how quickly the perfectionist creeps in, right? Without even noticing, and disguised as an ally, the perfectionist has snuck up and planted the realization that "no one can keep this up forever". It continues. "You are contemplating beginning an enterprise which is destined to fail." But fail by who's definition? Mine. I have to, or get to define what success is to me. Even if I only do it a day at a time.

Right now? Success is this. It's pushing the "publish" button. It's putting this imperfect rumination out in to the world and letting it make ripples. Any ripple. No judgement. And no rumination on all the better entries that could have been if I'd just continued the next day and the next? . If this is all I do, it will have be enough. It will do it's job.  Convincing myself that what I just wrote is really true?   That's my job. The irony is that is that only by successfully and truly believing that this one entry is enough, in and of itself, can I justify the risks of entering this struggle again tomorrow, or the next day.

Wednesday, April 3, 2019

Taking A Leap

Over the weekend I registered to join an audition class. Though I've lived in New York for nearly four years, this will be my first in town. I'd been seeking one for a while, but had procrastinated signing up for all the reasons one can name. I liked, but didn't necessarily have complete trust in those who made the recommendations, money was tight, I wasn't ready, I'd already spent gobs of money on classes... Basically? I was afraid. Afraid that I would choose the wrong glass, or choose the right one, but not be good enough for it to be worth my time and efforts.

And yet, my auditions are not as plentiful as I'd like, and while I get good visual feedback (smiles that look ever so sincere, and the occasional "really great job") none of this so far has led to a single call back. Yes, I need to up the number of auditions I attend, but I also need to be confident in what I do once I'm in the room. And so... I took the leap. One of my good friends recommended a class, and it was reasonable, and so even though I don't have tons of money to spend on classes, I am trusting the funds will come, and that this action will raise my confidence level and lead to a better me, and hopefully, more work. Or just... work.

It means being strong enough to allow myself to look and feel like a novice at something I flatter myself to be pretty good at, and diving in and trusting the coaching and opinions of someone I barely know. And it all begins tonight.

Cursive

  Last week I returned to doing my  morning pages , a practice I was committed to for years, and then abandoned, at least partially in the d...