At the Movies

One of the great perks about life in the beach house (aside from its proximity to the beach) was that there were two screening rooms. That main one occupied the largest room in the house, which had chairs and sofas on risers and a terrific sound system. The other was in Pete's room.

Pete, 40-something with thinning hair and a sallow complexion, was a film teacher at a local school — though which or what kind of school was indeterminate.

“I had taught at this one school,” Pete said as he and Nik sat on their beach watching the most profound sunset, “but then…” This was the third time Nik had asked about Pete's professional life. And the third clandestine response.

“But then WHAT?!” Nik wondered. A steady stream of “whats” ran through his mind. He had hoped it was something fantastic like, “…and then they found out I melt metal with my radioactive stare. And they just weren’t cool with that.” But what Nik “hoped was” and what “was was” was often very different. Then Nik's thoughts ran to the memory of a former classmate he had in graduate school, Derrick.

For years, Jack and Nik suspected something was amiss with their classmate, a classmate who used such now infamous acting warm-up exercises as Stirring the Pudding. Stirring the Pudding consisted of twisting one’s body in space while exclaiming, “I’m banana!” or “I’m Tapioca!” when asked what kind of pudding you were.

Jack and Nik were quite certain that anyone who stirred pudding couldn’t be trusted. Time would reveal that Derrick had in fact been charged with molestation while teaching at a school in New Mexico or somewhere.

Had Pete been fondling some student? Nik was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

There were several other peculiar things about Pete. For one, he didn’t talk with much detail or insight about the story or characters or craftsmanship of the films they watched. Pete, Parker, Nik, and sometimes Pali (the mysterious Pali would suddenly appear and evaporate with nary a sound) watched a movie every night and Pete was hard-pressed to say much more than, “That was good. I liked it.”

Another quirk of Pete's was that he chose to watch movies naked. Parker and Nik would cast a quick glance of reassurance to one another, like, “We’re cool with this, right?” “Sure, as long as he doesn’t —“

“You guys want to watch this in the nude?” The idea of watching Apacolypto without clothing seemed like a thematic choice — and Nik was all about a theme — but somehow they just couldn’t go there. And it wasn’t a matter of being uncomfortable, per se, it just seemed a bit odd.

“Uh…no, we’re —“

“— We’re OK.”

“— We’re OK.”

“OK,” Pete concluded as if to say, “OK, but you don’t know what you’re missing.” Did having one’s genitals exposed to the experience somehow enhance a movie? Would this catch on in multiplexes in Duluth? “Come watch Godzilla — in 3D — and in the nude! Now in phallicvision!”

The interesting thing, however, about Pete's film knowledge was that, while he couldn’t talk about how a particular shot or scene embodied the essence of a character (such as the icy, soulless resolve of the girl in The Page Turner as she is being groped by the adulterous cellist), he did know when any given movie was made, who made it, and what the juicy story surrounding the making of it was. Nik could see how a high school student might find this exciting.

Was that it? Did he teach high school? Or community college? One day, Nik would know the truth!

This night’s selection was Nicholas Cage’s The Weather Man, a dark comedy that snuck through the box office a few years ago. In preparation for the movie Nik went to the kitchen to retrieve a bag of popcorn.

Greeting him in the center of the kitchen sat the largest cockroach he had ever seen.

Now, Nik had encountered roaches, rats, and all sorts of unpleasantness during his tenure in New York. And it should be noted that to live in Hawai’i is to live with nature. Truly. Once can’t escape it, and, it could be argued, why would one want to escape it? It’s usually a beautiful thing.

But this was a monster.

“Darth Vermin.” Nik froze in his tracks. Darth Vermin’s cape whipped with a demonic life, blown by wind that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The beastie’s gaze was steely and unflinching.

“I shall feed on your fear, “ echoed Darth Vermin through some form of mechanical respirator. “That, and whatever crumbs you slobs leave on the counter.” Nik backed away slowly. It was entirely possible that Darth Vermin was reading his mind so Neal wanted to appear as casual as possible. Upon reaching the kitchen archway he sprinted through the screening room.

“Roach! Big! Very scary!” If the roommates had any doubt about Nik's queerhood they were dashed at this moment. Fast as a bunny he darted to his bedroom to arm himself with a slippah.

“Don’t worry. I got it.” Nik attempted to sound brave but almost certainly sounded like a weepy Sally Field character.

Like Luke walking into the cave on Dagobah, Nik cautiously crept back into the kitchen not knowing what horror lay before him.

Alas, his nemesis was gone.

Was this yet another test by the island? There were many fears, Nik knew, that he needed to face — not the least of which was a cockroach with Jedi powers.

The next day Nik had an interview with a talent management company for an acting coach position. The ad had been somewhat vague about salary or time commitment. The company featured actors ages 4-17 and, while Nik had never worked with kids that age, Nik thought this would be an excellent opportunity to make use of the past several decades of his life.

It was the strangest interview Nik had ever been to in his life. The two women sat in front of him explaining the company and curriculum but hadn’t asked him any questions.

“Do you have any questions for us?” Talia queried.

“No, I think you spelled it out.” And she had. For the past half hour she had. Through her rather detailed description Nik had the nagging fear that this was essentially Hawai’i’s version of New York’s Actors Express, a kind of fast food for the industry, flipping actors like so much meat in a fryer. This job would not be about instilling young, eager actors with an appreciation for a dazzling art form. He would not be honing the craft of pre-teen thespians. No, this was about rich parents who thought Johnny was absolutely adorable and assumed that the rest of the world would think so, too.

“Betsy is a model but wants to act and direct,” a Prada-wearing mother would say.

“Betsy is 8, Mrs. Cunningham.” Nik imagined saying. “At best, she’ll be a Producer by 10.”

Nik was jolted back to the interview.

“Do you have any questions for us?” How many times was she going to ask? “No,” Nik wanted to shout, “don’t you have any questions for me?” He feared the inquiry would come off as bitchy and so just smiled and listened.

He was ready to discourse on the virtues of Practical Aesthetics over all other techniques. He could sing the praises of Repetition work as the single greatest acting tool there was. He could ramble on and on about how his approach to movement was about freeing an actor’s confidence and comfort rather than simply “walking funny,” as other approaches might imply. Weren’t they interested in those things? Apparently not. So, using smiles #37 (of course) and 14-19, with a pinch of 82 he maneuvered his way through the remainder of the interview.

In all, he couldn’t be sure how it went. It didn’t go badly but it wasn’t a knock out.

He remembered what Becky had said the day prior. “Don’t worry, something will come up.” He just wanted a job. A full-time, salaried job with acceptable benefits. He wasn’t greedy but he wasn’t just going to take a bunch of dinky jobs for pennies. Why couldn’t he find this job?

There was a quote Nik remembered and had written on a Post-it his desktop. “The only thing that overcomes hard luck is hard work.” He did seem to be a having a string of bad luck. Or was he creating the bad luck? Was he deliberately sabotaging his own success? Had he always done so? Are we not the architects of our own destinies? Sure, he thought, in every life a little rain must fall but if you don’t go outside you’ll never see the sunshine, either.

So, Nik decided that he would start overcoming some of these obstacles in a more active way. Over the next few days he would march down to Waikiki and stick his nose into every restaurant and hotel he could find. He would nag the temp agency he was with and set up an interview with another one. He was going to turn this around. He didn’t need luck. What was luck anyway?

Nik also resolved himself to go surfing the next morning and to make the day count.

However, that next morning…

“Small Surf Forecast and Box Jellyfish Warning in Effect” read the morning’s Honolulu Advertiser. But Nik was undaunted. And who knew he would ever find himself living in a place where he needed to heed Box Jellyfish warnings? Reading about how Box Jellyfish stings could lead to almost certain death, Nik meandered into the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal.

Breakfast was not merely the most important part of Nik's day, it was a near-religious experience. He would go to bed at night and dream of cereal, of its many colors and sugars. And this morning he was particularly ebullient and was not going to let negativity interrupt his morning ritual. However, blocking his path this morning was non-other than Darth Vermin.

“I've been waiting for you, Nik. We meet again, at last. The circle is now complete. When I left you, I was but the learner; now I am the master.”

This time Nik was not afraid. Moreover, nothing would keep him from his Fruity Pebbles, not even a Dark Lord of the Sith.

“You can't win, Darth. If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly…oh, to Hell with it.” And in one swift motion, Nik smashed the roach with his newspaper.

A lucky strike?

In his experience, there’s no such thing as luck.

May the Force be with you!