Overnight Success, My Ass

Tipping the Velvet, the Beeb's miniseries about British lesbians in the 1890s, has the best display of a performer's progress that I've ever seen. The American myth says that all it takes is talent; I'm not sure if the movies birthed that or just keep it pumped in our consciousness.

An example is Postcards from the Edge. Meryl Streep won't open her mouth to sing at the beginning of the movie; six months later she's a country western star, with no hint of work or progress in between.

Movies that have tried are The Commitments, in which we get to see one rehearsal scene of how bad the group is. Next time we see the band, they're fabulous. Center Stage was supposed portray developing young dancers, and it did a good job up to the climax, when one ballerina gives her starring role to a chorus member Who Really Deserved It with no advance warning either to the director or other dancers, particularly her male partner. The substitute dancer is lucky the guy didn't drop her on her head. (Instead they all win contracts to major dance companies.) All through the triumphal dance I kept wondering, "What about the abandoned chorus part? How are they coping with that hole?" It didn't matter to the film's producers, and thus they perpetuated the myth that Everything Works Out If You're Good Looking and Talented and Have a Great Publicist.

I've been involved with the performing arts for over 4 decades. Yes, there is such a thing as talent. It doesn't mean you practice less. It means you get further when you do. I taught for 3 decades to subsidize my performing jones. The kids that went on to musical careers were not the most naturally talented. They were the ones that worked the hardest.

The film maker has a problem. Becoming a dancer/musician/actor takes time and practice. Practice is boring, at least as a spectator sport. It is by its nature repetitive. No one wants to watch two hours of someone noodling scales or huffing through breath control. Once I tried to live with a roommate. "You're a musician? That's great! I love music!" she gushed. She lasted through 20 minutes of finger exercises before suddenly remembering a walk she had to take.

And writing. Don't get me started. Those chess tournaments they show in Russia, with long hours of contestants staring at the board, have more external drama than a writer's life, though Adaptation nicely drops us into the vast insanity of the writer's mind with the voiceover technique, as well inventing an twin alter ego and crazy Hollywood stunts that seem to be real. Or are they?

So how did Tipping the Velvet overcome these problems? A montage scene that starts with Our Heroine Nan and her partner in performance: sleek and polished. The audio track goes straight through the song, but the video slices back and forth between the performance and rehearsals, with Nan stumbling, dropping props, and generally screwing up, accompained by close ups of the exasperated director's face. So in three verses we're left with the feeling that this was hard work, and it didn't happen overnight. When we see Nan's accomplished finale, we rejoice and celebrate as we share in the performer's fear of ohmigodamigoingtocrash. And on goes the story.

Unfortunately, you can't run out and see the movie. It was a one time showing at a gay and lesbian film festival, though it may be or soon be available on video. I'd like to pause briefly to tip my hat to the husband, one of 5 men in an audience of hundreds of women. It takes a real man to be comfortable in the company of so many women who have no interest in him.

2:42:59 PM