The Importance of Indie

Oscar night, the most loved and hated in the business of show. It’s the A-Listers dressed to impress, dawning the red carpet and talking to reporters. It’s the speeches, some where the recipient hogs the floor. Of course there is the crying, and the hope they wear water proof mascara.

However, never watch the Oscars in a room full of New York actors. Did I say actors? I meant unemployed wannabes kvetching about how it’s not them on the red carpet. How they are not working. How they went to college with so and so and they weren’t that good. How so and so has no talent. And then there is always the nut that cries mid-show about their dreams not coming true. New York actors have ruined Oscar night for me.

In the past I always left the party drained, depressed, and painfully aware of how broke I was. It got to the point where I would just skip the Oscars. That is, until recently.

Two weeks ago was one of those weeks where the wear and tear of the last several months have caught up with me. I won’t get into detail, but there has been a lot going on. However, at the same time I now have an incredible individual guiding my career and have had some of my dreams materialize. Still, the bad has been nothing short of a dark and lonely hell. It has made me wonder if my dreams would ever materialize. So when Tony, a guy I am dating, invited me to see some Oscar shorts the only thing out of my mouth was a bunch of swear words as I delayed answering his email.

It was a reminder that I had faced a retaliatory eviction. It was a reminder that I had a cancer scare. It was a reminder that through no fault of my own I had to replace most of my belongings. It was a reminder that life had seriously sucked. However, dating is a diversion and I decided to go see some animated shorts.

Tony ended up taking me for oatmeal at a niche eatery and we smuggled it surreptitiously  into the theatre. We watched various Oscar nominated shorts from around the world, many adorable and some sad. However, one name caught my attention. That was the name of Bill Plympton.

Bill Plympton is featured in the first edition of SPAZ comics with me. You see, Bill is a legendary and awesome film director. His strip is a few pages from mine, yes the one with May Wilson and I being a crime fighting ventriloquist duo. As I saw his name I felt a flood of emotions. I felt envy of course. Then there was the self-conscious realization that he was nominated and I felt slightly less than. Finally there was the damn, I am in a comic book with an Oscar nominee. This is freaking awesome.

I AM IN AN INDIE COMIC BOOK WITH AN OSCAR NOMINEE!!!!

All of a sudden I felt as if I was really cool for a wrinkle in time. Not just to share comic book space with such a talent, but also that perhaps an Oscar wasn’t as far away as I thought it was.

I nudged my date. “I am in a comic book with Bill Plympton!” I exclaimed.

“Nice.” Tony said. Of course, Tony holds a Guinness Book Record like I do. Bernie Goetz and Kristin Davis are personal friends. Nothing surprises him anymore.

The same feeling of pride swelled over me as when I saw my book on the same shelf as Junot Diaz, Ophira Eisenberg, and Anne Frank. It was published through an indie press. Yes, my little I Came, I Saw, I Sang on the same shelf as a MacArthur Fellow, a woman who sold her book to Hollywood, and a young diarist who’s words not only immortalized one of the worst tragedies of the 20^th century, but one who never lost hope in humanity despite all she had to endure. Yes, it was all intimidating company, but it was also the realization that someday I might be just as good.

And now my company was someone nominated for an Oscar. WOW. I went from being in an awful mood to being excited about the Oscars. We all should be.

Around that time I was asked by my old station director to do a tribute video about BPTV. Apparently it was the 20^th anniversary of the station. I was so young when I was there, just a kid. At the same time, it was a lot of fun and I learned how to even be on television let alone how to collaborate. It was a family.

The opportunities led me to send my VHS tapes of Storytime with April and Friends around the world in high school. On a shoe string budget, my show where my puppets and I read bedtime stories to children was aired in 36 states and 6 foreign markets. We also made the NYC TV Guide and were the first American program in the South Korean Public Television Library.

Even when I embarked on a career performing ventriloquism in the park, people who had come to New York to chase the same dream remembered seeing me on their public television stations and labeling my tapes. I kept some of those connections who were quite helpful too. Connections I wouldn’t have had otherwise.

Not to mention I have been on television quite a bit not just in the United States but all over the world. Each and every time I have known what to do and people have spoken about how “professional” I was. Truth be told, I just had a good training ground. That’s all.

This past year, one of the blessings was my children and I got press around the world. Some of it was people knew who we were because of our time sending out VHS’s on a shoestring. Some of it was the dedication I have to my family and craft. Some of it is you never hear of a woman leaving a man for a bunch of puppets.

As the story hit headlines in every reach of the globe, I meant journalists from literally everywhere. Some worked with major press agencies, others for indie publications. The ones who worked for indie publications were just like me, those kids who’s mother’s were collecting their writing. And now here they were cracking a story in America. Each and every time I was blown away by their talent and command of description. (I don’t want to say English because it is arrogant and rather American stupid assuming everyone speaks English). I couldn’t help but compliment them. And let me tell you, each of them shyly told me it was nice to hear. One even admitted that he was currently trying to publish a novel and wanted to turn it into a film.

Another thing that happened this past year was The Break Up, I did puppet work for, was nominated for  a Project Greenlight Greenie Award. This was a big deal. Yes, it was a festival affiliated with HBO and sponsored by Ben Affleck and Matt Damon. I remember the excitement we felt, because this was up there with Tribeca, Sundance, Independent Spirit. (Okay, not quite Independent Spirit but this was a big deal). This was my first big award nomination for anything I had ever done. Even though we didn’t win, it was still exciting and it still meant that something I was a part of mattered to someone. That something I contributed to was being watched. That I wasn’t just some dork who played with puppets.

The arts are a career choice like no other. It’s not like being a doctor where everyone is excited when you articulate your ambition. Rather they are biting their lip and hoping you grow out of your impulse like the Vans sneakers in your mom’s garage. Even teachers and professors you have teaching you give you the news that yes, you will probably fail. This is a career that if you embark on it, you know that your teachers are correct, failure is a strong possibility. Ten percent employment rate at any given time. So when people see that obnoxious kid who wants to be in front of the camera, that weird writer kid who has an idea for a book or script, or the annoying kid with the camera phone, they try their damnest to discourage them.

This is why each town needs a public television station. So that obnoxious kid can see whether or not they even like being in front of the camera. Where that weird little writer kid can make his script come to life and see if it even has life. Where that annoying kid with the flip cam can learn how to use a real camera and see if he really wants to do this. Where they can be supported and fail safely as well as succeed beautifully. That way, those kids have an outlet and those kids can have a plan.

This is why we need independent film festivals, too. That way the outgoing kids can be a part of a film as it comes to life, yes the one written by the weird writer kid. And that annoying kid with the flip cam can be the visionary who ties the whole thing in a pretty little package. When we see these ideas on the big screen, we marvel at their creativity. We gasp. But they were just youngsters who started out with a dream and a big idea.

Artists aren’t mere entertainers but storytellers. They need to talk about what is good, but what is bad. This is their way of reminding us of our history so we are not doomed to repeat the horrors of the Holocaust, segregation, or any other form of human failing. This is why the world needs artists. They make us laugh, they make us cry, they make us think, but ultimately they use their own unique voices to stop bullying in it’s tracks. Now what would the world be without the arts?

So tonight, as you watch the Oscars, do not think of it as a parade of the Hollywood elite. As a nonworking actor, do not grimace that it’s not you. Instead embrace the success of art and think if you keep going it might be you. Also know that each of them at one time was an obnoxious kid who wanted to be in front of the camera. That they were a weird writer kid who’s mother’s attic is still filled with their badly written angst poetry. That they were the annoying kid with the flip cam who everyone wanted to smack. Tonight is their night. They paid their dues. They were made to believe by a great many it would never happen, so much so that they spent a lot of time crying themselves to sleep. Their families prayed at every church and temple for the success of their lost artist son or daughter. And now they are here. So if you have an artist family member, watch and support for them.

But before all that they were indie. They were throwing an idea at a wall seeing if it would stick. And they kept going. Today’s indie is tomorrow’s mainstream whether it is a comic book, novel, film or television show.

That being said, good luck tonight, Bill Plympton. 

Marty's House

Yesterday I got a call from my boss Bruce. I love Bruce but sometimes Bruce wears himself out. The other day he forgot to turn off the phone and a woman called him at an odd hour requesting a singing telegram. Well Bruce, being woken from his slumber, told her to call back during regular business hours. Being a proprietor and someone who wants the best for his business and his customers, he felt terribly. So he had me call her back.

Before I did it I was like, "Wow Bruce, this is a GREAT way to start off my promotion." On the other hand though, Bruce had probably worked himself to death in a Virgo frenzy and was getting a minute of sleep. Plus he might not have meditated, which sets my favorite high strung show tune singing boss off track. Needless to say when I called the woman she was quite nice though, and excited. I figured everyone was tired and we all just needed to try again. It happens with us all.

She explained the telegram was for her friend and they were on a film set. Yes, film set. I asked which film, and she said Wolf of Wall Street with Leonardo DiCaprio and directed by Martin Scorsese. I was like, "WOW!!!!" She explained they were on location, were set to wrap tomorrow, and the woman would have the next day off so they were celebrating the party that evening. I was like sweet.

I called Bruce back with the news. Bruce was excited it had been booked. No harm, no foul. I explained they were on a film set and had been working all night. I have worked on film sets and have done stand up in the clubs which translates to some late nights. And I always make the mistake of assuming everyone is up. My friend Kelly works as a makeup artist and routinely calls me late. It goes with the territory. When I dated Dimsdale he preferred to hang out later because of his years as a working comedian in the night clubs, he is a night man. We all make that mistake.

I ended up going to Westchester to the White Plains station. A van picked me up. The driver, a man by the name of Ray, was all business. When I went up to the van in a very official tone he asked, "Wolf of Wall Street?" I replied that this was correct and off we went. I thanked him for coming to get me and he just nodded. Usually, I get along well with my drivers. This one was a hard nut to crack however. He asked me why I chose White Plains. I was told there were more trains there. He said that there was another station closer. I knew the station he mentioned but the trains werent as plentiful and plus it ran on the local line, YUCK! Anyway, he asked what scene I was in and thats when I told him my deal. Immediately Ray lit up and informed me that there was food, lots of food, and a nice spread. While he didnt want to get my hopes up the Teamster informed me that perhaps I could sneak some.

YUMMMMMMYYYYYY!!!!!!!!

When I got to the set I was greeted by my client-Alison- and was camping out in the production trailer. She told me that if we accidentally bumped into Lisa, the woman I was singing to, I was to say that I was her friend from Holy Cross where she went to school. I could live with that. Two assistants entered the trailer. I was ready with my story but then Alison explained I was the chicken. Cool.

We went down to the general dining area where I was hidden in the back. The entire time they were running back and fourth giving gifts to people. Apparently these were rap gifts. "Could you give me a bigger men's size for Jonah?" One of the assistants asked.

Jonah as in Jonah Hill? Yes, it was. Apparently he had left for the day and was coming in the next day. Running back and fourth because they were rapping the next day everyone was in a hurry. Bags were being organized and lots of work was being done. The crew, a nice little community, had all been on the project since the beginning. They had bonded and were glad tomorrow was the last day-they even told me so.

As I was camped out one lady asked, "Is this the singing chicken?" They told her I was and she said, "Oh, did someone tell Marty?"

"Yes, Marty knows about this." Another woman replied.

"Is Marty coming?" The first lady asked. She looked beat from the sixteen hour days they had been putting in.

"No, he has things to do before we rap." She explained. "But he got a kick out of the idea and said it sounded very cute and funny."

My mouth dropped open. "THE MARTY!" I exclaimed trying to hide my utter excitement. While the Marty could not attend, he knew I was coming.

"Yes." The second woman smiled. "The Marty."

I apologized and said I wasn't used to Martin Scorsese being referred to as Marty. He had directed the Godfather, Casino, and Goodfellas, three of my favorites of all time. Not to mention he also directed After Hours, not only one of my comedy films but the most unsung of this genius's work because yes, he could do comedy. Not to mention I had just seen Cape Fear with Robert DeNiro for the first time after seeing the original, and the remake was just as good which is rare. The man was Mr. Scorcese, the man was Martin, or Mr. Martin Scorsese. But Marty? Marty was the guy down the block. Marty was not the name of a genius who's work included Taxi Driver and who changed the face of cinema forever.

On the other hand, Marty gave him a humanity. I guess having been a fan of his work for so long I never equated him wit being a person. And he was a person. My friend Kelly said he was on faculty at NYU but wasn't there as much as they felt he should have been because he was working, and would have a TA teach while he appeared to lecture. They fired him and he went to Columbia where his schedule was better understood. Marty was a person, just a busy one.

As I waited for them to wrap I wikied Marty on my iphone. He had gone to NYU grad school for film. I had gone to NYU Tisch as well. As a kid he had asthma and was terrible at sports so he fell in love with old movies. A fan of Hitchcock, as a homage to his hero all of his leading ladies wear white. I am an old movie and Hitchcock fan. I looked to see his astrological sign. His birthday is November 17th. At that moment I felt myself get goosebumps. The reason being that November 17th is the birthday of my late friend Joe Cannava, the friend who got me to write my book. The friend who reminded me that people listened when I spoke. The friend who reminded me that I was funny and how I needed to chase my star.

I have always been a DIY (Do It Yourself) artist. I have always had the need and drive to create my own work. I work best when I can star, write, and direct my own work. Whether it is performing standup/ventriloquism on stage, making my own videos, writing and performing my own music, publishing my own book, and doing the audio version I am that kind of spirit. So is Marty. I had felt intimidated, a fish out of water. But that soon disappeared when I realized that while this was an old, run down office building with barely any heat I was on great terrain. I was on Marty's film set-in Marty's house-and it was a great honor to set foot in a place that was closed off to the public, even the celebrity photogs.

When it came time for me to sing I went in. Lisa was very sweet. She did the chicken dance and was into it. This had been a long few months for everyone and they needed to unwind. The people had fun. That's what this was all about-fun. I wanted to make it good, especially since I had been waiting quite a while to sing. It wasn't because they were being nasty, oh no. It's because they were  wrapping, there was lots to do, and not to mention Allison explained that they never broke on time so this was a first.

Afterwards, I was invited to eat. The food was delicious, Ray had been correct. Allison, bless her, gave me a little extra something for waiting so patiently. I could see the tired beginning to take it's toll on everyone. Marty apparently does not like to take too many breaks. It's not that he's a slave driver. There are millions of dollars at steak. He has a studio to answer to.

Allison then went the extra mile to put me in a van back to the city-bless her heart double.

On my way back I rode with a van full of union extras. Professional extras are an odd bunch. They are background dressing with medical benefits. Many of them theatre trained actors who never translated to film or never made it, they do the extra work for the money to finance the stage career. Extra work is a slippery slope. While you get money you are always an extra. You never move up and are forever pigeon holed and damned to be the plant or the shrub, never to move up. As these people spoke they talked about the various adventures on the set. Apparently Scorsese, who likes the ladies, wanted to do a T and A shot of a lady. She didnt want her behind shown so they hired someone else and the girl thought they were still using her top shot but the extras concurred that this would not be the case. They also spoke of some scantily clad women doing various things on the set and how despite the fact they made their name as scantily clad women they were quite nice.

One of the extras in particular struck me as a diva. I complimented her necklace and she acted like I had insulted her. A few minutes later I heard her speak, in good clipped American speech, about how she had gone to NYU and still coached kids for showcases. My mouth dropped open. Her coaching? But there is an old saying, "Those who can't do, teach." She reminded me of my freshmen year scene study teacher. Maybe they were close friends. But the irony of show business is, someone like this had an ego the size of Texas. They talked about their "career" and their "coaching." They would probably go by their full name like Henrietta Feline Pussycat and demand to be called Ms. Pussycat. They would then believe the world owed them something because they went to NYU's Tisch School of the Arts and then bemoan their higher education because in her words, "It taught me to be an artist and not a working actor."

On the other hand, the true genius, Martin Scorsese, simply goes by Marty. As a poor kid from Queens he grew up in a devoutly Catholic family. He too went to NYU and unlike the diva extra made a fine career for himself. Growing up he was never the pretty kid or the tough guy, he was the slight sickly boy with asthma. But an original thinker who needed to create his own work and think out of the box, he did and has continued to make a name. Maybe he isn't so good at being married-married four times-but he has nonetheless married some beautiful women. I prefer to think I am more like Marty as I jounce around in my jogging clothes and treat everyone like I would like to be treated as I make my life my art. Or maybe I simply want to be like him, a genius. Don't we all?

Either way, Mr. Scorsese, it was a pleasure to come to your house last night. I want to thank your assistants for taking such wonderful care of me. As the singing chicken, I am such a fan of your work. I understand everyone calls your Marty, and it doesn't ruffle your feathers. And I think that is mad cool.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
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