It's All In the Playing (4 page)

That understood, we discussed the nature of communicating what we found to be true and real in our lives even if it sounded spaced out. We knew better, and if we were to contribute to the consciousness of the society in even the entertainment industry, what better way than to do a show that would be something besides rape, car chases, cops, street people, and low morals in high places?

After not too extensive a discussion, there was clearly no point in putting up unconscious personal resistance for very much longer. I knew my task was to extend emotionally to television what I had already done in my books, and Colin’s was to begin his initial foray into a public declaration. That resolved, it was, unsurprisingly, only a few days before ABC called and said they’d like us to go ahead with writing the script for the second night. Lesson? Release and resolve fear, and what you want flows freely.

We wrote the second night in the same way—fast and full of food. Five days, to be exact. Any more than that and we’d have to shoot from the Fat Farm.

We turned in the final two hours and waited for Brandon Stoddard to read them, which would most likely occur on an airplane between New York and L.A. That’s where most creative thinking is done in TV land—the solitary office in the sky.

Brandon called Stan Margulies about a week later.

“Be in my office at ten o’clock,” he said.

Stan gulped, notified Colin and me, and we prepared for what we had by that time come to expect—the best, not the worst.

We were all there at ten except for Colin. He was not a fashionably late individual, so I wondered what was up. Well into the social breakfast amenities, he arrived. He made no remarks about his tardiness. Brandon probably expected that from a hot “feature hyphenate” (writer-director).

Brandon cleared his throat, put one leg over the other, and began. “I felt wonderful when I finished reading your script. I want to do it.”

We smiled confidently and waited for more instructions.

“All I ask,” Brandon went on, “is that you make sure the audience understands cosmic justice and that we each are responsible for our own reality. That’s what the viewers will
want
to respond to.”

An important issue in the show was the exploration of karma. The concept that states: “What we cause, good or bad, will have an effect—on
us”
is karma. Karmic justice is the extension of cause and effect, so that the seeds we sow in one lifetime may not be reaped until a much later lifetime. Hence, Karmic Cosmic Justice. Brandon, ever vigilant regarding the American consciousness, wanted to contribute somehow to making the world make more sense.

“And,” he commanded, “I want you on the floor [to begin shooting] November fifteenth, because I want the option of having it on the air May ’86 for sweeps week.”

Stan choked on a piece of Danish.

“Brandon,” he said in his best Talmudic experiential tone, “we’re late already for that date. This means twenty-two-hour days.”

Brandon smiled and tapped his feet. “Right. I still want it. Now make up a budget. Twelve, fifteen million, whatever it is. Hopefully, we’ve got an Event here. I like what these guys have written. Besides, my sister would kill me if she heard I turned it down. There are more
people into this stuff than you think. And I want ABC to be first.”

Stan and Colin and I looked at one another. It was best to quit while we were ahead. Brandon continued.

“I know you have work to do on the script, casting, production, location hunting, and all that—so leave now. Whatever you need—you’ve got. I’m going on vacation.”

Brandon stood up, shook hands with us, smiled, winked, and left.

Stan hitched up his belt, threw up his hands, looked into an imaginary place above his head, and said, “Entities, we are going to need all the help we can get.”

He walked out, throwing over his shoulder a parting shot: “What kind of reality have we created for ourselves, stress-wise!?!”

I gathered my stuff, stood up, and looked into Colin’s eyes. I somehow was not surprised to see tears.

“My real Maude, Ruth Gordon, died this morning,” he said. “That’s why I was late. I guess she decided to go so she could oversee this whole thing comedy-wise.”

“Oh, Harold,” I said, knowing what her passing meant to him symbolically, particularly on this day. “She probably wants you to get on with integrating your spiritual talents. She can help you much more from where she is now.”

Colin nodded, giving a lopsided smile. Knowing friends are around in spirit is all very well, but the grief of loss still hurts.

I took his hand and we left together.

Chapter 3

   I
t was the end of August and we were to begin principal photography in eight and a half weeks. We had no cast or director. Colin was leery of the directorial speed required in television. Seventeen setups (camera angles) a day, and usually more, leave the creative artist in a dust whirl of artistic frustration. There would be no time for reflection, or even for learning from mistakes. The clock would tick ominously as network “spies” reported artistic indecision and temperamental differences. Colin would need to shoot in half the time allotted a feature film.

With that kind of pressure he concluded he couldn’t handle directing five hours of screen time. The luxury of feature film-making was pressurized enough.

I had to agree with Colin when he passed on being the director, so we shelved that problem for the time being and went back to work to improve our first draft. We got a kick out of seeing our white pages turn the color of the rainbow (for every rewritten scene there is a new color so as to make rewrites clear).

In L.A. we worked at Colin’s house off Benedict Canyon. His office was comfortable, homey, with wood
paneling, plush couches, and a picture over the fireplace of the cosmos. Somewhere in the galaxy of millions and billions of stars there was a speck with an arrow and the directive YOU ARE HERE. That about said it all. That picture always put our working sessions into proper perspective.

Colin had a housekeeper named Alice who called me “Honey” and Colin “Mr. Higgins.” I’m still not sure what I did to create that reality. (Of course I’m sure. I like to be just one of the people.) Anyway, Alice made good roast chicken and could really shop for cookies and ice cream.

She never answered the phone because she knew “Mr. Higgins” would pick it up out of insatiable curiosity anyway. That’s when I’d go bananas. He was always so polite and generous with his friends. While I was trying to hold a thought in my head that had to do with making a trance medium funny, I’d sharpen a pencil really loud until he hung up and I could make my point. He’d just laugh and say “Okayyyyy,” as though he’d been finished with that scene anyway.

I had never collaborated with anyone before and neither had he. My rhythm was faster and more disciplined and driving. His was thorough and ploddingly specific. I was more demanding. He was more free-flowing. And both of us were focused. As we worked on the final draft, we continued our improvisational arguments.

Colin had a real problem with some dialogue which had to do with looking up at the stars and calling them “zircon plums close enough to pluck.”

“The words are too elaborate,” Colin said. “It sounds too poetic for a cold night in the Andes. How would Shirley say that?”

I shrugged. “Simple,” I said, “since I’m an actress. It’s all in the playing.”

Colin grunted sarcastically. “That’s your answer to everything.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Just like life.”

Addressing the director problem, Brandon Stoddard had suggested his number one choice to be Robert Butler. Butler had directed the pilot films for
Hill Street Blues
and
Moonlighting
and if we were lucky enough to find him available, we should grab him.

Butler was available, but that didn’t mean he’d want to do the show. How many directors could feel conversant with extraterrestrials, spiritual entities, and reincarnated love affairs? Well, we soon found out.

My daughter Sachi’s birthday was September 1. I decided to throw a little party for her in Malibu and invite Kevin Ryerson, who was the trance channeler I wrote about in
Out on a Limb.
The question now was: Should he play himself in the film or should we get an actor who could
act
that he was channeling entities from the spiritual dimension? To witness Kevin channeling, along with the proposed director, Robert Butler, I invited producer Stan Margulies, Colin, my agent Mort Viner, and some of Sachi’s best friends. Aside from Colin, none of the people involved in the show had seen the phenomenon of trance channeling. Sachi had, of course, and was longing to speak to several of the entities she hadn’t had contact with for some time. So for everyone it would be useful.

But several of the friends present were not working on the film and didn’t know a spiritual entity from the Exorcist—and frankly couldn’t have cared less. But because I don’t feel anything is an accident, I was comfortable with the thought that everyone there was present for a reason. I would have a chance to see the level and quality of skepticism, so that I’d have an idea of what to expect from a wide television audience which would almost certainly include many individuals who would think we were not playing with a full deck of cards.

So, after dinner and the cake and presents, we turned down the lights (spiritual entities say they can see our vibrational light-frequencies better when electricity doesn’t interfere with the medium’s own eyes), and settled into a channeling session. The waves gently lapped outside as I turned on the tape recorder and waited for Kevin to go into trance. Everyone in the room watched intently. It was the transition into the trance state that usually told the story. If they believed the medium was “acting,” it would be during that transition. I, on the other hand, was checking the process in a professional sense, knowing that we should not allow the film editor to cut away from Kevin going into trance because such a cut would give the impression that a trick was being played on the audience.

In about four minutes the first entity, John, came through. Was four minutes going to sustain itself on the screen? Could we even afford such a length of time?

“Hail!” he said—as usual. “Greetings and state purpose of gathering.”

Everyone leaned forward. What was this strange Biblical dialect? Sachi returned John’s greeting. She said we were all gathered for her birthday and even though there were people present whom John would consider strangers, we were in fact all friends.

John responded immediately. “There is no such thing as ‘strangers,’” he said. “There are only friends one has not yet met.” Several people blinked and sat back to digest this remark.

“Oh,” said Sachi. “Excuse me.” She hesitated. At once John offered cordial birthday wishes and congratulated her for deciding to come into an incarnation on the earth plane at this period of time. She thanked him. He then asked for questions. No one said anything. Subtle body movements, the odd uneasy glance indicated that some of those present were busy adjusting to a new method of communication, or were simply uncomfortable
with the whole scene, or possibly were afraid to speak up in “public”—even though this was not a large audience of strangers. We all knew one another more or less. Still, I suppose no one had quite figured the way through to an actual confrontation with a nonsolid person….

I could sense Bob Butler and Stan pondering this disembodied spiritual entity named John, who would be playing himself in the film—should we decide to use Kevin as the actual trance medium. They needed to be professional in their attitude, but I could feel their personal curiosity as well. I decided to break the silence and get on with it. I asked John if he would be able to rehearse and stick to the script we’d write for him.

He answered succinctly. “If I can speak lines that match the philosophic framework of myself and that will also be reminiscent of the original lines spoken in our first meetings, that is agreeable, yes.”

Stan and Bob looked over at me. Mort coughed politely—but really wanted to say something witty like “But do you do windows?” Sometimes Mort would joke and wisecrack to relieve his own tensions and break up stress in others. Still, I decided to continue with practical questions.

“No, John,” I said. “I mean, if I ask you to do a scene over again and make it faster, will you be able to do it?”

“Correct,” he answered.

“Okay. Now tell me: Will there be a problem with the camera equipment in relation to your electromagnetic frequencies?”

“That could present a difficulty,” said John. “However, I will endeavor to lower my frequencies through the instruments, thereby avoiding problems with your sensitive camera equipment.”

Stan’s eyes lit up with a fascinated grin. Bob Butler just squinted. Mort looked as though he were in a trance
himself. “Lower frequencies” to match camera equipment? He was having enough trouble adjusting to the fact that someone was going to play him in the movie. (He was holding out for Paul Newman.)

I moved right ahead with my questions.

“John?” I continued. “Will there be some problems with crew members who have never been exposed to this stuff before?”

John cocked his head. “No. We sense there will be a mutually respectful working relationship with everyone involved. There will be conscious and unconscious cooperation. Each will make his own personal adjustment.”

Stan smiled and leaned forward. “I would like to say that in film-making we often need to repeat a scene time after time. Will you be able to say your words accurately, or will you improvise when you do it again?”

John seemed to smile to himself. “I have been repeating the same teachings for thousands of years. The duration of a film scene should not make that much difference.”

Everyone laughed.

“There may be mild differences in languaging, but in the main it will be an exact parallel.”

“Differences in languaging?” I turned the phrase over in my mind, reflecting on how prejudicial words could be in describing metaphysical phenomena and spiritual dimensions. I was having a kind of
déjà vu
flash on the time when I first encountered words with “kook” connotations. But Stan was quite unfazed, pursuing practicalities. He leaned farther forward.