Take II
Not that she had been born yet, but I had already named her, so she figured, “What the heck, I may as well be born a Lekha.”
So you see, I just KNEW she had talent waaaaayy back then. Even before she discovered, at a very tender age, and all on her own, the scientific principle; that warm wet tongues get stuck to cold freezer trays, and, the berry from the tree doesn’t travel very far into the ear canal.
A score and four years later, after her major creative scholastic achievements of discovering how to score pot at dorm parties, the interesting patterns of alcoholic puke, and the designs that guys have on women, – she graduated, quite honourably as expected, top of her class .
Then came the turning point. She gave in to the concept of becoming an actor, when she allowed them to put foundation cream on her face and styling mousse in her hair.
Don’t we marvel at screen actors whose hair all goes in the same direction and looks as though it is full-bodied and soft, and who have such flawless skin, but which in fact are mostly covered in hardened petrochemical substances to the point where they can deflect poison darts.
I suspect that these substances have leached into the skulls of some of these screen personalities and attacked their brain cells. Why else would Larry King think that the concept of a major journalistic achievement would be to interview ex-jailbird Paris Hilton.
Now how did Lekha go about becoming a screen personality.
A while back a public-television channel asked her to be the host of a new television show for young brain-dead adults who had no life, and I remember her saying to me, “ Sounds like fun.”
And so she became an artiste. That’s what people call you when you go in front of the camera: an artiste. They call you that to your face, the screen tabloids call you “the new talented artiste.”
Only after a while, you get down from your high, and realize they don’t really mean that you have any artistry or talent. Looking at it closely it is a calculated insult.
In the celluloid world “artiste” does not mean the cameraman, the lighting or sound engineers or even the person who handles the props, (all of whom do exactly what they are supposed to do every single time), but the dolt with the pancake makeup who makes everyone spend another four hours in the studio because she can’t remember to say, “ The four partridges in the pear tree” and keeps on substituting the “P” with the “F”.
The way they say “artiste” is reminiscent of how hoteliers use the word “guest” which to them means “idiot”.
When you are a screen artiste you are the store dummy. Studio personnel smear stuff on your face and keep brushing lint off your costume, and talk to you in the third person saying things like: ‘ What if we made her sit on the couch instead of the floor?” and “Can we make her eyes look lighter with contacts?” or “Do you think there is some way we can hide her pot belly ?”
Finally your hair contains two barrels of styling gel, and you dare not laugh or cosmetic flakes will fall of your cheek bones.
You pictured going into the studio, ambling upto the camera and saying, “Hello and welcome to our show. I am your host, and we present tonight a leading dentist cum child psychologist, to explain to you why your child likes to put cats into washing machines and microwave ovens.” Then you would sit back and listen to the expert, you would nod your head knowingly and frown with concern every now and then. And sometimes you would say something really spontaneous and witty.
The way it turns out, nothing spontaneous happens in the studio. There’s several hours of prepping the studio, where the light guys shine bright lights at different angles, and then stand around frowning with varying facial expressions, then they dust the studio with special powders to cut down the glare from those bright lights. They then decide to move to a completely different location - usually Switzerland, where they start over.
Once they decide that the lights are just right – as bright and hot as possible, then it becomes time for the artiste to come in and take over- WRONG! That happens AFTER the sound check and the camera placements which take another few hours, and involve a few kilometres of cabling snaking all over the floor and dangling from the ceiling. Then the directors chair gets dusted.
NOW you, the artiste gets called in to make a fool of yourself. You come in, walk up and casually seat yourself on the chaise lounge, lean smiling into the camera, make a witty remark, turn to your left and make more witty remarks to another camera, get up gracefully and walk out. Sounds cool and easy right?
Here’s what actually goes on; while you are giving your performance, the director, the producer, the managing director, all the assistant producers and the tea boy are in the control room out of your hearing, discussing what you’ve been doing wrong.
Now you can take criticism. Your father has always been very direct with you, “Lekha, this is crap” he says by way of criticism, and you can handle it. But studio folk never talk to you like that. They’ll talk to you like you are emotionally retarded – and treat you like a little kid. They go to great pains not to hurt your feelings. Their first sentence is ALWAYS very positive.
“That was great, Lekha. Verrrrry nice. Now, we’re going to try this again but be a little more pro-active, OK? When you walk in, try not to stoop, OK? When you sit down cross your right leg over your left, OK? Also when you look at the camera try not to lick your lips, OK? And when you turn left do it slower without flicking you hair, otherwise it looks odd, OK? Also remember to say F-our P-artridges, don’t mix it up, OK? So try to be natural, and let’s have fun, OK? Let’s put a teeny bit more energy into it, OK? We think we almost have the scene.”
So you repeat everything again and again many times over, and of course all your witty remarks now sound so flat from the repetition to the stupid cameraman, who had not got them even the first time around. But you keep at it, over and over until finally, after you have lost count of the many repeats, comes the voice: “That was perfect, Lekha. Let’s try it again with a little more pizzazz. And this time say your name, OK?
…… and the Oscar for best new female artiste interviewing a dentist goes to……..
