Harry's Big Story Begins

It was apropos that Harry Starr's big story began in the basement. He was after all, a subterranean kind of guy.

There were a few things that Harry clearly remembered about the first break he blew in his basement lair:

Schmutzy Mike Winikoff, wearing a red plaid flannel shirt and reeking of cigarette smoke all the way from the door marching down the stairs.

Schmutzy Mike Winikoff asking for an ashtray as he pulled out a pack of green Export A's from his shirt pocket. Harry never had a friend smoke before in his parent's house. He was taken aback by the bold request and never thought of Winikoff as a smoker back when they were summer camp bunk mates. But then again, they were only fourteen at the time. This kind of growing up didn't sit well with Harry.

Schmutzy Mike Winikoff pulling out a tattered script from the inside pocket of his well-worn lumber jack shirt, then asking, "Do you have any coffee?"

His old camp best friend who was addicted to rafter ball and grape juice, now smoked and drank coffee? And had apparently had also written a script.

"This script is for my thesis film project, I'll be shooting in January. I heard you doing some acting at McGill. I thought you might be right for the lead." Mike contemplated Harry's reaction while taking a hall on a cigarette, then sipping on a mug of black coffee.

Harry studied Winikof wondering if the student film-maker had showered since they were at camp together. Or maybe the greasy look was just artsy.

"Yeah, I've done some acting at McGill. What's your movie about?"

Winikoff  flicked the ashes of his cigarette into the ashtray. "It's about a character named Harry who doesn't believe he's a fictional character." He dipped an eyebrow alluding to the brilliance of his idea.

Without Feathers, Harry thought. Woody Allen wrote that play in that book he just read. He couldn't believe that Winikoff would rip off something from someone as well known as Woody Allen.

Winikoff tossed the dog-eared script on the coffee table. "Take a look at it and then let's see hear you read the first few lines."

"Okay." Harry read the first page and was blown away with Winikoff's chutzpah. It was a blatant rip-off of Woody Allen. But Harry didn't want to offend his old friend, Mike Wininkoff, as grubby as he was, was a great guy, one of Harry's all time favorites.

"You'd be working with this girl Wendy, who's not only an amazing actress, but she's willing to go to bed for the part..."

Okay, thought, Harry. Now I know he's totally full of shit. No one would want to go to bed for a non-paying part in a student film with a schmutz ball like Mike Winikoff. What the fuck happened to this guy, he's become so full of shit.

"I want honesty," Winikoff said, cradling the coffee mug with both hands.

I want him leave, Harry thought. This script sucks and Winnikoff is totally full of shit.

Harry cleared his throat and in a most uninspiring monotone read the opening lines.

"I can't believe that I'm a fictional character..."

Harry didn't get the part. Winikoff did bed Wendy the lead actress and the film won Best Canadian Student Film of the year and was later shown at Cannes.

Harry remembered it all and never acted again. God obviously had an arch sense of humour, Harry just wished that He would manifest it in other ways. It's hard to be the butt of a divine joke.