"I am ripping up this application."

"Then enjoy it because it will be the last thing that you do."

"My ass, what ever happened to acting?"

"You know the story, Finkie, I choked. I can't get over it. I don't want to do it anymore."

"How can you be such a pussy? Get back on the horse, and if you can't then get help."

"Maybe I just want to quit one thing and try something else. Anyhow, it's more than I can say for you, Finkie. You just dropped out of film school, end of story."

"Excuse me but I beg to differ. You dont need  a degree to make movies, you need experience. And that's what I'm doing now. Maybe shooting weddings and bar mitzvahs isn't glamorous, but it's a start."

"A start for what? Cinema de la grotesque?"

"I prefer to call it Fellini-inspired."

"Like the Rappaport wedding with forty-two minutes of close-ups of men with bad toupees."

"Williard on balding heads. Would've killed at the box office!"

"Or the Luden bar mitzvah video with thirty-five minutes of close ups of the dwarf aunt."

"A dwarf in a horah! Golden, fucking golden!"

"then what was the Fenster Sweet Sixteen?"

"Platinum, fucking platinum!"

"Of course her father tried to run you over with his Lincoln after you took a bush-shot of his daughter at her own Sweet Sixteen!"

"That just happened..."

"Just happened, Finkie? Just happened?! You shot that from under the table."

"An angle shot, that's all. It's not my fault the chick doesn't use Neat

Conversations in B Flat

"What you going to do with a B.A. in theater, Harry?"

"I have no idea."

Wipe your ass with it? Snicker, snicker.

"Are you going to get a job or continue in school, Harry?"

"I have no idea."

Wake up and smell the coffee, dream boy.

"So what are you going to do with your life, Harry?"

"I have a few ideas."

Like, ahhhh...maybe do something bohemian, live abroad, get an earring. 

"Go into business, Harry. Make some money. Do that and everything else will fall into place," sayeth cousin Joey Prager.

"I'd like to write."

"You want to write? Write orders. Write enough orders, you can write anything you like."

"Yeah. Maybe?"

"Maybe what, Harry? Maybe what?"

I wish I knew. I wish I knew.

"Harry. You're all grown up, time to jump on the train of life or get left behind. Just remember this, no money, no honey..."

"...blah blah blah...this guy is killing me..."

"What are you drinking, Harry? It's on me."

"A double of anything."


****


A few days later hanging out in the basement with Harry's best friend, Finkie.

"Why would you listen to your cousin, Joey Prager? He's such a prick!"

"Who says I'm listening, Finkie? I'm just telling you what he said."

"And coincidentally, the next day you applied for an MBA."

"I still have to write my GMATs and get recommendations..."

"For business school, Harry, for business school. When have you ever expressed an interest in business?"

"What about our comic stand, Finkie? By age six, I was already buying and selling."

"And what a head for business. We bought the comics for twenty-five cents and sold them for a dime."

"But we read them first. We got our money's worth."

"Put that in your MBA application, Harry. I can even give you a recommendation, because you made all the  money. I never saw my share of the profits."

"What profits? We sold at a loss."

"You know what, Harry? Maybe you will do well in business. You've always had a streak of larceny."

"I like to think so."


****


Outside Dutchie's Music Emporium on a Saturday:

"Stiff?..Stiff Rosenfeld!..Man, it's been a while."

"Indeed, Harry Starr, indeed."

"So like, what're you up to these days, besides using the word indeed ?"

"Well, first of all, I'm a different person."

Harry eyeballed Stiff from head to toe. "Looks like Stiff." Harry sniffed him. "Smells like Stiff...pee-yew!" Harry touched Stiff's shoulder, then licked his finger. "Sho" 'nuff tastes like Stiff...Holy mama -- it's Stiiiiiii-ffff!"

"Still working the same routine, Harry. Whatsa matter, no new material since the old camp days?"

"You're new material, person formerly known as Stiff Rosenfeld,"

Stiff dipped his hand into his breast pocket, plucked out a business card and handed it to Harry.

"Don Roosevelt, Chartered Insurance Broker. Don Roosevelt? You?"

"Yeah, that's me, youngest broker in the company. Don Roosevelt, a name that will take me into the innermost corridors of power. Sounds better than my old Sheldon Rosenfeld name. I'm in to self-improvement and if that means tinkering with a few letters in my given name at birth, then so be it."

"I agree with you, Stiff. But I can still call you Stiff, can't I? You were after all, a walking-talking erection back at Camp Maniwake."

"Proud to report that I have the old chronic boner under control. I'm involved in a pretty serious relationship with my girlfriend, Tammy."

"Does she call you Don?"

"Actually no, but we've been going out for two and a half years now. We even have our own baby-talk names. I'm Mookie and she's Shmookie...Oops, embarrassing. Why did I say that?"

"Don't worry, Mookie, I'm with you. Everyone should be able to name themself. Why accept some ridiculous name your parents gave you?...I always wanted to change my name to Dash Riprock...Speaking of Dashes, are you still close to Stevie Dash?"

"Not really, Harry.  In fact, we haven't spoken in over a year. Stevie couldn't respect the fact that I changed my name. He said I was being "inauthentic." The judgmental asshole. Then his sister is getting married and he addresses my invitation to the wedding as Shlomo Rosenfeld, my Hebrew name. He thinks he's making a point."

"Maybe he was just trying to be funny?"

"Maybe he's just a jerk."

"Maybe you're right..."

"Yeah."

"He never called back," Harry muttered. "He never called back."


****


Harry was lying on the corduroy couch in his basement and watching Jeopardy. Finkie barged in -- no knock, no doorbell. So Finkie.

"Harry, Harry," Finkie said, gasping for air.  "Stevie Dash...Stevie Dash..."

"Is he dead?"

"No, no, not at all...Stevie Dash just won first prize at Cannes in the student film category."

"...!"

"Harry? Harry? Are you okay?"

Conversations in A Minor

"What you going to do with a B.A. in theater, Harry?"

"I have no idea."

Wipe your ass with it? Snicker, snicker.

"Are you going to get a job or continue in school, Harry?"

"I have no idea."

Wake up and smell the coffee, dream boy.

"So what are you going to do with your life, Harry?"

"I have a few ideas."

Like, ahhhh...maybe something bohemian, live abroad, get an earring. 

"Get into business, Harry. Make some money. Do that and everything else will fall into place," cousin Joey Prager said.

"I'd like to write."

"You want to write? Write orders. Write enough orders, you can write anything you like."

"Yeah. Maybe?"

"Maybe what, Harry? Maybe what?"

I wish I knew. I wish I knew.

"Harry. You're twenty-one already, time to jump on the train of life or get left behind. Just remember this, no money, no honey. What are you drinking, Harry? It's on me."


****


A few days later hanging out in the basement with Finkie, Harry's best friend.

"Why would you listen to your cousin, Joey Prager? He's such a prick!"

"Who says I'm listening, Finkie? I'm just telling you what he said."

"And coincidentally the next day you applied for an MBA."

"I still have to write my GMAT and get recommendations..."

"For business school, Harry, for business school. When have you ever expressed an interest in business?"

"What about our comic stand, Finkie? At age six, I was already buying and selling."

"And what a head for business. We bought the comics for twenty-five cents and sold them for a dime."

"But we read them first. We got our money's worth."

"Put that in your MBA application, Harry. I can even give you a recommendation, because you made all the  money. You never paid me my share of the profits."

"What profits? We sold at a loss."

"You know what, Harry? Maybe you will do well in business. You've always had a streak of larceny."

"I like to think so."


****


Outside the record store:

"Stiff?..Stiff Rosenfeld!..Man, it's been a while."

"Indeed, Harry Starr, indeed."

"So like, what're you up to these days, besides using the word indeed ?"

"Well, first of all, I'm no longer Stiff Rosenfeld."

"You look like him." Harry sniffed Stiff. "You smell like him." Harry touched Stiff's shoulder, then licked his finger. "You sho' 'nuff taste like Stiff...Holy mama -- it's Stiff!"

"Glad to see you've still got a routine going, Harry. You haven't lost a beat since those camp days."

"So who are you now, person formerly known as Stiff Rosenfeld?"

Stiff dipped his hand into his breast pocket, plucked out a business card and handed it to Harry.

"Don Roosevelt, Chartered Insurance Broker. Don Roosevelt? You?"

"Yeah, that's me. Just a modification of my birth name, Sheldon Rosenfeld, I'm trying to get into corporate insurance and thought I'd do better to have a more corporate sounding name...like Don Roosevelt. A name that spells trust."

"I agree with you, Stiff. I can still call you Stiff, can't I? Camp Wyowon's human erection."

"Proud to report that I have that under control. Things are getting pretty serious between me and my girlfriend, Tammy."

"Does she call you Don?"

"Actually no, but we've been going out for three and a half years now. We have our own baby-talk names. I'm Shmoopie, she's Shwoopie...right....But I have officially changed my, name to Don Roosevelt. Look in my mailbox and you'll see."

"I agree with you. We should all be able to name ourselves. Why accept some ridiculous name your parents gave you?...Say, are you still friends with Stevie Dash?"

"Actually, we haven't spoken in over a year. He couldn't respect the fact that I changed my name. Stevie thought I was being a fake. Then his sister is getting married and he sends me the initiation addressed to me as Shlomo Rosenfeld. Fucking guy! My bar mitzvah teacher was the only one who ever called me Shlomo. Stevie, ever the asshole, was mocking me."

"Maybe he was just trying to be funny and you took it badly?"

"Maybe he's just a jerk."

"Maybe you're right..."

"Yeah."

"He never called back," Harry muttered.

" What are you gonna do with a B.A. In theater, Harry?"

"I have no idea."

Wipe your ass with it? Snicker, snicker.

"Are you going to get a job and continue in school, Harry?"

"I have no idea."

Wake up and smell the coffee, dream boy.

"So what are you going to do with your life, Harry?"

He doesn't have a clue.

"I have a few ideas."

Like, ahhhh...do something bohemian, live abroad, get an earring. Just don't tell anyone. 

"Who do you think you are, Henry Miller?" cousin Joey Prager asked.

"I dunno," Harry said.

"I dunno, he answers. It's all about the money, Harry. Wake up, drop the earring, go to business school. Go mainstream already." When cousin Joey Prager talks, you listen.

"Maybe."

"Well you better start moving your ass, Harry. You're twenty-one already, time to jump on the train of life or get left behind. Just remember this, no money, no honey. What are you drinking, Harry? It's on me."

And that's all it took. A seemingly innocuous conversation in a bar with cousin Joey Prager, the kid who figured things out early on.


Going mainstream, why not? Never thought of that. Start wearing buttoned down shirts and khakis, dress like a Kennedy. A new role. That could be pretty cool.

And that's all it took. Six months later Harry was doing an MBA, hating it with all those numbers, but liking the idea of it. "I'm doing my MBA." Sounds so good, so serious. Going mainstream. Flowing with the current instead of swimming upstream.


It's the night before the last exam of the first semester. . No need to kill himself studying, Harry's going into the Macroeconomics final with an A- average and a special relationship with good ole boy, Dwight Evans,the unabashed beer-swilling professor of the course and subject of Harry's acclaimed caricature in the college newspaper.

Harry nailed him dead on; the beer gut, the bushy Fu Manchu moustache, although drawing a blast of air blowing from the professor's behind wasn't exactly tasteful. Actually Harry thought that the rear blast would've been edited out of the cartoon. But the professor was a notorious hard marker and scores of students had axes to grind with him, including the editor-in-chief of the newspaper.

So Harry's confident that he's got the course material under control and a good shot at maintaining his A- grade. A quick review of the material and a good night's sleep should seal the deal. Then there's a knock at the door. It's Leslie, the loud-mouthed, big-assed gal with the glass eye from across the hall knocks at his dorm door. She's holding a bottle tequila with Katie, her hottie redhead friend visiting from back home.

"How'd ya like to do shots with us, Harry? We can play swallow the worm..."

Harry contemplates the wormy innuendo: True, Leslie's glass eye has always made him queasy, but yum yum on the Katie side. He'd have to stick handle his way around Leslie--

Of course there's that annoying exam the next day at 9 AM, you'd have to be an idiot to party the night before.

"Sure, why not? It might help me sleep better."

Maybe Katie the redhead knew something about economics? Harry thought he overheard that she majored in it in college, or at least had taken an economics course. He could review some of the material with her.

Choking at Godot 

Screw Stevie Dash and his son-of-Hitler movie. With one semester left to graduate, Harry had his own big role lined up. The setting:

The McGill Theater Department's major annual production, a three-night run of the Samuel Beckett classic, Waiting For Godot, co-starring Harry as Estragon and Hazen Bones, a Barishnikov wannabe who preferred wearing leotards over pants, as Vladimir. 

Stars were born at the vaunted McGill theater production. The stuff of legends, like Lionel Wolfe, who went on to strike fame and fortune as Captain Merkel on the hit TV series, Space Cadets. Lionel showcased his remarkable range by playing Lady Macbeth in an experimental transgender version of Macbeth. Phil Ferns, the fey programming director of the CBC television drama department, was in the audience opening night and was smitten with Lionel's campy performance. And it paid off big time with the young actor's first television appearance in the starring role of Spuds McGee for the acclaimed CBC mini-series, The Potato Farmer.

Waiting For Godot's opening night was a celebrated tour de force. Montreal Gazette theatre critic Gaston Bumstead wrote that Harry's performance was, "Mesmerizing, spell-binding, the virtual embodiment of alienation and unarticulated angst that defines the futility of our existence." Second night met with more critical raves. I.F Sheinhart, the chatty entertainment critic of The Suburban wrote, "Harry Starr's haunting performance as Estragon kept me up all night questioning the meaning of my own existence...Harry Starr, what a talent! The next Lionel Wolfe!!  p.s. Just between us: thesp Lionel's mother, Doris, was my prom date way back when. What a kisser, what a gal!"

Final show: Harry's Big Break was sitting in the audience chewing on a fat wad of bubble gum was New York's enigmatic talent agent, Peewee Ludwig. The man, all five-foot-two of him, was a living legend who discovered the likes of Oscar-winning Justin Guffman, Tonight show host, Ray Benzo and scores of other working actors.

Peewee Ludwig wasn't there just by chance. Personal matters led him to hightail it out of New York and seek refuge with his old friend, Professor Chet Baxter, head of the McGill theatre department and director of the play. Peewee was hoping that a little amateur theater would raise his battered spirits. The little man was going through a depression after suffering the shame of a bitter divorce from his ex-wife, Tessie Baker, a shrewish foot model who owned the corn and bunion market. Tessie wiped out Peewee financially and dragged his good name through the mud by spreading vicious rumors that were unfortunately, completely true:

That Peewee was involved in a bogus invoicing scheme.

That Peewee would only make love to her feet.

That Peewee had been carrying on a passionate affair with Pena Petosa, New Jersey's great baloon-folding artist.

But the wheel of fortune turns round;  Peewee's woes opened a door of opportunity for Harry Starr. Professor Baxter, who was also Harry's academic advisor, told Manny that, "The kid reminds me of a young Cary Grant. Dashing, elegant, yet funny. True leading man material. After you see the show, Peewee, you should sign him up as a client."

"Fair enough, Harvey. The timing is right. Ray Benzo, that ungrateful S.O.B -- ten minutes after he became the new host of the The Tonight Show, dumps me for a posh Fifth Avenue agency. And to think that when I discovered the big piece of lard, he was still doing magic shows at bar mitzvahs."

It was widely accepted that Peewee Ludwig was a bird-dog for ferreting out talent, but his devotion, his absolute devotion to his clients was legendary. He'd do everything for them from picking up their clothes at the cleaners, to spotting them a few bucks when they were broke, to actually helping to deliver a baby. The problem was that Peewee couldn't keep his clients once they made it. They took him for granted, they wanted glamour, something that Peewee couldn't deliver running his shoe-box office out of his rent-controlled apartment and driving his '69 Chevy Nova with his "McGovern for President" bumper sticker.

On the last night of the Godot event, Peewee sat there in the first row nodding approvingly, transfixed with Harry's every move. And while the scene where Estragon sucks on chicken bones whetted Peewee's ravenous appetite,  Harry almost choked. Literally. A greasy chicken bone accidentally slipped out of his fingers and lodged itself in Harry's throat.

Fortunately there was a doctor in the audience who bolted onto the stage and dislodged the bone from the back of Harry's throat. Choking, figuratively speaking however, was familiar territory for Peewee Ludwig Fortune had slipped away from him many a time, usually on the cusp of great success. Sadly, misfortune allowed him to look beyond Harry's stage disaster. Bungled performance or not, Harry was a talent that he needed to bolster his dwindling roster.

"The kid's got it," he confided to Baxter over s heaping plate of barbecued chicken. "He's young, as my late Uncle Williard would say, 'Life is like a rubber ball, it's all about bouncing back.' I'm ready to sign Harry and to schlep him around Broadway on auditions. In fact, as luck would have it, I know of a few upcoming productions auditioning at this very juncture in time."

A month later, Peewee was making the rounds with Harry on Broadway.

The first audition was for Hello Babe, It's Him, a new play by Tony award winning playwright, Sim Neilson. The director handed Harry the script, patted him on the back and wished him good luck. Harry sucked in a deep breath, cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat. But when Harry opened his mouth to read, his throat constricted and he gagged. A glass of water, several deep breaths later and the same result.

"Sorry, Peewee the director said.

Next stop,"Todd and Carol", a play about doomed lovers, a sixty-five year old char lady in the twilight of her career who falls in love with a hunky young janitor with big ambitions. And despite the apparent chemistry between Harry and the leading lady, Harry gagged again.

"It was the Lysol on her breath," Harry swore to no avail.
"Sorry, Peewee," the director said.

"I need to shake him up, " Peewee told Baxter over the phone. "He's thinking too much on stage and like my late Aunt Carmella, may I say a wonderful woman who looked disturbingly like a trout, used to say, 'Thinkers never prosper.'  I'm sending the kid on an audition for the chorus in "O Bombay were they dance buck naked! Let Harry worry about his dong shrinking on stage instead of his throat. "

It did and he still gagged.

Later that night at Captain Mack's over bowls of fish soup, Peewee came clean with Harry. "Sorry kid, but I can't take you on. As my late fencing instructor Gabor Honig -- a wonderful man, who despite refusing to trim his curling nostril hair -- used to say, 'Not now, but maybe later. Who the hell knows?' "

Harry mumbled something seemingly unintelligible while a stream of fish soup dribbled from his his mouth.

"Excuse me Harry, I didn't quite catch what you were trying to say."

Harry coughed up a mouthful into his napkin and sipped on his glass of water. A hard fish tail had been caught in his throat.
    

Screw Stevie Dash and his son-of-Hitler movie. With one semester left to graduate, Harry had his own big role lined up. The setting:

The McGill Theater Department's major annual production, a three-night run of the Samuel Beckett classic, Waiting For Godot, co-starring Harry as Estragon and Hazen Bones, a Barishnikov wannabe who preferred wearing leotards over pants, as Vladimir. 

Stars were born at the vaunted McGill theater production. The stuff of legends, like Lionel Wolfe, who went on to strike fame and fortune as Captain Merkel on the hit TV series, Space Cadets. Lionel showcased his remarkable range by playing Lady Macbeth in an experimental transgender version of Macbeth. Phil Ferns, the fey programming director of the CBC television drama department, was in the audience opening night and was smitten with Lionel's campy performance. And it paid off big time with the young actor's first television appearance in the starring role of Spuds McGee for the acclaimed CBC mini-series, The Potato Farmer.

Waiting For Godot's opening night was a celebrated tour de force. Montreal Gazette theatre critic Gaston Bumstead wrote that Harry's performance was, "Mesmerizing, spell-binding, the virtual embodiment of alienation and unarticulated angst that defines the futility of our existence." Second night met with more critical raves. I.F Sheinhart, the chatty entertainment critic of The Suburban wrote, "Harry Starr's haunting performance as Estragon kept me up all night questioning the meaning of my own existence...Harry Starr, what a talent! The next Lionel Wolfe!!  p.s. Just between us: thesp Lionel's mother, Doris, was my prom date way back when. What a kisser, what a gal!"

Final show: Harry's Big Break was sitting in the audience chewing on a fat wad of bubble gum was New York's enigmatic talent agent, Peewee Ludwig. The man, all five-foot-two of him, was a living legend who discovered the likes of Oscar-winning Justin Guffman, Tonight show host, Ray Benzo and scores of other working actors.

Peewee Luwig wasn't there just by chance. Personal matters led him to hightail it out of New York and seek refuge with his old friend, Professor Chet Baxter, head of the McGill theatre department and director of the play. Peewee was hoping that a little amateur theater would raise his battered spirits. The little man was going through a depression after suffering the shame of a bitter divorce from his ex-wife, Tessie Baker, a shrewish foot model who owned the corn and bunion market. Tessie wiped out Peewee financially and dragged his good name through the mud by spreading vicious rumors that were unfortunately, completely true:

That Peewee was involved in a bogus invoicing scheme.

That Peewee would only make love to her feet.

That Peewee had been carrying on a passionate affair with Pena Petosa, New Jersey's great baloon-folding artist.

But the wheel of fortune turns round;  Peewee's woes opened a door of opportunity for Harry Starr. Professor Baxter, who was also Harry's academic advisor, told Manny that, "The kid reminds me of a young Cary Grant. Dashing, elegant, yet funny. True leading man material. After you see the show, Peewee, you should sign him up as a client."

"Fair enough, Harvey. The timing is right. Ray Benzo, that ungrateful S.O.B -- ten minutes after he became the new host of the The Tonight Show, dumps me for a posh Fifth Avenue agency. And to think that when I discovered the big piece of lard, he was still doing magic shows at bar mitzvahs."

It was widely accepted that Peewee Ludwig was a bird-dog for ferreting out talent, but his devotion, his absolute devotion to his clients was legendary. He'd do everything for them from picking up their clothes at the cleaners, to spotting them a few bucks when they were broke, to actually helping to deliver a baby. The problem was that Peewee couldn't keep his clients once they made it. They took him for granted, they wanted glamour, something that Peewee couldn't deliver running his shoe-box office out of his rent-controlled apartment and driving his '69 Chevy Nova with his "McGovern for President" bumper sticker.

On the last night of the Godot event, Peewee sat there in the first row nodding approvingly, transfixed with Harry's every move. And while the scene where Estragon sucks on chicken bones whetted Peewee's ravenous appetite,  Harry almost choked. Literally. A greasy chicken bone accidentally slipped out of his fingers and lodged itself in Harry's throat.

Fortunately there was a doctor in the audience who bolted onto the stage and dislodged the bone from the back of Harry's throat. Choking, figuratively speaking however, was familiar territory for Peewee Ludwig Fortune had slipped away from him many a time, usually on the cusp of great success. Sadly, misfortune allowed him to look beyond Harry's stage disaster. Bungled performance or not, Harry was a talent that he needed to bolster his dwindling roster.

"The kid's got it," he confided to Baxter over s heaping plate of barbecued chicken. "He's young, as my late Uncle Williard would say, 'Life is like a rubber ball, it's all about bouncing back.' I'm ready to sign Harry and to schlep him around Broadway on auditions. In fact, as luck would have it, I know of a few upcoming productions auditioning at this very juncture in time."

A month later, Peewee was making the rounds with Harry on Broadway.

The first audition was for Hello Babe, It's Him, a new play by Tony award winning playwright, Sim Neilson. The director handed Harry the script, patted him on the back and wished him good luck. Harry sucked in a deep breath, cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat. But when Harry opened his mouth to read, his throat constricted and he gagged. A glass of water, several deep breaths later and the same result.

"Sorry, Peewee the director said.

Next stop,"Todd and Carol", a play about doomed lovers, a sixty-five year old char lady in the twilight of her career who falls in love with a hunky young janitor with big ambitions. And despite the apparent chemistry between Harry and the leading lady, Harry gagged again.

"It was the Lysol on her breath," Harry swore to no avail.
"Sorry, Peewee," the director said.

"I need to shake him up, " Peewee told Baxter over the phone. "He's thinking too much on stage and like my late Aunt Carmella, may I say a wonderful woman who looked disturbingly like a trout, used to say, 'Thinkers never prosper.'  I'm sending the kid on an audition for the chorus in "O Bombay were they dance buck naked! Let Harry worry about his dong shrinking on stage instead of his throat. "

It did and he still gagged.

Later that night at Captain Mack's over bowls of fish soup, Peewee came clean with Harry. "Sorry kid, but I can't take you on. As my late fencing instructor Gabor Honig -- a wonderful man, who despite refusing to trim his curling nostril hair -- used to say, 'Not now, but maybe later. Who the hell knows?' "

Harry mumbled something seemingly unintelligible while a stream of fish soup dribbled from his his mouth.

"Excuse me Harry, I didn't quite catch what you were trying to say."

Harry coughed up a mouthful into his napkin and sipped on his glass of water. A hard fish tail had been caught in his throat.
    

Choking at Godot 

Screw Stevie Dash and his son-of-Hitler movie. With one semester left to graduate, Harry had his own big role lined up. The setting:

The McGill Theater Department's major annual production, a three-night run of the Samuel Beckett classic, Waiting For Godot, co-starring Harry as Estragon and Hazen Bones, a Barishnikov wannabe who preferred leotards over pants, as Vladimir. 

Stars were born at the vaunted McGill theater production. The stuff of legends, like Lionel Wolfe, who went on to strike fame and fortune as Captain Merkel on the hit TV series, Space Cadets. Lionel showcased his remarkable range by playing Lady Macbeth in an experimental transgender version of Macbeth. Phil Ferns, the fey programming director of the CBC television drama department, was in the audience opening night and was smitten with Lionel's campy performance. And it paid off big time with the young actor's first television appearance in the starring role of Spuds McGee in the acclaimed CBC mini-series, The Potato Farmer.

Waiting For Godot's opening night was a celebrated tour de force. Montreal Gazette theatre critic Gaston Bumstead wrote that Harry's performance was, "Mesmerizing, spell-binding, the virtual embodiment of alienation and unarticulated angst that defines the futility of our existence." Second night met with more critical raves. I.F Sheinhart, the chatty entertainment critic of The Suburban wrote, "Harry Starr's haunting performance as Estragon kept me up all night questioning the meaning of my own existence...Of course it also could have been the post-show pickled brisket I had at  Delly Boys, but oy! this Harry Starr, what a talent! The next Lionel Wolfe!!  p.s. Just between us: Thesp Lionel's mother, Doris, was my prom date way back when. What a kisser, what a gal!"

Final show: Harry's Big Break: Sitting in the audience scarfing down a juicy smoked meat sandwich was New York's enigmatic talent agent, Manny Bloom. The man, all five-foot-two of him, was a living legend who discovered the likes of Oscar-winning Justin Guffman, Tonight show host, Ray Benzo and scores of other working actors.

Manny Bloom wasn't there just by chance. Personal matters led him to hightail it out of New York and seek refuge with his old friend, Professor Harvey Dorfman, head of the McGill theatre department and director of the play. Manny was hoping that a little amateur theater would raise his battered spirits. The little man was going through a depression after suffering the shame of a bitter divorce from his ex-wife, Tessie Baker, a shrewish foot model, who owned the corn and bunion market. Tessie wiped out Manny financially and dragged his good name through the mud by spreading vicious rumors that were unfortunately, completely true:

That Manny was involved in a bogus invoicing scheme.

That Manny would only make love to her feet.

That Manny had been carrying on a passionate affair with Pena Petosa New Jersey's great baloon-folding artist.

But the wheel of fortune turns round;  Manny's woes opened a door of opportunity for Harry Starr. Professor Dorfman, who was also Harry's academic advisor, told Manny that, "The kid reminds me of a young Cary Grant. Dashing, elegant, yet funny. True leading man material. After you see the show, Manny, you should sign him up as a client."

"Fair enough, Harvey. The timing is right. Ray Benzo, that ungrateful S.O.B -- ten minutes after he became the new host of the The Tonight Show, dumps me for a posh Fifth Avenue agency. And to think that when I discovered the big putz, he was still doing magic shows at bar mitzvahs."

It was widely accepted that Manny Bloom was a bird-dog for ferreting out talent, but his devotion, his absolute devotion to his clients was legendary. He'd do everything for them from picking up their clothes at the cleaners, to spotting them a few bucks when they were broke, to actually helping the delivery of a baby. The problem was that Manny couldn't keep his clients once they made it. They took him for granted, they wanted glamour, something that Manny couldn't deliver running his shoe-box office out of his rent-controlled apartment and driving his '69 Chevy Nova.

On the last night of the Godot event, Manny sat there in the first row nodding approvingly, transfixed with Harry's every move. And while the scene where Estragon sucks on chicken bones whetted Manny's ravenous appetite,  Harry almost choked. Literally. A greasy chicken bone accidentally slipped out of his fingers and lodged itself in Harry's throat.

Fortunately there was a doctor in the audience who bolted onto the stage and dislodged the bone from the back of Harry's throat. Choking, figuratively speaking however, was familiar territory for Manny Bloom. Fortune had slipped away from him many a time, usually on the cusp of great success. Sadly, misfortune allowed him to look beyond Harry's stage disaster. Bungled performance or not, Harry was a talent that he needed to bolster his dwindling roster.

"The kid's got it," he confided to  Dorfman over s heaping plate of barbecued chicken. "He's young, as my late Uncle Menachem would say, 'Life is like a rubber ball, it's all about bouncing back.' I'm ready to sign Harry and to schlep him around Broadway on auditions. In fact, as luck would have it, I know of a few upcoming productions auditioning at this very juncture in time. The emesse, my hand to God."

A month later, Manny was making the rounds with Harry on Broadway.

The first audition was for, Hello Babe, It's Him, a new play by Tony award winning playwright, Sim Neilson. The director handed Harry the script, patted him on the back and wished him good luck. Harry sucked in a deep breath, cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat. But when Harry opened his mouth to read, his throat constricted and he gagged. A glass of water, several deep breaths later and the same result.

"Sorry, Manny," the director said.

Next stop,"Todd and Carol", a play about doomed lovers, a sixty-five year old char lady in the twilight of her career who falls in love with a hunky young janitor with big ambitions. And despite the apparent chemistry between Harry and the leading lady, Harry gagged again.

"It was the Lysol on her breath," Harry swore to no avail.
"Sorry, Manny," the director said.

"I need to shake him up, " Manny told Dorfman over the phone. "He's thinking too much on stage and like my late Aunt Bessie, may I say a wonderful woman who looked disturbingly like a carp, used to say, 'Thinkers never prosper.'  I'm sending the kid on an audition for the chorus in "O Bombay were they dance buck naked! Let Harry worry about his schlong shrinking on stage instead of his throat. "

It didn't.

Later that night at The Carnegie Deli over bowls of matzah ball soup, Manny came clean with Harry. "Sorry kid, but I can't take you on. As my late bar mitzvah teacher Gabor Schmeltzer -- a wonderful man, who despite refusing to trim his curling nostril hair -- used to say, 'Not now, but maybe later. Who knows?' "

Harry mumbled something seemingly unintelligible while a stream of chicken soup dribbled from his his mouth.

"Excuse me Harry, I didn't quite catch what you were trying to say."

Harry coughed up a mouthful into his napkin and sipped on his glass of water. A small chicken bone had been caught in his throat.
    

SUNDAY, AUGUST 14, 2011

Choking at 

Screw Stevie Dash and his son-of-Hitler movie. With one semester left to graduate, Harry had his own big role lined up. The setting: The McGill Theater Department's major annual production, a three-night run of the Samuel Beckett classic, Waiting For Godot, co-starring Harry as Estragon and Hazen Bones, a Barishnikov wannabe who preferred leotards over pants, as Vladimir. 

Stars were born at the vaunted McGill theater production. The stuff of legends, like Lionel Wolfe, who went on to strike fame and fortune as Captain Merkel on the hit TV series, Space Cadets. Lionel showcased his remarkable range by playing Lady Macbeth in an experimental transgender version of Macbeth. Phil Ferns, the fey programming director of the CBC television drama department, was in the audience opening night and became smitten with Lionel's campy performance. The pay-off for Lionel: His first television appearance landing the starring role of Spuds McGee in the acclaimed CBC mini-series, The Potato Farmer.

Waiting For Godot's opening night was a celebrated tour de force. Montreal Gazette theatre critic Gaston Bumstead wrote that Harry's performance was, "Mesmerizing, spell-binding, the virtual embodiment of alienation and unarticulated angst that defines the futility of our existence." Second night met with more critical raves. I.F Sheinhart, the chatty entertainment critic of The Suburban wrote, "Harry Starr's haunting performance as Estragon kept me up all night questioning the meaning of my existence...Of course it also could have been the post-show pickled brisket i ate at  Delly Boys, but oy! this Harry Starr is the next Lionel Wolfe!! And what sheine punim! p.s. Just between us: thesp Lionel's mother, Doris, was my prom date way back when. What a kisser, what a gal!"

Final show: Harry's entree to the big break was sitting in the audience fressing over a juicy smoked meat sandwich was New York's enigmatic talent agent, Manny Bloom. The man, all five-foot-two of him, was a living legend who discovered the likes Oscar-winning Justin Guffman, Tonight show host, Ray Benzo and scores of other working actors.

Manny Bloom wasn't there just by chance. Personal matters led him to hightail it out of New York and seek refuge with his old friend, Professor Harvey Dorfman, head of the McGill theater department and director of the play. Manny was hoping that a little amateur theater would raise his spirits. He was going through a depression after living through the shame of a bitter divorce from his ex-wife, Tessie Baker, a shrewish foot model he discovered who rose to the top of her field in the corn and bunion market. Tessie not only cleaned Manny out of his life savings, she also dragged his good name through the mud by spreading vicious rumors that were completely true:

Manny was involved in a bogus invoicing scheme.

Manny could only make love to her feet.

Manny had been carrying on a passionate affair with Minerva Foss, the great baloon-folding artist.

But alas,  Manny's woes opened a door of opportunity for Harry Starr. Professor Dorfman, who was also Harry's academic advisor, told Manny that, "The kid reminds me of a young Cary Grant with an unassuming talent. After you see the show, you must seriously signing him on as a client."

"Fair enough, Harvey. The timing is right. Ray Benzo, that ungrateful S.O.B -- ten minutes after he became the new host of the The Tonight Show, he dumped for another agent. And to think that when I discovered him he was doing magic shows at bar mitzvahs."

Not only did Manny have a great nose for talent, but his devotion to his clients was legendary. He'd do everything for them from picking up their clothes at the cleaners to spotting them a few bucks when they were broke. The problem was that Manny couldn't keep his clients once they made it. They took him for granted, they wanted glamour, something that Manny couldn't deliver running his office out of his rent-controlled apartment and driving his '69 Chevy Nova.

Manny sat there in the first row nodding approvingly, transfixed with Harry's every move. And while the scene where Estragon sucks on chicken bones whetted Manny's ravenous appetite,  Harry gagged. Tragically a greasy chicken bone accidentally slipped out of his fingers and got stuck in Harry's throat, causing him to choke on stage.

Fortunately there was a doctor in the audience who alertly bolted onto the stage and dislodged the bone from the back of Harry's throat. Unfortunately, Harry could not finish his performance.

Choking however was no stranger to Manny Bloom. Fortune had slipped away from him many a time on the cusp of success. It also allowed him to look beyond the stage disaster. Bungled performance or not, Harry was a talent that he needed to bolster his thinning roster.

"The kid's got it," he confided to  Dorfman over s heaping plate of chicken at Chalet Bar-B-Q. "He's young, as my late Uncle Menachem would say, 'Life is like a rubber ball, it's all about bouncing back.' I'm ready to sign Harry and to schlep him around Broadway on auditions. In fact, as luck would have it, I have a few upcoming productions in mind at this very juncture in time."

A month later, Manny was making the rounds with Harry inNew York.

The first audition was for, Hello Babe, It's Him, a new play by Tony award winning Sim Neilson. The director handed Harry the script, patted him on the back and wished him good luck. Harry sucked in a deep breath, cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat. But when he opened his mouth to read, his throat constricted and he gagged. A glass of water, several deep breaths later and the same result.

"Sorry, Manny," the director said.

Next stop,"Todd and Carol", a play about doomed lovers, a story about sixty five year old char lady in the twilight of her career who falls in love with a hunky young janitor with big ambitions. And despite the apparent chemistry between Harry and rita Moreno, the leading lady, Harry gagged again.

"Sorry, Manny," the director said.

"I need to shake him up, " Manny told Dorfman over the phone. "He's thinking too much on stage and like my late Aunt Bessie, a wonderful woman who looked disturbingly like a carp, used to say, 'Thinkers never prosper.'  I'm sending the kid on an audition for the chorus in "O Bombay! ? Let him worry about his schlong instead of his throat. Maybe stripping down on stage will banish those self-defeating thoughts?"

It didn't.

Later that night at The Carnegie Deli over bowls of chicken matzah ball soup, Manny came clean with Harry. "Sorry kid, but I can't take you on. As my late bar mitzvah teacher Gabor Schmeltzer -- a man who refused to cut his nostril hair -- used to say, 'Not now, but maybe later. Who knows?' "

Harry mumbled something seemingly unintelligible while chicken matzoh ball soup dribbled from his his mouth.

"Excuse me Harry, I didn't quite catch what you were trying to say."

Harry coughed up into his napkin and sipped on his glass of water."Nothing, Manny. Just a piece of chicken got caught in my throat.
Posted by David Hamburg at 4:29 AM    

Choking at Godot

Screw Stevie Dash and his son-of-Hitler movie. With one semester left to graduate, Harry had his own big role lined up in:

The McGill Theater Department's major annual production, a three-night run of the Samuel Beckett classic, Waiting For Godot, co-starring Harry as Estragon and Hazen Bones, a Barishnikov wannabe who wore leotards everywhere -- even in winter, as Vladimir.

Stars were born at the vaunted McGill theater production. The stuff of legends. Take Lionel Wolfe, the program's most famous alumni, who went on to strike fame and fortune as Captain Merkel on the hit cult TV series, Space Cadets. Lionel showcased his remarkable range by playing Lady Macbeth in an experimental transgender version of Macbeth. Phil Ferns, the fey head of the CBC television drama was in the audience opening night and was qq  smitten with Lionel's campy performance. The pay-off: Lionel Wolfe's first television appearance as Spuds McGee in the acclaimed CBC mini-series, The Potato Farmer.

Opening night of Waiting For Godot was a celebrated tour de force. Montreal Gazette theatre critic Gaston Bumstead wrote that Harry's performance as Estragon was, "Mesmerizing, spell-binding, the virtual embodiment of alienation and unarticulated angst that defines the futility of our existence." Second night met with more critical raves. Syd Sheinhart, the chatty entertainment critic of The Suburban wrote, "Harry Starr's haunting performance as Estragon kept me up all night thinking...Of course it also could have been the post-show nosh of pickled brisket at  Delly Boys, but oy! this Harry Starr with his sheine punim is the next Lionel Wolfe!! p.s. Just between us: thesp Lionel's mother, Doris, was my prom date way back when. And whst a kisser, what a gal!"

Final show: Harry's entree to the big break was sitting in the audience slobbering over a juicy smoked meat sandwich. The freezer was none other than the enigmatic New York talent agent, Manny Bloom, a living legend who discovered the Oscar-winning Justin Guffman and scores of other working actors.

Manny Bloom wasn't there just by chance. Personal matters led him to hightail it out of New York and seek refuge with his old friend, Professor Morris Dorfman, head of the McGill theater department and director of the play. Manny was hoping that a little amateur theater would lighten his spirits. He was going through a depression after barely surviving a bitter divorce from his ex-wife, Tessie Baker the Tennessee Terror, a shrewish foot model he discovered who rose to the top of her field in the corn and bunion market. Tessie not only cleaned Manny out of his life savings, she also dragged his good name through the mud by spreading vicious rumors that were completely true:

Manny was involved in a bogus invoicing scheme.

Manny could only make love to Tessie's pedicured feet, ergo a childless marriage.

Manny had been carrying on a decades-long affair with the first client he ever signed, one of the few to stay with him, the great balloon-folding artist, Minerva Foss.

But alas,  Manny's woes led to Harry's opportunity. Professor Dorfman, a huge fan of Harry, told Manny, "The kid reminds me of a young unpolished Cary Grant. But he isn't just a gorgeous hunk, this kid embodies the outsider's angst of our generation. After you see the show, you must seriously signing him on as a client."

"Fair enough, Morrie. The timing is right. Ray Beno, that ungrateful S.O.B, just left me for William Morris after they offered him The Tonight Show. And to think that when I discovered the putz when he was lucky to get a gig at a bar mitzvah."

It was without question that Manny Bloom had a refined nose for talent. But his devotion to his clients was legendary. He'd do everything for them from picking up their clothes at the cleaners to spotting them a few bucks when they were broke. The problem was that Manny couldn't keep his clients once they made it. They took him for granted, they wanted more glamour than he could give them in his rent-controlled apartment and his 'rusted '69 Chevy Nova. Manny the mensch just wasn't cut out for such a cutthroat business like talent management.

Manny sat there in the first row nodding approvingly, transfixed with Harry's every move. And while the scene where Estragon sucks on chicken bones whetted Manny's ravenous appetite,  Harry gagged. Tragically a greasy chicken bone accidentally slipped out of his fingers and got stuck in Harry's throat, causing him to choke on stage.

Fortunately there was a doctor in the audience who alertly bolted onto the stage and dislodged the bone from the back of Harry's throat. Unfortunately, Harry could not finish his performance.

Choking however was no stranger to Manny Bloom. Fortune had slipped away from him many a time on the cusp of success. It also allowed him to look beyond the stage disaster. Bungled performance or not, Harry was a talent that he needed to bolster his thinning roster.

"The kid's got it," he confided to  Dorfman over s heaping plate of chicken at Chalet Bar-B-Q. "He's young, as my late Uncle Menachem would say, 'Life is like a rubber ball, it's all about bouncing back.' I'm ready to sign Harry and to schlep him around Broadway on auditions. In fact, as luck would have it, I have a few upcoming productions in mind at this very juncture in time."

A month later, Manny was making the rounds with Harry inNew York.

The first audition was for, Hello Babe, It's Him, a new play by Tony award winning Sim Neilson. The director handed Harry the script, patted him on the back and wished him good luck. Harry sucked in a deep breath, cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat. But when he opened his mouth to read, his throat constricted and he gagged. A glass of water, several deep breaths later and the same result.

"Sorry, Manny," the director said.

Next stop,"Todd and Carol", a play about doomed lovers, a story about sixty five year old char lady in the twilight of her career who falls in love with a hunky young janitor with big ambitions. And despite the apparent chemistry between Harry and rita Moreno, the leading lady, Harry gagged again.

"Sorry, Manny," the director said.

"I need to shake him up, " Manny told Dorfman over the phone. "He's thinking too much on stage and like my late Aunt Bessie, a wonderful woman who looked disturbingly like a carp, used to say, 'Thinkers never prosper.'  I'm sending the kid on an audition for the chorus in "O Bombay! ? Let him worry about his schlong instead of his throat. Maybe stripping down on stage will banish those self-defeating thoughts?"

It didn't.

Later that night at The Carnegie Deli over bowls of chicken matzah ball soup, Manny came clean with Harry. "Sorry kid, but I can't take you on. As my late bar mitzvah teacher Gabor Schmeltzer -- a man who refused to cut his nostril hair -- used to say, 'Not now, but maybe later. Who knows?' "

Harry mumbled something seemingly unintelligible while chicken matzoh ball soup dribbled from his his mouth.

"Excuse me Harry, I didn't quite catch what you were trying to say."

Harry coughed up into his napkin and sipped on his glass of water."Nothing, Manny. Just a piece of chicken got caught in my throat.

Screw Stevie Dash and his son-of-Hitler movie. With one semester left to graduate, Harry had his own role lined up to launch his career:

The McGill Theater Department's annual major production, a three-night run of the Samuel Beckett classic, Waiting For Godot. Harry nabbed one of two leads as Estragon. The only downside, his co-star playing the part of Vladimir was Hazen Bones, a gap-toothed dilettante who rehearsed in leotards and annoyed Harry to no end. But that was theater.

Stars were born at the vaunted McGill theater production. The stuff of legends was created on that stage. Take Lionel Wolfe, the program's most famous alumni, who went on to strike fame and fortune as Captain Merkel on the cult TV series, Space Cadets. He showcased his remarkable range by playing Lady Macbeth in an experimental transgender version of Macbeth. Phil Ferns, the fey head of CBC TV drama was in the audience opening night and was qq  smitten with Lionel's campy performance. The pay-off: Lionel Wolfe's first television appearance as Spuds McGee in the acclaimed CBC mini-series, The Potato Farmer.

Opening night of Waiting For Godot was a celebrated tour de force. Montreal Gazette theatre critic Gaston Bumstead wrote that Harry's performance as Estragon was, "Mesmerizing, spell-binding, the virtual embodiment of alienation and unarticulated angst that defines the futility of our existence." Second night met with more critical raves. Syd Sheinhart, the chatty entertainment critic of The Suburban wrote, "Harry Starr's haunting performance as Estragon kept me up all night thinking...Of course it also could have been the post-show nosh of pickled brisket at  Delly Boys, but oy! this Harry Starr with his sheine punim is the next Lionel Wolfe!! p.s. Just between us: thesp Lionel's mother, Doris, was my prom date way back when. And whst a kisser, what a gal!"

Serendipitous forces were busy working for Harry during the last performance of Godot. Sitting in the audience eating a Schwartz's smoked meat sandwich was the legendary New York talent agent, Manny Bloom, a living legend who discovered the Oscar-winning Justin Guffman and scores of other working actors.

Manny Bloom wasn't there just by chance. Personal matters led him to hightail it out of New York and seek refuge with his old friend, Professor Morris Dorfman, head of the McGill theater department and director of the play. 

Manny was hoping that a little amateur theater would lighten his spirits. He was going through a depression after barely surviving a bitter divorce from his ex-wife, Tessie Baker the Tennessee Terror, a shrewish foot model he discovered who rose to the top of her field in the corn and bunion market. Tessie not only cleaned Manny out of his life savings, she also dragged his good name through the mud by spreading vicious rumors that completely true:

That Manny participated in a bogus invoicing scheme.

That Manny could only make love to her if she would dress up as a sports mascot.

That Manny had been carrying on a decades-long affair with the first client he ever signed, and one of the few to stay with him, New York's great balloon-folding artist, Minerva Foss.

At least Manny's woes worked out well for Harry. Professor Dorfman, a huge fan of Harry, told Manny, "The kid reminds me of a young unpolished Cary Grant, but because he personifies the quintessential outsider. Harry Starr isn't just a gorgeous hunk, but he that  je ne dais quois. After you see the show, I want you to consider signing him on as a client."

"And I could use a new client. Ray Beno just left me for William Morris after he was offered  The Tonight Show. Now the guy has the chutzpah to tell me that he'll cut me in for a taste. And to think that when I discovered that putz he was lucky to get a gig doing a bar mitzvah."

Yes, Manny Bloom could scout talent better than anyone else in the business. And his devotion to his clients was legendary. He'd do everything for them from picking up their clothes at the cleaners to spotting them money when they were broke. The problem was that Manny was too much of a mensch. After he'd sign a client and set their careers in motion, they'd fire him and switch to a high-profile agent. The man was simply not cut out for such a cutthroat business like talent management.

Manny sat in the audience transfixed with Harry's performance, exchanging many affirming nods with Professor Dorfman. Until the Estragon chicken bone scene. Harry had to suck on some chicken bones. But while sucking on them, a bone accidentally slipped out of his fingers and lodged into the back of his throat, causing him to choke on stage.

Fortunately there was a doctor in the audience who ran up on stage and saved Harry from choking to death. Unfortunately, Harry punctured his larynx and could not finish his performance.

Fortunately Manny Bloom, a world class choke in his own right, could look beyond the stage disaster. He was convinced that Harry was a talent.

"The kid's got it," he confided to  Dorfman over s steak dinner at Moishe's. "Providing he recovers fully from the mishap. I'm ready to get him auditions on Broadway. There's a couple of productions coming up where he could have a shot at."

A couple months later when Harry fully recovered, Manny schlepped him around New York for auditions:

Sim Neilson's, Hello Babe, It's Him. Sim Neilson, the Tony-winning playwright handed Harry the script, patted him on the back and wished him good luck. Harry strode on stage, cracked some knuckles, cleared his throat and took a deep breath. But when he opened his mouth to read, his throat constricted and he gagged. A glass of water, a dozen deep breaths later and the same result.

"Sorry, Manny," Sim said.

"Todd and Carol" with Shelley Winters as Carol. Repeat performance by Harry.

"O Bombay! "Maybe getting him on stage buck naked will do the trick?" Manny surmised to no avail.

End result: Manny doesn't sign Harry.

"You can always call me up kid, when you get your stage voice back. Don't sweat it, we all go through this kind of crap."

"..," Harry gagged.

Choking for Godot

Screw Stevie Dash and his son-of-Hitler movie. With one semester left to graduate, Harry had his own role lined up to launch his career:

The McGill Theater Department's annual major production, a three-night run of the Samuel Beckett classic, Waiting For Godot. Harry nabbed one of two leads as Estragon. The only downside, his co-star playing the part of Vladimir was Hazen Bones, a gap-toothed dilettante who rehearsed in leotards and annoyed Harry to no end. But that was theater.

Stars were born at the vaunted McGill theater production. The stuff of legends was created on that stage. Take Lionel Wolfe, the most famous alumni who went on to strike fame and fortune as Captain Merkel on the cult TV series, Space Cadets. He showcased his remarkable range by playing Lady Macbeth in the experimental transgender version of Macbeth. Phil Ferns, the flaming queen head of CBC TV drama was in the audience opening night and immediately became smitten with Lionel's campy performance. The pay-off: Lionel Wolfe's first television appearance as Spuds McGee in the acclaimed CBC mini-series, The Potato Farmer.

Opening night of Waiting For Godot was a celebrated tour de force. Montreal Gazette theatre critic Gaston Bumstead wrote that Harry's performance as Estragon was, "Mesmerizing, spell-binding, the virtual embodiment of alienation and unarticulated angst defining the futility of our existence." Second night met with similar critical raves. Syd Sheinhart, the chatty entertainment critic of The Suburban wrote, "Harry Starr's haunting performance as Estragon kept me up all night thinking...Of course it also could have been the post-show pickled brisket I had during a late night nosh at Delly Boys, but oy! this kid Harry Starr is the next Lionel Wolfe!! p.s. Between us: Thesp Lionel's mother, Doris, was my prom date back at Baron Byng High. What a kisser, what a gal!"

Serendipitous forces were busy working for Harry for the last performance of Godot. Sitting in the audience (while devouring a Schwartz's smoked meat sandwich) was the legendary New York talent agent, Manny Bloom, a living legend who discovered the Oscar-winning Justin Guffman and scores of other working actors.

Of course Manny Bloom wasn't there just by chance. Personal matters led him to high-tail it out of newYork and seek refuge with his longtime best friend, Professor Morris Dorfman, head of the McGill theater department and director of Godot. Huge fan of Harry -- that Dorfman. As he confided to Manny, "Not just because he reminds me of a young unpolished Cary Grant, but because he personifies the quintessential outsider. The kid isn't just a gorgeous hunk, but he that  je ne dais quois. After you see the show, I want you to consider signing him on as a client."

And Manny Bloom could scout talent better than anyone else in the business. He could sign them first and set their careers in motion, but as soon as they were on the verge of making it big, Manny was given the pink slip. He simply didn't have that cutthroat edge. Manny was just too much of a mensch to claw it to the top.

The timing was right, at least for Harry. Manny however, was fuhklumpted after barely surviving a ruinous divorce from his ex-wife, Tessie Baker the Tennessee Terror, a shrewish foot model he discovered and who later rose to dominate the corn and bunion market. Tessie not only cleaned him out of his modest life savings, she also dragged his good name through the mud by blabbing:

That Manny participated in a bogus invoicing scheme.

That Manny could only make love to her if she would dress up as a sports mascot.

That Manny had been carrying on a decades-long affair with the first client he ever signed,(the one only to stay with him), New York's great balloon-folding artist, Minerva Foss.

Manny sat in the audience transfixed with Harry's performance and exchanged many affirming nods with Professor Dorfman. Then cameth the Estragon chicken bone scene. Harry had to suck on some chicken bones. But while sucking on them, a bone accidentally slipped out of his fingers and lodged into the back of his throat, causing him to choke on stage.

Fortunately there was a doctor in the audience who ran up on stage and saved Harry from choking to death. Unfortunately, Harry punctured his larynx and could not finish his performance.

Manny Bloom, a world class choke in his own right, was able to overlook the stage disaster and hone in on Harry as a talent.

"The kid's got it," he confided to Professor Dorfman. "Providing he recovers fully from the punctured larynx, I'm ready to get him auditions on Broadway. There's a couple of productions coming up where he could have a shot at."

CUT TO: Two months later when Harry fully recovered, Manny schlepped him around town to audition:

Sim Neilson's, Hello Babe, It's Him. Sim Neilson was actually present at the audition and taking an active role in casting the lead parts. He handed Harry the script, pat him on the back and wished him good luck. Harry strode on stage, cracked some knuckles, cleared his throat and took a deep breath. But when he opened his mouth to read, his throat constricted and he gagged. A glass of water, a dozen deep breaths later and the same result.

"Sorry, Manny," Sim said.

"Todd and Carol" with Shelley Winters as Carol. Repeat performance by Harry.

"O Bombay! "Maybe getting him on stage buck naked will do the trick?" Manny surmised to no avail.

End result: Manny doesn't sign Harry.

"You can always call me up kid, when you get your stage voice back. Don't sweat it, we all go through this kind of crap."

"..," Harry gagged.
Posted by David Hamburg

Choking for Godot

What did he care about Stevie Dash and his son-of-Hitler movie? Harry had his own big upcoming role. Last semester before graduation. The major theatrical production at McGill, a three-night run, Waiting For Godot. Starring Harry Starr as Estragon and some gap-toothed schmuck who liked to rehearse in leotards, as Vladimir.

Stars were born at the big McGill theatre department production. Like Lionel Wolfe, the most famous McGill theater alumni who went to strike fame and fortune as Captain Merkel on the cult TV series, Space Cadets. He showcased his remarkable range by playing Lady Macbeth the same night that Phil Ferns, the CBC head of drama happened to be sitting in the audience. Phil plucked Lionel Wolfe from the college stage to his first television appearance in the acclaimed CBC mini-series, The Potato Farmer.


Opening night was an acclaimed tour de force. Montreal Gazette theatre critic Gaston Bumstead wrote that Harry's performance as Estragon was, "Mesmerizing, spell-binding, the virtual embodiment of alienation and unarticulated angst that define the futility of our existence." Second night met with equal success. Joe Luden, legendary Entertainment critic of The Suburban wrote, "Harry Starr's haunting performance as Estragon captured my soul." Too good to be true? Maybe. But Harry worried that it was a harbinger of the Evil Eye.

Serendipitous  forces were also at work for Harry during the last performance of the production. Sitting in the audience (while devouring a Schwartz's smoked meat sandwich) was the legendary New York-based talent agent, Manny Bloom, the living legend who discovered the Oscar-winning Justin Guffman and scores of other working actors. With his personal life in tatters, Manny Bloom took an extended leave from New York and moved in with his best friend and former college room mate, Morris Dorfman, head of the McGill Theater and director of the play. More important, Professor Dorfman firmly believed that Harry was a huge talent. He insisted that Manny see the play and consider signing Harry as a client.


And Manny Bloom could scout talent better than anyone else in the business. He could sign them first and set their careers in motion, but as soon as they were on the verge of making it big, Manny was given the pink slip. He simply didn't have that cutthroat edge to him. Manny was just too much of a gentleman to claw it to the top, and he was also a choke when the stakes got big.

The timing was right, at least for Harry. Manny however, was sputtering after barely surviving a ruinous divorce from his ex-wife, Tessie the Tennessee Terror, a shrewish foot model he discovered and who later rose to dominate the corn and bunion market. Tessie not only cleaned him out of his modest life savings, she also dragged his good name through the mud by blabbing:

That Manny participated in a bogus invoicing scheme.

That Manny could only make love to her if she would dress up as a sports mascot.

That Manny had been carrying on a decades-long affair with the first client he ever signed,(the one only to stay with him), New York's great balloon-folding artist, Minerva Foss.

Then cameth the chicken bone scene. Harry had to suck on some chicken bones. But while sucking on them, a bone accidentally slipped out of his fingers and lodged into the back of his throat, causing him to choke on stage.

Fortunately there was a doctor in the audience who ran up on stage and saved Harry from choking to death. Unfortunately though, Harry punctured his larynx and could not finish his performance. But at least fellow chokers stick together. Manny Bloom, a world class choke in his own right, was able to overlook the stage disaster and hone in on Harry as a talent.

"The kid's got it," he confided to Professor Dorfman. "Providing he recovers fully from the punctured larynx, I'm ready to get him auditions on Broadway. There's a couple of productions coming up where he could have a shot at."

CUT TO: Two months later when Harry fully recovered, Manny schlepped him around town to audition:

Sim Neilson's, Hello Babe, It's Him. Sim Neilson was actually present at the audition and taking an active role in casting the lead parts. He handed Harry the script, pat him on the back and wished him good luck. Harry strode on stage, cracked some knuckles, cleared his throat and took a deep breath. But when he opened his mouth to read, his throat constricted and he gagged. A glass of water, a dozen deep breaths later and the same result.

"Sorry, Manny," Sim said.

"Todd and Carol" with Shelley Winters as Carol. Repeat performance by Harry.

"O Bombay! "Maybe getting him on stage buck naked will do the trick?" Manny surmised to no avail.

End result: Manny doesn't sign Harry.

"You can always call me up kid, when you get your stage voice back. Don't sweat it, we all go through this kind of crap."

"..," Harry gagged.

The Basement Audition

It was apropos that Harry Starr blew it in the basement. He was after all, a subterranean kind of guy.

Unlike Stevie Dash who clip-clopped down the basement stairs in his spiffy new clogs; he never blew a thing. Time for his smoldering look : Stevie dipped an eyebrow and squinted. He huffed away at a deliberately misplaced shock of dippity-dooed hair gracing his noble brow.

"Pffffft..." The peaked tuft of hair danced in the humid basement air from his blustery puff.

Stevie Dash - cool, hard and gorgeous. Sculpted like a block of marble. Built with pride. Destined to win.

Harry gritted his teeth and smiled. He yearned for a mallet and a pick, maybe even a pile-driver. Reduce that block of vanity to rubble. What kind of guy gets a nose job anyways? And still in college? Actually "film school" as Stevie liked to say. And to think that there were quivering bunnies out there taking accounting. Ac-count-ing. Snicker, snicker.

There he was in full glory - Stevie the Magnificent. The new and improved version.  Nature's undesirable mutations like the old hooked beak, carved and whittled away into perfection. His new nose, the centerpiece of a glorious equine profile was punctuated with petulantly flared nostrils perpetually exhaling imaginary steam. A warrior that Stevie Dash -- so cool, so hard, so gorgeous. Say it again: Stevie Dash.

Harry's stomach muscles tightened, immediately regretted taking Stevie Dash's call. Something disturbing about being alone with Stevie Dash. The boy wonder swaggered down the last stair and huffed again at his luxuriant shock of honey-blond hair. Manufactured - maybe, but a breathing work of art in his own right. All that concentrated handsomeness lit up the basement burrow. Two prized bucks alone together in one room; it should've been on film. An ode to beauty, a testament to the work of The Almighty.

"Harry, Harry, Harry! How long has it been?"

Not long enough. Why am I doing this?

Harry hated Stevie Dash - not really, but he did, even when they were close friends and he never understood why. So Stevie was in love with himself, so was Harry.

"I dunno, Stevie, three - four years?"

Before film school. Before you drove a yellow Corvette douche-bag mobile. Before you became a "filmmaker."

"That long, man? I've been so busy, it's like I lost track of time."

Busy - the new buzz word. Busy, Harry's life was anything but busy. Somewhere between mellow to inert. Coasting through college, switching his major to theater halfway through his degree. Theater, English, Sociology, what did it matter? Just get the degree and wait for something big to happen Why bother pushing when you've got it all? That would be uncool. Instead, Harry Starr languished comfortably in the basement, while Stevie Dash pushed and pushed.  Always moving forward that Stevie Dash. Didn't he understand that youth was to be frittered away  in a Baba O'riley wasteland?

"So how's film school, Stevie?"

"Amazing, I've learned so much and the fringe benefits are sweet."

He's waiting for me to say, "Fringe benefits?"

"Yeah. pussy. The chicks smell Hollywood on you and then spread their legs."

"Really?" It wasn't that way in theater.

Stevie sifted a hand through his mane and huffed. "Man, I even scored with a real Hollywood actress."

"Are you serious?"

"Well, a B-lister, but a start."

He's waiting for me to ask, "Who?"

"First, you have to swear on your life that you don't tell this story to anyone. If it gets out, lives will be ruined."

"I swear to God, Stevie, that my lips are sealed."

"Okay. I'm trusting you with my life, Harry. So here's the story: Ben Silver, whose father is Mel Silver the movie producer, invites me to a wrap party at house for Target One, the latest low budget, piece-of-shit Mel Silver production. As you may already know, Oona Sweeney starred in it."

"Oona Sweeney?"

"Yeah, Oona."

"Oona."

"So it's an older crowd there, except for me, Ben and Oona Sweeney. Meanwhile she's bored to death, but vibing me all night. Anyhow, I had a joint on me, so I  ask her if she'd like to smoke it with me."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. Everyone in Hollywood knows she likes to party, at least according to one of my contacts there."

"You have contacts in Hollywood?"

"Of course, my Uncle Bernie's in the business. He owns a place that does the trimmings on costumes for the studios. Remember The Munsters?"

Harry hummed the theme song and nodded.

"Uncle Bernie did the costume trimmings, the lace on Lily Munster's gown, the bolts in Herman Munster's neck...So during our last Passover Seder, he was telling us that Oona Sweeney is the wildest teenager in Hollywood...So I go up to her and ask if she's having fun. She tells me that she's bored out of her mind. Then ask her if she'd like to party with me. She doesn't even answer me, just grabs my arm and leads me outside behind the pool shack in the backyard."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. So we smoke the joint. She's still vibing me up and down, thinks I'm like a blond Travolta. Before I know it Oona's  French kissing me. One thing leads to another and then she unzips my pants...You guessed it -- next she's going down on me..."

"Oona Sweeney blew you?"

"Fucking right, amigo, but you better not tell anyone."

"Of course," Harry couldn't wait to tell the story, to his best friend, Finkie. He'd know if it was bullshit.

"Crazy man, isn't it, Harry?"

"Yeah, crazy."

Stevie sifted his hand through his tousled mane and said,"So I'm making this film for my program and I'm going to enter it in the Cannes Student Film Festival..."

Cannes?



"It's a hot script Harry, and since you're been doing some acting at McGill, I thought about you for the lead. Everyone wants to be in this picture. Between you and me, one of the chicks auditioning for the female lead is even willing to go to bed for the part."


Yea, right. Stevie Dash was still fucking  full of himself.


Harry Starr, a leading man. Tall dark and handsome, Harry Starr. Born with real talent and real good looks; he didn't have to do a thing to be gorgeous. Just sit there slumped in his sagging brown corduroy couch, at one with the comforting ambiance of the wood-paneled basement. It was enough just to be born Harry Starr. Cary Grant-gorgeous. Au  naturel. He admired his reflection in the glass top of the coffee table.

"My script is about this young Jewish guy, Ernesto, who's born in Paraguay right after the Second World War. He moves to Israel and becomes this big war hero, but later finds out that his father is Hitler."

Harry drew a deep breath. "How did that happen?"

"His mother was spared during the Holocaust because of her great beauty. She was brought to Hitler and became his personal masseuse. Let's just say she did what she had to to survive, only to find out she was pregnant after Hitler committed suicide. Obviously she kept the kid."

"Tough choice."

Great premise. Why didn't I think of that?

"After the war they move to Israel, just her and Ernesto, her only kid. The boy grows up as a star and by twenty-one becomes a famous war hero touted to one day lead the nation."

"Like David, King of the Jews."

"Fucking right, man! He's a modern day King of the Jews...That is, until he finds out the truth about his past."

"Shit."

Shit, did I underestimate the egomaniac. He's smarter than me.

"And I want you Harry Starr, to play the lead."

"Me, the son of Hitler?"

"The star of the film, Harry. I'm calling it, The Heritage."

"So I'd be the son of Hitler...With or without the mustache?" Harry wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve.

"No mustache, just your good looks and a touch of evil will do."

"I dunno, Stevie. The son of Hitler? Heavy stuff. What would my grandmother say?"

"Oy vey. Who gives a shit what your bubbe says? This is the part to launch your career, Harry. Trust me on this."

"Trust me." Famous last words. 


"Ernesto dies of course. His own men from his battalion are assigned to kill him, the same men whose lives he saved in battle. Tons of conflict, loads of action. But it's a tragedy, ultimately the son pays for the sins of the father."

"So I die too."

"Obviously..."

Harry scratched at a mosquito bite on the back of his head. "Do I have to die? Maybe Ernesto's determined to atone for his father's horrible sin by pledging his life to the State of Israel? His fame and fortune grow until ultimately Ernesto becomes the prime minister of Israel...all the while knowing that he'd the son of Hitler..."

Stevie huffed away at an unruly tuft of hair.

"No...I just can't see this story ending well. Hitler's seed, must die. It's a box office thing, Harry. But enough said. Why don't you read from the script now?  We'll take it from the scene where Ernesto finds out his true identity."

Stevie handed Harry the dog-eared script. Harry studied the title:

The Heritage, written by Stevie Dash.

Stevie set up the scene."So Ernesto stumbles on this journal that his mother's been keeping. He reads the part about his mother and Hitler....He vomits, passes out...eventually wakes up...He's weak, all his energy spent...Ernesto clutches the journal in his hand like Hamlet holding the skull..."

Harry held back from rolling his eyes while Stevie read the monologue:

"O mother, my mother

From whose belly I grew

Whose love was greater than the demon seed of my being
Can a mother's love conquer all?

Can good reign victorious over evil?

Am I man or monster?

Despised in heaven or celebrated in hell?

I am not of this world

Do I take my life

Atone for what I am,
But did not ask for.
No, evil will not win this battle.
I choose life
I choose God."

And while there wasn't an audience, Stevie still expected applause. Harry sat on the couch and rolled his bloodshot eyes.

"Can't do it," Harry said while nodding his head side-to-side.

Stevie pfffft at his hair in disbelief.