Saturday, December 4, 2021

 Essential NOLA Cinema— episode 4:

Harry Shearer on BIG CHARITY

"As I watched the actions of LSU in Big Charity, it seemed not at all out of character and it did play out the dichotomy between Baton Rouge and New Orleans in a very stark and of course catastrophically harmful manner."

Renowned writer-musician-actor-filmmaker Harry Shearer on Alexander Glustrom's award-winning 2014 documentary BIG CHARITY which uses archival footage & new interviews to tell the story of how Charity Hospital survived Hurricane Katrina thanks to the dedication & loyalty of the staff, only to have LSU abandon the 269-year-old institution in order to chase federal money so they could— checks notes— build a new hospital… Thus depriving New Orleans of medical and mental health care when the city needed it most. Why aren't LSU officials doing time for their criminal negligence? Why don't more people know about this? All is explained.

Harry Shearer • THE BIG UNEASY

Watch BIG CHARITY

Recorded 5/31/20. Show index: Test screening at the Joy • Documentary integrity • LSU: criminals • Psychiatrists doing carpentry • The Big Uneasy • Media narratives • National vs local apathy • Misinformation • Potemkin networks • Newsgathering • Wire services • Liars in suits • YWOs at protests • Hijacking the narrative • The Attention Merchants • "Catalogue-Heads" • The Lens & ProPublica • LSU = Army Corps of Engineers • Public/Private • Utopian fantasies • Satire and coping • Presidential body counts • Post-script: BLM protest audio

Listen to the conversation

Download the transcript

Transcription—

Randy Mack: Hello and welcome to Essential NOLA Cinema, a conversation between myself, Randy Mack, a New Orleans filmmaker, and a cinephile about a film they chose. I’m here with a man who needs no introduction, Mr. Harry Shearer, who delighted and surprised me with “Big Charity,” the 2014 documentary by Alex Glustrom about the fate of one of the oldest hospitals in the world, and New Orleans’ oldest hospital. It’s a tragedy that unfolds in the post-Katrina aftermath. It’s one of my favorite documentaries and I am curious how and when you saw the film, and what your first impression of it was.

Harry Shearer: There was a very powerful setting for seeing that film. I have a friend who is very active in the movement to prevent the destruction and it was the deliberate destruction of Charity Hospital that the film documents. She told me there’s going to be a screening. It was, at this point, a film in progress. The making of it was not completed and it was a screening at the Joy Theater on Canal Street, and not only that, almost everybody else besides my friend and I, maybe a couple other people at that screening, were people who had worked at Charity Hospital, and this was the first time they saw their story onscreen. So it was very, very powerful. I mean, you describe that and people might imagine - people with a highly dramatic bent might imagine that there are shrieks and cries, and people talking back to the screen and all that which there was none of. It was a very polite audience, but as an entertainer - maybe everybody has it, but I’m certainly aware of it that I have a sensitivity to the feeling in the room of an audience. You get that feeling when you’re onstage and whether you’re looking for laughs or not, you’re just feeling what the audience is vibing. It was pretty overwhelming to sit in a room with people, seeing their traumatic experience documented on the screen for the first time.

I had a couple of notes about what could be done to maybe make the film a little better and I shared those with the director afterward, but my main first impression was I was just knocked out by the work, by the... A lot of stuff that is presented to the audience as “documentaries” these days leaves something to be desired. I’ll pick on one that I recently saw that was hyped to me very enthusiastically by a couple of people I know called “The Great Hack,” made I think in Britain. It was about a British person. She had worked for Cambridge Analytica and quit to become a whistleblower. It was one of those documentaries where, “Oh, my God. The camera just happens to be in the right place at the right time when all these dramatic events happen and it’s a little bit suspicious,” but I suspended my suspicions until there’s this scene – she has to leave London suddenly to get out of town, and so we happened to be there as she’s throwing clothes into a suitcase and then the camera follows her into a cab heading for Heathrow Airport in London, except they’re driving on the wrong side of the road and there’s a street sign coming by and I freeze-framed it, and it said, “New Jersey This Way.” [Laughter] I say that only to point out that the word gets misapplied a lot or the description does not get honored.

By contrast, I was just overwhelmed by how rigorous the work was in Big Charity. It’s a situation where everything is being told in retrospect, except that the filmmakers managed to get some absolutely remarkable footage. The story is basically, this was the legendary Charity Hospital. There has been a Charity Hospital in New Orleans for over 200 years. This was the latest iteration. It was built in the 1930s when Huey Long built a bunch of Charity Hospitals throughout Louisiana to give quality healthcare to the poor and working poor, and many people who later came to prominence in New Orleans would proudly claim that heritage, “I’m a Charity baby.” At the time of the 2005 flood, the basement of Charity Hospital flooded and the basement contained, as the basements of many buildings of that era, all of the utility infrastructure, so electric and water, and gas, and stuff were in the basement. So when that floods, the whole building just goes “I’m not working anymore.”

The story tells us of the people who worked at that hospital, along with the National Guard people coming in within days to clean it up, not only to clean it up, but to sterilize it and get it ready to go back into operation as a working hospital at a time when the city was in a major public health emergency. The State of Louisiana which had come to be the supervisor of the hospital when the Sisters of Mercy turned it over to LSU to operate, Gov. Blanco decided or announced the hospital will not reopen, no explanation. Then the remarkable piece of footage that I’m referring to is footage of people going through the hospital, it’s closed, and turning on faucets in bathrooms up and down the hospital to reflood it. It’s stunning and it’s a stunning story and the story goes on to detail why LSU had reason not to want to reopen Charity and reason to instead want what it ultimately got, a suburban-style medical campus just a few blocks away, leaving the city without a working hospital for the poor for the 10 years it took for all of that to happen.

The interviewing style is so careful and so unaggressive that they got the head of the LSU Hospital System at that point sitting at his desk, big office, great window view, Rolex on his wrist, and he says, “You know, the word ‘charity’ has kind of gotten a stigma,” and I’m thinking of all of those people who were proud Charity babies. It was anything but a stigma and I told my friend, “We should start a movement to rename the new hospital “Stigma Hospital.” [Laughter] Had I come to this a little bit sooner, I really wanted, when they opened the new facility, to get a group of people down there and surround it and put up yellow crime scene tape because it was a crime. It was criminal activity. Anyway, it's such a powerful story. It’s such an understated... the filmmaker has the confidence in his story to let it tell itself without having to hype it or push it, or shove it in your face in any way. It shoves itself in your face just fine and to know that it was done by a guy who is in his early 20s and had that intelligence, confidence, and self-discipline, it really amazed me. It’s a piece of work.

RM: Same here. I’ve found out about the project during its Kickstarter phase. I backed it. I got my DVD and my postcard, and everything, and I’ve been living in New Orleans since 2006. I got here into the aftermath and one of the first things I was hearing about was the lack of mental healthcare. Actually, on the calendar, it was about four weeks after the murder-suicide of Zack and Addie who turned out were former tenants of the apartment I lived in down in the lower French Quarter. And it was one of those things where I’d moved from Los Angeles where everyone had assumed it'd normally just snap back like a rubber band. With all the resources the country flaunts on TV all the time, of course, they’re going to send everything they can to “Let’s rebuild the city” and it was out of the news cycle for so long that when I got down here, I guess it was about 15 months later, it was like the flood had happened yesterday, and especially psychologically and emotionally the rawness of it was palpable and just city-defining. I mean, it was edge-to-edge in terms of its traumatization of the citizenry.

So, when I went into the theater for the premiere of Big Charity, I was thinking I was going to learn a lot about the hospital system and the relationship with Baton Rouge which has always been a huge question mark in my head, about how New Orleans survives in the state the way it does, and I was completely blindsided by the Katrina footage and the sheer amount of visceral trauma flying off of the screen. I mean, the Katrina section was only – this was shocking to me to figure out on my rewatch, it was only the first 23 minutes of the film. I remembered it as being so much more, but that footage is so immersive and there’s so many escalating injustices that spill out over the course of that. The fact that Charity is right across the street from the Tulane Medical Center which was evacuated on Day One and they left everyone in Charity just to rot as they watched the evacuation happen out the window waving banners. They were just left behind.

How does that happen? Who allows that to happen? Who was flying those choppers? Like somebody must have said, “We should go over there,” and somebody must have stopped them. It’s the only thing I can imagine. And then who were those people... but then that injustice barely has time to fester because suddenly there’s the fact that they had to get evacuated by the Forestry Department four, five days later. They’re carrying all the people up the stairs and stuff. Then they finally get out. They finally rehabilitate the hospital. They bring in all of the new equipment. They pump all the floodwater out and now it’s back, and then the real injustice comes in and it’s just kind of overwhelming. LSU is - I don’t understand how there weren’t arrests made. It seems so obviously flagrantly criminal. Where was the justice?

HS: You have to, I think, see LSU in some context. I had made a documentary that came out four years before this one…

RM: The Big Uneasy.

HS: …about the flood and why it happened. One of the main people who was interviewed for the film who is one of the leaders of the two different forensic investigations into the 2005 flood, he was the head of the LSU Hurricane Center at that time, and both he and the heads of the other investigation were housed at UC Berkeley came to remarkably similar conclusions even though they approached it very differently. The conclusions that stand out were that the Hurricane Protection System which was started construction in 1965 after another hurricane of roughly similar size 45 years later, 40 years later hadn’t been completed as of yet, had major engineering problems and the agency that built it, the US Army Corps of Engineers, ignored warnings from both inside and outside of its own agency that it was making consequential mistakes in the way it was designing and supervising the construction of that Hurricane Protection System. LSU’s reaction was to fire Ivor Van Heerden, the head of the Hurricane Center and closed down the LSU Hurricane Center.

He later won a lawsuit for unlawful dismissal, but the Hurricane Center remained shut and LSU’s behavior indicated that its main objective was to remain on good relations with the United States Army Corps of Engineers, and with the federal government as a whole, because they get a lot of money out of the Feds. So, that was the background I had in my mind as I watched the actions of LSU in Big Charity. It seemed not at all out of character for that institution and it did seem to play out the dichotomy between the way Baton Rouge looks at the world and the way New Orleans inhabits the world in a very stark and of course catastrophically harmful manner.

RM: Yes. I mean, it’s an apathy toward human life and suffering that is - it’s essentially like they’re just above the law.

HS: Well, yes. Also, it’s shocking to see a state institution founded as an educational institution behaving in the most crassly corporate manner.

RM: Right. Don’t they have a responsibility? Aren’t they a public institution that is accountable to the people?

HS: Yes.

RM: But they’re clearly not accountable.

HS: Yes.

RM: I mean, that’s the thing that’s so amazing. The fact they’re running that hospital at all was kind of – that was a little weird, but I mean, they’re a public institution. They have a lot of resources. Okay, it makes a little bit of sense on paper since they already have a set of hospitals. They already have an administration in place, who know what they’re doing, hypothetically, but the mission of the hospital is to serve the people. It was the only mental health facility in the city in a time where mental healthcare was of absolute imperative, and they removed it. Then the suicide rate goes through the roof and I mean, they have blood on their hands is what I’m saying.

HS: One thing I noted in that regard was 2006, since the summer of 2006, one of the first big conventions to come back to New Orleans was the American Psychological Association and they met at the convention center and they had their attendees during the two weeks that the convention was in and around town do some public service in the community. What was the public service that the American Psychological Association attendees did? They helped build houses at Habitat for Humanity. [Laughter] Now there’s a mental health crisis going on. It doesn’t take a lot of expertise to help out at Habitat, but mental health counseling does take some expertise. They have the expertise and they don’t give a fuck.

RM: Yes. No, that’s amazing. That reminds me of Ben Affleck’s commentary track of the movie Armageddon where he asked Michael Bay, “Wouldn’t it be just easier to train astronauts to drill instead of trained drillers to be astronauts,” [laughter] and he just told him to shut the fuck up. Actually, it was funny because I was going to ask about the comedy. There’s so much to be outraged about and it’s so hard to channel it productively and you are so good at the political... Spinning the political stuff in a way that’s very palpable – not palpable, digestible. I mean, the Nixon tapes, Le Show, et cetera, and it seems like there’s a sharpness, but I was wondering if you had advice as to like, do you think there’s a solution to something, a case like this LSU on murdering charity like this is it’s a single-contained action that could be hypothetically dramatized or satirized or something in a way that could bring broader awareness. I know that the moment has passed and everything, but as a hypothetical, it seems like…

HS: Well, it’s a good learning experience because those guys did such a fine job in making the documentary and I know this experience well because I had much of the same experience with mine getting other media to pay attention to the story. I don’t recall even a lot of attention - I think maybe Gambit wrote a nice piece about “Big Charity,” but I don’t recall the TV stations in town or the then two newspapers paying any attention to it or at least my experience with the “Big Uneasy,” I had that very same experience. I timed the making of it and the release of it to coincide with the fifth anniversary because I knew that all the major media would be swarming back into town and it would be like, “Oh, look what’s been discovered in the meantime. There’s a whole new layer to the story,” and instead it was, “Look how good our coverage was five years ago,” congratulating themselves and Anderson Cooper shaking his finger in the face of Mayor Landrieu. I’d been in and around journalism enough to recognize this phenomenon which is... I call it a template, The New York Times internally calls it a narrative. Producers and editors get a first glimpse of a story and that forms their view, their frame for the story, and after that the only reporting that they’re interested in is people giving quotes about that view of the story. If somebody, especially if somebody outside the media framework, comes in with whole new reportage like Big Charity did, they not only don’t welcome it, they seem to collude in shunning it.

RM: They decide about their take and then basically just report to support the take.

HS: Yes, “take” could be the modern word for it. There’s a great story by a really good journalist. Peter Moss used to write for the New Yorker. Now I think he writes for the Intercept, and this was – I think this was a New Yorker story about the toppling of the Saddam Hussein statue in Baghdad in 2004. He was in Baghdad and he says there were maybe 40 or 50 Iraqis in that square, Firdos Square. Basically, this was an American operation and the photographers and the journalists in the square – the photographers particularly were saying, “Lets us turn around and show you how few people are here and how many of them are Americans,” and the producers and the editors were saying, “What I’m seeing on CNN is the toppling of the statue and some Iraqis there. That’s the story I want,” and Moss was too good a reporter to fake that. I had a very similar experience when I was a kid working at Newsweek.

So, the fact that it remains a practice or a habit in American journalism is not surprising, but disappointing. So, when you do a piece like “Big Charity” – I mean, what I did was basically put the film [The Big Uneasy] under my arm and got it booked personally at theaters around the country and then show up for the premiere of the showing so that I could get local newspaper coverage of the story, because I couldn’t get national. New Orleans suffered at least doubly, if not triply, because the idea that that event was “Oh, well, natural disaster, living in the wrong place.” No, victims of borderline sinister criminality, at least dramatic malfeasance and misfeasance by an agency of the federal government would cast that story in an entirely different light and national coverage of it would change people’s understanding of it. There’s a quote from one of the co-authors of the Berkeley study that if the Hurricane Protection System had been built properly, the worst Katrina would’ve inflicted on New Orleans is “wet ankles.” That would dramatically have changed what the federal government was either prepared to or would be constrained by public opinion to do, to deal with the aftermath.
[00:20:00]

So, the media shunning that part of the story had really serious consequences for the city and for the people of the city. So I would recommend anybody who sets out to do a piece of investigative or explanatory work on the level of Big Charity have it in mind that the completion of the movie is halfway to job done [laughter] and the other half is getting people to know about the story, ideally see the movie, but even if they just read about the movie, read the point of the movie, the story that the movie is telling and are thereby either ideally motivated to go see the movie, but at least it changes their view of the event. That’s the other half and as hard as it is to make a documentary and it’s ridiculously hard if you do it right and don’t put a “New Jersey” street sign on the road to Heathrow in London, as hard as it is to make a documentary, it’s harder still to get it the attention it deserves if it’s telling the other half of a story which people thought they knew.

RM: Yes, before I was a filmmaker, I was a journalist. I cut my teeth in New England, on “The Phoenix.” I have a shelf of investigative journalism awards and it’s a... I mean, it was the mid ‘90s and it was deregulation and the Clinton era where the big boys were starting to go in, but there were still free weeklies in almost every minor city in the tri-state area and so forth, and getting the media’s attention is... For as long as there has been mass media, there’s always been sort of a trick to it. It’s sort of knowing somebody, knowing how to speak the language and knowing how to present the story in a way, but in the modern era, with the consolidation and New Orleans’ media in particular is so idiosyncratic and... Every time I see the local TV stations, I just feel like they’re on a different plane of reality than anything else I see going on in the city. Printed media here is a little bit better, but with only one semi-newspaper, it’s... I wonder if the move for a documentarian would be to go to a national outlet, like The New Yorker, or find a personal angle or try to…

HS: Well, I hired a New York PR guy to handle the “Big Uneasy.” I had exactly that thought. I hired a guy who also represented Katie Couric who at that time was anchoring the CBS Evening News so I thought... And he ended up apologizing to me, didn’t return any of the huge fee I paid him, New York level fee, couldn’t move the needle. I got nothing, except one little shot on Morning Joe. I was down right by what is now Mardi Gras World and that was it, nothing on the network news, nothing on the morning shows aside from that, nothing in The New Yorker and nothing in The New York Times, nothing in the New York anything.

RM: Wow.

HS: Yes. Arguably - all right, let’s keep it in perspective, but I’m a little bit of a celebrity. I’m a known person. [Laughter] There’s a little hook there, “Guy from The Simpsons makes a documentary. What’s that about?” None of it, so I found it inexpressively hard and that’s why I was so full of admiration for this team that knowing exactly the nature of the morass that they had walked into I admired them tremendously for carrying this through, for working really hard, for making - I saw the work they were doing towards the latter half of framing the movie and massaging the parts and making every part speak as clearly as possible. I thought they did an amazing job.

RM: I agree. There’s not an ounce of fat in that film. It’s got 66 minutes running time and every moment of it is vital and surprising. It’s really a stunning piece of work. As I dug through it, the old Kickstarter, Alex and his team did a great job of bringing the Charity employees, the doctors, nurses, tech crew, and assistants and stuff who were instrumental in keeping the film alive after its premiere at the film festival. The Joy Theater seems to have been helping him from jump it sounds like because the Joy programmed Big Charity nights routinely for at least four, five years after the festival premiere…

HS: That’s great.

RM: …and they were generally just sold out every time, which is really reassuring. I mean, it’s a huge success story in a sense.

HS: They faced the same thing though that I did, except that I faced it on a national level. They faced it on a local level. I bet if you stop a New Orleanian on the street today and ask them what happened to Charity Hospital, “Oh, it got flooded.”

RM: I’ve had people tell me that. They say, “Oh, no. Everything was damaged” or “The building needs to be torn down” or whatever. Information in this town, it’s just – when you were telling me about the apathy of the national outlets – I mean, especially Anderson Cooper really made a reputation out of “the empathetic anchor,” the guy who stayed the longest in the city and all of that, it’s really amazing. Here’s a question. You’ve been such a close follower of media for so long, do you think it’s gotten worse since the deregulation and consolidation of media ownership?

HS: Yes. I’m old enough to be able to say I think it got worse starting in the mid-1970s when the broadcasting organizations stopped being freestanding organizations and started being subsidiaries of larger corporations. When CBS was just CBS and what they did was add TV stations and radio stations, and they put stuff on the air, their behavior was very different from when they became part of a larger conglomerate like Viacom. NBC, I think it happened to them even sooner, although they were always part of a bigger company and ABC was pretty much ABC until the ‘90s when Capital Cities swallowed it. The way I would describe it is, The New York Times is an exception and I think there’s been a little heavying up in the last year or two but basically, they’re like Potemkin news organizations. The anchor desk looks as impressive as usual. My favorite anecdote about how this has worked is a few years ago, I was watching “Meet the Press” one Sunday morning and David Gregory was anchoring it at that time, and he said, “We have a breaking news story this morning in Pakistan and for the latest, we go to NBC’s Chief Foreign Correspondent Richard Engel reporting today from London.”

RM: Okay... [Laughter]

HS: Because you can see Pakistan from there. Now the only untruth in that sentence was the word “chief” because he really meant “only.” Now when I was a kid, I had in my memory the names - because I was a news junkie – the names of the CBS Bureau chiefs in Rome, in Paris, in Moscow, in London, in Tokyo. Those things don’t exist anymore. There’s one person that flies around. In the ‘90s and the 2000s, even the purpose of having a correspondent in other cities became antiquated because if there was a big enough story, they didn’t cover it. The anchor flew in and asked a couple of cab drivers what was the mood and then did a report from the big story.

RM: From outside the airport.

HS: Yes, so you’re a correspondent who got big-footed whenever there was a chance to get on the air and I think that was really the end of that system. Now, of course, they don’t fly the anchor in anymore, but they’ll fly one or two people who were out there, like Richard Engel who was wherever he was. But what that meant was his contribution was he could do what I could do: read the internet about what was happening in Pakistan and say it out loud. That’s a Potemkin news organization. I mean, NBC is I think particularly bad. They had an anchor who was a proven public liar, “Oh, those shots, they came at our helicopter as we were landing in Iraq. It was frightening.” They were never shot at. Brian Williams was never shot at. His punishment was six months off the air which he later described as torture.

This is at a time where there’s real torture going on at the hands of the Unites States government, but being off the air was his equivalent, and now he’s anchoring a nightly newscast for the same organization, although not on the network, on the cable system and they have, as did CNN, an analyst, former intelligence director who lied under oath to the senate. So, they’ve got a lying anchor and a lying analyst. [Laughter] I don’t say this a lot in public anymore because you don’t want to get conflated with Donald Trump’s critique of the media. So, yes, it isn’t what it used to be.

RM: How do you feel about AP and Reuters?
[00:30:00]

HS: I’m impressed with AP. I think AP realized that their bread and butter, which had been a straight down the middle unadventurous writing down of what happened yesterday in as many locations as possible was being usurped and their main customer base was drying up. That is to say local newspapers which wanted international and national coverage and they’ve heavied up on investigations as an alternative course. I haven’t seen that change at Reuters. Reuters seems to still be doing the old job of counting the bodies every day. I think it’s a woman that runs AP now and I think she’s the person who sort of is steering it at a slightly different direction. I mean, I’m amazed. I think I’ve seen this year between half a dozen and a dozen stories on AP that are the result of long-range investigations and deep dives and that was never a part of the AP recipe before.

RM: Oh good. I’m glad somebody’s stepping into the gap. When the Brian Williams thing went down, people were shocked I guess for the five minutes they were paying attention. I say TV news is barely news at all. TV news is kind of entertainment and anchors are not journalists, so it’s amazing this hasn’t happened earlier and it’s just a matter of time.

HS: I think it happened. The “Oh, my god. He was lying” reaction by the network was as fake as the rest of it because he was lying. He was going on Letterman and he was going on Jay Leno. He was going on those shows because the network wanted to young up the demographic of the evening news.

RM: Right, exactly.

HS: He wasn’t doing that because he wanted to be more famous. Well, he may have been, but I think he was doing it with the network’s blessings because if they could get a couple of younger viewers to watch the news…

RM: Yes, exactly. That’s why they hired him in the first place. I mean it’s…

HS: Yes, and it’s so crazy because I remember growing up watching the Cronkite news during the Vietnam War and I was in my teens and early 20s and the main sponsors at that time were Geritol and Just for Men hair coloring. So it’s always been older people that watch the news. This thing of “Why can’t we get the kids to watch the news?” Because they’re kids. [Laughter]

RM: Yes, exactly, exactly. I’m trying to digest all this in the context of Big Charity. We’re recording this on the weekend of May 31st when there’s been rioting in how many dozen major cities right now over the Floyd murder...

HS: I haven’t seen any news of it in New Orleans. Have I missed something?

RM: No rioting here.

HS: Yes.

RM: Yes. It’s been peaceful and most of what I’ve been seeing passed around is, “don’t take the bait.” A lot of ways to say it, coming from a lot of voices, but essentially the feeling is, we can be outraged. We need to stand together and everyone... New Orleans loves its conspiracies, of course, and so everyone seems to be protesting with a wary eye on young white outsiders, which is interesting because it sort of... There’s an interesting parallel between the young white outsiders who’ve been gentrifying the city since Katrina and now these young white outsiders who are instigating the riots. It almost feels like there’s some kind of great satire to be made about this moment with regard to that.

HS: About the Y.W.O's.

RM: [Laughter] Yes, but it’s been peaceful here and the NOPD have been... they haven’t been showing up in para-military gear or anything. The protests seem to be going about every four or five hours. There was like one at noon, one at 6:00, one at 9:00, kind of. I don’t know if the attendance is remaining steady or different kind of sub-factions are choosing which ones to attend. They’re all hosted by various non-profits but the “Take Them Down Foundation” who was a big voice in the removal of the Confederate statues has a lot of existing credibility and so I know their protests were particularly well-attended.

HS: I’m put in mind at this moment, I mean, this feels... the febrile nature of the country at the moment feels so much like 1968. It’s frightening and saddening, but I’m put in mind of discussions that I would have with friends about anti-war demonstrations and this gets back to how do you get this message, whether it’s from a documentary or from a demonstration or such, across. The problem that I thought demonstrations faced then, and I think we’re seeing it again, is it has an impact. It has an impact when people take to the streets and protest. It’s undeniable, but as a long-running tactic, it has very rapidly diminishing returns because of the danger of being taken over either by police misbehavior, “Oh, my god. I’m shocked” by protester misbehavior, “protester, interloper behavior,” whatever you want to call it because it’s so easy for media to shift their gaze from the thing you’re protesting against, whether it’s a hideous war or a murder in plain view by a man in blue to “Oh those damn people in the streets” or “Those nutty people in the streets,” and they love to do that. They love to change the focus. It’s more visual. How many times can you rerun the George Floyd tapes, but protesters and cops, they’re making new video for you every day.

RM: It reminds me of Los Angeles ‘92.

HS: Yes, exactly, exactly. I mean, you have to think like TV news producers think, “Do we have new video?” Well, being on the street demonstrating gives you new video every day. That’s the gift you’re giving to them. You, as an organizer think the deal is “Okay. I’m giving you new video every day. You give me coverage of my issue,” but that quickly gets transmogrified into something else.

RM: Yes, it gets turned into why are these poor people burning their own businesses or whatever the upper-class’s take on it is.

HS: Yes.

RM: “If it bleeds, it leads” is still the defining mantra. That’s the whole thing about deregulation and consolidation of media companies is that when you’re supposed to be practicing journalism, which is an ethos, but if you’re really practicing capitalism and just going for ratings and advertising dollars and so forth, then it’s more than just a mis-service. It’s a deception on the public just like LSU.

HS: Yes. I started my life, or my adult life, working in an advertising agency just as a lark during two summers between years in college. I mean, I had advertising jingles in my head from my childhood. I still do. I ran into Al Jardine in New Orleans a couple of months ago and we were like doing almost a competition with each other who remembered more stupid advertising jingles from childhood. Now I’ve gotten to the point I’m very influenced by reading Tim Wu’s book, The Attention Merchants, which is really good and is about the 125-year history of advertisers just trying harder and harder, and harder, and harder, and harder to hijack our attention.

It did occur to me at one point. I spent a lot of time in England recently. The thing you hear in Britain a lot is “Why are Americans so stupid?” [Laughter] I don’t think there are any such thing. I think people are basically the same. I think they get acculturated differently, that’s why people in New Orleans are more sociable and all sorts of other things. They’re not different people. They’re just acculturated differently. So, I thought, Boy, I would love to do a big macro study where you somehow figure out how many minutes of advertising people in different countries are exposed to and compare that to a group of people from each of these countries, their performance on a general knowledge test. My hypothesis being that advertising colonizes parts of your brain that would otherwise be used for storing useful information.

RM: That’s absolutely true, I think. I call them catalog heads. There’s a certain kind of person who, all they know is like the price of everything and like the different colors of cars that come in or whatever. They know the make and models of every vehicle that drives down the street. They can’t tell you who their state senators are.

HS: Yes. Or they know all the minutia of baseball statistics going back. You reminded me of a great Dave Frishberg lyric. They know the price of everything and the value of nothing at all. [Laughter]

RM: Yes, I remember that from Doonesbury way back. That was John Kerry, I think, in fact. It was an old strip making fun of John Kerry when he had come out of the war to become a political activist. I mean, this was Doonesbury in probably ’69, ’70, ‘71 era. Kerry, in one of the strips, is caught kind of passing off that quote as his own, basically.

HS: God bless him.

RM: Yes, the colonization of the mind. It’s a real problem. I guess the question is then is how do we save the media? Force them to run as non-profits, essentially? [00:40:00]

HS: Well, I’ll answer that in two ways. One, I’m on the board of The Lens and I support The Lens very strongly, and I think The Lens has done amazing work in New Orleans. They’ve broken at least two or three stories that have become national news, such as the astroturfing of local council meetings. The example being the Entergy astroturfing of the city council meeting when they were going to vote on whether to let Entergy build a new fossil-fuel-fired power plant in the east of the city. So, that’s one model. The other one which I think gets more attention and admiration than I think it deserves is ProPublica. Now I may be stuck in a thing about this, but I will never forget that even 15 years ago, ProPublica had decent resources and what they covered in the New Orleans flood was the story of Dr. Anna Pou who was in some hospital with like seven or eight critical patients, no resources, everything fallen around her and she has to make life or death decisions about these patients. They excoriate her, and they got a Pulitzer and they got a book, and they got a movie out of it; meanwhile, the grand story of the failure of the federal government to live up to its promise to protect the city, that’s nothing they’re interested in. I am sorry. I find that a grave stain on their journalistic reputation.

RM: I remember that. I mean, I remember that story really vividly. When it came out it was all people wanted to talk about was, “Yes, the doctors are pulling the plugs on people,” and I’m like, “There’s got to be context to that.”

HS: Yes, like no electricity in your building to keep the machines going. I mean, it was to me – and I have no connection with Dr. Anna Pou. I don’t know her. I never knew her. I don’t know anybody who knows her. So, this is not from a personal interest. That was a savaging.

RM: Yes, and it’s a funny thing about people – you’re talking about “The Attention Merchants” and we now live in the attention economy and all of that. What people pay attention to is not necessarily what they should be given, because people love drama and cheap theatrics, and one person making a scene in hysterics is going to get more eyeballs than a governor or somebody reading a statement at a podium just because of the sheer entertainment value. But the whole reason that we have the non-profit sector of the world economy and so forth is because there are things that are vitally important that you cannot rely on people to seek out on their own. They have to be protected... Which reminds me of one of the... –So the Army Corps of Engineers as your movie the “Big Uneasy” showed, is essentially legislation and liability proof, right? It’s lawsuit proof. It seems to exist in a strange quasi extra governmental space.

HS: Yes, they were given immunity by a 1927 law by congress. They have learned the lesson from being under the Defense Department, which is get an operation going in each congressional district, so your local congressman always wants to keep that going because money goes to local construction companies and contractors. Michael Grunwald, who wrote a great five-part series for the Washington Post about the Army Corps at the beginning of the century, like 2000, 2001, called it— it may not be his origination, but he used it in the piece— “the Iron Triangle” which is the Corps, the local congress people, and the contractors. The Corps hasn’t done its own work since it was cleaned out by the Raegan administration because they wanted to make government agencies lean and mean so they contract the work out to local or national construction companies, engineering companies, and so those companies contribute to the congress people to keep the Corps funded and keep it creating projects and so forth, and so on. Yes, it’s a... because if you need your harbor dredged, there’s only one place to go.

RM: Right. I mean, it seems like a recipe for just flagrant grift, right?

HS: It’s bigger than that. I mean, the Corps has a really great business model. Do something and if it turns out to be really egregiously wrong, then get paid a second time to fix it. The people who got called in to build a better system after the Corps’ hurricane protection system failed disastrously in 53 different locations in New Orleans, was the Army Corps of Engineers.

RM: It’s a monopoly model.

HS: Yes, the people who were called in after they had been party to the destruction of the Everglades in Florida over 35, 40 years was the Army Corps of Engineers. They were called in to save the Everglades. I mean, it’s crazy. You wear the black hat for a while, take it off, put on the white hat, keep getting paid.

RM: I’m thinking of Cleavon Little kidnapping himself in Blazing Saddles. [Laughter] LSU seems to exist in the same kind of quasi-governmental state that the Army Corps does. It’s supposed to have a public mission and yet it seems to operate as a capitalistic enterprise with no consideration for the humanity that suffers under it and at the same time, it operates with no accountability toward any higher office or public outrage. The public outrage is the only thing that could be levied against them and even then, it all feels so futile to. LSU is such a mammoth organization and all those people wearing all the Tigers’ hats and shirts, and stuff, it’s like they’ve got a sports franchise that distracts people from being able to hate it because like they say, “Oh, but I support the team” or “I went to college there so therefore, they can’t be doing these terrible things.” It’s a cognitive dissonance kind of set up.

HS: Yes, it’s almost as if the athletic program acts as a marketing tool to protect them, to generate loyalty and protect them from criticism and/or accountability.

RM: Almost if, yes. [Laughter]

HS: Yes. I mean, it does point out that there’s something that’s become very popular in the political world since the Reagan administration and we just saw the latest example, the latest iteration of it with the space launch yesterday, the public-private partnership, which basically means letting private companies do what the government is supposed to do and it’s a result of this anti-government thing that’s gone on for 30 years. Private organizations could do anything that government can do and can do it better. I haven’t seen the private organizations outdoing the government in getting PPE to people in the hospitals in this country during the pandemic.

RM: Yes, or the tests.

HS: When catastrophic brush fires break out in California every year, I’m not seeing the private companies rush to help put them out that have better-equipped trucks.

RM: I’ve never understood this whole anti-big government thing in the sense of, the way it’s executed since the Reagan era seems to be expand the executive branch exponentially while reducing the actual service.

HS: Yes, doing less.

RM: So, the government is staying the same size, if not bigger and the military budget hasn’t shrunk, but it’s actually doing less. So, how do you... I have this tongue in cheek mayoral campaign that I pull out of the box every couple of years which is called “Blow the Bridges,” which is essentially, dynamite all the water ways around New Orleans and become like a self-contained protectorate like Washington D.C. where you don’t have to report to a state, but you can have maybe like one congressman, but that would take Baton Rouge off our metaphorical dick and at the same time, New Orleans can be a self-contained economy because we can let the Kenner airport go, reopen Lakefront as a commercial site and essentially, we’d have 99% of Hollywood South and the tourism industry, and so on. This is half tongue-in-cheek and half just utopian fantasy, but the idea would be that it’s free to leave at any time for anybody, but if you want to move here, it’s like 1% of your income and a bottle of your favorite booze. There’s a public liquor supply.

HS: Well, my fantasy was a little less grandiose. My fantasy was that if you moved into New Orleans, if you bought a house in New Orleans or bought or rented a place, it was going to be through a realtor so it was really about home buying that you got, along with your paperwork, a 10-minute little video that was basically your orientation video about New Orleans. “Here’s how this city behaves. Here’s how we do so that you don’t start calling the cops when there’s a brass band marching by your fucking house and going ‘There’s noise in the street.’” [laughter] Because we depend – the city so depends on people picking up the culture and wanting to assimilate into it with no mechanism. It just happens and fortunately, it often really does happen. We’ve been able to depend on that because it does happen, but it would be great to give people a little kick in the ass to start them off.

RM: Definitely. I live in the ninth ward piece of the Marigny, where we had all the live music and Mimi's shut down because of a couple of neighbors who were appalled that there were bars with entertainment in the area that they moved in, knowing nothing apparently. The whole idea of “Oh, I love the city. I just hate the culture of it” has become a... I don’t know if this is an ongoing thing— like I said I’m a post-Katrina immigrant— but it feels like I hear stories like this all the time and sometimes the people eventually leave or we have a couple of snowbirds in the neighborhood who only live here a few months of the year, but when they do live here, they complain.

HS: [Laughter] It’s bizarre. You wonder what they’re here for.

RM: What’s your personal history with New Orleans? You mention you grew up in Los Angeles, but it seems like you’ve been coming here a very long time. [00:50:00]

HS: I’ve been coming to New Orleans since 1989. It was my first Jazz Fest. I feel in like with jazz fest and fell in love with New Orleans. After probably about eight years, my wife and I decided we’re doing a great job of subsidizing the hotel business, but maybe we should get a place. We talked to some friends and they had the condo experience, turn-key condo and so we got one and immediately, just in the day-to-day of being a resident as opposed to being in a hotel, was such a startling change in what day-to-day felt like. If you haven’t experienced it, it’s very hard to describe it because hotel life is insulated. I remember there was some in-flight magazine that I looked at in a desperate moment on an airplane and they had a guide…

RM: Speaking of journalism. [Laughter]

HS: Yes, a guide to enjoying New Orleans and “Well, if you’re looking for music, there’s this music venue in the Ritz Carlton and if you’re looking for a restaurant, there’s a very good restaurant in the Ritz…” No, it wasn’t the Ritz Carlton. It was the Windsor Court, I think. It was one of them. Anyway, the whole point of the article was you don’t have to leave the fuckin hotel to experience New Orleans. Then my wife is a singer and songwriter and we had friends in to hear one of her latest records, a little listening party, and they were all scrunched together on a couple of couches in the condo and hanging off the balcony up the stairs, and we thought, “We know too many people. We’ll never be able to reciprocate all the dinners we’ve had if we stay in this place. We need a proper house,” and so we got one.

RM: Cool.

HS: So I’ve never lived anywhere but the Quarter.

RM: So, I’m trying to think of a.. What I keep turning my mind to is how to be creative with this outrage. You’re a satirist. I mean, I consider myself fundamentally a comedy writer even though I make narrative features. We have a city full of artists and artisans of all kinds and a piece of art like “Big Charity” does not have any humor or satire in it really at all other than the sort of dire gallows humor of seeing the guy with the Rolex talking. [Laughter]

HS: Nor did my documentary. I was very careful not to step over that line. If you’re telling a story that contradicts an existing narrative, I think you have to be very, very careful to go “I’m not kidding around. I’m not fucking with you. This is the real shit. This is really what I’ve discovered or I didn’t discover. I discovered the people who discovered it or I know the people who discovered it.” So, I didn’t want to be in the position of “Hey, I couldn’t tell whether you’re joking or not when you had that thing about the flood.” So no, I think those are two rigorously separate things in my book, but I have the advantage that I really have learned over a long period of time to take anger and transform it into something. It’s not a good emotion if it just sits in you untransformed or unresolved. If you’re an accomplished organizer, the fact that you can take your anger and turn it into an excellent protest demonstration, that’s another way of doing it, but for me, it happens to be I can take the object of my anger or disdain, or horror, or revulsion and make fun of it. So, for example, my emotional state regarding the current occupant of the White House is very different from my wife’s because she just has to live with it, the daily dose of “What?” Whereas I feed off of it.

RM: Yes, it’s... She has music as an outlet.

HS: Yes.

RM: I’m trying to process my own kind of simmering rage. I mean, the monster in the White House right now is something I can barely even look at out of the corner of my eye. I was in junior high when he took out the full-page ad demanding the execution of the Central Park Five and I’ve basically never thought of him as anything but a monster and I remember in 2016, during the primaries, I was telling everyone who would listen, “I had two pieces of hope. I thought the Republican apparatus would never let him get that far. I thought they would just rig it so he couldn’t win.” Then on the Democratic side, I thought, “Well, as long as anybody but Hillary gets the nomination, they could defeat him soundly.” Hillary is the only person who could possibly lose to Trump.

HS: Well, yes. They were the two most unpopular candidates in the history of the American presidential campaign if you look at the polls. They both were monstrously unpopular overall in their general numbers. Well, all I can say about that and this is not said in any diminution of any contempt or revulsion I have for this guy is that George W. Bush killed a lot more people, got a lot more people killed, made a lot more mess in a lot more of the world, and his successor ignored his legal compulsion to punish torture.

RM: No, it’s a…

HS: That’s a big red line for me.

RM: The silver lining on Trump is that he doesn’t have the attention span for foreign policy.

HS: Yes, and you can say the math has changed now because he’s arguably responsible for more people dying than otherwise might have during the pandemic, so his hands are no longer – they’re still as small, but they’re not as unbloodied as they were before.

RM: So, he’s responsible for more Americans dying than foreigners.

HS: Yes, and on that note…

RM: Yes. Well, thank you so much for doing this and I hope this episode brings “Big Charity” to the attention of a lot more people.

HS: Me too.

RM: Both as a role model film and as a truly amazing experience and I consider it the best movie about Katrina ever made.

HS: Yes, and the worst ad for Rolex that was ever made.

RM: [Laughter] Or maybe the most honest.

HS: Oh, the demo is coming by my house right now.

RM: Oh right.

HS: I’m going to go cover it.

RM: Okay, fantastic.

HS: Anyway, thank you.

RM: Good luck out there.

HS: Thanks.

[Sounds of the Santa Monica Black Lives Matter demonstration passing by]


-END-


 Essential NOLA Cinema— episode 9:

Michael Martin on "The Sons of Tennessee Williams"

"The krewe system, the ball system, gay or not gay, is just magnificent farting around. It just really is." — Michael Martin

New Orleans theater-scene Renaissance man (and Bloody Nose Empty Pockets star) Michael Martin brings THE SONS OF TENNESSEE WILLIAMS to the table, the 2011 doc about the birth of the first recognized gay Krewe in the 1960s, as told by the men who were instrumental in creating it as they put together their 40th anniversary ball. Archival home-movie footage mixes with photographs and newspapers to open a window into the culture of New Orleans in the 1960s, when Jim Garrison (aka Kevin Costner's character in JFK) was District Attorney and terrorized the gay population with public shaming campaigns and "morals raids" on clubs and bars. Michael dishes on New Orleans theater, Chicago, Mardi Gras, creating characters, and more.

Recorded 7/10/20. Show index: Tim Wolff's baby • Krewe of Yuga • Jim Garrison vs Harry Connick Sr. • Co-co-editor Tim Watson • Home movies, 1960s-style • Miss Dixie's • New Orleans cultural civil war • Michael's journey • Krewes as country clubs • Parallels with Zulu • "A memorable but manageable amount of trouble" • New Orleans' insularity • Theater journeys • Camp vs Miss America • Mardi Gras blues • Creating "Trente-Sous Serge" in Laundry Day

Michael Martin • Michael Martin Memorial Group

LAUNDRY DAY • BLOODY NOSE EMPTY POCKETS

Watch THE SONS OF TENNESSEE WILLIAMS

Sons of Tennessee Williams official site

Listen to the conversation

Download the transcript

Transcription—


Michael Martin: I wanted to warn you, I have a fair amount of, I think, interesting things to say about the movie. [Laughter] So you’re just calling the podcast “Essential New Orleans Cinema,” right?

Randy Mack: I take the title to be more of a question than an assertion. It’s not about ranking, it’s not trying to create a canon of good films and bad films. It’s not supposed to be that kind of thing. The idea of it is that it’s supposed to be more like an inquiry— Does this work? How does it work? Does it work for you? Does it work for the city? What kind of city does it represent? Is it something we can learn from moving forward? I’m always trying to balance the conversation with an eye towards the future because the larger scale purpose of the podcast is to inspire new work and to get people thinking and creatively stimulated. So that’s why I always have an artist guest in the film arena. [dog coughs] Speedy is allergic to dog hair. That’s my joke.

MM: Oh dear.

RM: [to dog] You okay, Bubba? It’s allergy season. [to MM] I’m going to warn you in advance, I’m going to compliment you.

MM: No, I get - I know how these things work. Everybody has to be very special and wonderful who appears.

RM: Oh, yes, ahh okay, my notes. So I’ll just do a quick introduction and then turn it over to you. Okay.
Hello and welcome to Essential NOLA Cinema, a podcast about New Orleans movie making by New Orleans filmmakers. I’m here today with actor, performer…

MM: DIY producer.

RM: DIY producer... Writer, I assume…

MM: Occasional drag queen. Yes, writer and director.

RM: Towering pillar of the local theater community, Michael Martin.

MM: Hi.

RM: How is it going?

MM: It’s good.

RM: How is the global pandemic treating you?

MM: Actually, it’s fine. On a day-to-day basis, it’s fine. As soon as you think five minutes into the future, it’s not so good. But on a moment-to-moment basis, it’s fine.

RM: Right. It’s fine until it isn’t. This is the first ENC recorded live. We’re in the same room, socially distanced, on separate microphones. It’s like a very special episode.

MM: Oh God. I hope that’s not true. [Laughter]

RM: What we get is what we get. [Laughter] Michael brought “The Sons of Tennessee Williams” to the table today which is a 2015 documentary about the evolution of the gay Mardi Gras krewe scene. The Sons of Tennessee Williams is an interesting doc because it’s made entirely out of archival footage and with contemporary interviews with the people in that archival footage. So in a way it tracks several specific people over the course of almost 50 years from the ‘60s and the turnover from D.A. Garrison into Harry Connick Sr., which seems to be a massively pivotal moment in the history of the New Orleans gay community. A turn from near daily persecution into, at least on the police level, tolerance. There’s so much to unpack with it because it doesn’t give you a ton of context. This is where I have a lot of questions for you today, because it’s like…

MM: Oh boy.

RM: I’ve never even heard of these krewes for starters. I was really interested but I also kind of wanted to know more. They may have been assuming a lot of cultural understanding going in.

MM: All right. I’m already on the spot because I’m no historian of New Orleans culture in general or even the New Orleans gay culture specifically. The movie does cite the Krewe of Yuga as the first gay krewe which I had never heard of before seeing Tim Wolff’s film, The Sons of Tennessee Williams, as essentially Tim Wolff’s baby. It’s very plain that he did all of the heavy lifting in creating it and conducting the interviews, and editing the footage. But I had not heard of Yuga prior to seeing The Sons of Tennessee Williams. It was shut down within the first year or two of its existence by a police raid. People, once they picked themselves up, and dusted themselves off, went back in to city hall and incorporated... incorporated isn’t the right word, but they established a legal basis for their krewe, whatever that is by laws, whatever that is you have to file with the city to become a Mardi Gras krewe.

The police raids continued at least occasionally with those newly formed krewes after Yuga’s demise. But none of them seemed to have struck death blows. The various krewes that existed over the years from the late 50s and early 60s until today suffered more what you would have expected them to suffer - loss of young membership, Katrina, the AIDS crisis in the ‘80s. All of those were more decisive to the expansion or contraction of the gay krewes than the police were. It did - as Randy said, it didn’t really stop until sometime in the ‘70s, sometime after Connick won the race against Garrison. That was another historically interesting bit which again I was not aware of until I saw it. I have never quite understood... Connick as Randy said was apparently the first city official to come and solicit the gay community’s support during the course of his campaign.

That movie doesn’t argue that the gay community support was decisive, but it certainly was a big deal. It was the first time that a mainstream politician had solicited the support of the community as a community. So they put their backs into Connick’s election and he did get elected. It goes a long way towards me understanding why he is still a well-regarded figure among older generations of the community even though he has proven to be so controversial in the other areas of his career. How am I doing so far?

RM: You’re doing fine. You’re doing great. You referred to me in the third person which I thought was an interesting choice.

MM: Well, I don’t know who is listening. [Laughter]

RM: We’re not on the radio or whatever. The audience is just eavesdropping on our conversation so you can just talk to me.

MM: I see. Okay. I’ll stop talking about you in the third person. [Laughter] Randy, right over there, sitting right in front of me. I’m not real well-qualified to discuss The Sons of Tennessee Williams as a movie. You are or Randy is.

RM: [Laughter] Okay but I’m not a documentarian.

MM: No, but you are a filmmaker and in the world of film, I’m at most an actor. I’ve never occupied any other seat. What impressed me most about the movie as a movie is how much work Mr. Wolff plainly put into making it - lyrical is not too strong a word - making it lyrical, making it flow, inserting a lot of imagery and snatches of music, and artistry that the storytelling really didn’t require. He had fabulous archival footage of the krewes balls and very good street footage of old carnival parades, even dating prior to the ‘50s. He had good archival footage of the men that he was interviewing, still photos and videos both. It could easily have been simply “Here are some splendid old footage and here are the men today answering,” talking heads interviews. Tim Wolff did a great deal more with it than that.

RM: Yes. It’s funny, in the documentary community of New Orleans, there’s one towering figure who looms over, a fellow named Tim Watson, who’s got an editing, co-editing, assisting editing, extra editing credit on just I think almost every documentary we’ve ever seen in the city. The man is tireless and apparently likes to help first time filmmakers. He was the co-editor or additional editor on this film.

MM: Oh, I’m sure he must have helped a lot then.

RM: Yes. I was really impressed with that archival footage in terms of just, it’s not easy to get footage at all from the pre-video days. It was just so hard to film anything. You’d have to understand how to load magazines and you’d have to have a projector at home, and know how to process it, and all kinds of... It was just really difficult. People weren’t just running around with super 8 cameras and stuff. So the fact that the subjects of the doc had filmed all this stuff in the ‘60s is just really amazing window into life back then - especially some of the stuff of Miss Dixie’s bar.

MM: Miss Dixie’s bar is something I had actually heard of. That is a legend that had reached my ears prior to seeing this film.

RM: It’s on the corner of St. Peters and Bourbon, right?

MM: That sounds right. [00:10:00]

RM: I call that the four balconies corner. It’s the…

MM: Yes. I don’t know what’s there now. Through the ‘60s at least, Miss Dixie’s was the watering hole for gay men who were leading double lives, who were leading secret lives. It was where you went.

RM: It’s interesting. I wonder if the sort of gay section of Bourbon Street begins abruptly at St. Ann now, and I wonder if it had been pushed up the street a bit over the years.

MM: That’s possible. I’ve never heard anything to that effect.

RM: Or maybe it was more integrated back in the day.

MM: Yes, yes. I’ve never heard anything to that effect but I’d be more likely to suspect normal economic forces rather than a deliberate effort to push them. I mean, what difference is two or three blocks going to make? Just you never underestimate just the force of changing moirees... Conducting your life in secret became significantly less necessary after the ‘70s, certainly by the ‘80s. So places where you could hide and be yourself became less necessary as well.

RM: My brain just went to three places at once, so sorry.

MM: No, that’s all right.

RM: A Confederacy of Dunces has a giant subplot that ends in terms of basically the climax of the novel around the French Quarter’s gay community. My osmosis impression I’ve gotten from the 15 years I’ve been here is that New Orleans has always been a bit of a laissez faire Mecca where people didn’t have necessarily the societal pressure to live double lives within certain parameters so to speak. It’s interesting to me, it’s like you dig down a little bit through the history and there always seems to be a little bit of a cultural civil war in the city happening between a let-your-freak-flag-fly Downtown where there’s really low cost of living, where I call it America’s orphanage where every weirdo who didn’t fit in anywhere else in the country can come and find themselves, and we’re talking huge amounts of artists coming together in all kinds of unexpected ways and so on. Then you have a sort of conservative... I mean, I would like to believe it’s all outside the Parish Line but of course we know it’s not, that there’s a conservative element in the city as well, but then we’re the blue dot in a red state thing is this Creole city, what I’ve heard called the northernmost Caribbean port town…

MM: Right. Yes, that’s a good one.

RM: …as opposed to a Southern American city stuck in this white conservative state. That cultural push and pull seems to exist in every chapter of the city’s life that I found, although I can’t speak for the 1700s or whatever. It seems to have always been there. I’m curious how you... You’re not a born and raised native, right?

MM: No, I moved here in 2002.

RM: Okay, great. What’s your path here?

MM: Gosh, it lines up with what you’re saying. I had... I need to keep this brief. I had grown up in Minneapolis kind of Rosanne-style poor, white suburban trash poor, and did not really leave the confines of Minnesota but once through my 20s. A couple of things in my personal life happened to prompt this. I realized that if I ever wanted to get out and see the country without much money to do so, that if you go bumming around in your 20s, you’re a kid on a lark, but if you go bumming around on your 30s, people think you’re really a bum. So, I blew out with like $500.00 when I was 29.

RM: Just got in under the wire.

MM: Yes, just got it in under the wire. My route was primarily determined by where I knew people who would put me up. So it was a very erratic weird route around the country including Corpus Christi, Texas and Washington, D.C. and Knoxville, Tennessee and such like because those just happened to be places where I could find sofas. And it also included most notably Chicago and New Orleans which were the two of the cities that I fell in love with. I tried to settle in New Orleans first as part of that same trip after about four or five months on the road, on the Greyhound bus.

RM: No hitchhiking?

MM: No, no. I wasn’t that adventurous. It was kind of past hitchhiking’s heyday. The town whipped my ass and sent me home. I had to call Mommy for the emergency bus ticket. Went home for two or three years, licked my wounds. Came back to New Orleans when I was 34; the town whipped my ass a second time. [Laughter]

RM: Were these Mardi Gras ass whippings?

MM: These were your "unemployed and have no place to live and $10.00 in your pocket away from sucking cock in the French Quarter for loose change" ass whippings. This is not a town for the defenseless.

RM: Interesting. I mean they call it the Big Easy…

MM: That’s ridiculous. That’s always been ridiculous. It’s an easy place to visit, it’s a very hard place to live. Anyway, to finish my biography, I went back home a second time. The third time I left home... I’m messing up the timeline a little bit. The third time I left home, I decided to try Chicago rather than New Orleans, and that worked. That was the right throw weight for me and I lived there for 10 years until I was old enough to return to New Orleans and not quite be so readily getting into trouble as I was in my 20s and 30s.

RM: Were you acting, performing the whole way?

MM: No. I didn’t really start acting until I got to Chicago. I really did not make much of my time in my 20s. I didn’t take my life until I was in my mid-30s.

RM: Because Chicago is one of the great theater towns.

MM: Yes, and there I did a lot but again, I did not start in my 20s. I wasn’t acting while I was traveling. I started building an adult life once I got to Chicago. I lived there for nine years and then Eric and I came here.

RM: You didn’t meet him in Chicago?

MM: I did meet him in Chicago. Yes, we met in Chicago. He is a Southern boy. The only reason he was in Chicago was because that was where his career was. He was one of those guys who would go into the house in November and not come back out until April unless there was a running car waiting for him. He just couldn’t bear the winter.

RM: [Laughter] He’s like a hibernating bear.

MM: Yes, yes. So Chicago was a bad match for his temperature preferences. I just found and still find, as everybody does, New Orleans’ unique in the country. It just is - there is - it is one of a kind.

RM: To say the least.

MM: Yes. We were in the housing market down here. We could afford property down here; we couldn’t afford it in Chicago. There were a couple of other reasons as well. Primarily, it was still my first choice for home. I just was too young or too immature to do it the first times I tried to do it. Eric was totally ready to be somewhere else than Chicago.

RM: Did you have people in New Orleans to show you the ropes or…?

MM: No.

RM: You just came…

MM: No, at the end of…

RM: You’d been visiting off and on.

MM: We’re getting really into the weeds here. We made the decision to move here in ’99. Me being kind of feckless, and also by that time I had been in Chicago long enough that people were starting to offer me interesting projects, and that was hard to say no to. I was getting a little bit of a small circle reputation that although the decision to move was made in ’99, we didn’t actually make the move until 2002. People in Chicago tease me about my endless farewell tour, but we just kept delaying.

RM: [Laughter] I mean it worked for Cher.

MM: Yes, we just kept delaying the departure. That three-year delay did mean that I had time to research the city up, sideways, back and forth. I made a lot of online connections and did a lot of online research before we set our bags down here.

RM: The reason I’m asking for this context, I mean it’s also because I’ve never sat down and talked to you about this before…

MM: Yes. It’s a complicated story.

RM: …as a person but my experience is that I came here basically sight unseen to hang out with a very old friend at a time where I needed somebody who was like family because I just lost my family, and Mardi Gras just kind of hit me like Wile E. Coyote getting hit by a train from the right while he was looking left. I just didn’t know what was happening. It’s come up on a lot of these conversations about the sort of love-hate relationship people have with Mardi Gras. Some people are all about it. I mean it’s almost like a year-round thing for them, krewe memberships are like country clubs, and that kind of mentality I find where it’s very much a sort of caste system where everyone is talking about it. It’s also like an auspices for drama because you have hierarchy and it’s a lot of volunteers and there’s always money and dues and there’s all kinds of reasons for people to get butthurt, and they have different people who wield authority with different levels of competence and grace and so on. I mean I’m thinking of Nyx at the moment because of that whole thing, how Nyx has gone down in flames.

MM: Oh Nyx, yes. That’s an interesting story even to me and I don’t know a damn thing about Nyx. Yes, I have been following that.

RM: So, it’s interesting to me, I mean watching Sons of Tennessee Williams, how the importance of the validity of the krewe makes complete sense on a just basic self-preservation level as an oppressed minority with this police force raiding them all the time and publishing their names in the papers and stuff. Seeing how The Times-Picayune was complicit in this oppression made my stomach turn because I’m a former journalist. You’re supposed to hold the press to a higher standard and they were simply an instrument of public shaming in that era, which is just unconscionable.

MM: Right. Well, they weren’t the only ones.

RM: Yes. So the fact that you have this population forced to lead double lives being outed in the paper after the results of these ridiculously arbitrary raids on absurd morals charges, the fact that they were able to use Mardi Gras as a cover to legitimize themselves was fascinating to me because it’s kind of outside of the story of how Zulu was formed, it’s one of the few times I’ve ever heard of a krewe being formed for really a righteous and clever reason. You know what I mean?

MM: Yes. I want to stop on that just for a second and then go on to actually address what you’re talking about. I wish someone with - in fact, let me see if I can find someone - I wish someone with the cultural and historical chops to do so competently would do a comparison of the histories of Zulu which is much older than the histories of gay krewes and how they each serve the self-preservation purposes of the groups who founded them because it’s fascinating to me. That’s not what Sons of Tennessee Williams is about and it might even be offensive to try to compare the histories of the two different marginalized groups but holy hell, it would be interesting. This is me; this is not the movie. The one thing that I come back to again and again as an explanation, the essential explanation for New Orleans’ enduring mystique, let’s go with that, is the sense of license, the sense of permission. The cost of having that permission is, by and large, grinding poverty and miserable weather, and although it doesn’t seem so much that this is the case during the pandemic, insanely bad politics and ownership by the extraction industries, the oil and gas and cancer industries. And in exchange for putting all up with all of that, utilities that don’t work…

RM: Infrastructure.

MM: …infrastructure from a bubblegum machine, is that you get to do what you want. I don’t know that I’m leading to a point here. When I was still waiting tables, it’s been thankfully a piece of time now because I stopped being good at it and I kept doing it for a couple of years after I stopped being good at it, but people would ask me for, “Where should we go? What should we see?” There was one night I was chatting up a particularly lively crowd at Irene’s and one of the women said, “Well, what do you think people come here for?” I said, “Well, I think they don’t come for the food or the music or the architecture or the river or anything else. I think they come to get in a memorable but manageable amount of trouble. They don’t want to spend the night in the OPP but they do want to get into enough trouble to have a good story to tell when they’re sitting in their rocking chair.”

RM: That’s so funny, yes. First of all, I want to repeat that because that was just perfect, the “A memorable but manageable amount of trouble.” That sounds like a hip-hop lyric from Hamilton or something.

MM: Yes. That is what the city is for.

RM: That should be on the license plates here. [Laughter]

MM: [Laughter] “Come to Louisiana for memorable but manageable trouble.”

RM: Oh, I mean New Orleans specifically. After we have blown the bridges and become our own fiefdom or whatever. To your point, I think that whole idea of taking that memorable but manageable trouble back to their city to tell the story later is one of the big eureka moments I had in this city, and led directly to the creation of “Laundry Day,” was first the observation of like, “Wow, people are really good storytellers here.” Then it was like the second observation, “Oh, so much of these good stories are incidents that happened that they stumbled into that were in the street, that are in public spaces, bars or outside music clubs or onstage or whatever.” Then it occurred to me that like people basically come here and their tourism money is spent to create stories because what I call the homogenization of America, the loss of unique regional culture in this country by the Walmarts and strip malls and so forth, the mass corporate takeover of the country that has just eroded.

Every city now seems to have like a three-block historical district that everyone takes a walking tour for 15 minutes and then it’s like let’s go to Applebee’s or whatever afterwards. I think the hunger, the feeling of alienation that’s created in people where let’s say they’re a regular 9 to 5, like Friday is karaoke night and Tuesday is watching - or Sunday is watching Game of Thrones night or whatever they’re doing, they’re doing it in this consumerist pattern that is just not fulfilling any kind of feeling of community. Community is deep in our ancestral DNA. I mean, community is how we survived our early days as a species. The alienation from the sense of community created by modern capitalism is part of what drives people to New Orleans, I think. It’s like people come here and they come away and they feel closer to their friends and they feel bonded and they feel like they’ve been touched with something deep and they laughed most of the time when they weren’t crying or being robbed or whatever. And they have great stories. Even if they’re getting robbed, they sometimes get great stories out of that.

It’s something primordial, that feeling of like, oh, the stories we tell are such a vital fabric and just the churn of downtown, especially the Quarter, the Marigny, the kind of French Quarter/St. Claude areas are so rife with the churn of interesting kinds of people mixing in. I’ve always loved border towns, border communities. Places where the brackish water of culture is coming together have always been my favorite places. So I think why I’ve always kind of spent most of my time in the city downtown is because every bar that I like to hang out in is like a quasi, it’s a multi-hyphenated kind of bar. It’s like you look down the stools, there’d be two bikers arguing about Motörhead next to a gay couple having an anniversary next to the bartenders’ like three boyfriends next to two tourists from Cincinnati wearing beads out of season and holding hand grenades like who are confused because they’re looking for the Katrina museum which doesn’t exist or whatever.

That melting pot quality of like normally there’d be like a gay bar or a biker bar or a tourism bar, but suddenly, all of these cultures are clashing and they’re all forced to interact with each other in this interesting way of service industry, the stripper, sex worker culture, you have the musicians... They’re all forced to negotiate and come to terms with each other as people and as fellow members of their communities, no one is allowed to stay in a bubble here, or at least in the areas that I like to hang out in. That is where the great clashes come and the great stories come out of. I think it’s also where we learn about ourselves and where we learn about the broader worlds. So in a way, like New Orleans for all its unhealthiness on a physical level, is super healthy emotionally and spiritually.

MM: I hope so.

RM: Compared to Cincinnati. No offense, Cincinnati. My dad is from Cincinnati.

MM: One of the things that was most interesting to me about Sons of Tennessee Williams and it goes to what you’re talking about although kind of by the side door, and again I think that this is probably me bringing something to the table rather than something that was already prepared sitting there. I’ve listened to it very closely because it’s promotional material. It’s presentation of itself. It talks very much about the establishment of the gay krewes in the ‘60s as linked to the larger, perhaps even a model of the larger gay civil rights movement. That is very much part of the argument that it makes for itself. If you listen carefully to the film - and no disrespect intended to the film; it’s quite lovely as it is - that’s just not there. Stonewall is namechecked, the AIDS crisis in the ‘80s is namechecked, the Reagan years, Katrina is a little bit more than name-checked, but the connective tissue between the gay experience in New Orleans and the gay experience in other cities and in the culture overall is never presented. I think it’s never presented because it doesn’t really exist. [00:30:00]

RM: That’s interesting.

MM: Again, I want to emphasize that’s probably me bringing my prejudices to the table.

RM: I wonder if that was an honest mistake or if it was just a question of focus perhaps.

MM: I don’t think it’s either an honest mistake or a question of focus. I think you just want to be able to tell people who you hope will consider looking at your movie that something that they want to hear in order to get them to look at it. New Orleans has a heart, and I’m not talking about the gay community here specifically. I’m talking about the city as a city or the state of mind as a state of mind. New Orleans has a hard time copping to its insularity. We are a closed system. [Laughter]

RM: That statement pulled me up because I love the insularity. That’s my favorite part of the city.

MM: Yes, but then when it comes to justifying our existence - again, I’m speaking in very broad terms or generic but when it comes to justifying our existence, we feel that we have to point to, oh, we’ve had a big influence over here or we’re very connected over here or we’re a significant part of this history right here. We’re not. [Laughter] We’re a little island of insularity and license.

RM: That’s so interesting, yes.

MM: Most of the progress or lack of progress, most of the forward motion or the backward motion that the country and the community and the cultures have experienced as a whole has nothing to do with us, and we had nothing to do with it.

RM: Yes, no, exactly. Again, I love that. That’s like my favorite thing.

MM: I think we may as well admit it. [Laughter] We’re not a key player in the history of the gay civil rights in America. We’re just not. [Laughter]

RM: It’s so funny because there’s - I just thought of all this - Ken Burns’ jazz documentary talks extensively about the life of Louis Armstrong who was obviously born and raised here, was an orphan, was on the streets, was taken into a Jewish home, wore a Star of David on his neck until he died, but he couldn’t make a living really until he moved to New York and Chicago.

MM: If you are egotistical enough or confident enough, whatever you want to call it, vain enough, crazy enough to think that you have something to say that the world needs to hear, you can’t say it from here. You can’t say it from here. I mean, no metaphor is perfect but I’ll go to this. What makes New Orleans special in so many people’s hearts is that it doesn’t connect to the rest of the world, and we may as well stop claiming that we do.

RM: I mean honestly, it’s like our culture - it’s trend-proof, it’s fad-proof. It doesn’t have these clear - you know, you show a random photo from The Times-Picayune or from anybody’s scrapbook and unless you can tell by the quality of the paper the photo’s on, you can’t tell what era it’s from really. There’s a deep cultural persistence here that has resisted American influence. I think that a lot of that is the historical protectionism of the architecture and the zoning has done a lot to basically discourage predatory capitalists.

MM: It hasn’t been very successful. [Laughter]

RM: Well, that’s just the dream -

MM: We lost - I know what you mean. I do know what you mean, but we’ve lost 90% of our historically important jazz buildings.

RM: Yes. And the Hard Rock Hotel is sitting on a civil rights monument.

MM: In strictly acting terms, I do not remember who first said this to me, but when I first came to New Orleans in 2002 again, and as I say I had made some introductions prior to my arrival, there were a few people I knew by email at the time, not by social media, to have a cup of coffee with, and I just can’t even tell you how often - well, I can. Three times. Three times in the first two or three months I was here because - and I was not any sort of named performer coming out of Chicago. I had simply worked there for eight or nine years in a fairly small pool. Three times I heard variations of “Why would you come to this backwater?” from people who lived here and from people who were making art here. These were not office workers; these were other artists. “Why would you come to this backwater?”

I will admit I didn’t say it in my original statement but it was part of my motivations. I’d had a couple of setbacks in Chicago. There was one solo show up there that I did in particular which I thought was going to be my best ever work. As it turns out, it wasn’t; I subsequently did better work. But it was very good. I toured it. I did a tour and my tour led to a couple of different cities and I lost thousands of dollars. At that point, I had been doing it long enough that I didn’t throw a major tantrum, but I did say, “All right, you’re not going to ever break through commercially. That’s not what you do. So, if you’re doing it for love rather than for money, you can do it from anywhere.” A big reason for my - and again, it still took me three years to fold up my tent, but a big reason for me wrapping it up in Chicago and coming down here besides preferring to be here is that I gave up on my professional ambitions. I continued making work but I just didn’t think - I gave up thinking I was ever going to make a living at it.

RM: That’s so interesting because you’re the most prolific performer in the city as far as I can tell.

MM: Yes, but I clean things. I don’t make a living at it.

RM: Yes, I know. It’s interesting, the economics. Putting that aside for a sec though, I wanted to - one of the things I admire most about you is that you have such - you never stopped trying. You’re not one of those once-a-year-do-a-thing kind of people that there’s a lot of in this town, where they have one signature production and that’s kind of all they do. You have an openness to going out for things that would not seem like an obvious fit or whatever, [laughter] and you go for every kind of medium like music videos, theater productions, drag. Every aspect of theater has had your fingerprints on it.

MM: I have a very low amusement threshold. [Laughter] I do want to try to - I don’t want to talk about myself more than I absolutely have to. Sometime in the transfer from Chicago to New Orleans, I don’t remember if it was here or there, but somebody knowledgeable said to me in vis-à-vis the different tone between the cities. They said Chicago is where you go if you want to master your craft as perfectly as you can. Los Angeles is where you go if you want to make money. New York is where you go if you feel like you need to speak to the world.

RM: Interesting.

MM: Yes. And New Orleans is not on that list. [Laughter]

RM: Theater is a - it’s an artform that requires a little bit more control than the city is kind of comfortable with. Theater productions have to be done on like a kind of collective willpower together.

MM: I have no idea how the theater scene is going to survive here. Again, and I’m probably projecting, but in the extended segments of archival footage of the balls in The Sons of Tennessee Williams, especially the backstage preparation stuff and the rehearsal stuff, the costume-making, the gown-making, and also in the interviews, less so in the interviews, I feel like I watch it and I feel like there’s a sense in which these men, none of whom I could name by name. They were all really delightful to spend time with but I wouldn’t be able to say Sam said this and Fred said that.

RM: I was going to ask you if you knew any of them.

MM: No, I actually don’t. I am more disconnected from the broad community than I seem to be.

RM: Well, I didn’t recognize them either and I wasn’t sure if they had picked three people because they were average or because they were exceptional. I wasn’t sure where they fit into their own communities.

MM: I don’t know. I’m not part of the krewe community. I got the sense that there is a level on which they realize that what they’re doing is silly. That might again be projecting my attitudes onto them. They may feel no such thing. But there is just an inherent silliness that is either off-putting if you’re in a bad mood or endearing and ennobling if you’re in a good mood because they are just so intent on making this silly thing as complete and beautiful as possible. [00:40:00]

RM: Yes. I could sense some of the people had different - agendas isn’t the right word but a lot of those people had - they were getting different things out of it. Some people were going... like there were several off-hand jabs, I guess you’d say, where you heard one of the fussier people in the costuming backstage saying, “Oh, we’re not going for camp, honey,” like camp was like a dirty word. Or like, “We’re done with the whole camp thing,” or whatever. And you get the sense that there are some people who are in it for the laughs. It’s all satirical for them. There are other people who are like, “No, this is Miss America. We’re going to make this as serious and humorless as Miss America is.” Then other people are doing it for like self-expression reasons. Or like that person whose first time it was and all that. So it seems like there’s a lot of ways you can come at it.

MM: Yes. There’s never one reason for anyone doing anything. There’s usually a multiplicity of reasons.

RM: Can I ask you -

Respondent: Let me just toss this in the mic and then yes. In what is my new favorite quote, I only encountered it about three years ago although I’m sure he said it 30 years ago, Kurt Vonnegut Jr. said apropos of what, I don’t know - he said, “We were put on this Earth to fart around, and don’t let anyone tell you different.” [Laughter]

RM: Kurt Vonnegut is the best.

MM: The krewe system, the ball system, gay or not gay, is just magnificent farting around. It just really is.

RM: Some of it gives me the creeps. The uptown balls, like that whole debutante thing is chilling to me. There’s a great documentary called “By Invitation Only” where a young debutante who was not into it was forced to do it, and so she filmed it all and made a documentary kind of without permission, and it’s like these secret balls that like…

MM: I’ll have to see if I can track this down.

RM: I’ve got a link. I’ll share it with you if you want it; it’s great. Really, it’s almost like a cattle call, the way they do it in that context. Very much a kind of parading our daughters to the highest bidder kind of thing. I wonder what your relationship with Mardi Gras is in general. Did you…

MM: I’ve usually worked. I’ve really only been out of the hospitality industry about two years.

RM: Right. Just on a personal level.

MM: On a personal level, I mean, it had meant a huge amount to me when I first visited in the ‘80s of course, that I had the same shock that everybody has when they encounter Mardi Gras for the first time. Since I didn’t return to the city until I was deep into my 40s, I am one of those guys who is wary of the most crowded situations unless I’m entertaining guests. So I will go out on Mardi Gras Day and a couple of the neighborhood parades.

RM: You said you don’t belong to a krewe.

MM: No, no. I did for one year and it was kind of, as you said, politics-ridden and expensive and I didn’t stick with it.

RM: I think you’re just not a joiner type.

MM: I think that’s probably true. Most of my life is so internal that in a serious way I don’t know why I want to be in New Orleans because I could do what I do anywhere. But I do want to be in New Orleans even if I don’t particularly connect with what makes it most valuable. Gay Easter Parade is way more big a deal to me. That’s the throwaway that - I’d like to use that expression again.

RM: [Laughter] The Keister parade.

MM: Yes, the Gay Easter parade is the level of public celebration that I’m comfortable with, not the enormity of Mardi Gras. The neighborhood parades, the day itself, a couple of other things, those I’ll enjoy. Honestly, a better answer is simply that I usually worked. I was usually working through Mardi Gras so I didn’t enjoy much of it whether I was trying to or not. The first carnival after Katrina sticks in my mind. That was very special.

RM: Yes. I moved here about six months after that.

MM: Yes. That was probably actually the last one that I was fully part of for the entirety of it. Since then, it’s been hit and miss depending on my job schedule.

RM: I’ve been told by many people that that was the best Mardi Gras ever.

MM: It was.

RM: It had almost no tourism. It was all locals and everyone had a deep appreciation for life.

MM: Yes. It got through even to me and as you pointed out, I tend to be pretty removed for most of it. The thing I want to say since this is where we started from is, for anyone who is listening to this, is that Sons of Tennessee Williams is just a deeply lovely movie, and very manifestly the work of one man’s dedication. It doesn’t make the case that the gay Mardi Gras krewes had an effect beyond the boundaries of New Orleans. At least, I don’t think it does.

RM: Yes, I don’t think it’s trying to, really.

MM: No, but it doesn’t need to make that case to justify you spending time with it.

RM: Yes, exactly. The whole idea of having to justify the movie or justify New Orleans’ existence to the outside world I think is an absurd question because you don’t need to justify things like that.

MM: Right. We celebrate our insularity. [Laughter]

RM: We’re a culture onto ourselves and that has given us a great resourcefulness as a community and a great strength as a culture. There are people talking about the roots going deep here. It’s entirely because of that insularity. It’s not a life for everyone.

MM: Right, no. Whenever anyone says to me, “I think it’s time to go,” I say to them, “You’re probably right.” Anyone who is starting to think that this town is too difficult to live in is almost always correct. I don’t ever urge anyone who is feeling trepidatious about it to stay. It’s very hard.

RM: Someone said to me, “I feel like I have to leave,” and I said, “Go with your feelings.”

MM: Yes, yes, yes. I mean I tried to live here twice as I said when what was theoretically the prime of my life. I just sent home with my ass. [Laughter]

RM: Do you find the theater work here more fulfilling, more diverse, or more eclectic?

MM: This sounds like a cop-out but it’s an apples-to-oranges. I create so much of my own projects that that’s not really - with the exception of Noises Off six months ago, eight months ago, it had been ages since I had been cast in a main stage production, the existence of which I wasn’t responsible for.

RM: So I got a question that has - this is one of the top three most common questions about Laundry Day. People love your performance in it. They always want to know this. I tell them how you took that character and made it your own...

MM: [Laughter] I don’t think I did a very good job for you but okay.

RM: You did great. People always say, like, why French Canadian?

MM: I don’t know. Because I’m terrible at accents. I don’t even remember if I remember my rationale anymore because that was however many years ago.

RM: "Trente Sous" - it had something to do with…

MM: Trente Sous Serge. Why did I approach it that way? I am going to say - and I might be rewriting my history. I could well be rewriting my history because it seems to me that I had a more substantial reason than this. In retrospect, I believe my basic reason was that I thought it would be funnier. I don’t know that it was more than that, that if I was playing a downtrodden dandy who everybody kind of amusedly put up with, that some kind of phony French accent was called for, and that I would have an escape hatch in that I wouldn’t be very good at it because it would be as performative I guess as his outfit.

RM: Right. But I was going to say he wasn’t a dandy until you took the role.

MM: True. I never did meet or see the man that you modeled him on.

RM: Oh, he’s still around. Although in the pandemic I don’t know, but he was still around when this…

MM: Yes, I wasn’t happy about that anyways, you know. I didn’t want to play a close inspiration to anyone who is still alive.

RM: Yes. I thought you were dead-on correct to bring that up because it’s one of those weird oversights, but in the panic into production and all the juggling of things, I completely forgot to change his name. So, you caught that oversight for me and did me a huge favor by coming up with this, creating the story, backstory, new name, everything.

MM: Yes, it was totally from need. I found Trente-Sous as a small coin first, went to Serge from that, and then built out from - I essentially built...

RM: Oh, yes, because he is Two Quarters George, so right, from quarters to Trente and then, George to Serge.

MM: Yes. I basically built out the character’s look and voice from his name. [Laughter] I started -

RM: You’ll be happy to know no one’s ever said that guy really knocked me out of the movie or too over-the-top or whatever. You can fit right in the fabric of that film. [Laughter]

MM: That’s good. Because I look at it and it seems very fakey to me, but he is a fakey guy so that’s probably why.

RM: There were a lot of performative types in it.

MM: Yes, exactly.

RM: People love to walk up and down the street, you know. That movie has become a time capsule. It’s got Uncle Lionel on the background at one shot and Mr. Okra and Amzie Adams.

MM: Every time I see Veronica [Russell, who passed unexpectedly in 2014], I stare for a moment.

RM: Yes. That was heartbreaking. That was just out of nowhere.

MM: Yes.

RM: On that note, thank you so much.

MM: It was a pleasure.

RM: Thank you for talking about this great movie, bringing it to my attention. Listeners can watch the film on Vimeo On Demand; that seems to be the best version out there. It’s a $3 rental and it’s HD quality.

MM: Yes. It’s also available in iTunes indefinitely. Its time on Vimeo might be limited, I’m not sure.

RM: Okay, cool.

MM: So, iTunes is a backup.

RM: Thank you so much.

MM: My pleasure. Thank you.

RM: Subscribe. Rate. Review. Tell your friends, et cetera. [Music]

-END-

Sunday, April 12, 2020

This blog, started ten years after blogging was cool, has been converted into a podcast, which will launch ten years after podcasting was cool, i.e. very soon.

http://www.armakproductions.com/ENC/