Scatter the Stars, page 17
There was a bookshop, Classica, a few blocks west that carried ‘serious books’. Ariel headed straight there, charged a large sum to her credit card and carried home several out of print second-hand tomes about the world’s greatest lover. No harm in being informed before the battle. If Randy could make an impression on the esteemed Ms Jordan, she might even consider hanging an entire project on him. Too bad this version of Casanova hadn’t come up in Randy’s heyday. There’d been no bigger star than Randy Storm. With his devastating looks, he would have been perfect.
Like Warren Beatty and Jack Nicholson, after thirty years the wild boy of Hollywood had metamorphosed into a thoughtful, peaceful man, while still retaining the impish humour as well as his unique casual down-to-earth Aussie manner. Ariel just had to convince people like Julie and the Jordan woman that Randy was no has-been. Like Beatty and Nicholson, he was a man coming into the bloom of his life. Her biggest challenge would be winning over Ms Jordan whom, industry gossip had it, was the witch of all bitches. She rang Pat Jordan.
They exchanged brief pleasantries, with Ms Jordan explaining again that she would prefer to meet face to face. Ariel swiftly and tactfully moved around her opponent’s argument ending with, ‘So Pat, I’m keen to know about this new project.’
‘Yes, this is a bit of a different project for me. A new TV challenge.’
‘This is a TV project? A big budget? How many hours?’
‘Maybe three and a bit. Like the Oscars. However, I’m doing it with a difference. Hence my keenness to find people like Randy. Our lost stars.’
‘So who will play the mature Casanova? You understand I’m looking for a major role for Randy. He’s at an interesting stage of his life. I believe he has never been seen to full advantage.’ Ariel stopped, smiling at the intake of breath at the other end of the phone line. ‘How do you know about that picture? It’s barely onto the drawing board. I’m contacting you about Randy appearing in a television special.’
‘’Scuse me? I think we’re talking at cross purposes here. Just exactly what did you have in mind for Randy?’
‘I’ve been asked to produce a special television extravaganza for the launch of the new Foreshore Studios in Sydney. It will be the biggest film studio complex in the southern hemisphere. Part of the launch will be a sequence of Where Are They Now? People who were key players in the Australian film industry, like . . .’
‘Stop right there! No way! God, I’ve seen those things. He’s not doing it. “Whatever happened to” . . . give me a break.’
‘It’s not what you think, this is different . . .’
‘Oh, spare me,’ snapped Ariel. ‘Listen, let me tell you about Randy Storm. He’s no has-been, he has in fact evolved into an amazing man. He’ll surprise you, he could be fantastic in any picture you’re doing. Forget some network special . . .’
‘Ms Margoles . . . I don’t know how you found out about the Casanova film which, at the moment, is only a proposed concept. But I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it to yourself. As for my TV special, Foreshore Studios is a vast and important complex, they are lavishing mega dollars into its launch. Major stars including Tom Cruise, Keanu Reeves and Robin Williams are participating. I would have thought this would be a unique opportunity to present Randy again. If he is, as you say, changed.’ Ice droplets froze on her voice and Ariel caught herself. Hell, some agent she was, attacking a director with prospective work.
‘Okay, already. Listen I don’t mean to offend you. Tell me a bit more.’
‘Randy was one of the actors in the Australian film industry at the start of the fifties, and he went on to become one of the most popular actors of all time. That’s why this production will include a tribute to him. The special will start by showing the world that the film industry had its beginnings in Australia. Then it will look to the future, launching the most technologically advanced film studios the world has ever seen – on the foreshores of Sydney Harbour. Already the major production companies are negotiating to take advantage of the cost-cutting to make future productions there.’
‘Yeah, I can believe it. All very interesting.’
Sensing Ariel’s impatience, Pat Jordan returned to the subject of Randy Storm. ‘As you know better than anyone, Randy Storm was one of only a few Australian actors to break through in a big way in Hollywood . . .’
‘The world you mean,’ interjected Ariel.
‘Yes. We’ve had to wait for Mel Gibson to come along to make that big an impact . . .’
Ariel cut in. ‘He’s American. He was twelve when his family moved to Australia.’
‘We like to claim him as our own,’ said Pat Jordan tersely. ‘He learned his craft here. He keeps a toehold here.’ She didn’t add, unlike Randy, who hadn’t been back to Australia for decades.
Ariel heard the unspoken inference and sprang quickly to his defence. ‘You’re probably too young to remember, but Randy went back in the sixties intending to set up a studio for Australian actors and get the industry out of the doldrums and they treated him like shit. Australia can’t stand its own people being successful.’
‘I won’t argue with that.’ Pat Jordan had suffered the slights of being a tall poppy. ‘This is a chance for him to set the record straight. In his own words. This is not just a two-minute gig as a presenter in a tuxedo. I’d like to make a documentary about him for the Australian film archives plus show an edited version of it on the night.’
‘Umm. Could be a good chance for him to, as you say, set the record straight, if you allow him to say what he thinks. But frankly we’re not into looking backwards. Randy still has a lot of good work in him. Work he’s never been given the chance to show he’s capable of doing.’ Ariel spoke with some passion. It was not just the conviction of a dedicated agent, but a woman who realised she might be able to trade a TV show for what she really wanted for Randy, the role in Casanova.
Pat Jordan heard the heat in her voice. Maybe there was something to what this agent was saying. No agent who wanted to stay in business would push so hard for an alcoholic dropout.
‘Ms Margoles, I will be in the US next month. In the meantime, I have a woman in Los Angeles who’s setting up the research for me. She’s a script doctor, a very good story editor. I expect the best from her.’
Ariel resisted the temptation to blurt out the name of Julie’s friend, Janie Callendar. Might get the gal in hot water if Pat Jordan thought she’d been tricked into revealing she was working on the secret film project.
‘Sure. What does she want to know?’ Ariel asked innocently.
‘I’d like her to meet Randy. She’ll need to spend enough time with him to get his story down properly, including the bits he might not want to remember. This’ll be a true story. I’m not whitewashing him. If he’s as together these days as you say, then it won’t matter, will it? Janie will also be sourcing film clips, newsreel footage from the earlier days et cetera and he might be able to help her locate that.’
Check him out in other words, thought Ariel. ‘Great. I think she’ll find that a fascinating experience, and very rewarding. I’ll be happy to arrange it. Randy is living in Southern California.’
‘Fantastic, I’ll look forward to seeing what she comes up with. Thanks for your time. I’ll send you details of the Foreshore Studios launch. Goodbye.’ Pat Jordan hung up and drew a breath. She was used to being the strong one in any dealings. But Ariel Margoles hadn’t allowed her an inch. Oh well, Janie could persuade him to do the TV special, if Ariel proved a problem. But she sure wasn’t having any no-longer-a-name actor like Randy Storm in what she intended to be the biggest movie success of the year for 1999.
Ariel was thinking the same thing. If there were to be any dealings with this director in the future, she’d have to curb her natural response to push her out of the ring like two sumo wrestlers facing each other off.
She decided not to mention the Casanova project to Randy until things were clearer. These days, he had such an easygoing approach to life that he’d probably tell her to forget it, not to waste her time and his by chasing after a film role he was unlikely to get. But she knew he’d agree grudgingly to the TV special, if she urged him hard enough. And that would be her trump card. Ms Jordan was not going to get Randy for one without the other. Randy might have come to terms with his life, but Ariel had not. For her there remained unfinished business – to show the world what Randy Storm today was capable of achieving on screen.
Two days later Janie Callendar phoned Ariel. Pat Jordan’s researcher sounded pleasant, intelligent and low key. These days Randy had little tolerance for aggressive women, and he laughed at full-on feminists. If someone was going to dig through his past, a gentle approach would reap more than pushy assertiveness.
‘So can you arrange for me to meet with him? Did Pat tell you I’ll need a couple of sessions? Does Mr Storm have a secretary who could provide me with early biographical material from his press clippings et cetera about his days in the Australian radio and film industries as well as his Hollywood . . . ?’
‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ Ariel cut across the researcher’s questions. Thorough they might be, but applied to carefree live-for-the-moment Randy, who’d never bothered keeping press clippings let alone copies of his films, or even old photos, they sounded ridiculous. ‘This is a look at his professional life, right? No raking up the personal stuff, a lot of which is sheer bullshit that has become legend, not fact.’
‘Of course not. Colourful and fascinating as it is, that’s not the purpose of this profile. As you can imagine, Patricia Jordan wouldn’t touch anything like that with a barge pole. She’s very protective of the actors she works with, as I’m sure you know.’
Ariel couldn’t vouch for that. All she’d heard on the industry grapevine was that the Australian director was dictatorial with crews and, while being a perfectionist might add subtleties to a performance, she often drove her actors to frustrated tantrums, making them do up to forty takes of a scene. Details, not noticeable on the big screen, had sometimes caused massive cost over-runs. Her reputation said arrogance. A thirty-something foreign female telling a fifty-something Hollywood director of photography how to frame his shots had caused instant revolt around the studios. Rather than let actors experiment or improvise, she directed every nuance, every inflection, every expression. Her last star had crashed off the set after a gruelling session of re-takes screaming that she wanted a fucking puppet, not an actor. But Pat Jordan was unshaken. She believed she was an auteur and her vision of the whole picture was the glue that made it work. She would not be swayed from the view that her direction was pivotal from the first words on the page to the premiere. Flexible she was not. But there was no denying her passion and commitment. She did not take on just any film. She’d hit a brick wall with her first Hollywood feature, successful though it had been, because she’d lost control to the bean counters and studio executive ‘suits’ and she was determined to do it her way next time around.
‘How well do you know Ms Jordan? Why did she pick you?’ asked Ariel bluntly.
Janie Callendar laughed. ‘You don’t beat around the bush, do you? I enjoy being thorough. I’m a good researcher. But I’m best at script doctoring. I provide the overview to a first draft script. The story might be there, but how it’s structured mightn’t work. I just have an eye for putting the pieces together in a visual style.’
Ariel untied the scarf from her hair and let her wild curls spring free. It was a kind of release, reflecting a sense of satisfaction at what she heard. ‘I understand. Good. I’ll call Randy and set it up. He’s living up the coast a bit, near some little neck of the woods called Ojai. I’ll get you directions.’
‘I know Ojai, it’s . . .’
But Ariel was moving on. ‘So we have Plan A and Plan B.’
‘We do?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Let me tell you what they are.’
‘Please do.’ Janie sounded bemused. This is what it must be like having an agent run your life.
‘Plan A is the TV studios project. Including a re-launch of Randy in his home country. I assume he’ll be given the appropriate treatment. I can go over the accommodation, security, fees details with Ms Jordan. But I’d like to see the industry down there present him with some kind of prestigious acknowledgement of his contribution to the industry. That’s where you can help. Don’t they have some kind of medal, or prize? I know the Aussies don’t curtsy to the Queen any more, but those knighthood deals like the Congressional Medal of Honor, surely they have something they could thump on his lapel.’ Ariel was off and running. ‘Maybe there should be a film scholarship, a building or whatever in his name. I mean what is this Foreshore Studio doing? Maybe one of the sound stages could be named after him. Hell! I should go out there and set this up. He’s a forgotten man in his own country. He’s better known here.’
Ariel spoke with passion and Janie realised here was more than just an agent pushing a client. She obviously felt strongly about Randy.
‘All that’s probably true,’ said Janie mildly. ‘What’s Plan B?’
‘This Casanova film you’re working on. I think . . .’
‘Pat told you about that?’ Janie sounded surprised.
‘No. I have my own network. Let’s be candid here, Janie. I believe Randy has yet to play his biggest scene. The role of Casanova in his later years is perfect. Opens up a new career for him.’
‘At his age? Does he want this?’
‘Once an actor, always an actor. He wants it.’ Because I want it, she muttered to herself. ‘So what’s the deal? Do you see a role for him in Casanova?’
Janie couldn’t help herself and she burst out laughing. ‘You are some agent! I’ll keep it in mind. Don’t you think my meeting Randy would be a start?’ she reminded Ariel.
‘Psshaw, damn sure it would. The man is magic. Now remember, it’s Plan B we’re looking at. Plan A is just your bonus that goes with it! You’ll soon forget all that past stuff when you see him today. Beautiful. A beautiful man. I’ll talk to him and get right back to you, I promise.’
Janie hung up and took a deep breath. Had she just been run over by a train or what?
‘Randy, son of a gun. I want you to hear me out. Don’t say no till you do. Okay?’
‘Ariel, my love,’ he interrupted her. ‘You sound like the Ariel of yesteryear. When we were wild and young. What’s up?’
‘We were, weren’t we? Wild and young. Hell, I feel no different.’
‘You’re not. That’s what scares me. Don’t tell me you’ve found me a movie role just when I was enjoying myself.’
‘Not exactly. And I don’t want you to think it’s all over . . . because they’re putting together a tribute to your career . . .’
‘Oh, shit. That sounds bad. Just who and for what?’
She filled him in on Pat Jordan’s studio launch. She decided to hold off on Plan B. ‘So whaddya think? I don’t like it when you go quiet.’
‘It’s called breathing, Ariel. It’s what I try to do in the instants between when you talk. I’m trying to take it in. They’ve waited long enough to do this. I figured my obituary could wait until I’d carked it. But at this stage in my life, I don’t like to think I’m either dead or have one foot in the grave.’
‘You’re gonna be there, baby. Smiling and looking terrific. Maybe I should come too. I’ve always wanted to see Australia. You’ll need me, I should definitely be there.’
Randy was trying to analyse the reaction stirring inside him. While he was laughing at Ariel, he was surprised at the old feelings that were rising; fear, anger, bitterness, a jaded sense of . . . well . . . finally, they’re acknowledging what I did, he thought. ‘Who’s doing this? Are we sure it’s going to be done with – class? I made a few dog movies along the way.’
‘My first question too. Let me fill you in on Pat Jordan, the young Australian director. Though a researcher called Janie Callendar is the key in LA.’
Janie glanced at the paintings as she was led through the sitting room and saw what appeared to be a large study filled with art. That’s right, there’d been a reference to Randy studying art in his early days. Did he still paint, she wondered?
She had been expecting an older man. After the life he’d led, she thought he’d be more . . . raddled. This guy was attractive. No dyed hair, no overly white teeth in a fake suntan. The good looks were still there, and he was kind of rugged. Like she imagined those Australian outback cowboy types would look at his age. Though she doubted this guy had done anything more strenuous than lift a glass in twenty years. The crooked smile and liquid brown eyes came straight off the old movie posters. Ariel Margoles was right. He still had oomph.
‘G’day Janie, welcome. May I call you Janie? You don’t look like a Janie, though. Sit down and what would you like to drink?’
‘Anything cool – a soft drink. Why don’t I look like a Janie?’
‘Such a plain name. And you’re lovely. Far too pretty to be a Janie. Jonquil maybe. Y’know those flowers? Beautiful perfume, they’re little daffodils. But prettier. That’s you.’
Dear God, he’s flirting with me, she thought. And loved it. ‘My mother was the pragmatic type. She wouldn’t have named a child Jonquil.’
‘Wasn’t into flower power, huh?’ He judged her to be in her thirties. And she was cute.
She pulled out of her shoulder bag a notebook, pen and tape recorder. ‘Now as you probably know, Pat Jordan is . . .’
‘Whoa. Hold on. Do we have to do this in ten minutes? Let’s get to know each other first. I understood this was to be “in depth”. If you want to get it all straight, don’t rush.’
‘Fine. Of course. But you understand this is not a personal profile. We are looking at the body of your work. What influenced you, how you got the breaks, the roles you’re most proud of and so on. It’s not Sixty Minutes.’
‘Yeah. You wouldn’t be here if it was. Interesting you mention that. I have another new pal scraping around in my past. Wants to do a TV special.’
