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TRICKSTERS AND HUCKSTERS: SHOW BIZ ARCHETYPES
by Addison De Witt
“The Diva” Part I
I think we can all agree that "Diva" is a word thrown about too easily these days. An appellation once reserved for certified drama queens like Maria Callas and Leontyne Pryce is now carelessly applied to bubble-gum pop-stars and sit-com actresses. My dictionary describes "diva" in its common usage as "a leading woman singer, esp. in grand opera." But the word itself is derived from "divinity" (or the Latin "divinitas'); in other words, divine, or god-like. And what an apt description, Dear Reader, of the world-famous singing superstar into whose grandly operatic orbit I found myself briefly spun a few short years ago. What I was to learn, to my endless fascination, is that even a genuine Diva can have feet of clay. James Hillman, in Kinds of Power, writes that "...a charismatic person is one blessed with grace given by the Gods...Charisma may fall on anyone, even on those in whom the ability to lead and to bear authority are woefully absent, thereby deceiving followers who cannot distinguish mastery from magic." (P. 172) Something told me, as I embarked on my adventure in Divahood, that I'd better keep a diary...
1994: The project I'm invited to write is a remake of a timeless classic which would have no hope of getting produced if not for the fact that The Diva has spread her special brand of fairy dust upon us by agreeing to star in it. With her Diva-ness thus attached, I go directly into that special brand of "development hell" reserved for star-driven projects in Hollywood. Three months into the project, after jumping through several hoops of fire to get my story approved – the producers, the studio, the network, the heirs who control the rights – it's finally time to get approved by The Diva. Well, The Diva's people, at least. I find myself in a conference room in Beverly Hills with The Diva's powerful Agent, The Diva's Lawyer, and The Diva's Best Friend who runs her production company. This, it turns out, is only the first of what will be a succession of meetings with The Agent throughout the development of the script.
I have never experienced such hands-on involvement from an agent before. That I can handle, but The Agent often gets up and leaves the room for parts unknown. Once, I am forced to sit in my chair and listen to the script notes of one of her assistants. This young woman, whose credentials for script analysis are unknown to me, actually sits confidently atop the conference table at one point with a pencil behind her ear and leans toward me for emphasis. She seems to have spent the better part of her youth studying Natalie Wood's performance in "Sex and The Single Girl", with a little Kay Thompson in "Funny Face" thrown in. I want to stand up and scream, "Stop your inane commentary this instant before my head explodes!" and leave the room. But I manage to sit there and conceal my contempt. This woman certainly has the right to form opinions about my script, but why does she have the right to tell them to me? Even The Agent doesn't stay to listen. I'm afraid to walk past the receptionist on the way out for fear I'll have to hear her notes, as well. I fully expect the Security Guard to mutter into my ear as I exit: "I hear you've got problems in the third act."
Finally, though, I'm given the go-ahead to write my script. Now comes the hard part. I have to write it. Numbing paralysis sets in. But fear of failure overcomes my fear of success (or is it the other way around?), and I get to work. A few weeks later, my first draft is received with guarded enthusiasm by all parties. Guarded because we still have to wait for The Diva to read it, approve it, give her comments, give the go-ahead to schedule the making of the film.
And wait we do. Days and weeks and months go by, and we hear the same old story from The Diva's people: She's going to read it this weekend. She's going to read it on the plane. She's going to read it Monday. She's read it, we're just waiting for notes. She hasn't read it, but she promises she'll read it tonight. She swears she'll read it next week. Now a full year has passed since I was first asked if I would be interested in writing a script for The Diva. And we're still waiting for her to read the script.
1995: It's started to occur to us that perhaps The Diva simply can't read. Everyone's ready to pull their hair out. Finally, in desperation, it's decided we will assemble a group of actors and have the script read to her. We meet in a large penthouse party room high atop one of New York's swankier hotels, with views and a grand piano. The producers, with the help of a Broadway casting director, have gathered a host of New York's most acclaimed actors to rehearse and perform the script for no money (though they are given a lunch of cold-cuts brought in from the Carnegie Deli). We sit down to rehearse the script for the first time and, lo and behold, it sounds pretty good. People are laughing, even the actors. I'm starting to get confident.
When the run-through is over, people tell me how pleased they are. The Diva is scheduled to arrive in an hour and a half, at 4:00. Everyone is told to relax, hang-out, eat some more, until the star arrives. Three hours later, and The Diva still hasn't shown up. So far, she's only 1-1/2 hours late. Par for the course, apparently. It's the "music business", the nervous producers tell us. Even The Diva's all-powerful Agent seems at a loss. She has absolutely no control over her client and makes no apologies about it. So it's anybody's guess when The Diva will deign to show up.
But now it's 5:30. And some of these actors have shows tonight on Broadway. They expected to be out of here by now. They have to be at their respective theatres no later than 7:00 p.m. And we've just gotten word that The Diva's been reached in her limo. She's on her way in…from the country. The actors are anxious, weary, and angry. They've been kept waiting, without getting paid, by a woman who apparently has no respect for them. Their concentration is out the window. One veteran actress informs me that never, in her entire career, has she ever been the victim of such outrageous behavior. To placate another actress, an older woman who is more than ready to walk out the door right now, the producers have let her order drinks from room service. So now she's had a couple of scotches and she's feeling no pain. She's the only one in a good mood when The Diva walks through the door around 6:00 p.m. Two hours late is pretty darn good, we're told. She's been worse.
The cast scrambles to their seats as The Diva is ushered in with her entourage. No apologies for her tardiness, of course, but she is informed by The Agent in a whisper that we must forgo small talk and start immediately as many of the actors have shows to get to. The reading begins. I read the narration and the stage directions with the mandate to keep things moving as quickly as possible.
For some reason, unknown to me, The Agent has plunked a script in front of The Diva, and the star spends the entire reading with her eyes buried in it – even though she's seated facing the actors. She lifts her lids once or twice for a glimpse at the actors, but otherwise no eye contact. Whatever energy or spontaneity buoyed the run-through reading is all gone now. Every word seems stilted, pointless, and about as funny as a pogrom. In short, we're dying. I can only plow through to the end as fast as I can.
When it's finally over, The Diva stands up and gives all the actors a very warm thank-you before they bolt for the door. I realize now that I haven't really had a chance to get a good look at her: She's really quite beautiful. It's not all done with smoke and mirrors after all. She looks exactly like the woman I've seen in countless photographs over the years.
And I might as well be looking at a photograph now, because as the producers and The Agent gather around her for her reaction, they act as if I don't exist. Even when I try to get closer and be part of the group, The Diva never once makes eye contact with me. Within a few minutes, The Agent kicks us out of the penthouse so that she can confer privately with her client. I'm not terribly disappointed, since there's been no sign that The Diva will ever acknowledge my existence. As it turns out, however, she subsequently gives her approval to go ahead with the script.
Back in L.A., however, we play the waiting game again. The Diva has to finish her
album. The Diva's on vacation. The Diva's on tour. The Diva has to finish making a film. But "she's still very excited about the project." We've come so far, and yet we remain at The Diva's whim.
1996: Finally, by some miracle, The Diva commits and a start date is scheduled. As a director and designers and more producers come on board, the script goes through an endless number of rewrites, and I somehow manage to remain cool and affable through it all. If I can just hang on, this movie may actually get made.
Be sure to come back to HeadlineMuse.com for next month's "TRICKSTERS AND HUCKSTERS" column, in which Yours Truly observes The Diva's outrageous movie set behavior with jaw-dropping fascination. Click here for Part II.
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