Howard Ho
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I’m in a room with Winona Ryder, Tim Robbins, Sean Penn,
David Spade and Benicio Del Toro. I’m scared as hell, not
necessarily because these are all big-time movie stars, but because
I don’t want them to know that I’ve accidentally
entered the wrong room.
On assignment at a preview for film critics, I waited in the
lobby until I saw the talents move toward the screening room. After
watching a short film (a 10-minute short about the impact of Sept.
11 on a lonely elder) with these folks, I left quietly and found
the correct room, breathing a sigh of relief.
Only seconds later, I felt that tingly frustration, “Damn
it! Why didn’t I say something to Tim Robbins? Maybe I could
have booked an interview with him for the Daily Bruin or
jump-started my non-existent acting career.”
We’ve all met stars before. You know how it feels to
become the awkward, green-eyed monster when your idol stands before
your eyes. At that second, they have some mysterious power over
you, not because you recognize them, but because you never thought
you would see them except on the big screen. After all, it’s
easy to idolize someone from afar. Try doing it when you can smell
their perfume.
You rehearse the lines you’ll say to them, you script the
compliments you’ll give them, and you even practice that
smile just so you don’t screw up your one minute of that
someone else’s life.
A popular solution to making the moment last is bringing a note
pad and pen for an autograph, evidence that you’ve been
touched by an angel. Yet, in that room with Ryder, Robbins, Del
Toro, Penn and Spade, I doubt getting autographs would have helped
me make it last. I am supposed to be the press (journalism, not
clothing), which means I’m above being googly-eyed,
slobbering over the latest Hollywood bimbo. These stars arrange to
be in rooms together because they don’t want people staring
at them, yelling, “Oh my God!”
Among themselves, they can act normally, dress down, and blend
in. I heard Ryder praising the new Wilco album. Penn was busy
bringing more chairs into the room, and I decided to help him out.
Del Toro came in with jeans and a cheap cap over his long, uncouth
hair. This is where they can be un-celebrities. If I had blown my
cover, I imagined security guards dragging me out with the words,
“Sorry, no non-stars allowed.”
That day, walking out of the celebrity-infested room, I felt
glad I made the conservative choice. I kept my reserve and acted
cool under the heat. I maintained a personal feeling of
acknowledgment of their achievements while knowing that I’ll
have my chance to do the same, to make my mark on the world. I
don’t want to be a star but I do want to see celebrities with
the confidence that they are indeed no better than me, perhaps only
a bit more well-known.
Of course, part of me regrets not making a splash, but I realize
I was out of place in that star-studded room. If I were in a room
with well-known journalists, I probably would splash around my
small-time journalism credentials, a la the Daily Bruin. In fact,
I’ve spoken with Los Angeles Times writers with the
confidence that I am their colleague, an insider.
Whenever I see a star, I freeze up like everyone else but I
don’t force myself into the attention-seeking fan role. I
merely look, smile and know the person I just saw was just a
person, not a god. Their image is the product of Hollywood’s
factories, er, I mean studios. Enjoy the actors for their skill,
their artistry, their talent, their charisma, and not just because
they’re on the cover of Entertainment Weekly and you’re
not.
However, on the off chance you see Jennifer Connelly, please let
me know. I’d like to be there.