Phil Hartman II: The 12th Man
I had just learned to drive when I met Phil. No need for such a skill in Toronto, home of the streetcar and taxis for important events. Michael taught me the basics in his silver Audi Fox (stick shift, thanks forever) in the parking lot of Love's Restaurant on Pico Boulevard. I was not a natural and probably contributed to the car's early demise, gears grinding and stuttering under my terrified handling. But if I was to make a go of the film business I had to learn so before long we were puttering down Pico to my reward every Sunday: brunch at a cafe on the beach. It took us about an hour to drive there because I white-knuckled it all the way and never went over 25 miles an hour.
Life in Los Angeles had it share of terror, much of it I hid. One should never just pull up roots and move to a new country and try to break into the movie business in Hollywood when you were as niave and unconscious as I was. I use that word because I truly was in many ways unaware of the effect I had on people and what they meant to me when it came to it. I might have been pretty, I might have been kind, and I might have been clever, but if I was it was news to me.
What I knew for certain though, and had been from the time I could put one cohesive idea together with another one, was that much of my energy was devoted to observing the world and the fascinating arena of other people's behavior. Not my own, mind you, my missteps when it came to relationships were testament to that, but when it came to the the gigantic 3-D puzzle of human interactions, I was (and still am) a consummate connoisseur.
That was the main reason I was so attracted to Phil. For those of you who've had a true comic in your life you know what I'm talking about. There was nothing sexual about this attraction, it was more like the fascination of having a movie screen playing constantly in your view with characters unfolding out of your daily life, served up for your amusement. Phil was like me in many ways but we differed in one major aspect. While I observed quietly, filing and storing away tidbits of exprience to use later in my writing, Phil improvised his way through life by quickly integrating his observations into an ongoing comedy routine which included stand-up jokes delivered with feet spread apart and an imaginary (or real) cigar in hand, sly wisecracks that were often came under the radar, as impermanent as ether, and best of all, full-on impersonations of any number of famous people that he used to deliver barbed political or social satire.
My first few connections to Phil were at events or large parties and he came solo. I'd heard he was married but until we had him over for dinner some weeks later I'd yet to meet the elusive Lisa. They arrived for cocktail hour dressed to the nines - Phil always came to our parties wearing a suit and his wife was wearing heels and something Madonna-ish (as we all were in those days with lots of black tulle & big, messy hair). They'd come over from the Valley where they lived in a modest house bought with Phil's earnings as a graphic designer. I learned later his brother was in the music business and he often designed album covers for his clients.
Phil, burly and solid with a square head and curly hair, looked good in a suit, there was something faintly reminiscent of the 50's man about him. And yet, when he was beside the women in his life he appreared to shrink. Lisa was predictably attractive, self-assured, and more than a little aloof. As we chatted before sitting down to dinner Phil seemed uneasy, nervous. He had an expression that I soon learned to recognize: a kind of embarrassed thick-headed grin that masked his vulnerability.
"What's going on with those two?" I asked Michael in the kitchen. He shrugged. Michael cared little for the drama in relationships (even though at this point he was trying to extricate himself from a business partnership that had homoerotic undertones and was soon to turn very nasty). Once back in the living room I tried to engage Phil but he was shifting around, almost hopping from foot to foot. He kept trying to put his arm around Lisa but she shrugged him off.
Right about then I began to realize how much alike Phil and I were. We were both lousy at picking our mates and it was apparent that both of us were in mismatches. And Phil was about to lose wife number two and at a time when his career was starting to take off which must have been all the more debilitating to his ego.
When the other guests had left, Phil hung around as he usually did at parties, seeking out the last of his audience when the embers of the fire were burning low and the brandy came out. He didn't want to be alone. Didn't like being alone. Lisa sat apart and bored in a corner while he stood, one hand on the fireplace mantle, regaling Michael and I with stories until she had glared at him one too many times and they made their exit.
When he turned at the door we had our first moment of true connection. There was something about Phil that just made you want to reach out and enfold him. Like me, he was a middle child, affable and eager to please. But he had no idea how to get into the skin of someone who would really cherish him, truly let him be. He was destined to attach himself to others who would drag him down.
I felt an overwhelming, motherly sympathy for him. It was hard to believe that someone has kind and sweet as he was should be so unappreciated. And here I was, oh wise one, watching it from the peanut gallery, oblivious to my own narrowing path.
For my part, I'd made a bargain and I felt compelled to stick to it.
Next: Pee-wee's Big Adventure takes shape and fame looms for some.
Life in Los Angeles had it share of terror, much of it I hid. One should never just pull up roots and move to a new country and try to break into the movie business in Hollywood when you were as niave and unconscious as I was. I use that word because I truly was in many ways unaware of the effect I had on people and what they meant to me when it came to it. I might have been pretty, I might have been kind, and I might have been clever, but if I was it was news to me.
What I knew for certain though, and had been from the time I could put one cohesive idea together with another one, was that much of my energy was devoted to observing the world and the fascinating arena of other people's behavior. Not my own, mind you, my missteps when it came to relationships were testament to that, but when it came to the the gigantic 3-D puzzle of human interactions, I was (and still am) a consummate connoisseur.
That was the main reason I was so attracted to Phil. For those of you who've had a true comic in your life you know what I'm talking about. There was nothing sexual about this attraction, it was more like the fascination of having a movie screen playing constantly in your view with characters unfolding out of your daily life, served up for your amusement. Phil was like me in many ways but we differed in one major aspect. While I observed quietly, filing and storing away tidbits of exprience to use later in my writing, Phil improvised his way through life by quickly integrating his observations into an ongoing comedy routine which included stand-up jokes delivered with feet spread apart and an imaginary (or real) cigar in hand, sly wisecracks that were often came under the radar, as impermanent as ether, and best of all, full-on impersonations of any number of famous people that he used to deliver barbed political or social satire.
My first few connections to Phil were at events or large parties and he came solo. I'd heard he was married but until we had him over for dinner some weeks later I'd yet to meet the elusive Lisa. They arrived for cocktail hour dressed to the nines - Phil always came to our parties wearing a suit and his wife was wearing heels and something Madonna-ish (as we all were in those days with lots of black tulle & big, messy hair). They'd come over from the Valley where they lived in a modest house bought with Phil's earnings as a graphic designer. I learned later his brother was in the music business and he often designed album covers for his clients.
Phil, burly and solid with a square head and curly hair, looked good in a suit, there was something faintly reminiscent of the 50's man about him. And yet, when he was beside the women in his life he appreared to shrink. Lisa was predictably attractive, self-assured, and more than a little aloof. As we chatted before sitting down to dinner Phil seemed uneasy, nervous. He had an expression that I soon learned to recognize: a kind of embarrassed thick-headed grin that masked his vulnerability.
"What's going on with those two?" I asked Michael in the kitchen. He shrugged. Michael cared little for the drama in relationships (even though at this point he was trying to extricate himself from a business partnership that had homoerotic undertones and was soon to turn very nasty). Once back in the living room I tried to engage Phil but he was shifting around, almost hopping from foot to foot. He kept trying to put his arm around Lisa but she shrugged him off.
Right about then I began to realize how much alike Phil and I were. We were both lousy at picking our mates and it was apparent that both of us were in mismatches. And Phil was about to lose wife number two and at a time when his career was starting to take off which must have been all the more debilitating to his ego.
When the other guests had left, Phil hung around as he usually did at parties, seeking out the last of his audience when the embers of the fire were burning low and the brandy came out. He didn't want to be alone. Didn't like being alone. Lisa sat apart and bored in a corner while he stood, one hand on the fireplace mantle, regaling Michael and I with stories until she had glared at him one too many times and they made their exit.
When he turned at the door we had our first moment of true connection. There was something about Phil that just made you want to reach out and enfold him. Like me, he was a middle child, affable and eager to please. But he had no idea how to get into the skin of someone who would really cherish him, truly let him be. He was destined to attach himself to others who would drag him down.
I felt an overwhelming, motherly sympathy for him. It was hard to believe that someone has kind and sweet as he was should be so unappreciated. And here I was, oh wise one, watching it from the peanut gallery, oblivious to my own narrowing path.
For my part, I'd made a bargain and I felt compelled to stick to it.
Next: Pee-wee's Big Adventure takes shape and fame looms for some.
posted by vallie at 10:08 AM
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