THBBM - Being Henry Thomas

Being Henry Thomas
Does it have to be "Goofy"? I was playing Hamlet off-Broadway two months ago, for crying out loud...
11-16

Manhattan in November, like gray socks fading into dirty white tennis shoes. When early winter descends on the city it feels like there are twice as many people walking along the streets during the day, everyone fighting for their own strip of sidewalk and enough clearance to raise the coffee cup to their lips. It seems like there are more people, but in reality, there aren't. It's just that everyone's wearing bulkier clothes.
It's not that there are more people out, it's that there is more to each person this time of year.
: That's me, sitting on a smart leather couch in a high-rise loft apartment. I'm the one with the oversized remote control in my hand. There are two more like it on the cushion beside me. Before me, live and pre-recorded footage flashes by at any given moment on one of the three television sets arranged in a row on the other side of the room.
Click -- there's the music. Click click -- there's the line around the block. Click click click -- there are the commercials.
: It's been the same way all morning. Really, it's been the same way all week. It's not so much the overwhelming volume of it all that is bothersome as much as it is the way that it all seems too familiar, like there's a template in place or something.
: What's troubling is that it seems like they could plug just about anyone in the center of this maelstrom, and the city would eat it up without any hesitation. I can't be 100% sure, but the procession towards the square looks exactly the same as the one they did when Howard Stern's movie opened, just the same as when the Yankees won the series...
Just the same as when...
: Not wanting to dwell, I start flipping the channels without any consideration of rhythm or content. What I don't need any more of right now is information. What I need right now is flashing lights, a color kaleidoscope in front of my eyes.
What I need is a drink.
: I shift in my seat a little. The leather couch scrunches with my every motion. Looking over my shoulder, I try to flag down the attention of my host, who is testily pacing the floor, shouting obscenities into a black cordless telephone that's been glued to his ear most of the morning.
"Since when does this line not go directly to him? Since when does this line need a receptionist?!"
: I wave my hand at him, but he's already turned and reversed directions.
"No, you're not going to take a message... You're going to stop jerking me around and you're going to put me through to him right fucking now!"
: It's been the same way all morning.
Really, it's been the same all week.
: There's chatter on the other end of the line, and his hand goes to his forehead, nervously pushing back the locks of blond hair that he's famous for. He's nodding, saying "uh-huh" every few moments, but the pacing hasn't stopped. They're feeding him a line, and he's listening for an opening.
: Briefly he sees me watching him. He rolls his eyes sarcastically, and makes a gesture with his hand that looks like a talking mouth.
: I shrug and pull myself up from the couch. I make a gesture with my hand that looks like I'm drinking from a bottle. He shakes his head, then spins on his ankle and resumes pacing.
: His wife is in the kitchen, arranging flowers in a basket on the counter. She pushes the stems carefully, lifting and placing them in and out of the basket in different combinations. As I approach, she offers a quiet smile.
"How's it going in there?" She asks. "I don't know.." I say, looking over my shoulder, "not good, I think." She nods quietly, as if she was already aware of this fact. "It's just not right what's happening to him. He doesn't deserve this."
: I smile as best I can, pulling the fridge door open.
: When I come back to the den he's on the couch, watching the televisions. Matt Lauer and Katie Couric; smiles everywhere, cordless microphones with the show's logo on them. Behind the talking heads a crowd has gathered, penned back like livestock by police safety tape.
"Isn't this exciting?" Katie asks.
: Next to me on the leather couch, McCauley Culkin lets out an unimpressed cough.
"You'd think they'd never seen a movie premiere before in their lives.." I say. "I know, it makes me sick to think how excited I was to be on that show." "Who did your interview?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood. "What?" He asks, momentarily distracted by the news footage. "Who did you interview with.. was it Katie?" He looks off into space as he answers, "One time it was her, yeah. The last time. Jane Pauley was still around the first time I went on. ...Jane was the best."
: I nod as a I take a sip from my glass. I don't know who Jane Pauley is.
: Katie Couric is outside with a microphone in her hand. She's leans over, pushes the microphone towards the mouth of a little girl in a heavy winter jacket. The little girl tries to say something, but ends up screaming gleefully into the camera before she can finish her sentence. The camera pans away from her.
"Isn't this exciting?" Katie asks again.
"Who interviewed you?" McCauley asks, flipping the channels.
"Lauer." I say flatly, not wanting to recall the experience. "Guy's a dick."

"Yeah?" McCauley asks, suddenly interested.

"They made this whole big to-do about me coming to the set in costume, doing the interview in character.. we fought it the whole way, but we weren't able to change their minds."

"Bummer." McCauley says.

"That's not even the half of it," I say, now deep into the memory... "There I am, freezing my ass off in sackcloth and desert robes - and then between segments Lauer looks me straight in the eye and says "Jake Lloyd... What kind of stage name is that?"

"You are shitting me!" McCauley says.

"I know! The nerve of that guy!" I say.
: I'm clenching my fists, as if the whole thing had just happened a half an hour ago.
"Then before I can say anything, we're back on the air and he's grinning like an idiot, asking me questions that I'm supposed to answer in character -- So Annakin, what's it like racing in a pod? --- I wanted to knock his damn teeth out."

"Jesus." McCauley says.

"It gets worse," I say, "The very next day they have Natalie Portman on, and they address her as Natalie.. Natalie! ... she was wearing street clothes!"
McCauley shakes his head at me. "That's why I'm glad I don't do any of that crap anymore. They don't respect you at all.."
: The phone rings.
Suddenly he's pacing again.
: For the past three hours McCauley has been trying to reach Chris Columbus, trying him on his private line, trying every connection he can think of, trying not to be bothered by the fact that Columbus has obviously been ditching his calls all morning.
: Finally, a break:
"Chris? McCauley! ...McCauley Culkin! -- What's that?.. No, I'm sorry, you're breaking up."
: Matt Lauer is standing outside among the crowds with their signs. He has to shout a bit to be heard above the excitement.
: The crowd knows what's coming.
"I'm just saying I think that it would be a good thing for both of us! Yeah.. sure.. Yeah, I know all that, but it's a big event. It's the kind of thing I should be at!"
: Lauer holds up a book as he talks into the camera, you can barely hear a word he's saying.
"Don't feed me that crap about your hands being tied.. You wouldn't even have this movie if it weren't for me!.. You heard what I said!"
: His wife steps into the room, but she stays near the back with her arms crossed.
"Look man, I'm trying to help you! Hey it's not even about all of that... sure,.. right... ok, I understand all that, but it's not like I need a press agent to handle this for me. Maybe so, but that doesn't mean you can't be a friend... I am being a professional here, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
: I try to offer her a supportive smile, but she's already turned back into the kitchen.
"You haven't even heard the best part yet... sure, sure, I know. But hey listen, guess who's here with me right now? You ready? Jake Lloyd!"
: I smile, and McCauley tosses me a thumbs up.
"No, Lloyd.. Lloyd! He played the kid in Star Wars!...Oh yes there most certainly was... what? What? Star Wars... no, Episode 1!. Episo..."
: McCauley suddenly turns to me, snapping his fingers.
"The Phantom Menace," I say, quietly.
"The Phantom Menace!.... Yeah, that one! No, I'm not lying, he's sitting right here in my living room. Hell yeah he's open tonight! Why do you think I'm calling?"
: This goes on for a couple minutes more, but I do my best to try and tune it out. Suddenly the idea of being at the premiere tonight doesn't seem so all-important as it did last night when McCauley and I first started talking about it. Suddenly I can't bring myself to see Daniel Radcliffe as an adversary anymore. Suddenly the whole thing seems like a bad idea.
"OK, sure. That's not a problem at all. Sure, sure, I know all that. Hey, this is me you're talking to here...OK. OK, got it... right. No problem.. Uh-huh. Absolutely, cross my heart. You got it. ...Sure, anytime - just let me know. All right, sounds good. See you then!!"
: He clicks the phone off and throws his hands up in triumph.
"Eh? What did I tell you? What did I tell you?"
: He holds his hand in front of mine for a high-five. I slap him back, and he tosses himself on the couch beside me.
"They're gonna talk to him?" he asks. "Yeah, he should be coming out any second."
: We watch the screen in silence for a moment.
"Do you know him?" McCauley asks.
"Who, Radcliffe?" I say, "I thought he was supposed to be an unknown..."
McCauley snorts, "So were you, pal..."
: This is a bad idea, I think to myself.
: Matt Lauer turns to the side a bit, raises his hand to the crowd and shouts out the name. The throngs standing behind the safety lines go crazy and start waving their signs while cameramen move in front of them to try to give the viewers at home an idea of the bedlam that's happening.
: Suddenly there's a tiny explosion, and a cloud of smoke appears near the back of the crowd. Lauer shouts the name out again, and the place goes bananas.
"Oh dear god" McCauley says. "Don't do it man, don't do it..." I say, knowing it's already too late.
: As the smoke begins to fade a small boy walks out. He's wearing oversized glasses and carrying a broomstick in his hand.
: I can't help but groan at the television.
Culkin starts laughing.
: Radcliffe does his best to smile, but you can tell he's overwhelmed. Cautiously he takes his broomstick towards the mark that Matt and Katie are standing on.
: The camera closes up on his face and gets a good shot of the funny haircut and glasses.
He seems terribly short next to the people with the microphones.
: Sitting there on the leather couch with McCauley, it occurs to me that I'd never considered how small a child seems when he's on television.
McCauley's laughter fades...
: It's as if the whole world's gone silent. Manhattan in November; gray socks in dirty white sneakers.
: The hysteria softens, and Matt Lauer leans down towards the child standing next to him,
"So Harry... What's it like to fly on a broomstick?"
*this story was featured in SeeThru.co.uk as part of the November 20, 2001 weblog. *an edited version of this story (retitled "Child's Play") appeared in the December 4, 2001 issue of Folio Weekly Magazine Next Previous Index Hex's Notes sign view comment! email me! Gimme Clix!