Growing Up Laughing_ My Story and the Story of Funny - Marlo Thomas [60]
I remember one late night we were leaving the office of one of our writers, who had been moaning about how hard we were being on him.
“Why do some men always make you feel like you’ve beaten them up just because you don’t agree with their opinion?” I asked.
“I know what you mean,” Ruth said. “All I’ve ever really wanted was a good cry, but my husband always beats me to it.”
I loved her—she always nailed it.
And I was learning that, even for a woman with power, the path was dotted with land mines—she’s so ambitious, she’s so aggressive, she’s ruthless. “Funny thing,” I used to say, “a man has to be Joe McCarthy to be called ruthless . . . all a woman has to do is put you on hold.”
After the series ended, I went to New York to study acting with Lee Strasberg, and learned a whole new way to work. It became my true obsession—I felt like I had found a home. Strasberg wanted all you had to give. He welcomed it.
When I had my first meeting with Lee, he asked me why I wanted to study with him after having had such success in television.
“Because I’ve gone a long way on charm and a natural comic ability,” I said. “I want to learn how to work deeper.”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Lee said. I loved him for that. I had heard he was a stern man, even mean, but that’s not the man I met that day. I told him that I really loved comedy and wanted to work on a comedy scene in his class. He said no—no comedy scenes. I wouldn’t understand why until much later. I would learn that the sense of truth that was at the heart of the dramatic work would feed the truth of the comedy.
My father teased me. “Call me when they have the class on comedy timing,” he said. “I want to attend.”
BUT I WAS still a bit intimidated by Lee because of his reputation, and I felt that everyone in the class knew the work—but me. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself (look who’s a TV star!), so it took me six months to stop hiding in the back row and come forward.
When I finally got up to do my first scene in front of the class, Lee’s eyes twinkled.
“Well, welcome,” he said, and then he announced the scene as he always did. “This scene is from The Gentle People, by Irwin Shaw.” But I was so nervous that his voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance and through a filter. I thought, How unfortunate to lose my hearing the day I do my first scene for Lee Strasberg. Fear does play its tricks.
With Lee at a black tie gala. While everyone hobnobbed, he hung out with the waiters. He could spot from across the room that they were aspiring actors.
But once I got that first scary day behind me, I couldn’t wait to do more. And I did three years more. I only wish Lee could have lived to see me portray a schizophrenic in Nobody’s Child. I never would have gotten near playing that kind of part without Lee’s exercises, and the subsequent work I did and continue to do with his primary disciple, the brilliant Sandra Seacat.
On the set of Nobody’s Child with two of my favorite obsessives: Tom Case (my makeup artist of 40 years) and my acting coach Sandra Seacat (who was emoting).
Sometimes two obsessives don’t make a right—and it didn’t with me and my guy at the time, Herb Gardner. Herbie was a wonderful playwright, a funny man and a true original. But when it came to work, there was only one way—his. And there was no talking him out of his position.
Herbie wrote a play for me called Thieves. He even wrapped it in a box tied up with a ribbon and gave it to me for my birthday. What a deeply romantic and loving man he was. But when Herbie and I started to talk about the play, I questioned the ending, which I thought went awry. Herbie became furious. We argued