The Stand-Up Routine in LA
You’ll recognize the title as an excerpt from the quintessential troubadour, Billy Joel, singing “My Life.”
Taking the train to LA was like taking a space warp vehicle to a distant universe. Robert Redford revealed once, when asked why he moved out of LA and went to Utah, “I was afraid if I’d stayed in LA I would have turned into a Mercedes.” Well, Mercedes here are a dime a dozen, and though I haven’t yet seen my particular Bentley Supersport, I’ve seen everything else, including a Veyron.
Nothing here seems real outside of the hotels. The Peninsula in Beverly Hills has provided an exquisite oasis for us (you can see some photos in an earlier post) and the Airport Marriott is an outstanding meeting space for my three days of offerings. But in between….
We went to BOA last night, an outstanding steak restaurant, with our son, Jason, and his good friend, Amanda. Everyone was out of central casting. The guy in line ahead of us had on a flashy suit, an “I voted” sticker in the middle of his forehead, and flamboyantly kissed the hostess, calling her, “The hardest working actress in Los Angeles.” (In doing so, her miniscule dress practically disappeared.) His own escort had on a sea-through skirt that I really didn’t want to see through.
Can an article of clothing be accused of TMI (too much information)?
The restaurant is huge, nicely decorated, and mobbed. Everyone seemed like a stereotype, or like the Disney theme parks, where you look behind the facades of seemingly substantial buildings only to find supporting braces and air—there is no “there” there.
Immediately behind me sat the actress who played the older sister on Downton Abbey, Jessica Pearce Rotondi. She was with a group of mainly men who were apparently trying to pitch something to her, including the guy next to her trying to impress her with his knowledge of New York and Las Vegas restaurants, many of which he pronounced incorrectly.
Women tottered by in five-inch platforms and clinging dresses that resembled furious boa constrictors trying to squeeze the life out of the occupant. There were the guys with baseball caps and tee-shirts sashaying in, and the guys with sunglasses on top of their heads dropping names like napalm bombs in a war zone.
Meanwhile, the parking valets were sprinting like cheetahs trying to park the Bentleys, Rolls, Porsches, and Ferraris. No one’s car was kept at the curb, and a minor altercation occurred with the driver of a rather rare Bentley Azure convertible (about $375,000) who demanded it be left at the curb. It wasn’t. (I say “driver” and not “owner” because so many of these cars are temporarily rented—not leased—for situational effect.)
Actors are notoriously insecure, I think largely because they receive accolades and awards for being someone other than themselves. They are comfortable in role, but not outside of it. Aspiring actors (and writers and producers and agents, and so on) don’t even have the alter-ego success to hang their hats on. I’ve never seen so much hot air so eagerly breathed without complaint.
The food was sensational. The service was fabulous. The people were fascinating. But I get the feeling I’m at one of those “recreated” places, like Williamsburg or Plymouth, where the “residents” all stay in character all the time you’re there.
What is the reality underneath the “show”? I’m starting to believe that there is none. Once again, same song from Billy Joel:
“Either way it’s okay to wake up with yourself.”
© Alan Weiss 2012. All rights reserved.
Jerry Norman
I lived in N CA for 10 yrs a while back. I’ve done a fair amount of business in S CA, too. The fantasy you describe is real, IF you only frequent the business haunts of those in entertainment and media. And in that line of work, appearing in restaurants is definitely business.
You will find far, far more normal people, having real conversations about things we would consider “normal” if you travel about 10 miles beyond where you are now. “Hollywood” is a planet unto itself, and one that is way too easy to caricature.
But this planet didn’t simply appear for no reason. The reliance on “fronts,” physical and social, serves a real purpose: if you don’t create your front and deal with others’ you can’t do business. It is a rational construct for that “reality.” I’m not sure, though why that reality exists, how it developed and continues.
I would be really interested in your business analysis starting from that point and comparing/contrasting it with the things you deal with in our more familiar world.
Alan Weiss
Jerry,
You’re probably deeper than I am. I see a huge amount of insecurity being overcompensated for with facade: clothes, cars, meals, language, surgery. I see people who aren’t interested in you unless they’re certain you help them, and people who elevate themselves by degrading others. It’s a crass generalization, I know, but this is a small minority in business and a common occurrence in Beverly Hill and environs. It’s like cutting into what you think is steak and finding spam inside (my apologies to spam).
Jer
Been to BOA many times and we LOVE it! As Allen pointed out, fantastic steaks and marvelous people watching. Not something we want to do nightly but it’s fun now and then.
To survive and conquer in LA, you have to “play the role.” That this strategy is blatantly apparent and employed by virtually all the cast member wannabes is simply the way that game is played here in LA. So… play it; with distinction! Someone “has to be!”
Want some California flavor a bit closer to reality? Try “The Strand Restaurant” down the road from The Marriott on the water in Manhattan Beach. We had a delicious meal there after the Marriott presentation Allan was kind enough to invite us to.
I’m still digesting “The Almost Free Workshop.” Simply amazing…
Jer
Alan Weiss
Thanks for attending. Note that it’s “Alan.” We were poor and couldn’t afford extra letters.
Jer
Alan, I’m sorry!
Let’s attribute this to my So. California education and our LA need to elaborate, magnify, plump, expatiate, inflate, and expand everything including one’s name.
Jer (I’m not guilty :o)